The Storm

No one heard the boy scream. At least, no one human. The storm obscured sight as well as sound. Clouds black as ink and heavy rain hid the crime. Winds and thunder muffled any noise. Not that many souls remained aboard ship to hear or to see.

Over the past three weeks, one by one the crew had died. No bodies, but none doubted the crewmen's passing. Within forty-eight hours of Demeter leaving port, the first had vanished. Days later, the second. After that, as the numbers of men aboard dwindled, the terror of the survivors swelled. Three days past, the Mate had gone missing.

Mere miles from England, only the captain and the cabin boy remained breathing. Soon, only the captain.

The boy took nearly half an hour to die. Dracula drank long and deep, but even so swallowing what flowed within the lad's veins took time. Not that he felt in any hurry. Not any longer. For more than a century Dracula had kept himself alive very nearly by willpower alone. Too few the unwary peasant or traveler in his native land. Too many the holy places to which farmers and their families might flee after sunset. In order to survive, the great vampire had needed to let himself wither. Allow his physical form to age, becoming in the end a grotesque husk as his hunger went quiescent. Until his plans could bear fruit. Years and years and years arranging every detail. When rising from the box containing his native earth in the ship's hold, two days after leaving Varna, Dracula at last could allow the thirst free reign-and so began his physical regeneration.

When the boy's barely breathed, his heart straining to beat the few dregs of blood still remaining, Dracula tossed him overboard as easily as any child might throw a doll.

He looked at his hands and arms. Darkness posed no problem to his eyes. The flesh sagged no longer. Skin looked more like living marble instead of desiccated parchment. Muscles flexed under smooth skin. He touched his face, running fingers along the chin and cheek and brow. It took moments to realize the truth. For days Dracula's limbs had been growing stronger, fuller, more as they had been when he'd died, a warrior entering middle age. But no more. Feasting upon the blood of this entire ship's company restored more than his ordinary appearance. No, he was even younger! No longer an insectile ancient, nor even a weathered man in his prime. Dracula recognized himself as he was when barely twenty!

In the darkness and fury of the storm, the king of Vampires laughed!

---

The four girls in the tower room knew their actions broke The Rules. All four knew their bedtime had been hours past. Each knew the tower room to be out of bounds. So their father had declared. Just as he declared storms no fit entertainment for young ladies. Lord Godalming believed in very strict rules for children, for girls especially, and had made his commands clear beyond doubt.

So naturally all four gathered here during the wildest storm any had ever seen!

Bianca acted as ringleader. Although not the oldest (cousin Emily, at twelve, beat her by a year), Bianca remained essentially in control of her two siblings. Nine-year-old Alice followed her lead almost automatically. Ten-year-old Susan needed little persuading. Emily-Bianca remained unsure of her, but in the end their cousin tip-toed with the others across the second floor hallway and up the stairs.

None of them knew much about the tower room, save that it was the highest point in the manor. In a previous age this turreted spot might have been the lookout point for the castle upon whose foundation the manor had been reared. A painting of said castle, roughly circular with many a rounded tower, hung in the grand foyer. All four, even Emily, knew that painting well. Lord Godalming liked pointing it out.

Large windows let them see as far as Carfax Abbey, the abandoned estate two miles down the coast, or well out to sea where ships sailed to and from nearby Whitby. On her first visit, two months past, Emily had asked what the tower had been for. Even Bianca had to finally admit she didn't know.

"What does that matter?" she said in a voice a little deeper than one expected in an eleven-year-old girl. "Who cares? They use it as storage now."

True enough. Mostly old furniture. Chairs, tables, sofas stained or damaged or merely out of fashion filled the room. Each girl by now had their favorite. They sat next to the window and watched the storm.

Alice squealed at an especially bright flash of lightning followed by a roll of thunder like cannon fire. She alone of the three looked like their late grandmother-pale golden curls framing a face with large blue eyes. Susan, less vocal but still trembling as she watched the storm, had straight hair roughly halfway between their mother's red and their father's brown. Call it auburn. Eyes of hazel. A round, pretty face dotted with freckles. Bianca's curls were the color of their father's hair, but her eyes had the same hazel as Susan and their mother. Her more oval face almost pressed against the glass, smiling hugely at the sight of jagged lightning shooting across the sky. Each flash, each crash of thunder seemed to her like a fireworks display.

