The Deviant Of The Dark Ages Ch 01

This is the first chapter in a seven-chapter novella centred on the exploits of an ancient vampire living in medieval times. I've categorised it as Erotic Horror because it gets pretty dark, but there's a good deal of kinky sexual encounters throughout. In a nutshell, this is my attempt to write a somewhat more plot-focused piece of erotica. That plot probably won't become too evident until later chapters, so stay tuned and let me know how I did.

Oh, and if you have a redhead fetish, this is for you.

*****

Prologue: Plunged Into Pain

A young woman swayed gently in the dank air of the cold dungeon cell. She was suspended by her ankles above a large clear cistern, her bare feet spread and locked against the cold stone ceiling by broad chains and heavy shackles. Her long crimson hair dangled inches above the glistening pool, yet was already damp from the thick subterranean air that moistened all it touched. Though the only light in the dim cell came from two wall-mounted candles, the girl's eyes had long since adjusted to the gloom. She could see her reflection in the glassy surface below: a pale girl stared back, her emerald-green eyes sparkling with unshed tears, her countenance shivering with apprehension yet wearing the stoic expression of one who refused to give in to her fear. The dancing flames also cast a soft glow across the girl's naked form, illuminating a chiselled figure once revered as divine but now a cruel reminder of fading memories. Once upon a time she had been the tormentor, teasing others with her shapely curves and flirtatious looks, but now her once-coveted body was strung up like a hunk of meat.

The woman was not alone, of course. Someone had bound her there, and that someone was pacing around the giant glass box wearing a menacing grin. He was a handsome man who clearly possessed considerable wealth and power, but the girl knew little else about her sadistic captor.

Satisfied with his handiwork, he began turning a crank on the wall, revealing the purpose of his latest contraption. The girl glanced up as the chains securing her ankles to the stone ceiling began to clink through their fixtures, lowering her slowly into the looming cistern. She bent forwards, lifting her head up higher the further she descended. Soon her back was parallel with the dark surface and just inches above it. She shook her wrists in their restraints, only now realising why they'd been shackled so tightly together—were her arms not trapped behind her, joined at the elbows, she could have held her thighs for support. Instead, her slim waist burned with the effort of keeping her torso horizontal, and the only reprieve was to dunk her head into the drink.

This she did reluctantly, cursing her predicament as her head and chest went under. She gasped, releasing a few precious bubbles of air—the water was ice-cold. While it felt blissfully soothing against her burning abdominal muscles, another part of her body was now on fire: her lungs. After just a few seconds of respite she tore herself back out of the tank, gasping for air.

When her abdomen again seared with exertion she went back under, opening her eyes in the water to quell the claustrophobia-inducing darkness. She could faintly see a blurred man pacing around her icy prison as he watched the light wash away from her sparkling green eyes. She might be the one in the frigid water, but it was his heart that exuded true cold.

Her long ruby locks drifted freely through the water around her, bestowing a ghostly appearance to the woman so desperately fighting to stay alive.

Her captor watched as her struggles dragged on, occasionally reaching up to spin her luscious body or tease that taut navel. What was a life-and-death struggle for her was prime entertainment for him. Her body was his plaything; her pain his pleasure; her despair his delight. But while the girl in the tank regarded her tormentor as a mere sadist, there was more to him than that, for he was in fact an immortal creature of the night. A vampire with a particularly deviant personality. If there was a scale from altruism to sadism, this vampire would break it even at his most merciful.

It was her hair—of all things—that had drawn him to her, for those fierce crimson curls were a trait rarer than a diamond in a haystack. The ancient vampire had heard there was unrivalled power in those rare women of blood-red hair. And so it was that the unfortunate owners of that trait invariably vanished from their homes as the bloodsucker greedily acquired them for his own nefarious research and fed off those foolish enough to stand in his way. Sadly, he'd yet to discover any power beyond the power to amuse him—not even the girls themselves had knowledge of their alleged power. At least he'd found other uses for his prized mortal prey.

The vampire sighed and slipped his fingers between the struggling girl's parted legs. It was such a frustrating existence sometimes.

