tagNonHumanThe Dawn

The Dawn


Disclaimer: all the characters are over eighteen. The vampires even more so. While I consider the characters to be bi, this contains sex between two men. Look at the story tags. If you're a person who's offended by such things, then please look somewhere else. Why would you read this all the way through and then be offended by it? For all others, please vote and feel free to comment.

Come soon, the dawn.

(Dedicated to my friend. Only you could inspire me to write such a thing.)


He longed for a hot stew or any homey food that could comfort him. There would be none. The towns had been destroyed, and the city was abandoned. The pestilence of darkness had proven to be too much. A mass of refugees was moving west towards the sea. They were hopeful for food and safety. Both would be in short supply when they got there.

Peter and his men huddled around a fire they'd kept going for three days straight. They'd been gathering up broken timber from ruined homes as well as anything else that would burn. Several older fires of theirs were left as pock marks upon the wrecked city.

"What now, my lord?" one of his soldiers asked. "Should we retreat with the others? The cathedral in Esmanee is only a week away. There is safety there."

Peter shook his head. The men surrounding him accepted this choice. Their uniforms were stained with blood and grime. For over a month they'd been fending off the monsters the evil Count sent. Only eight of his men remained. Gant's monsters slew the rest. Some had the misfortune of turning into creatures themselves, and had to be slaughtered and burned. They often took several men with them. There had been a time when Peter was going to go on crusade. He was going to have one of the largest commitments to the pontiff's war. Now he only had eight.

The men who'd been corrupted were troubling. Surviving men wondered if their souls were safe after such alteration. Peter had no answer for them. It didn't help that Father Malthus had been reduced to a fiend in front of them. Peter was grateful that they cut off the Father's head and burned him quickly. Those transformed were not vampires. Vampires were of a higher order. These were lesser creatures. He wasn't sure that made it better. But they had to press on.

Peter poked at a burnt corpse with his boot. The smoke-filled ruins were silent. Some of his men wanted to remain in the city, but if they did there would be less motivation for them. They might loot and then flee as everyone else did. He felt guilty, but he had to use them. Peter waited for one of them to tell him to do it himself. After all, men in his family had supposedly been famous vampire hunters. Surely the blood counted for something.

He rubbed the soft sheepskin glove over his face. His boyish look could hardly manage stubble, how was he supposed to be like the insane hero Sir Adolf? He remembered Bethany comparing him to such men as they'd lain in their sinful bed.

"You're my grand hero," she'd said, running her fingers through his fine blonde hair. "That's why I don't feel so bad about not waiting."

They had been courting for a year, and eventually would've been married. Then the dark times arrived. Fearing the worst, she'd given in, and he knew her carnally. A sin before marriage, but with the world ending, how could they not?

She was gone now: taken by the dark lord. He knew that meant her doom. But it also meant that he would die trying to kill the stealer of souls. His greatest regret was that his men would die as well, but that was their doom. He could've fled, but perhaps there was something of the family insanity within him.

To the east was the castle Gant. They would ride without stopping, storm the gates, and kill everything they saw. It wasn't all that different from crusading. He held out his hand to steady the men. He needed to make a speech. A good one. One to die for.

"My friends," he began. "We— "

There was a sudden flash of light. It nearly blinded Peter. When he could see clearly, he saw that all his men were slumped over. Blood and brains leaked from their ears.

Peter fell to his knees, and cried to a silent heaven.

From behind a charred house stepped a tall, filthy brute—more beast than man. Peter didn't even draw his sword. It was hopeless.

"Be calm, lordling." He got closer to Peter. "You needn't die," the brute said. "As you can see the master has no fear of your pitiful strength. Hero or not, you're defeated."

Peter stood, and drew his sword. "Fight me! I'll not beg for my life. Your master is damned to hell and you for serving him."

The brute laughed. "You're so naïve," he said. "Normally, I would beat you into the ground with my bare hands. Then I'd break your fancy sword in front of you and bugger you with it. But, my master has other plans."

He snapped his fingers, and Peter fell to the ground unconscious.