Cousin Emily, with straight chestnut hair and big brown eyes, leaned forward as well. Resting her elbows on the inner sill and her face in her hands, she gazed into the storm without seeming to react. She barely reacted when Alice squealed.

"Shhhh" insisted Susan to her younger sister. "You might wake someone up!"

"No she's not," declared Bianca. "As long as she doesn't make too much noise. The thunder'll drown her out." Then another cacophony of lightning lit up the sky! Bianca grinned and let out a sigh of pleasure.

"There's a ship," said Emily.

"What?" Susan blinked, then peered out into the night.

"No there isn't!" Bianca didn't bother to look.

"I saw its silhouette a few seconds ago," said Emily. "There," she pointed through the glass, "just ahead of us."

All four girls strained to look into the night, but had to wait until more lightning to catch a glimpse of the ship. One whole minute passed. Then-there! A crooked spear of light flickered across the sky and they all saw it, a ship tossed upon the waves, her sails shredded in the wind!

---

Dracula knew when the Captain died. He heard the old man's heart stop beating. Gave out over the strain no doubt. But he'd escaped feeding the vampire, having wrapped a rosary around his neck even before lashing himself to the wheel. No matter. Dracula's thirst had finally been appeased. For now.

The schooner had nearly served its purpose. With supernatural vision Dracula gazed upon the English coast which would now be his home. His hunting grounds. A land of plenty but little superstition. Where wealth equaled power and eccentricity very nearly the ordinary state of affairs. He recognized this part of the coast from hours of study at maps. Whitby lay north of here. More importantly, his power over the winds had brought the ship within easy distance of Carfax Abbey. His new estate. If not quite a castle, it would easily do. Agents hired through intermediaries had purchased the place years ago. Since then shipments of valuables to that manor had continued in a steady if covert stream. Most especially, box after box of Dracula's own native earth. Hundreds of such. By now nearly a ton must lie waiting for him there, along with gold and jewels and a variety of different clothes. Aboard ship, Dracula traveled with no more than he needed. He stood naked-and young again-upon the deck of the schooner and enjoyed the caress of this storm he controlled.

North, Whitby. Soon he would sent this schooner there, driven by winds to sink or beach itself. West, his new stronghold of Carfax Abbey. Slightly to the south would be Rings, so-called for the once-mighty defensive rings of its keep in ancient days. Dracula's soon-to-be neighbors. The Holmwoods, Lords Godalming for a paltry two hundred years. Beyond that, a small village but with a railway connecting this area to all the major cities of England. A railway that would carry boxes of earth to several dozen secondary havens. York. Bath. Edinburgh. Glasgow. Bristol. London itself, largest city in the world, teeming with the life for which Dracula hungered.

He changed his shape, assuming the form of a vast dark bat with burning red eyes. No natural winged creature could safely travel in this tempest. But who would call a vampire natural? Besides, these winds remained at his command.

The bat flew towards shore, leaving the empty ship behind.

First, he decided to investigate Rings. Caution, partially. Also curiosity. But in truth he also hoped for more. Dracula was young again. He felt again the stirrings of youth. His bloodlust at last sated, now other lusts rose...

---

"Maybe it won't crash?" Susan didn't sound as if she believed it.

Bianca shook her head. "I think that ship is doomed."

"That's so sad," Alice sighed. She had a light voice, gentle and even timid.

"Well, maybe it isn't," said Susan again, this time sounding even less sure.

Emily said nothing, but her expression seemed to agree with Susan. But she also remained staring out into the night, scanning for glimpses of the ship. "I think," she said after a minute or two, "it is headed north."

At this Susan insisted on getting beside Emily, straining for any sight. "If it doesn't crash on the coast, then maybe they'll all be all right after all."

"In that case they'll just capsize," said Bianca. She dismissed the whole idea, finding the novelty of the ship old now.

"I doubt it'll be in sight for much longer," Emily said.

