My Vampire and I Vol 3: Blood Resurrection (3 page)

Our bodies, now fused together, began to move in a slow and sensuous rhythm. The pulsing of his cock deep inside me, the long smooth strokes that glided over that indefinable part of me, infusing me with exquisite pleasure, brought me to the point of no return. I cried out as I came in great, jolting spasms. He lowered his head to catch my seed in his mouth, his lips holding my cock fast until I was completely drained. I heard him groan softly, his body stiffened in my arms, and I felt the heat of his semen flood through me.

For a long time after, we lay quietly, still locked in our embrace, my face pressed to his chest, his arms a comforting shelter from the day to come. Outside, the thunder rumbled ominously through the night sky. The occasional bolt of lightning lit the room, and the pelting rain drummed a steady tattoo on the roof over our heads.

As I moved closer into his arms, my mind was filled with the resolution that no matter what occurred on the morrow, I would leave this place at his side.

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* * * *

The day dawned dank and drear, the sky leaden with black clouds from which fell a steady, soaking drizzle. To my surprise, Marcus surveyed the gloomy weather with a smile.

“A perfect day for travelling, Bernard,” he said, flinging his cloak about him. “I hope you won’t mind the discomfort of the rain.” I brightened considerably at his words. He still intended to take me with him.
“I said I would, did I not?” He gave me a reproving look then grinned at me. “Your thoughts are mirrored in your expression. Now…”

He strode to the door and flung it open. There was a flurry of robes and a scurrying of feet as the monks outside fled from him. I could hardly contain my laughter at the sight.

 

“Bring fresh clothes for Bernard,” Marcus yelled at them. “And a travelling cloak—and be quick about it!”

 

A few minutes later, one of the brothers, Gaius, knocked and took a hesitant step into the room. His hands trembled as he held out a bundle of clothing to me, with many a nervous glance at Marcus.

“How is your Prior?” Marcus asked him, with some civility.
“He stares at the walls and mumbles of devils,” Gaius replied. He turned his eyes to me. “You will go with this monst—uh, this man?”

“Gladly,” I said, unable to stop the smirk that played on my lips. “He is no monster,” I added. “I am leaving the monsters behind me—in this hellish place.” His eyes flashed with anger. “You will burn in hell for that blasphemy,” he hissed.

 

“Enough!” Marcus grabbed his arm and dragged him to the door. Gaius whimpered with fear as Marcus drew him close and stared him down. “The real blasphemy is how you have allowed this boy to be abused,” Marcus said, his voice low and deadly.

 

“I did not,” Gaius squeaked. “It was some of the others—”

“But you allowed it. You turned a blind eye to the evil perpetrated in this so-called holy place. All of you who allowed it are culpable and should be punished. Be glad that Bernard and I are leaving you without exacting a terrible revenge for the pain and humiliation you have heaped on him.” He pushed Gaius away with an expression of disgust. “Go. Tell your Blood Resurrection

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brothers of their good fortune. We will leave in a few minutes. Do not try to impede us, or I may put aside my forgiving nature.” He slammed the door behind Gaius and locked it.
“Now, young Bernard…time for you to dress so we can be on our way.” I ran to him and flung myself into his arms. “How can I ever thank you for all you have done for me?”

“You have already thanked me, Bernard,” he said huskily, kissing my cheek. He patted my bottom. “Now, get dressed, and let us be gone from this foul place.”

 

* * * *

The monks, skulking in the corridors and watching our departure, muttered among themselves as we passed them on our way to the courtyard. One more foolhardy than the rest, leaped out at us, waving one of the large crosses from the chapel altar. “Devil,” he cried, glaring at Marcus. “The Lord will send you to hell where you belong!” Marcus stopped and stared at the monk, then he reached out and, with amazing ease, wrested the cross from the monk’s shaking hands. “The Lord does not abide in this place,” he said quietly, placing the cross on the ground. “And just so that you understand some things about us, we are not cursed by your god or any god for that matter. Crosses, holy water and religious icons cannot harm us, nor it seems, can they bring goodness where none exists.” Ignoring the monk’s stupefied expression, Marcus put his hand on my shoulder and led me outside. The cool rain came as a relief after the oppressive, smoke-laden atmosphere inside the monastery. I held my face up to its clean freshness as we walked quickly to the stable where Orion, his steed, waited. Marcus saddled him with skill and speed. He hoisted me up into the saddle as if I weighed nothing at all then mounted behind me. A quick flick of the reins and we rode out into the courtyard where the monks had gathered in a scowling, clucking herd.

