The Vampire Lord

"What do you need, brother?" Theros asked with a tired smile.

"Have you slept?" Kursor asked.

Kursor entered further into the book infested room and Klaire followed quietly behind him, trying not to topple any book stacks. But her fingers had a tendency to end up between pages where they shouldn't be.

"No not yet, I just wanted to finish something first," Theros said, placing his glasses back on his face, "and Mux stopped by too. I don't think she sleeps."

"Well I'll try not to keep you long but, I was wondering if you knew any lore about thralls," Kursor said, shifting a stack of books from a chair and sitting down across from Theros.

"Thrall lore," Theros said, looking up and thinking, "thrall lore... thrall... lore..." He yawned again and slumped in his chair. Did he fall asleep?

He stood up all of a sudden as a memory gushed up between his ears. Theros rushed over to a skinny brass bookshelf with a streaked glass door. The thin glass vault squeaked open on green oxidized hinges. Theros ran his fingers along and in between the lonely spines, almost searching by touch. Kursor saw him tug out a slim volume and shut the squeaky door. Theros walked to Kursor and handed his find over with a smile of triumph.

"What's this?" Kursor said, raising his eyebrows. Theros had given him a black and white composition notebook with mauve lettering on the front. There was a line of Rosethorn and then under it in girly round print: "The Lady Thrall" in English. Kursor flipped rapidly through the handwritten journal.

Klaire knocked over a tower of books from a table next to them with a loud musty clatter and Kursor glared at her. She blushed and nervously messed about trying to set the books back in order. Kursor turned slowly back to Theros.

"Is this someone's journal or something?" Kursor asked.

"It's the only book I've ever seen about thralls," Theros said, pushing up his glasses, "I haven't read it myself, but it stood out in my memory. I have no idea how it ended up here."

"Who's it written by?" Kursor said, turning the book around in his hands.

Theros shrugged, "No idea, a woman by the looks of it, but can't be sure of that."

"And it's in English," Kursor said amazed.

"The only one of its kind here," Theros said. He crashed back into his throne with a yawn.

"Maybe Mux wrote it?" Kursor said.

"I doubt it," Theros said, "I've seen her handwriting, it's nothing like that. And there's no way she would use a pink pen of all things."

Kursor stood, "well thanks, I'll give it a read."

"Speaking of Mux, she's looking for you again by the way," Theros said as Kursor was leaving.

"What? Again?" Kursor said and shut the door. He never understood why she didn't just come find him in his room. Was it some power move, making him seek her out? No, she didn't need power moves. Kursor gripped the notebook in his hand and fingered its virgin edges as he made his way towards his mother's wing of the palace.

They walked into her small parlor first, where she usually lounged, but she wasn't there. So the pair ventured deeper into Mux's section of the mansion, bats fluttered up above and it became darker than the rest of the estate. Were all older vampires like this? Kursor wondered as he looked around. His mother's ancient wing grew more haunting the further into it you ventured. The statues that lined the curtained walls gradually transformed into sexually suggestive demons with wild tongues, tails, and pierced polished phalluses or wild yonis. It became less recognizably a human dwelling and more a vampiric cave of dark alien fractals that ravaged empty space.

Kursor reflected on what seventy years of steadily drifting away from your humanity must be like. Though he was already out of touch with humanity even before she turned him, seven years in this vampiric womb dissolved all those memories he had of a before. He couldn't remember his mother or father, or anyone really. They had become vague things, like water in smoke.

Just before they arrived at Mux's favorite bedroom, Kursor noticed a scarlet door with a rounded top set in a white stone frame he had never seen before. He stopped and Klaire almost ran into his back.

The door was barely taller than himself. It had an image of a jeweled wasp painted on a white disc embedded into the shiny crimson paint. The mysterious doorway was constructed from smooth slats of wood and lathered in thick coats of glossy paint. The cherry door lived in a chalky door frame. It smelled like pancakes. There was no handle, no way of opening the portal from this side.

Kursor gave the book to Klaire and tried his strength against the red doorway to see if it would open, but it didn't budge. Kursor tried with all his might, he even felt his nails begin to grow into claws as he gripped the door frame with a snarl. Only little flakes of chalk flitted down from his struggle and coated the shoulders of his robe like powered sugar.