Peter awoke nude and splayed out on a large pillowed bed. He came up in a fit, ready to battle anyone. There were no monsters present. Not that he had his sword anyway. A rustling of gowns drew his attention. Standing in front of a large fireplace was Bethany.

She wasn't the same woman. Her fine white skin was alabaster. The thick red hair was now impossibly red like something out of a dream. She wore the finest white taffeta gown he'd ever seen. Bethany was beautiful in an inhuman doll way. She was also so pregnant that she was nearly bursting in front of him.

She smiled, and he could see the tiny fangs. These broke his heart the most.

"Please no," he said. "Seeing you like this..."

She sighed. "A pleasure to see you too, Peter. You look well."

"Bethany," he reached out to her, but then retreated.

"Don't fear me, my love. You're a guest. Perhaps more, in time. You need to relax though. No more fear."

"What has he done to you?"

She smiled. "I'm better than I ever was. Different, yes, but I'll not be ravaged by time or disease. He's protected me from them. My lord loves beauty. He loves so many things."

He pointed at her swollen belly. "We had a child in you, and he did this?" Peter bit his hand in rage.

Bethany turned away. This new-found strength of hers had limits. "It's not yours, Peter."


She came suddenly near to him. Her movements were a blur. Her cold and dainty hand held his face gently. "I would've gladly born your children. I was ready to, believe me. But our...coupling didn't produce a child. He gave one to me, Peter."

His heart fell apart like ash. Bethany held him close. There was enthusiasm in her voice, as though she could convince him of the most sublime goodness.

"My child will be wonderful, Peter. It's amazing how fast it's growing. Very odd," she chuckled. "But this child will do good things. He'll usher in an age of wonder."

"A monster," he said. "Don't you see what he's done, Bethy? You're a garden for him. Earth to be plowed," he cried.

She pouted at him. One of her fangs showing. "I don't expect you to understand. You're still a normal man. Hopefully, that will change."

"Never! I'd sooner died than to see you like this."

She walked away from him. "There is no choice for you," she said. "He'll not be denied. You were spared because I told him of your love and beauty. He desires you." There was something of regret in her words. "I was ready to keep you in my memories, once I accepted my fate here. I only wanted to show him that I knew what desire was. I didn't think that he'd bring you here."

"Help me kill him, Bethy," said Peter, kneeling in front of her. "We can do it together."

"And what becomes of me then? Will you offer me the grace of a righteous death at your hands?"

Peter shook his head. "I know the Bishop...maybe he could..."

She shook her head.

Peter didn't give up. "I'll take care of you. The family manse is mine now. No one ever need bother you. We can be..."

"Together? Her voice broke. "You'd keep me locked away like some leper? That's not taking care of me." Black tears fell from her eyes. They evaporated into ash before leaving her face. "I'm sorry, Peter. Our old lives are gone. The sooner you learn that the better."

She left him alone in the room. He collapsed onto the floor—willing himself to die. It didn't happen in time to avoid meeting the monster.


"I expected more," said the prince of darkness. Each word formed as though it were silk floating on the breath of God. "You still make your claims, my dear?"

"Yes," answered Bethany. "He is a fine man. A hero and a gentle lover."

Gant laughed softly. The sound froze Peter, like he was hearing the finest and tallest marble statue laugh at a mortal worshipper.

The count was a tall and angular gentleman. He appeared massive in his cloak and noble finery. They were fine black that was near hypnotic with a metallic shine that swirled in their eternal grace. The face of the count was proud and regal. A mighty emperor's visage from romances that never were. He looked down at the cowering Peter.

Try as he might, Peter struggled to find evil in the being. He saw nothing but the regal bearing and unending desire. When the count inclined his head for a better look at Peter, finely worked braids of the count's lush dark hair hung down. Each was a capped with a piece of polished ivory tipped in a dark ruby.

Peter couldn't imagine trying to destroy such a presence. It was a though the beauty present in every work of art came together to form one being. The count didn't appear like anything he'd ever heard. When artists depicted God, they never got farther than a beautiful distant light or a benign older man. Gant put those to shame.

"Crusader," said the vampire. "Did you really want to burn my home like an infidel's?"

"You've destroyed the countryside. The north is a wasteland because of you and your demons."

