Birth

By Krystell Lake

BIRTH is the story of Emerald Adams, a slave girl that falls in love with her master’s son, John Adams. While on a hunting trip, John and his brother William are infected with vampox. They are now immortal vampires with an undying thirst for blood. With this curse, John vows to preserve his human bloodline, therefore preserving his humanity. With this gift, William embraces vampirism and the power that it brings. Being a vampire doesn’t change your emotions. It magnifies them. As a vampire William is still jealous of his younger brother John. John has everything William craves, his human family and his wife, Emerald. William will do anything and stop at nothing to get what he wants. William always gets what he wants.

Birth contains sympathetic, flawed and changing protagonists. It also contains a charismatic vampire villain that you love to hate. BIRTH is the debut novel in the First Blood Novel series. The sequel Rebirth will be released in the summer of 2012.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Krystell Lake
• Release date: Feb 5, 2012
• ISBN: 9781466080706

Krystell Lake

Krystell Lake is a writer of mostly vampire fiction. She also has written screenplays and teleplays. She lives near Chicago with her son and daughter.

Book preview

Author Note

BIRTH

A First Blood Novel

(Book 1)

By

Published by WriteChick

Publishing

http://www.krystelllake.com

Copyright © 2017 by Krystell Lake

Cover Design by Taria Reed

This eBook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This eBook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

Krystell Lake is no way affiliated with any brands, songs, musicians, public figures or artists mentioned in the book.

All rights reserved.

The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted right is illegal. No part of this book or its text may be reproduced or transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered in any form, including electronic or mechanical, without written permission from the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews or without the express written permission of the publisher.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

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*ADULT CONTENT*

WARNING

This novel is considered historical romantic fiction. This is for mature audiences only. This book contains adult profane language, mild violence and strong sexual content with historical, paranormal and supernatural elements.

Dedications

This is also dedicated to the ones who are no longer here. You will live immortal in the characters of this book.

CHAPTER 1

The birth of my new life begins in the year 1862. I am in the middle of my fifteenth year. My Mama waits in the horse-drawn wagon. She sits behind our former owner, Master McKinley. The Master's daughter, my dear friend Miss Polly holds my frigid hands tightly. We both have more than enough tears in our eyes. In this world, where I am not free, my free hand clasps a hole-ridden sack full of my belongings.

You girls say your good-byes. We got to get along now. Master McKinley belts.

Pa, she’s coming. Miss Polly pleads. Em, you are truly my best friend. I will miss you ever so much.

I believe that she will miss me, as I will miss her.

Emerald, you come along now, Mama calls out to me from the wagon.

Bye Miss Polly. The tears break through and take over. I embrace Miss Polly and stammer down the stairs and into the wagon.

I will visit. I promise. Miss Polly burst into tears and vanishes into the house, her long blonde locks trailing behind her. I turn to look back as we ride further and further away from Master McKinley’s house. Away from the only life, I have ever known.

I will long for Miss Polly. She is just a year older than I and she is so graciously kind to me. I am closer to her than her much younger flesh and blood sister Anna. Miss Polly and I are like sisters. That is if it is possible for a slave to have a White sister. She taught me to read and write and to play the harpsichord. She once told me that I know everything she knows. If you let her tell it she is the smartest girl North Carolina ever bred. Mostly I will miss lying in bed together reading books and talking about all the places we wish to someday visit.

Today I start my new life somewhere unknown. I am terrified. It must be the hottest day North Carolina has ever known. There is no wind, no breeze and no flow in the leaves of the trees. I long to snatch this headscarf off but my Mama would not think it proper. At least my hair is tied back and off my neck. I had a hard time pushing my long curly locks under the tattered scarf.

I wish my heart would stop beating fiercely under my chest. I am afraid of what lies ahead. I cried for days when I learned that my Mama and I would be sold off to the Adams plantation. I don’t know a thing about these Adams folks. Are they good White folks or bad White folks?

I’ve lived back at the McKinley farm my whole life. My Mama gave birth to me right out behind the house in a small wood cabin. The McKinley’s were fairly decent folks. I heard plenty stories about slaves having dreadful Masters that beat them and whip them for breakfast and supper. Master McKinley was as fair as they come when you compare him to other folks. It’s too bad for us that he lost his farm to the bank, all his assets, and his slaves.

There has been a lot of talk going about the Republican President Abraham Lincoln doing away with slavery altogether here in the South. When and if that day comes, it won’t be soon enough for me.

I pray the knots in my stomach would go away. All I know about the Adams’ is that they’re in the business of growing cotton. I hear that they own more than forty slaves. There’s a Master, a Misses and they have two sons.