“Monster!” came the cry. “Devil’s spawn…”

 

Marcus sighed and pulled me back into the haven of his arms. “How can they be expected to teach God’s words, when they can’t seem to remember what they’ve just been told only minutes since!”

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I joined in his laughter as we cantered away from the Monastere de Dieu, across the wide meadows made even greener by the steady rain—and away from the blight of the first eighteen years of what was to become a very long life.

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Chapter Two
Rome, Italy, Present Day
Constantine

I was born—or should I rather say, created, in Rome, Italy, two hundred years ago. I knew no mother or father, no siblings, no doting grandparents to fuss and fawn over me as I grew from infant to youth to adulthood. If you ever saw me, you would guess that I am somewhere in my late twenties, a tall, rangy young man possessed of a ready smile, an athletic build, and the dark hair and eyes of the typical Italian.

Only, I am not a typical Italian. Far from it, I’m afraid. You see, I am not entirely human. Does that confession give you a poorly suppressed shudder of horror? It should.

 

Despite my outwardly calm appearance, within me lives a monster. When unleashed, it can cause pain and sometimes death to those who challenge me.

On the day that I was born—yes, I was brought into the world in the usual manner, emerging from between a woman’s legs, and immediately taken from her outstretched arms, never to be seen by her again. The midwife who drew me into this world handed me over to the man who had awaited my arrival for nine long months. His name was Bartholomew—a priest who dabbled in the black arts and who needed a newborn babe to fulfil what he believed was his purpose in life.

He took me to his home, a secret place in the vaults of an old cathedral on the outskirts of the city. What he had to do needed to be done quickly for it to succeed. He had laid out his preparations for the deed in advance. Of course, being but a babe, I had no knowledge of what was to occur. This he related to me many years later, when the time had come for me to follow my destiny.

His power came from wizardry, magic conjured from spells he had learned from masters of the dark arts—a cult of evil men once vanquished by their enemies, the Vampires, but who had risen again, ready to seek revenge on their conquerors. Bartholomew had been given the task of creating a warrior strong enough to aid them in their quest. He had lulled the mother I never knew into a deep sleep and had impregnated her with demon sperm Blood Resurrection

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while she lay unaware of what he had planned. And so I was born, half boy, half demon—
part waif, part monster, though the monstrous side of me I hide well, subduing its darkness until I find it necessary to let it surface.

You might think mine has been a lonely existence, and you would be right. No lover lightened my day or filled my nights with companionship. There have been dalliances—one or two memorable for their sweet intensity—but for the most part, out of necessity, my life has been a solitary one. After all, how could I explain what I am and my mission in life to an unsuspecting companion? How could I confess, without sounding like a madman, that a Pope who had ruled hundreds of years ago had entrusted to me the power to prepare the world for his return as the Antichrist? That the man who had me created now held my destiny, and that of all mankind, in the palm of his hand?

Sometimes, even I cannot quite believe it possible. Sometimes, the enormity of what was bequeathed to me brings me despair and the urge to disassociate myself with the task.

 

Yet, I cannot. It was solely for this purpose that I was created. Should I refuse to obey, my existence would be terminated immediately.

My mind had been wracked with doubt for some time due to the presence of a young man for whom I’d felt an immediate attraction. Gustav. I knew his name by reading his mind. Human minds cannot be closed to me, and so it was easy for me to find out all about the young scholar. He was twenty-three years of age, from Berlin, and on a scholarship from a university, majoring in Ancient History. He was also lonely like me, and I was certainly not immune to the blue-eyed stares of longing he cast my way from under the blond locks that covered his brow.

