The Journal of Vincent Du Maurier (Book 1) Read Free Page B

sips.” He smiled, though
I did not. He knew a sip would not suffice. The only way for him to recover was
to drink three, four, maybe five men at a time. His diet was deficient, he was
malnourished and fading rapidly. “Cull their blood,” he said.
    “What?”
    “Draw from the man first.” He handed me a
syringe from one of his medical bags.
    “You want me to extract his blood with this?”
    “I am too weak,” he said. “Jean and Elizabeth
are too hungry, and the other two are … well, you know.”
    “As you wish.”
    When I visited our captives, they were both
conscious and aware of their new surroundings; they seemed to know we were not exactly
the cavalry come to save the day.
    “What happened to Salvatore?” The man played it
tough, though it was obvious he just wanted to cry.
    I ignored him and busied myself with
attaching the syringe to the vial. I was in fact just biding my time. I had to work
up the courage to draw the man’s blood. I do not like needles and the thought
of poking him with one made me queasy. I reminded myself it was for Byron and
that meant everything—there is nothing I will not do for him.
    “Sir?” The girl spoke softly. She seemed braver
than the man—if at all possible. “Thank you for saving us,” she said.
    I looked at her, studying her for the first
time in the light. She was ragged looking, dirty and disheveled. Her hair was
matted and tangled, her clothes torn and she had no shoes on her feet. Oh my,
she was a sight! I was repulsed to the point of not even desiring her blood.
That was a first.
    “Marco is hurt bad,” she said.
    I looked at the man, he was in rough shape
too. He had scars on his arms and legs from battling to survive, no doubt. His
shirt was sleeveless and his pants were torn and shredded. He wore boots and a silly
looking bandana around his neck. I decided I would not speak to them since it
would only make matters uncomfortable.
    I summoned Stephen to the room and had him steady
the man, as I drew the blood. The needle missed several times, though it was
not the man’s fault. Stephen held him down, planting his two hands on his
dislocated arm, but I was clumsy with the tool—fangs are much more
efficient. When I finally pierced the vein with the point of the needle, I
whispered for Stephen to look away. I wished I could have too. I felt desperate
to taste the blood, as it gushed up the syringe into the vial. It was thick and
dark, that serum of the gods. How I miss those days!
    I took four vials, two for Byron and one for
each of the others. Veronica and Stephen would have to wait for their next fix,
though I let Stephen lick off the blood that had dripped onto my finger in the
clean up.
    “Enough,” I said, as I pushed his head away; he
would have devoured my whole hand had I let him. I ordered him to keep guard at
the locked door with our captives safely tucked inside. “No one gets in or out,”
I said. He obeyed, standing at attention as though a centurion saluting his general.
The lick of blood had made him playful.
    I ignored the girl’s pleas for my return, as
I floated down the hallway to my beloved. When I entered Byron’s chamber, he lay
in the sarcophagus we had found him in the tomb below the cathedral. He opened
his eyes when he felt me at his side.
    “My sweet Vincent,” he said. “How was it?”
    “I will tell you another time. For now, I
need you to drink this.”
    He sat up and took the vial I offered him. With
his beautiful sharp teeth, he tore off its cap and downed the drink. When I
handed him a second vial, he finished that off too.
    “How do you feel?” I smiled, certain the
drink had revived him.
    “I fear it is too late for me, sweet love,”
he said, as he lay back down.
    “I will bring you more then,” I said. “The
entire man if I have to.”
    As I turned to go, he stopped me, though not
with words. His mind called me back; this was our union. As bonded vampires, we
no longer need speech to communicate. He can