He stepped away and scratched the stubble on his chin. The strange door was unlike any in the palace, and he had never seen it! He had walked the halls of the palace for years, he knew every corner of it, but this door was new.

Maybe he was mistaken, maybe he just forgot about it, like he had forgotten which door led to the temple. He gave it one last look and moved on. They continued down the hall until they found Mux's master bedroom. A small smutty bat flew off the handle and let out a young chirp. A spot of color popped into Kursor's mind briefly and fizzled.

Mux's room was unlit, but Kursor could see well in the pitchy conditions. He took in all the crushed silver velvet that somehow still reflected some light back into his hyper-sensitive eyes. The giant canopy bed draped in grim, sticky lace and endless silk protuberances, brought back memories of Mux's tastes.

On the wall, there was a large, vivid, oil painting of a woman with a hissing black cat's head and a golden earring. The creamy woman faced the viewer and passionately pleasured herself in rapid, blurry brush strokes on a red triangular cushion. It was his mother's favorite piece of art. Many times Kursor found her staring up at it with a small glass of blood balancing on the dainty edges of her rusty finger tips. There was a story behind the painting, but he knew by the glint in her eye whenever she looked at it, she would never tell it.

Kursor spotted the strange throne she liked him to sit in. She would have him take a seat and then she would lean on the arms of it, bent over, while her thrall, who looked like an older Kursor, spanked her hard. Mux would make Kursor keep quiet and look her in the eyes while she absorbed the loud smacks with a pained face. Then she would crawl up on him wincing and slowly ride him in the throne until she climaxed. Mux always slapped him on the cheek with her small, cold finger tips, angry with lust, right before her orgasm, yelling through bared fangs with a girlish voice, "look what you've made me, look at your broken daughter."

He was pretty sure Mux was harboring some serious daddy issues. Knowing her, she probably even cultivated them. Kursor shut the door and they left. If she wasn't in her favorite parlor or bedroom, there were only two other places she could be. They made their way towards Atheros' wing.

All three of her sons knew their mother was a pervert. It was why they were here in the first place. Mux had a particular taste in men and she surrounded herself with their beauty. None of them cared of course, it was flattering in a strange way. Kursor always wondered what had created such a well defined image in her heart, was it some innate desire or an acquired taste? Kursor thought maybe he would never know. Despite all the debauched things Mux made him do with or to her, he still respected her. Kursor had no idea if it was because she had turned him, or because he was genuinely impressed by her ability to be who she was without guilt or shame. And she was always right.

Kursor and Klaire came upon Atheros' door and Kursor knocked once. After seven seconds the door opened and Mux was standing short before him wrapped in a scarlet robe she let hang loose on her small frame. Kursor could see behind her, the pale lithe figures of Atheros and his thrall flexing under rippling red silk, their eyes reflecting in the dark like wild animals.

"Ahh, my prince," Mux said with a smile, "I was looking for you."

"Doesn't seem like you were looking very hard," Kursor said, staring down into her sharp, dark eyes.

"Come in," Mux said, opening the door wider and shifting some black strands of hair out of her face. Her robe gave up and a long glimpse of her nudity stroked Kursor's eyes.

"I don't want to disturb Atheros," Kursor said, standing still.

"Come in brother, don't mind us," Atheros said while his thrall kissed him somewhere hidden, loudly.

Kursor and Klaire walked past Mux into the room. Atheros and his thrall were beautiful smooth versions of Kursor, five and six years younger. But as Kursor watched their handsome forms grapple with each other under the shiny sea of red, he couldn't bring himself to enjoy the scene as much as Mux, he just wasn't into it and probably never would be, he was a slave to the female form. He turned away from the straining, pretty men and wet grunts.

"What did you want?" Kursor said, "I have things to do today, I mean... tonight."

"Wheeler said you paid her a visit last night," Mux said, never taking her eyes off the two laughing boys wrestling in bed. Mux's lust was visible by the finger she traced down her subtle breasts. Her purple Asian nipples vibrated with stiff excitement under the sheer robe that hung loosely off her shoulders. Kursor was jealous, she knew how to enjoy herself, as herself.

"She's such a rat," Kursor said.

Mux laughed, her golden, eye-shaped earrings glinting, "yes, she's my favorite rat. But, she did say you two made contact." She turned and looked at him intently.