Susan didn't quite pout. But she did sigh a little wistfully.

Alice in turn sighed. "I'm tired."

"So am I for that matter," agreed Bianca. She headed for the small staircase leading down to the rest of the manor. Alice gave a tiny jump out of her chair and followed. "Lets go back to sleep."

Emily said nothing but she too followed Bianca. Only one of them remained at the window.

"Susan, are you coming?"

"Not yet! I still want to see the ship!"

Bianca rolled her eyes and headed down the stairs, Alice immediately beside her. Emily took a last look at Susan, still leaning against the window sill and staring out into the night. But still, she said nothing. Left Susan alone in the Tower Room.

---

Dracula, in his bat-form clutching the outside wall of the tower, heard all this. Peering down, he saw the little girl named Susan staring yet into the night. She looked delicious. With his youth restored, the one-time Voivode felt his patience struggle with desire and in this instance lose the battle. He would make of this comely child his first conquest in England, his first chosen bride. In other words, he would slake his lust upon her tender body, making of her an eager odalisque. True, this girl was but a child, but Dracula had been but a child himself when he began bedding serving girls this age. Younger, even. Besides, her youth inflamed him. And the demonic part of him longed for innocence.

Hidden by the dark and by the roar of winds, he easily scrambled around the window and below. The tiniest of balconies, not enough even for a child to stand there, jutted out from this window. Dracula reached up with the hooked point of one wing, then another, pulled himself so he could look at Susan face to face.

When his head reached a certain height, of course she saw his eyes. Red. Glowing. And naturally enough, she looked towards them.

Back in Transylvania children her age knew better. Their parents taught them to avoid gazing into any light they did not already know. For fear of precisely what happened now.

With his mind, Dracula used his gaze to set a geas upon the girl child. Two seconds after looking into those red eyes, she could no longer turn away. Realizing this, she gasped in surprise and fear-but not as much fear as a peasant in Transylvania would feel. Unlike them, she had no idea what this might mean. And the fascination of those eyes grew, until she stopped trying to look away. Ceased thinking about how strange this was, or whether she might be in any danger. Less than ten seconds after those red eyes and the mind behind them ensnared her own, Susan Holmwood loved looking into them. Never dreamt of looking away. They seemed like the most precious, and utterly beautiful stars. More, they seemed to speak to her. Like rubies singing to her in the voice of an Angel. A handsome, lonely Angel who loved only her.

Invite me to enter. Open the window and invite me inside.

Eyes unblinking, Susan did as commanded. She wanted to, longed to meet the Angel with those ruby eyes. The window's latch lay well within her reach. She pushed it back, then pulled slightly. As the window opened, wind flew into the room, tossing her hair and pressing her nightgown against her skin. She blinked in the face of the wind. But she remembered what to do.

"Come in," she said.

Dracula pulled himself up and shifted his form while moving forward. As he crossed the threshold of the window sill, he assumed a fully human shape. Tall, strong, skin like alabaster and hair a surprisingly light brown reaching his shoulders. Almond shaped eyes of red gazed upon Susan, and a mouth with a very thin upper lip but a very full lower one smiled. "You have done well, Susan" he whispered. He hardly had any accent at all.

Upon hearing her name, Susan gave a glorious smile. Her expression went beyond fascination or even happiness. Apart from sculpture, the male body remained a mystery to her. Yet the color of this man resembled the same polished white stone. The muscles that rippled under his skin thrilled her. So too did the member, not at all like what she'd seen in pictures and carvings of cherubs or the like. His was erect, longer, thicker, emerging from a mass or brown curls that became down as they reached higher on his body.

When he picked her up she felt a greater thrill than she'd ever known!

Dracula swept the delicious-looking girl into his arms and strode to a nearby sofa. She felt yet the entrancement of his gaze, but that would decay with time. He wanted her bound to him, flesh and soul. He meant to own her.

Once she lay upon the sofa, still gazing up at him with wonder, Dracula began undoing the buttons of her nightgown. This fact seemed to startle her, but she put up no protest. To her mind, anything this Angel desired should never be denied. She felt pleasure, even pride, as he unfastened the last button. Each side of the nightgown he then moved aside, first one then the other. She lay before him, exposed. Almost naked.

