FRANZ
Back at the brook, I washed Helffing's scent off myself. Slowly. Enjoying the sensation of the water. Drifting in it. Splashing. Letting it caress me. It was in water like this where I'd met the vampire who turned me.
Gregory.
Who had been turned by a vampire monk named Prior Pious. Along with five other young men. The Prior's own little coven, living in a monastery that was close to my village.
Gregory was the finest of the Prior's companions. He had been an ecclesiastical scholar under King Æthelstan, which his long face, fine nose, dancing eyes, and lips always curled in amusement seemed to verify. Though his blond locks and sleekly muscled body seemed to claim the opposite. He had awakened feelings in me that I had never known, and it was he who saved me from true death by turning me, in direct violation of Prior Pious' orders. It's unfortunate he was not a Blood Angel, for he would have been my perfect mate.
He introduced the others to me. Loronce, who was almost Gregory's twin, though he was two-hundred hundred years younger. His light hair and chiseled form made him perfection. Stephane, the youngest to have been turned, with a fine body and dancing eyes. Doric, with hair dark and brown, and whose body was round but so taut and full, so well-proportioned and laid over with smooth featherings of hair, he was remarkably erotic. Reyndahl, the stockiest of us all, with light blond hair and careful eyes. And finally Tellis, who was lean like a knight should be, with a smile that promised the world. To think Prior Pious would have kept them locked away in his monastery had I not removed them was not only selfish but disgraceful. My first positive act as a Blood Angel.
We fit well, together, and for eight-hundred years had been regarded as nothing but a troupe of seven fine young men. Hardly considered unusual, since we settled nowhere but traveled about the land. It helped that we were well-dressed, well-mannered and, most important of all, well-monied. Gold in hand always brings forth the most proper respect, even amongst inn-keepers.
It helped that Loronce had the ability to find excellent investments and other manner of building our wealth, as well as taking the little coin held by those we fed upon. "What use have they for it, now?" was his simple justification.
I should note, he was referring to the men and women who foolishly thought they could part us from our gold. Sometimes as well as our lives. Which gave us plenty of creatures to quietly feed upon. I will not claim we made the world a better place, but at least we did not add to its self-destruction.
We ranged all over Europe, England, Ireland, around the Mediterranean, Russia and into Persia. Even one foray into Canada and the United States. Wherever there was conflict that could help hide our predilections. And my pack was happy to abide by my one rule — only feed upon those who deserve it. I recognize this made us their judge, jury and executioner, but it was better than foraging wildly, like other covens would do.
I also introduced them to my manner of feeding, but I found it did not offer them as much nourishment as myself. They all seemed to simply enjoy that for the fun of it. Especially when I brought a delectable male to the pack to keep for a while and play with, like a new toy. Sharing him in every way. It didn't happen often, but when it did my greatest pleasure was to watch them enjoying themselves.
My pack.
My clan.
My companions.
Prevailing gossip in the vampire world pegged me on the level of a sodomite padishah with his male concubines. An anomaly. Odd creatures unwilling to be properly decadent monsters like they. I didn't care. All that mattered was the protection of my lads. While others had grown careless or greedy and been caught out and destroyed by those they fed upon, we had never even faced accusation.
I believe that is why the Oiym viewed my manner of care and caution as far more sensible than feasting like wild animals. Some were still not appreciative of the new limitations, but the Elders had their way of handling those who were reticent.
I thought of this as I cleaned and dressed myself. I now planned to find the rest of my pack to discuss their evening's banquet. They would be waking, soon, as it was late in the day, when the air grows gentle and the world begins to settle. When peace tries to make herself known, even in the face of the best efforts of mankind.
An earlier confrontation between the French and Prussians had only just ended, and the wounded left on the battlefield would provide them with a wide choice to feed upon. It helped that soldiers and officers are rarely guiltless. They might even bring some back to the chateau, to dine on at a later date. I did not begrudge them that, so long as they were careful in their choices.
But as I dressed, I found a gnawing hunger I'd never felt before was making itself known. Demanding my attention. It confused me, so instead of leaping over to our residence I let it lead down the road I tried to understand where this new sense was coming from, because by all rights the feed I'd had thanks to Helffing would normally keep me for nearly a month. But I had long since learned to listen to my instincts, so along I went.
And finally understood why.