Chapter I: Beneficiaries and Beguilers

It was a cold night in the weathered town of Lumina. The locals liked to call it the city of light, yet nothing could be further from the truth: it was an undersized town with fewer residents than rodents and nights that were darker than anywhere else. The shadowy alleyways attracted equally dark individuals—it was not uncommon for unlucky townsfolk to go missing entirely. The authorities were either ignorant or incompetent—or both—for nothing was ever done about these disappearances. It was perhaps because of this that a sombre aura hung perpetually over the area, clinging to its inhabitants like an ill omen. Whispers, rumours, and old wives' tales slithered through the community, leaving fear and superstition in their wake.

One place where mirth always found a foothold, however, was the tavern. On a night such as this the hearth was ablaze and there were sloshing mugs aplenty. No one blinked an eyelid when the door creaked open to admit another patron, but heads soon turned as the newcomer strolled over to the counter. His clothes were a fine linen, rich with vibrant dyes and spotlessly clean—a stark contrast to the squalid garb of the locals. What such a decorous gentleman was doing in a lowly tavern was anyone's guess. And no answer was forthcoming: the man simply stood quietly by the counter, his eyes sliding around the room.

Next to the regally-robed patron a woman slouched over the bench, an untouched ale loose in her hands. She was not an eminently attractive woman—not in her current impoverished state—but there were distinctive features about her that bespoke a more exotic lineage. Her wispy silver eyes were slanted and almond-shaped, a subtle departure from the round brown eyes of the rabble around her. Her hair was a sanguine red, as vibrant in colour as the newcomer's clothing, though rendered a tangled mess from poverty and neglect. Her skin tone was remarkably well-bronzed for a citizen of Lumina—a detail that, to any sober local, would immediately betray her as a foreigner. Fortunately the tavern was one place where sober locals were nowhere to be found, for Lumina was not well-reputed for its benevolence towards foreigners. But none of this mattered to the princely newcomer, who scarcely knew Luminese from Latino, for he was not the sort of man who mingled with common folk. He simply saw a young woman of uncommon beauty sitting alone at the counter, and this was enough to catch his eye.

The man straightened up and nudged her shoulder. She turned and blushed, apparently flustered to be the one touched by such affluence. They engaged briefly in dialogue. Her name was Anna; his Richard. He spoke with eloquence and respect: two qualities that did wonders in quickly elevating him in her esteem. They shared little in common, so their exchange was limited, but after a few amiable laughs Anna secured herself a generous dinner invitation. The patrons near enough to follow this conversation turned and stared at the unlikely couple. To be courted and swept away by nobility was the dream every impoverished low-towner fantasised about—but few had ever seen it happen. Anna's face burned with the sudden attention, but Richard seemed unfazed. He offered to convey her to his estate; she hastily accepted, and they left the dank alehouse hand-in-hand, every eye following them out the door.

Outside the grubby tavern, the cobbled streets were silent and still. Richard's carriage awaited them, drawn by two gleaming black steeds shaking their manes against the chill. They boarded and kicked off, trotting out of the dreary streets and into the countryside. Anna could see nothing outside the red velvet curtains of the carriage, so when they finally came to a stop and disembarked, she gasped in surprise. Gone were the dejected structures of the poor township of Lumina; in their place stood an opulent mansion complete with two towering spires rising from the steep roof. There were four floors and more windows than she could count. Carved stone steps led to a pair of large double doors at the front entrance.

"It's..."

"--home," finished Richard, smiling slightly at her speechlessness. "Now, let us see if we can lend you a more flattering image. Ripper!"

Ripper was a manservant, it seemed, because at that moment one of the thick doors swung open and an enormous man hurried out. His hulking frame was covered in muscle, his neck as thick as a bull's, and he stood a full head taller than the slender village girl. Like Anna, it was clear from his complexion that he was no local—but while her skin was merely a swarthy bronze, his was darker than a starless night sky. Anna wondered briefly how he'd acquired such a name, but quickly decided she didn't want to know.

"Welcome home, master." The manservant's booming voice shook the awed girl back to her senses. He didn't even look at her as he awaited Richard's orders.

"Please ensure our guest is properly prepared for dinner."

"Yes, master."