This bumpy road to the Adams plantation don’t help the churn in my belly one bit. I wish I could be like my Mama. If she is frightened you sure can’t tell it by the look on her face. I love to look at my Mama. She is the most beautiful woman I’ve ever laid eyes on. She is brown, the color of dark wood. Her skin is so smooth and there is not a wrinkle anywhere in sight. Her eyes are shiny and black. Her cheeks are full and round. It looks like she’s smiling sometimes even when she is not. I don’t know why God cursed me with this face. My Mama tells me I am beautiful. I don’t believe her. She named me Emerald because when Mrs. McKinley laid eyes on me she said my eyes are the color of emeralds. My Mama had never seen an emerald. Mrs. McKinley laughed and told her emeralds are green. Surely Mrs. McKinley was very pleased when Mama chose the name Emerald.

People stare at me. Ever since I can remember people stare at me— White folks and Negros. It makes me fidgety. It makes me nervous. It makes me want to jump inside myself and hide. I’m too bright. I’m just a few shades off of White folks. That is thanks to the White man that forced himself on my Mama. That’s the thing with these white Masters. They’ll have a perfectly good Misses at home but they always sniffing around the slave quarters. They have never touched me. My Mama keeps me close to her. She guards me like an overseer guards the slaves. I don’t ever want to imagine one of them men touching me. Surely then I would crawl inside myself and die.

Mama reaches over and grabs hold of my hand. Her hands are cold even though it’s a hot summer day. I look over at her. I force myself to smile. Maybe she is afraid also. I never thought she would be. She always seems so incredibly strong.

There was little to behold on the dusty road. The summer grass was green yet the trees were scarce. Until— in front of us an object— flying. No, my eyes have deceived me. It was an object hanging from a tree. We crept closer in the wagon. It was not an object. There before me, off to the left of the dusty road hung a man, a Negro man. My stomach had felt dreadful moments before, not one thing could compare to how it felt at this particular instant. I wanted to rid my stomach of the light breakfast I had hours earlier. I wanted to desperately turn away. Hide my eyes from this evil. I could not. Something held my eyes wide open. The Negro man, maybe a boy, I couldn’t decipher how long he had lived in this cruel world. He was dead and hanging with a noose around his neck from an old tatty tree.

Master McKinley stopped the wagon just a short distance from the brutality. Why? There was blood on the Negro’s trousers. There were gaping wounds on his shirtless body. The Negro’s eyes bulged from their sockets. His hands were bound behind him. I could not see with what. I had seen enough. Mama squeezed my hand and held it firmly. The silence was deafening. What has he done to deserve such a monstrous admission into heaven? It did not matter. He was now free and that was more than us Negros in the South could dream. Master McKinley finally got the horse moving. We rode away without a word, a sigh or a turn to see if it was truly what our eyes perceived it to be. Master would have to see this gruesome sight upon his return. I was glad my eyes would be spared of the horror a second time.

The journey is a long tedious one but in due time we arrive. When we get close to the Adams’ land, I can see it stretches far and wide. The cotton fields go on forever. Mama glances over at me. I’m sure she’s thinking what I’m thinking. We are in for more than we expected. Maybe she isn’t. I can never tell what she’s thinking. She holds her feelings deep inside.

Master McKinley pulls up in front of the beautiful, big, white house. There are a plethora of various flowers all in full bloom in the flower garden. I think of these flowers and try to prevent thoughts of the dead Negro man from keeping space in my brain. There is a dark robust Negro woman tending to the delightful red rose bushes.

I hope we can live in the house and not in the slave quarters. Even though I don’t like or trust most White folks, I feel most uncomfortable with a lot of Negros around. They call me names and I prefer to be called a nigger by Whites than to be called White gal, whitey or pale face by Negros. Once Master McKinley’s cousin from one of the Virginia’s came to visit and he called me a nigger wench. That was horrible for me. If looks could kill, he would be deader than a runaway slave. If only I could hang him from a tree.

Master McKinley stopped the horse on the dusty path in front of the house. Lottie Belle, Emerald. This here is your new home. They are expecting you. Our old Master sounded wounded.

The massive front door to the big house opened and a young White lady glided out and down the porch steps toward us. She was petite and her eyes were the bluest blue and her hair the color of the sun. We all sat in the wagon as she approached. The dark Negro lady in the garden looked up for a brief moment and then went back to fooling with those delightful red roses.

Mr. McKinley you just missed my husband. He took a trip into town. She sings.

Her voice sounded like a song, like musical notes. Her voice was so sweet she must be evil. Her smile was so warm and inviting she must be the devil. She turned to Mama and me.

You must be Lottie Belle and this is your daughter Emerald.

Yessum ma’am, now it was Mama who forced a smile.

Delightful, well now, gather up your things and hurry along. I’m sure Mr. McKinley wants to arrive back before sundown. She bowed to my old Master.

This lady used my word, delightful. The same word I used when I saw the rose garden. I did not have ownership of the word. It felt as if she stole it right out of my mouth. I do not like her, not one bit. She’s a word thief. Mama and I fetched the sacks full of our belongings and hopped out the wagon.