Down the road in a small clearing was a young man with hair the color of the sun. His clothing was a well-fitted shirt over broad shoulders. Tight gray trousers showed off trim hips, near-perfect legs and a rear sculpted by the gods, and were held in place by a pair of braces that only added to his elegance. Boots crafted from the finest leather folded over at his knees. He was such a vision of male beauty, Helffing now seemed grotesque and misshapen, in comparison. I slipped into the trees to gaze upon him.
His breastplate was on the ground and he was tending to his injured horse. His cloak and jacket were slung over his saddle, its off-color white suggested he was a Prussian Cuirassier.
And there was blood on them.
By the gods, so rich and red it was.
Do powerful in its draw.
In its promise.
Toying with me.
The hunger exploded in me, as if I had not fed in months.
Blood still flowed from a wound in his scalp and down his face, matting his shirt to his perfect chest. Another wound in his shoulder added to the beauty of it. I felt this deep growling need to taste it. To drink of it. To see if he might be someone to keep and enjoy myself with.
Oh, Léonidès; you would turn him. Make him yours so quickly. So happily. And that would be despite the Oiym's edict. It was now our law — turn no one without their expressed consent — so to disobey it was to risk imprisonment for centuries in Alexandria, not only for yourself but for him. Despite his innocence in the matter. They had made examples of three violators before all clans had agreed to abide by it. So if I wanted to turn him I had to beg their permission. It could be done quickly, now, thanks to the telegraph. But I could do nothing with him until my answer came.
If I could keep myself away from him.
No.
No.
How could I?
The howling hunger would not allow it.
I remained hidden in the trees, watching him. My thoughts were caught in full chaos. I could not breathe at noting how his head was a perfect shape. Hair tightly cropped. No beard hid the elegant line of his jaw or the beauty of his lips. The simplicity of his nose and eyes more than complimented them. And his hands. Even caked with muddy blood, they were so elegant as to bring thoughts of the finest artists to mind. Da Vinci. Michelangelo. Rembrandt. Velasquez. Titian. Caravaggio.
His jacket's cut and quality emphasized he was high born. Even wounded, as he was, he radiated breeding and ability. I hate to admit this because it's so very silly, but I was close to swooning from the mere sight of him.
Fortunately, Gregory appeared behind me and broke my race towards the abyss. He was dressed in the new slim, understated style, no cravat, city boots with laces and an Ulster topcoat. He could be a perfect gentleman from London or Berlin.
"You're up early," I managed to whisper.
"Never went to bed," he said, just as softly. He draped his arms over my shoulders settled his chin on them. He was the only one I allowed to do that. Then he whispered in my ear, "He is almost as beautiful as I."
I smiled. For Gregory to say that about anyone was all the proof I needed that my eyes were not deceiving me. Nor was my infatuation or, oh, let's just say it — lust.
No.
No.
It was so much more than merely sexual.
"His name is Franz Sebastian Giselher von Bergren," Gregory continued.
I am never surprised at how quickly or completely he can gather information about anyone, anywhere, any time he chooses.
"Hamburg?" I murmured.
"A bit to the west of Bremen. They have a castle. Much land."
I felt anger. "And sent this beautiful lad off to die in war? Such a waste."
"I would have taken him, but I felt you should see him, first."
I frowned. "Is he deserving?"
"Not that I know of. It's just...Léon. Look at him. Who would not want to preserve him exactly as he is? Fortunately, I'd already fed. Or unfortunately. Your choice."
"Already fed?"
"Early this morning."
"You've been watching him, all day?"
"Without his awareness, Léon. I'm very proud of my self-control."
"Is he your gift to me, then?" I was only half-joking.
Gregory shrugged. "As I said, my feeling was you should see him, first. An offering, maybe? To my Blood Angel?"
I caressed his cheek with my ear, pleased beyond measure. And didn't the little bastard know it.
"What do the others think?" I asked.
"The lazy bastards haven't risen, yet. But last night Doric and Tellis were discussing finding a new toy to play with."
"No, not this lad." My voice was sharper than I'd intended.
"Sooooo, Léonidès. You would keep him for yourself?"
"I would...I would like to know that he is deserving."
"Please! He's a soldier. They all are."
"No. Not all." Again, my voice was too sharp.