Still without so much as glancing at her, Ripper simply grunted, "Follow," and turned to lead her into the mansion. The building's interior was every bit as luxurious as the grandeur outside had suggested. The foyer itself was larger than the entire tavern she'd been brought from, with a grand staircase dominating the centre of the room. As she skipped to keep up with Ripper's long strides, her footsteps echoed softly through the silent hall. The manservant led her to a pristine bathroom complete with a large copper bathtub and a silver mirror with the most lucid reflection Anna had ever seen. He closed the door and left her.

Anna stepped up to the polished mirror and marvelled at the clarity of the reflection. The image itself disgusted her, however—her hair and clothes were encrusted with muck and her skin fared little better. Only her pale silver eyes were clean—she had to wonder what Richard could have seen in her. She turned to the bathtub and spun the ivory handle on the faucet, again amazed by how clean and swiftly the water flowed. She'd only ever bathed in public bathhouses before, and the quality of water there left much to be desired, not to mention the low-lifes who would grope at any girl their muddy hands could reach. But now she had a whole room to herself, and she was going to make good use of it.

The woman who emerged from the deep basin some time later barely resembled the one who had entered. As the opaque bathwater was sucked away, Anna stood before the mirror and admired her new reflection. Gone were the coarse rags and flakes of dirt, revealing a figure of smooth bronze she hadn't seen in years. She'd rinsed all the grime from her thick red hair, though the strands themselves would not stay straight, leaving her with a head of long wavy locks that gleamed in the light. But the most dramatic change was her visage—no longer was she a dusty pauper begging for admittance to a drab tavern; she was a radiant beauty, a sylphy bachelorette who'd have men all over her... On second thought, perhaps it would be best to roll in some mud again before returning to the town. But she might as well enjoy cleanliness while she could.

To her delight, Anna found a clean set of clothes folded in the corner—the kind only the most wealthy women could afford. After some fiddling with laces and straps, she put them on—kirtle, corset, and all—and left her old clothes in a muddy pile as she made for the door. The clothes were somewhat uncomfortable, especially the corset, but for any discomfort she felt, she had to concede that the attire bestowed upon her an air of resplendence—not to mention how the red satin corset was such a flawless match for her crimson hair. She'd seen rich women wearing such clothes before and scoffed at them, but now that she wore them herself she realised they were actually rather empowering. She felt valued.

Ripper was waiting patiently outside the door to lead her to the dining hall. She was slightly unsettled by his constant presence, but it was probably just normal behaviour for a servant. When they arrived at dinner Richard was already there waiting. The table was set for two, but there was no food there yet.

"Soap and water have never had a more exalting influence," he commented, smiling appreciatively.

"You have fine taste in women's clothing," simpered Anna as she sat.

"Not my taste, but that of my late wife, I confess," chuckled Richard. "I daresay they are not quite contemporary by the standards of modern fashion, but you bear the garments magnificently. Now, food!" He gestured to his manservant, who hurried off into the kitchen.

The food that arrived was as succulent as she could have imagined. There were dishes she'd never even seen before, including bulbous vegetables, sweet bread, delicate meats, and more spices than she could possibly make use of. Her conduct was less than dignified in her enthusiasm for a decent meal, and Richard watched with amusement, scarcely touching his own plate. When she finished she felt like she could have had more, but no second helpings were offered.

"If that was a race, I believe you took first place," observed her host with a smile. "Ripper, please see the lady to my chambers. I will join her shortly."

The manservant inclined his head and led Anna back towards the main hall. Where she expected to ascend the grand staircase to one of the upper floors, he instead led her through a side passage and down some stone steps to a cold subterranean level. Goosebumps sprung up all over her freshly-cleansed skin. She felt uneasy here, and not just because of the drop in temperature. But she trusted the servant to know where he was going.

Soon enough they arrived at a regally-furnished bedchamber. A large pristine four-poster stood against the windowless wall, rich velvet curtains pulled back at the corners. The room was equipped as one might expect of nobility: a writing desk and padded chairs here; a great bookshelf there; a needlessly-gilded dresser in another corner. Most curious was the thick mahogany wardrobe door on the left side of the room. Anna imagined a hoard of radiant raiments lay behind it, but it seemed odd to have so sturdy a deterrent to so trivial a closet. And that wasn't the only thing amiss—if this was Richard's room, why was the bed so neat? There was practically a layer of dust resting on the covers.

