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.
XXX
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."
"What?"
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.