But in truth I did not really know if he was as right and pure as I thought. Only the gentle way he smoothed his horse where the blood was greatest. The tenderness of his hands, and the care in his cool blue eyes. His lashes almost glinting in the last rays of the sun. I could not believe anything about him would be evil.
"I sense you are thinking of increasing our number," Gregory sighed. "Without discussing it with us, first?"
That question asked in a way so insinuating it's like he knew my thoughts, even though I didn't know them, myself. Because we had agreed not to bring another into the pack unless we all were open to it, and for all these centuries we have never found agreement.
"He would bring our pack to nine," I said.
"You consider Meron to be one of us?" he asked, suddenly wary.
Meron was a slightly older man, once a captain in Napoleon's forces, whom Gregory had taken during the Battle of Borodino and made into his doùlos. Neither human nor vampire, more his servant. A fine-looking man. Sturdy. Well-kept. Dark and with eyes that seemed to fill his face. The only man I'd seen who looked right in a beard. It had been Gregory's way of getting around adding to our group without first asking the others. And he had been well-mocked for it.
"He is one of our pack," I said.
He held me a bit tighter to hide how pleased he was. "Is that what you plan for young Franz, here?"
"No. He would not do well as a servant."
"So it's turn him or feed on him."
"Turn him. If the Oiym will allow it."
He held me closer. "I would love to have him as a brother. I think the others would agree."
I chose to play with Gregory a bit longer. "I don't know. He's Germanic. Our lineage is Norman, which works well with Meron being French. Could we really get along with a Goth?"
"You still feel akin to that?"
I just shrugged.
"Well, keep in mind," he continued, "it was the French who started this idiotic war. You would think after their debacle in Russia they would have learned better. But no."
"Men have no real interest in history."
"Outside of its capacity for profit."
Again, I had to fight a laugh. But it was true, greed is probably the easiest emotion to manipulate and feed upon. I pulled his arms tighter around me and sighed. "What would Meron think? He is the purest Frenchman in our clique."
"He would think it is wonderful that I held back, on his account." Gregory was all but whispering into my ear, his tone nearly joyous. "Obviously, you have already decided to turn him, no matter what the Oiym say."
"I...do...not...yet...know," I said, with more emphasis than necessary.
"You will not take him to true death. I can already feel it. You like how he cares for his horse, even though he, himself, is wounded."
It was true. Young Franz was using the water from a goatskin to wash a cut to the animal's left flank. It looked like the jab from a lance, and the horse was favoring that leg. Any other man would have put a bullet in the poor beast's head and requisitioned another. But this lad loved his mount, wanted him to heal, which all but screamed to me of innocence and kindness.
"You really li-ike him." In mocking whispers. "You want to ta-ake him. You think he's per-rfect. Why do you hesitate? Do it. You're the Oiym's favorite, you know. Everyone says so. I doubt they would do more than lecture you."
Just to keep from saying that was what I was already thinking, I said, "I want to know that he deserves it."
"Oh, Léon, please, this silly morality of yours is most irritating."
"It has kept us alive, till now," I snapped.
"I thought we were the non-living."
"Oh, shut up."
Gregory suddenly grew very still. Almost to not breathing. Finally, he turned me to look at him and whispered, "Is he of your lineage? Is that why you hesitate?"
My lack of an answer answered him. I was finally understanding this hunger was attached to the belief that he might be a fellow Blood Angel.
He slowly exhaled. "Then he could never be a brother to us; only your mate." He stepped back, unhappy. "Well, Léon. That would change everything in our pack."
"I know."
"It would bring you to the same level as your sister. A Blood Angel with a consort."
"That is why I hesitate. You saw how well that worked out for her."
"If you were certain of him, would you make him yours? Despite the Oiym?"
I did not want to admit how much I longed to do that, just yet, so I only sighed, "I don't know."
"Why not?"
I gave him a shrug. "I find him entrancing, this is true, but I don't know his character, yet. Gabrielle did not make certain of her choice before she turned him, and I — I fear — I fear you fear I would not like you anymore."
Gregory's expression grew tender. Any time I let him know how important he was to me, he always seemed surprised, and his joy at the revelation would take him over. For a moment.
"Very well," he finally said, "he is not to be feed upon. He is to be protected. Give you time to determine the best course for yourself. To be honest, I would be glad if you had a mate."
"I'd never wanted one."