"It was owed to me, young man." The vampire slowly paced around the room. His cape was the only discernable thing carrying him. "You should know. Your family and others have ruined so many wonderful things. I admit to faults among my servants, and some did stray far, but to try and eradicate us for so long? You humans are monsters."

"You're an abomination. Doomed by God's decree."

"Tell you that himself, did He?" The vampire lifted an eyebrow. "You really know nothing of the powers beyond your sword, crusader. I know more of God than you could ever learn."

"You're going to be destroyed again," Peter continued. "I may die. My men may have died, but more will come. Man will make a dawn of your terrible night."

The vampire considered this for a moment. Then he laughed a jovial cruelty.

Bethany walked to stand beside the dark lord. She spoke: "He really is a good man, my lord. Please forgive his blasphemies. His life has been in the service of—"

Gant raised a hand, and she fell silent. "I know, my dear. This will take time." He looked to Peter again. "I let you live because too many have died. I would have you join me. You can be with Bethany for all time. Won't that be nice?"

"As a piece of your corruption", Peter spat. "Better to die.'

He threw himself at the vampire with fingers strained like claws and his mouth wide open baring his teeth. He would die fighting like an animal, but at least he would be a Godly one.

Peter never connected with his target. A force he didn't see stopped him in place. Gant shook his head in gentle disapproval. "Young and impetuous. Foolish. Passionate. What a joy it will be to bring you into my family."

The force that held Peter suddenly squeezed tight like hands over his throat. In moments, he was in darkness again.


Peter woke again to find the room empty. He was back on the bed, and unharmed. He checked his neck and all over his body for any unnatural marks. There was nothing. This was little comfort though. They'd taken his clothing and his weapons. Even his cross was gone.

How could they remove it? Peter remembered the large brute. Surely Gant had servants who were immune to his unholy frailties. If that man was human, Peter was confident that he could kill him even unarmed. From the age of eight he'd been groomed for fighting. Not against monsters, but still... He just needed to avoid the Count until he was armed.

The room was spacious with finely colored tiles inlaid over the usual blue stone used to build castles in the region. A single tapestry hung from one wall. It recounted some ancient battle Peter didn't know about. It was fine threadwork. He believed the armies depicted were those of the ancient southern empires based upon their armor. One peculiar thing was a figure with wings that joined the field. This wasn't unheard of when an historian wanted to claim that God was on their side. It was all part of historical allegory. However, this figure took part in the fighting, and every time if felled a man, another winged figure appeared behind it. Peter began to wonder if this was a recollection of the past or a proclamation of the future.

There was a pitcher of water with a basin. He took a drink from the pitcher, and then poured water into the basin to splash it on his face. Briefly, Peter considered whether he was in a dream. That was nonsense of course. Only reality could be so bleak.

There must be a chance, he thought. The dark lord believed him to be powerless. Why else would he be kept in such luxury? Overcoming his nakedness was the first task. He cursed his body after realizing that the fresh memories of Bethany left his sex rigid and wanting. Despite his self-chastising, his hand still drifted down there as though it too were aroused. Stop it. There are more important things to worry about.

"I see you've lost none of your passion," said a sultry voice.

Bethany whisked into view. She had once been the child of her family, but now she was an unearthly creature of the count's design. Peter's former beloved looked resplendent despite her child-swollen belly. The white taffeta was fresh and clean as the day it was made.

"Have you come to mock me?" he asked.

"No," she said. "I want to comfort you. If you're left alone with your...impotent rage, you might hurt yourself. I'm glad to see you still have other interests." Her tongue wiped across her upper lip. "Want me to make you feel better?"

"No," Peter said. "I want to be left alone with my misery."

"That would be a waste," she said, walking closer to him. "We can make it like it was before. Nothing needs to change."

"You've changed," he said, keeping his distance.

She kept up her pursuit. In a flash, her hand found his hardness. He didn't pull away despite his want to. The feel of her hand's welcoming caresses was too much.

"You've missed this," she said. "I can make it even better than before. The Count is a good teacher."