Perfect, thought Dracula. She is perfect. Her tender flesh, soft and unmarked. A few freckles sprinkled like pepper across her upper chest. A barely perceptible swelling which might one day become breasts, each with a penny-sized pink nipple in their center. Her deep breathing brought attention to those nipples. Just as a slight movement of her legs caught Dracula's attention to her womanhood. Hairless. Unsullied.

With one hand he traced his fingers up the inside of the child's thigh. She shivered in response. Then, sensing some idea of what he wanted-but only in the vaguest way-she relaxed her legs. Allowed them to part.

Now his fingers could reach that tiny cleft between her thighs, reach it and stroke the length of it.

"Oh!" No one of course had ever done such a thing with Susan. That this Angel wished to do so surprise her-but she found in it the beginnings of pleasure.

And as he stroked more, with greater insistence, that pleasure grew.

Soon, little Susan found herself starting to squirm as the unfamiliar but delightful sensations gre. Her breathing grew harder, and her gaze at the Angel still more worshipful. When he leaned down to brush his lips against hers, Susan whimpered in joy.

Then, he did something else. He placed his mouth upon her throat. And then...

Needles! Piercing her skin! Or something like that, because the pain was real, so terribly real, and in two spots as if his teeth were somehow longer there, longer and razor sharp! She couldn't help but cry out!

But...somehow, she wanted it.

The stroking between her legs sent flutters Susan had never imagined through her body. Now, the bite into her throat gave even more, far more, a pleasure that drowned out that earlier joy, just as it almost swept aside the pain. Weirdly, she still felt the pain. The very great pain, of torn tender flesh. Part of Susan even felt a shiver of horror as she felt the Angel's mouth and tongue lap at the blood seeping from her. And he swallowed it! He was drinking her blood! Yet she also felt an overwhelming sense of rightness, glory even. No less than her blood, her pain was a gift-and she took fierce joy in the power of that gift. Nothing before made her feel more intensely and wonderfully alive.

I'm smiling, she thought to herself. I am happy. Let him drink from me. Let his mouth devour me. I want this.

Dracula might have drained her, save his bloodlust had already been fed. He barely took more than a mouthful of blood from the girl. Just enough to taste her, and to bind her to him. As he lifted his head away from the two tiny wounds in her throat, the vampire enjoyed her sounds of disappointment. But he had a further bond to create. One impossible to sever.

He continued stroking the now-moist slit under her fingers, and from the look on her face she clearly liked it. Good. Now he lifted a finger of his other hand and touched it against his fang. One crimson drop appeared on his finger's tip.

"Open your mouth, Susan."

She did as told. Lips open, tongue slightly out. Eyes wide with pleasure and puzzlement.

Dracula placed his finger into her mouth. Allowed first one then another drop of his blood to fall upon her tongue. Down her throat. Without knowing why, she closed those lips around his finger and began to suck.

That's right Susan, drink of me, as I have drunk from you.

And she did. Even as she writhed under the rhythm of Dracula's finger stroking one part of her, Susan eagerly used her tongue and lips to draw what little blood she could out of another. Then, her hips began to move on their own. She could not help it! Her body reacted as if the Angel were scratching some sort of sould-deep itch. It had become a need now, and his touch fulfilled it, especially now his fingers were moving faster. Oh! This was wildness! Thrilling! So much! More than she dreamed! As her little body trembled with its first orgasm, Susan let out a moan! Her mouth opened to make this and other sounds. To her disappointment, the Master's finger then went away. She wanted it back! But for the moment nothing mattered except the waves of sensation spreading from her cunny out even to her finger tips!

One guttural sound after another emerged from her lips - that was when Dracula put something back into her mouth.

Susan's eyes shot open as she felt something larger than any finger placed upon her lips. It was the Angel's organ, the one so much longer and more erect than those in the pieces of art she'd seen. He expertly aimed his member past her lips and onto her tongue. Somehow she knew what to do, and began suckling upon it. Much as she had his finger. And his sigh of pleasure was a reward.