A near coo came from behind Gregory's heart. "Of course, having one would truly infuriate Gabrielle. Isn't that reason enough to go ahead and do it?"
I chuckled. "True."
But I could not lock myself into a course of action, and I was not used to this manner of indecision. Eight-hundred years had shown me my gut instincts were right. Always. The only occasions where I had trouble were when I ignored them, and those few times had been only within the first few years after my turning. Two of which had been caused by my sister's anger at me also becoming a Blood Angel. But I had learned and grown certain in my course. Determined.
Only now, after eight centuries, I was having my first doubt as to which direction I should take. At the fork in the proverbial road. And one direction included the want...no, need, after hundreds of years, to bring someone of my level into my world. It made me just a bit nervous.
"I have to know him, first," I said.
That made Gregory cast his amazingly goofy Are you mad? expression on me. "To see if he's worthy enough to join you? Or be of the same interests as you? And how do you propose to do that? To begin with, he's a cavalryman in the middle of a war on a battlefield. Of course, he'll have done things he would be ashamed of. All soldiers do. So will you engage him in small talk to see if his atrocities are acceptable enough to you? Hi, Franz, good to make your acquaintance. Have you slaughtered anyone you shouldn't have? Or do you plan to seduce him? As if even men not interested in men cannot be seduced into being interested in men?"
I had to chuckle. "I've thought of that. And he is alone, now. And vulnerable. More open to honest answers."
"And hurt and probably scared."
"As he cares for his horse instead of himself. On an open road."
Gregory leaned against me, looking at him. "I don't think he realizes how badly he's been wounded. He was unconscious, for a bit."
I cast him a sharp look. "You saw it happen?"
Gregory grimaced. This was not acceptable. He would have needed to be in the open, probably in the middle of the battle, exposing himself in ways unnecessary.
He grew a bit sheepish. "I told you, I kept watch over him."
"In the middle of the day?!"
"I wore a coat. An officer's. German. It had his blood on it. And I had his hat. And gloves."
"But was that protection enough for you?"
He grimaced. "Well enough. And I knelt in the midst of a hundred dead men. I even helped a few over to the next world."
"No chaos is so complete as to hide a vampire feasting as others fought around him! It was amazingly stupid!"
"I — I hid myself, this way, to keep anyone from noticing. Watched him come, in another charge. Saw him struck in the shoulder and then the head. Knocked his helmet off. Knocked him out. The horse kept running to the woods. He nearly fell off."
"Nearly fell off?"
Now Gregory grew awkward, which took me well beyond the point of uncomfortable. "I did sort of help him stay on, once or twice."
My voice held anger as I asked, "Gregory, how long has he been in your sights?"
His voice was a bare whisper. "From just before dawn. I saw him brushing his horse." He finally looked me in the eye, then sighed, "I'd have taken him, then, but other officers came up."
"That is how you learned his name."
Gregory shrugged. "I decided then that if. If he was wounded. Mortally wounded. In the battle. I would turn him."
I jolted. "Without the Oiym's permission?"
"They'd have understood."
I drew him close. Touched my forehead to his. "Gregory, if my feeling is correct. If he is of my lineage, your allegiance would have shifted to him."
"No, Léonidès, how could it?"
"If the Oiym did not imprison you both, they would give you to him. Make you his servant."
"I did not think of that as possible." He seemed truly anguished. "It's just that I saw something in him, like I did you. So I watched him. He comported himself well, in the initial charge. Fear, but no hesitation. Relief that the French turned and ran. He killed some, yes, but that's what happens in a war. You slaughter men you don't know for people you don't know for reasons you don't know. I could not let that happen to him."
Gregory's casual willingness to risk the wrath of the Oiym for a human lad shook me. Eight-hundred years together, with him always as my support and protection, as I was his, and this was the first hint of mutiny.
And possible dissatisfaction.
Maybe he was not as closely aligned with me as I thought.
I looked back at Franz. He was leaning against the horse, weak. Probably from loss of blood and pain. In fact, the wound in his shoulder was still seeping blood while the horse's was clean, and the water skin was empty. He had cared for his animal before himself, as if it were his own child. Possibly to his own detriment, for if he did not see a surgeon soon, he would most likely die.
I looked at Gregory. He gave me a half-smile in response. He knew. He understood. He would back me in every way he could. So all doubt left me. I would have Franz, worthy or not.
The decision had been made.