She noticed his ever-slight recoil. "Does that shock you? My life became his when he took me. It was far better than oblivion. I watched the others he took. Some of them..." She stroked him faster. "They clung to the old beliefs of priests and princes like we all did." She fell to her knees, and took him in her mouth for a moment, and then withdrew. "It's not like we hadn't submitted to something before. Most of them died. Some became lesser minions, and some he even let go." She began sucking again.

"I don't believe that," said Peter, catching his breath. "The countryside is abandoned."

Bethany pulled away in a wet slurp. "He told them to rejoin their fellows. There is plenty of land out there. Why should he not have this little bit? He has so much to offer everyone."

She returned to her manipulation of him. Peter felt the burgeoning tingle rising within him. Bethany would spend him quickly if she kept this up.


She grabbed his backside, and pulled him into her. Peter gritted his teeth, and released. He hated himself for every powerful blast, but he couldn't deny the pleasure. His eyes went to the ceiling for moment. I still love her. Oh God, help me.

He felt her mouth open and pull away. Bethy had a penchant for letting some of his seed coat her face. Peter looked down to see the results of this, but it was not Bethany looking up at him. Instead it was the imposing visage of the immortal count, gleefully licking up the hot excess of Peter's lust.

Peter tried to pull away, but the count's grip was unbreakable.

"Do not be repulsed," said Gant. "I am merely helping you achieve transcendence." He licked up the last drops from the tip of Peter's cock. "I am a master of pleasures you can only imagine."

Peter found himself drawn into the violet eyes of the vampire. He tried to focus on something else like the exquisite braids of hair, but couldn't. There was no pulling away. There was no longer even the escape of death. The vampire could do anything to him.

"Where is Bethany?"

"She sleeps," said Gant. "She needs more and more rest with our child on the way. I thought it would be a fine time for us to get acquainted."

"Please, just kill me. I don't want to end up like..."

The count shook his head.

His hand gripped Peter's erection. He was already hard again.

"Why should you deny what you obviously long for? How long have you been so cruel to your innermost desires? You can have them all and more. You can once again be a lover of Bethany, so long as you are a lover to me."

He tried to fight. The urge was there to fight with everything he had, but all he could focus on was the Count's violet eyes. Any thoughts of fight or flight melted away. He had no desire to be anywhere else.

Peter offered no resistance as the count carried him to the large bed. In the flickering of a candle flame the vampire's clothes evaporated into purple vapor, revealing a pale and chiseled frame like no artist of earth could ever create. He gently laid Peter down, and his deft hand went to work again.

"I'm in no hurry to make you immortal. As you'll learn time is of little importance. Just as well, I'm enjoying your coy attachment to your humanity. It excites me so."

The Count's eyes were locked on the entire time, and drove home every promise. While Peter heard the words, he was far away in rapture. He no longer cared about betraying his principles or commitments. He had nothing else to give, so all that remained was submission. Bethany had been right. His body tensed, and he released again into the count's tender hand. Peter could only stare into those approving eyes.

He didn't object when the count worked a pillow underneath his back. Not even when the count smeared Peter's still warm seed in and around his newly eager entrance. Gant let Peter admire his well-endowed immortal proportions. "I would share with you a similar coupling which I gave to Bethany." His voice was an alluring velvet flowing into Peter's ears. "To receive and know me like this is greater even than my immortal kiss. I do hope you enjoy."

Peter nodded dumbly lost in the fog of desire.

He breathed in sharply when it happened. It was a curious feeling of pressure and invasion, but the count was gentle. He took his time easing it in, and stroked Peter's sex intensely as he did.

Peter cried out in rapt syllables even he didn't comprehend. There was no understanding what was going on. All he could do was enjoy the magnificent journey the Count was taking him on. His body rocked with every thrust. His inner muscles squeezed the count for everything he was worth. He never wanted this to end.

"Yes," Peter finally cried. "More. Please more."

The count obliged, and increased his speed. Peter released again onto his own stomach. The count quickly scooped it up, and placed it onto Peter's lips. He gladly accepted the warm gift. After several minutes, Peter began to feel the vampire's cock swell within in. He knew what was coming. Peter grasped the dark lord's hips.

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