"Contact? It was more like bat-rape, what she did to me," Kursor said. That new orifice in his mind was still there, he tried flexing it. It pulsed.

Mux smiled brightly at him, "my little prince, you're waking up."

The paradox of Mux never really normalizes. Her wizened manner and youthful awkward body always filled Kursor with absurdity. It was like an underclassman was lecturing him. She talked confidently with the experience of an old witch, but in cute mocking tones. It absolutely bewildered him.

Kursor sank back in his chair next to Mux, his pages ruffled. He felt his emotions building up like they always did around this time, it came in waves, each one longer and more intense than the last until he finally fed. The rush came over him and he held on tight, trying to ride it out. He thought he had mastered the early waves, but it was coming on way stronger than usual. His nails gripped into the wood detailing of his chair's arms as he tried to contain himself. That fucking bat messed him up, now he couldn't even control his blood-lust correctly.

Klaire was standing next to his chair and Kursor heard the silks of her dress as she shifted uncomfortably from leg to leg. He looked over at her and saw a mild grimace of pain on her lips. Then he felt what was going on.

The snake, he had been strangling her thigh as he tried to quell the wave of fury. He glared into her sapphire eyes and her look made him squeeze her leg with Sum even tighter. Her eyebrows knitted and he saw that mix of pain and pleasure she liked, he gripped an ounce tighter, the snake was like a hissing vice around her tender thigh. Her hands started to tremble. Her eyes, he saw it in her eyes, she wanted more of his pain, she licked her lips. Kursor's mouth watered. He felt himself burning with the urge to give it to her, to slowly pull a shrill scream from her fragile chest. To fill his ears with the sweetness of her unbreakable submission. He had his thoughts wrapped around hers hard and he was subduing her will so he could fill her up with his own ideas.

The wave subsided and Kursor felt himself return, his look relaxed, he had won for now.

He released the serpent's grip and shook off the flames like a bad dream. The blood-lust receded. Kursor was nervous, having the snake on her body could be dangerous. But the look in Klaire's eyes said she was fine, if not a little disappointed in the sudden collapse of passion.

"Did you hear me?" Mux said.

"What's that?" Kursor asked, turning away from Klaire.

Mux wore a knowing smile on her face, "Am I interrupting something?"

Kursor shook his head, slightly dazed.

"I said, make sure you keep up your training with Wheeler," Mux said, "visit her every night until we leave for Carkova."

"Fine, but you still haven't told me what exactly she's doing to me," Kursor said.

"She's not 'doing' anything to you," Mux said, with a sly look, "she's just loosening you up a little, that's all, opening you up to suggestion, so some new ideas can sink into you a lot easier."

"Sure," Kursor said, "but her methods are weird, I am not sure I like them, I feel.. out of control." He looked back up at Klaire.

"Good," Mux said, "that means it's working, now give me a kiss and go."

Kursor stood up and kissed Mux goodbye, she smiled. He hated tasting her thrall on her lips, it was gross to him. But he wasn't the only one, even Mux complained if she could taste Klaire on Kursor's lips.

Kursor took one last look on the way out and saw Mux make her thrall kneel in front of her chair and slip his head under her robe and a tongue between her legs while she watched her son and his thrall in the stage of their bed. Kursor wondered how Theros and himself had become entwined with such a perverted pair as Mux and Atheros. But then Kursor remembered what he saw through the gap in the door that one time, Theros was just as bad.

Klaire and Kursor parted ways and he headed towards the temple. Twice a day the thralls separated from their masters to eat breakfast in the morning and dinner at night before the nightcap ritual. Or was it breakfast at sunset and dinner just before dawn? Kursor shook his head, his mind still thought backwards like a human who was awake during the day instead of the nocturnal vampire he had become.

~5~

Klaire was happy, she was drinking black tea with lemon. She blew over the edge of her mug with full lips and took a sip. The delicate, fairy-themed spoon clattered as it slid along the rim of her mind and a tumble of gentle steam caressed her face into deep relaxation. Klaire swallowed a gulp of tea and her mouth watered with a craving for honey to cut the bitterness of it, but Kursor didn't like her to taste too sweet.