At first, all she could do was kiss and suck the very tip, the bulbous but pointed head. Susan licked it, noting how it responded by pulsing. Her two small hands reached up and held either side of the Angel's member. That made it easier to suck. A tiny part of her mind felt shock, tried to pull away from this act, one of which she'd never dreamed and which seemed disgusting. But that voice never grew to more than a whisper, no matter how that part of her tried to scream. Most of Susan welcomed this. Loved it. The sensation of the Angel's flesh within her mouth thrilled her, as did the taste of the liquid she drew from its tip. Metallic. Salty. Yet more, a hint of musk. She wanted more! And set about milking the Angel's member for more-using her tongue and lips to draw as much as she could, using her hands to stroke it. She didn't know how it was the knowledge of what to do came to her, but she used it. Her speed increased. As did the fervor with which she sucked, and how deeply she sought to bring it deeper and deeper into her mouth.

Dracula reveled. In order to survive he'd had to destroy his harem back in Transylvania, and so for decades he'd not enjoyed these kinds of pleasures. Now he looked down at a pretty child, barely ten years of age, whose mouth eagerly held his manhood and sucked upon it, making him feel dizzy with delight.

Of course he knew the truth. The bond between them allowed her to feel his desires and respond in kind. Just as he himself sensed her own pleasure at serving him, her hunger for his touch-especially since his left fingers continued to caress the tender folds of skin between her thighs. She almost whined in joy, muffled by the organ still in her mouth.

For minutes Susan continued to worship the Angel with her mouth, teasing tiny droplets of fluid onto her tongue. The attention he gave down below if anything made her thirstier for it.

But suddenly, his hand left. The one below. She almost cried in frustration. Then, she was shocked to feel both the Angel's hands on either side of her head. Holding her. Controlling her. Guiding her as she licked and suckled upon his organ, pushing in then out of her mouth faster. Faster! Still faster!

More of the liquid seemed emerging from the tip of that organ, to quench the new thirst that dominated her, when Susan cried out in frustration. He'd pulled away! Removed that wonderful part of himself from her mouth! Why? She tried to pull it back, to suck it once more into her mouth-

No use. Her Angel easily handled her as if she were a doll. Turned her around so she was on her hands and feet, like a dog. Lifted her nightgown to reveal her bare bum.

"Please," she begged in a whisper, "let me have it. Let me finish!"

That was when she felt his member again. Not in her mouth this time. That would have been impossible in this position, with her on all fours and him behind her. No, this time she felt it against the slit which until moment ago her Angel had been caressing her Her hole. She didn't understand. Except, she did. In a way. He was going to push that part of him into her, into that place. Susan realized this barely a moment before the tip began to push inside.

She trembled. In pain? Fear? Hope? Pleasure? All of these. The pointed knob of her Angel's flesh rubbed against the slit. She felt wet there. Dimly she remembered becoming so as his fingers stroked her into such joy. This felt a little like that, and she hope to feel more. Then, she felt the organ work its way inside. Not easily. She had barely enough room. But now that she knew some of what the Angel wanted, Susan braced herself. She wanted to help. More, she wanted to feel what would follow.

When the tip made its way inside, she groaned. So big! So tight! It hurt, but also felt good at the same time. Just as when the Angel drank her blood, or when he put himself into her mouth, this felt like giving something to him. A precious, even glorious gift.

His hands now held her hips, holding her still. Then he pushed, a gradual but steady pressure. Susan felt her flesh open to this invasion by his organ. Slowly, reluctantly, but she felt herself open.

As her forearms trembled with the strain, she moaned aloud. The sensation reminded her of pulling off a scab. Yes it hurt, but she didn't want it to stop. Could not want that. Only more so. A thousand times more so! Each fraction of an inch deeper, and she swore she could take no more. Until the next fraction of an inch. Her moans grew deeper, more guttural. At last her arms gave out and she might have collapsed if the Angel hadn't been holding her.