Throwing all caution to the winds of chance, I approached him as he sat in the library of the Galleria Borghese, poring over some ancient manuscripts and making copious notes in a ledger by his right hand. I had followed him there that morning and had allowed him a little time alone while I prowled amongst the various statues and works of art, my favourite, as always, Bernini’s Apollo and Daphne. Silly woman, I thought for the hundredth time as I gazed at the white marble sculpture. Why would you want to turn yourself into a tree rather than be bedded by Apollo? From any angle, the young god was, in today’s jargon, a hottie!

And from the beauty of the past, I turned to gaze upon the beauty of today…the object of my lust.
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“Ciao.” I looked down at him, a small, shy smile curling my lips.
“Oh…” He looked up at me, his blue eyes widening with recognition, then to my delight, his smooth cheeks suffused with a pink glow. He was adorable.
“H…hello…” His voice trembled, but his hand was steady as it brushed back the errant locks from his forehead.
“May I sit with you?”
“
Bitte
…please…of course.” He held out his hand. “Gustav Werner.”

“Constantine di Filipo,” I said, gripping his hand in mine and holding it for just a shade longer than necessary. I pulled my chair closer to him as I sat down. “I’ve seen you in the Vatican library.”

“
S¯.
” He smiled as his eyes met mine. “I have noticed you there.”
“And I would have to be blind not to have noticed you,” I murmured.

His face took on an even rosier hue, but his eyes did not waver from mine. He was not the innocent he appeared to be, and as I probed his mind, I saw the memory of a lost love—a heartbreaking parting and a desperate need to reassert his self-esteem.

“May I invite you for a coffee?” I asked, touching the back of his hand with my fingertips.
“Yes, you may,” he replied with a soft chuckle. He spoke Italian very well. “I’ve had quite enough studying for one day.”
We strolled down the Piazza di Siena until we found a small but busy outdoor café.

Taking a corner table for two, we sat and continued the conversation we had enjoyed since we’d left the Villa Borghese. Gustav, I found, was not the shy youth I had imagined him to be. His earlier heartbreak had made him wary, but not uncommunicative, and he had an infectious sense of humour I found totally refreshing. For the hours we were together that day, I began to feel more human than at any other time in my life.

* * * *
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Gustav accepted my invitation to dinner at my apartment that evening, and as I awaited his arrival, I could not help wishing that what I appeared to be was, in fact, the truth

 

– and the monstrous part of me I hid from the world, did not exist.

 

His smile, when I opened the door to him, made the breath catch in my chest. He was so young, and if not entirely innocent in the ways of men, he could not have imagined what I am even in his wildest dreams. If I’d had any sense at all, I would have told him to turn around and never come back. “Constantine…” He moved into my arms so smoothly and his lips were so warm on my cheek, that I, for the moment, forgot my demonic soul and gave in to the desire with which his touch filled me. I held him, inhaling his young, clean scent, completely enthralled by his presence.

Our lips met in a long, sweet kiss. His eyes twinkled as his gaze met mine. “I wanted to do that all afternoon.”
“I didn’t take you for the forward type,” I teased him.
“You don’t know me yet,” he murmured, kissing me again.

I slipped my hand inside the pale blue shirt he wore and lightly stroked his chest. His skin was smooth as a child’s but with a man’s strength beneath it. I felt his erection pressing against mine, and with a quiet moan of pleasure, I gave myself up to the carnal desire he instilled in me. His lips were soft and moist, his breath warm and sweet on my tongue. I held him in a fierce embrace, while our kiss went on and on, until he gasped into my mouth and pulled back a little. His eyes, when they met mine, held trust and a plea I could not refuse.

Taking his hand, I led him into my bedroom.

I undressed him slowly, savouring each part of his body that I laid bare. My lips lightly brushed his neck, his shoulders, his chest. I lingered over each small, round nipple, feeling them harden against my tongue. He wrapped his arms about my neck and brought his luscious lips to mine with a kiss that swept away all doubt as to the wisdom of what I was allowing to happen. Holding him in my arms, feeling his naked warmth pressed to my body, I believed I could deal with anything, or anyone, that might stand in the way of our happiness.

I eased him onto the bed then sank to my knees before him, and for a few moments, I was content to gaze up at him while my hands stroked his smooth thighs. His smile was Blood Resurrection