Master McKinley did not even glance in our direction. Good day Mrs. Adams. He tipped his hat to the flaxen-haired devil.

Good day, She gave him a brief wave and guided her blue eyes to us. Master McKinley rode off without even a quick glance back. What strange behavior. He did not give his loyal slaves of fifteen years a goodbye or a good day.

Follow me. The word thief sang.

Mama and I followed Mrs. Adams up the front porch steps and into the big house. The house was much grander in the inside than the outside, if that was at all possible. It was the cleanest house I’d ever been in and it smelled like freshly cut flowers. Mrs. Adams turned to Mama. She barely paid any nevermind to me. That was peculiar. Most White women glare at me with disgust. I am that constant reminder of their husbands’ adulterous behavior.

Lottie Belle, I don’t know if Mr. McKinley told you what your duties would be here but I hear tell you’re an excellent cook. So you and Emerald will be in charge of all the cooking and cleaning in my house. My cook had been sold to another plantation. She met a Negro driver and wanted to marry. So I agreed and let her marry. I hated losing such a good cook but she had never been married and had no children of her own. I figured it was the right and most decent Christian thing to do.

Yessum ma’am, Mama nodded.

A deep voice descended from up the stairs, My exquisite mother, full of decency. A young man galloped down the stairs. He was very tall. He had hair the color of the sun but not as sunny as Mrs. Adams. Too-shay, we have new slaves. He said drearily.

That was not at all the welcome that we should have received. It’s not as if I wanted to come to this massive plantation. I was fairly content at old Master McKinley’s.

Mrs. Adams smiled. Yes, this is Lottie Belle and her Emerald.

Welcome, Lottie Belle and her Emerald. He smiled as he talked.

This is my delightful son Master John. John kissed his mother on the cheek. Mother I’m off to the fields. I will return shortly.

Master John sneaks a peek at me as he leaves the room. It was neither a glare nor a frown. It was something different. It was sly and clever. He concealed it from our mothers. Maybe I did not see it properly. I am exhausted from the long trip. I could have misread the look he intended for my eyes only.

Mrs. Adams turned to us. I’ll show you to your living quarters. Follow me. Mama and I lagged closely behind Mrs. Adams. We entered the kitchen and stopped in a small room adjacent to the kitchen. The room had two beds, a chest of drawers, a small round table with two chairs, and a lantern.

I’ll let you two get settled in. You can put your things away and you might want to go out to slave row and acquaint yourselves with the other Negros. You need to meet Bessie. She is our gardener. She has magic hands. She is somewhat of a witch doctor. Mrs. Adams giggled. She plants all our food. Since you’re the cook, you just tell ole Bessie what you want and she’ll plant it for you. Settle in and I will be back shortly with dinner instructions.

Mrs. Adams left us be. I wondered if Bessie was that big woman in the garden. What did Mrs. Adams mean by witch doctor? Her eyes brightened when she said it. Could her eyes be any brighter, any bluer?

Mama and I unpacked our belongings and tucked them into the chest of drawers. Two of the drawers remained empty. We walked out the kitchen back door, down the porch steps and out to the rear of the house where slave row sat on the tail end of a dusty road. My Mama walked a few paces in front of me. That heavy Negro woman from the garden was waiting for my Mama.

I is Bessie. You must be Lottie Belle.

Yessum and ‘dis here is my gal, Emerald. Mama gave Bessie a nervous grin.

Emerald, huh, she sho’ is bright. She gont be the brightest slave ‘des Negros done ever seen ‘round here. Reckon I ain’t gotta asks you how she got that way. Bessie said with a hearty laugh.

We all walked down the dirt road. There wasn’t too many Negros around. They were all out in the cotton fields, slaving. Bessie walked us around and showed us things that would be important for us to know. Bessie also told a few tales about the slaves. Who jumped the broom with whom, how many children they had and other slave business? A young tall, dark, Negro boy of about my age or older walked forth.

Bessie who ‘dis be? He asked her. I noticed the beads of sweat running down his black neck.

Dis here is Lottie Belle and her Emerald. Massa just bought ‘em. They gont live up at the house. Dey the new cooks.

You say, Lottie Belle and Emerald. He repeated. Well, I be Cutter. If in y’all need some help wit’ something just give me a holla. I'm pretty good at fixin’ thangs. Cutter sneaked a peek at me, just as Master John had earlier.

Thank you, dat’s very nice. We surely will call on ya if need be. Mama overdid the niceties.

Cutter smiled wide. Bye now, Cutter ran off to the fields. He was fast and soon disappeared in the clouds of cotton.

That Cutter is a real nice boy, he here all by his lonesome, no mammy or pappy, Bessie explained.

No kinfolks at all? Mama asked.

"Mrs. Adams was in town one day and seen ‘em on the auction block when he was five year old. She felt sorry fo’ ‘em. She told Massa to buy ‘em and he did. Cutter, he a really handsome boy, very strong. He ain’t