As Anna began to realise that her lavish host might not be all he seemed, the back of her head erupted into agony and stars appeared in her vision. She staggered forward and spun around, squinting. Ripper was holding a heavy iron cosh aloft, ready to strike again. Anna's thoughts were a mess, supplanted by pain and confusion. Was the servant betraying the master? Or was this Richard's plan all along? Whatever the case, she had to act quickly. All was not lost—yet. She leapt backwards as the cosh whistled through the air, a word of power springing to her lips.

"Disaura!" she cried, flinging a blast of compressed air from her outstretched fingers. Her assailant went flying backwards, his head colliding with the stone wall with a loud crack.

Before she could revel in her victory, the monstrous manservant groaned and pushed himself back up to his feet, apparently unscathed. But that was impossible—she'd heard his skull crack!

In one swift movement Ripper took aim and hurled the cosh powerfully through the air, straight at her head. Any ideas of a counter-attack fled from Anna's mind as raw survival instinct took over. She uttered a spell intended to stop the projectile in its path, but only succeeded in slowing it to a non-fatal speed. The resulting impact was still well beyond what the skull of a nimble sorceress could shake off, however, so she was unconscious before she hit the ground.

***

Sara awoke with a start.

It was the dead of the night, but she could swear she heard someone whispering outside the door. She glanced down at her younger sister. Fira was still fast asleep in the bed beside her, wrapped in significantly more than her half of the woollen blanket they shared. Sara rolled her eyes. Fira was the rascal of the family, always pushing limits and getting into just as much trouble as she could flirt her way out of. While ruby red hair was a trait they both shared, it was Fira whose looks turned heads wherever she went. And when two young women lived alone together in a town like Lumina, drawing such attention was a risk they couldn't afford to take. Though they were both old enough to be married with families of their own, the two sisters chose to stick together instead. After all, blood was blood—there was nothing Sara wouldn't do to protect her little sister.

Careful not to wake the sleeping princess, Sara got to her feet and crept over to the front door of their shack. The wind was howling outside, and she shivered as the cold air slipped through cracks in the walls and brushed against her bare skin. But it was not the wind she'd heard. She put her ear to the door and strained her ears for any unusual sound. Then she heard it—a soft whimper, right outside the door. Conscious of her nudity, she quickly threw on some rags and opened the door slightly to peek outside.

A shivering traveller was hunched against the wall, wincing. He looked up at her as the door opened, and Sara saw that his eyes were bloodshot from exhaustion.

"Please... My horse bucked and ran... Ankle cracked... I have limped for hours through the storm..." he croaked.

Sara was immediately sympathetic. Their home was a humble one, but it was a great deal more hospitable than the weather outside. She opened the door wider and gestured inside.

"It isn't much, but you can wait out the night with us if you'd like."

The man hesitated, swaying on the spot as he looked at the mess of scattered belongings inside.

"This is where you live?" he asked dumbly.

"Look, I said it wasn't much, but you're welcome to stay a few hours," replied Sara impatiently. She supposed the unfortunate man must be accustomed to greater luxury—if he owned a horse, he could well own an estate.

"Sorry, I just... I do not mean to impose, if it is too much trouble..."

"Oh, just come in already," snapped Sara, a little aggressively. She wasn't in the mood to take disdain from a stranger on her doorstep.

The man needed no further encouragement. He limped over the threshold and made for a corner, collapsing into it with a deep sigh. Fira was awake now, rubbing her bleary eyes and staring at the stranger, confused. Sara answered her probing gaze.

"Sis, this is..."

"William," offered the man, a hint of amusement flashing in his eyes that this was not already known.

"--William, who'll be staying for a few hours until the sun rises."

The traveller's eyes flicked nervously to the window at this, but neither of the girls noticed. Fira raised her eyebrows at her sister, then rolled over and went back to sleep. Sara too was beset with tiredness, so she lay down facing their guest and waited for sleep to claim her. She wasn't concerned about leaving the man unsupervised: he looked honest enough and they had nothing worth stealing anyway.