Klaire smiled. She had learned that tediously through trial and error by fine-tuning her diet exactly, and now she experimented slowly with one food at a time. Every little thing that went in her, he tasted. It amazed her when he picked out something subtle, like the lemon in her tea. It made her feel like a chef, or maybe more of a scientist. All the different food seemed to have an effect on him too, it could alter his senses, mood, sleep, and even thoughts. Sometimes, when she noticed his mood was low, she would sneak a pepper or two in her diet and watch his passions inflame.

Klaire placed her left hand on her lap and fondled Kursor's snake through her skirt. She had always wondered when his blood-lust started in the feeding cycle and now she knew it was early. Though she had rarely seen him like that, and so soon too. Her leg was still sore and some of the purple-yellow bruising remained. Lust tickled her hungrily and she crossed her squirming legs, stuck her fingers deep between the snakes coils, and pressed into her tender soreness trying to quash the itch she couldn't scratch.

The power of his sting made her hot. She wanted more of him in her, to suck it up like how he does to her, greedily. Her body was custom made to take it, she could sense it in her bones. Every fiber of her being called out for him to bring her to the brink. To fill her empty tea mug only with himself.

But, he was too controlled, too constrained, and rarely gave her what she wanted. Maybe she should have added a handful of peppers into her rice. Klaire shook her head, no, she was compelled to abide by what he wanted, not what she wanted. Otherwise, she'd eat nothing but chocolate and spicy oysters. Then she'd get what she wanted. Another smile bloomed under the bright sun of her fantasy.

The low hanging lamps of the kitchen were reflecting in the polished surface of the long table where she just finished her meal. She would usually rush back to Kursor, but she knew he would be at the temple for a while and with Belle, she could keep track and not have to worry.

She stared dreamily into the lights reflecting strange moons in her tea and she stirred up memories with her silver spoon. Her past swirled vividly in the amber surface.

Klaire had always felt an itch in her neck and a tug in her heart. A literal pull that she could always sense like a kite that was blowing in the wind, thousands of miles away from her, tied around her chest.

She ran away from home twice chasing it, she was a young, dumb girl, caught both times.

Their daughter had been found with her dirty pink book bag, sleeping on a bench waiting for a train, a city over. Her parents were decent people and watched over her religiously after the second time. They were friends with the security guard who reported her and sent him a card every year on the anniversary of her being found until she entered her last year of high school.

Klaire got smart after the second attempt and decided to bide her time, she did everything perfectly, she became the model teen girl all through high school. She managed circles of friends, headed clubs, and even played volleyball. All while acing every subject, though she struggled with pre-calculus in the beginning, she used a friend to help her with that. Klaire didn't care about any of it. She had a plan and these were just steps on the way to accomplishing it.

Her parents thought her desire to leave was a faze in the past and slowly loosened their grip on her the more she matured into a young, seemingly healthy, woman.

It was around this time all she could think about was vampire books, she had no idea why, but now the itch she had in her neck was also deep down inside her fresh womanhood. She spent all of her limited free time in her closet, spread across her old stuffed animals, reading and masturbating. The smell of old rubber and leather shoes suffused all her onanistic memories. The strange chain around her heart seemed to ripple and burn every time she orgasmed and it urged her on through the tough parts of her life. She would catch visions in her head at the height of each of her finger-filled climaxes. Burning, green eyes like two flaming, emerald stars hovered in the darkness of her mind and she writhed under them in a field of black roses, lust bursting through her finger tips as she turned the page.

When it was time for her to go to college, she got into a top school on the opposite coast. All of her friends went to places nearby, but Klaire didn't care, her friends were shields. All she cared about was finding the other end of the strange chain that held taught and tugged at her heart like a nine ounce fish on a hook. And that's the city she saw in her visions, so that's where she was going.

Her parents were nervous to let her go, those two times she ran away in the back pockets of their nightmares somewhere. Klaire rolled her eyes.

"Clarissa, Claire Bear, why would you want to study in some dreary city at the edge of the world?" Her parents protested trying to point her to closer colleges.

When the wheels of her plane hit the foggy tarmac and screeched to a halt in a cloud of mist, she felt whatever pulled her was much closer now. It was right around the corner, her heart trembled and her hands shook as the orange glow of the seatbelt sign dinged off. She pulled down her dirty, pink back pack with "Clarissa C." embroidered on its heart and took a deep breath, she was almost there.