For what seemed like hours he pushed, every moment overwhelming little Susan a little more. She gasped, and cried out. Her eyes almost bulged. Very nearly she fainted. But the truth remained-this violation thrilled as much as it pained her. Any touch by her Angel made her weep with desire. The more she understood he wanted this, the more she longed with all her heart to give it to him. So when he began moving her body back and forth, drawing himself first out of her then deeper in, she shuddered with pleasure as well as discomfort.

Susan felt herself breathing deeper with each stroke. And as every forward thrust actually felt better, the sounds coming from her mouth reflected that. What had been cries of pain became sighs of relief, then cooings of joy, finally grunts of growing hunger.

What his fingers had done before was nothing compared to this! Soon all she could think on was for more! And more! The Angel seemed to know that, as he thrust harder and deeper into little Susan's flesh. More, he did this ever faster as well. Sensations of bitter pleasure and sweet, sweet pain rolled like waves through her body. She forgot her own name for a while. Forgot where she was. Did not care. All that mattered was what this rubbing of flesh against flesh made her feel!

The Angel cried out as his thrusts reached their climax! He impaled himself all the way into this ten-year-old child, his seed erupting inside her tiny body. She could not move as he held her with a grip like steel. In truth, all she could do was tremble-tremble and cry out much as he did. Indeed, man and child both shuddered with what looked like spasms. Susan herself went limp, gasping with pleasure but otherwise looking rather like a doll held listless in Dracula's grip.

Fully one minute passed as tremors wracked both of them, the aftershocks of orgasm. His first in decades. Her first ever. Indeed, as he slowly withdrew his manhood from the natural shaft in her body, the sensations did overwhelm Susan. She fainted.

---

Hours later, when Susan woke in her bed, she flinched at the bright sunlight pouring in from the windows. One of the maids had pulled apart the curtains. She looked around her, at the familiar details of her bedroom. All was as they had been. Wallpaper of daisies. Dolls sitting neatly upon their shelves. Wardrobe of fine oak in one corner, full-length mirror hanging on the wall nearby. Exactly as it should be. As it ever had been.

Yet none of it felt quite real.

"Good morning Miss!" That was the maid, saying what she always did. Her name was Mary.

Susan ached, but in a good way. She felt much as she did after winning a foot race with her sisters. Or after an especially satisfying ride upon a pony. More, she almost felt as if it were her birthday. Like all of these, but none of them.

And with this came an awareness of a dream. Or was it a dream? It must have been. Something about being a princess in a tower visited by a Prince who adored her. Who had kissed her and touched her. But they had gone to the Tower Room last night, hadn't they? Yes, to watch the storm.

Rising to get dressed, Susan felt tender around her hips and between her legs. Her limbs felt worn out, tired. But she hadn't done anything to make herself tired! Had she? Then she made her way to the mirror. By now Mary the Maid had finished her routine chores in Susan's room and more-or-less vanished to perform other chores. Susan, all alone, approached the mirror and looked at herself. As if half remembering something, she undid the first two buttons of her nightgown. Pulled that little bit of the garment open. Tilted her head and looked upon the right side of her throat.

There! Two tiny marks. Wounds really. Like mosquito bites but larger. And they did not itch. Nor in fact did they hurt. She reached up with the fingers of her left hand and touched them.

Instantly she felt warmer. The wounds tingled slightly, and she let her fingers stroke them ever-so-gently. As she did, the tingling increased. More, she felt something very similar between her legs-like an itch but not. Deeper. Something like hunger. Whatever it was, a kind of desire.

---

Miles away, deep in the bowels of Carfax Abbey, Dracula slept with a coffin containing his native earth. He slept and dreamed, vaguely aware his newest bride did not truly remember their meeting. Not yet. When he wished, she would recall, and as time passed her memories would grow stronger as would her loyalty to him, her determination to hide the visits of her lover.

He looked forward to tonight, to seeing young Susan once more. A few sips of her blood, following by further exploration of her body, her training as a member of his new English harem.

By now he had an idea where to find the rest of his harem. Susan was after all the middle of three sisters, and they had an equally attractive young cousin living with them. All stirred the long-dormant lust of Count Dracula. Each in turn would feel his fangs, then welcome the violation of their bodies. But first, Susan.

To Be Continued