Christian Blood

By Douglas Ryan

In this tale of love, betrayal, redemption, and blood, Christian Nadasdy navigates the exotic world of vampires and witchcraft. He finds himself confronted with more questions than answers:

Was the bashing one of the many machinations of his caregiver? Does the beautiful witch Scarlett Raven have designs on his heart or does she have dark ulterior motives of her own?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Douglas Ryan
• Release date: Oct 27, 2010
• ISBN: 9781452333090

Douglas Ryan

Born in Jersey City, New Jersey and now living in Las Vegas, I'm a YA author of urban fantasy and horror based on contemporary social issues. In my spare time, I practice insomnia, perfecting my neurosis oh yeah and writing.

Book preview

Christian Blood

by

Douglas Ryan

Smashwords Edition

Copyright 2010 Douglas Ryan

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

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 to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

This Book is for all those that felt like outsiders, felt misunderstood felt……strange.

The vampires are like you. They thirst; the love, they die.

Chapter 1

The cracked concrete of the sidewalk hurt Christian Nadasdy’s feet each time the thin, worn out soles of his Converse sneakers made glancing contact as he ran for his life. He nearly doubled over from the pain in his side. He coughed and wheezed; the bile burned up his throat and filled his mouth.

Hey get over here. I got something for ya! A voice called, interspersed with the sound of boots hitting pavement.

Christian redoubled his efforts despite the pain. His heavy hardbound copies of European folklore fell to the ground. The volumes fell with a tiny thud, the small defeated sound of choosing survival over knowledge.

The act of desperation was too late. A hand pulled back on his shirt and spun Christian around. Standing in front of him was a thug, dressed in a hooded sweatshirt and holding a baseball bat. A fist plowed into his gut. Christian coughed and bent over in pain.

W-why? asked Christian, holding his stomach as though to protect his insides from spilling out.

Because you're a queer! That's why! He traced his fingers up and down along the length of the wooden bat.

I don't know what you're talking about!

The mugger raised his bat like a ball player about to hit a home run. Because you took everything from me!

The wooden bat cracked against Christian's skull with a hollow sound. Blood matted his hair and began to dribble down the side of his face. Christian stood dazed, barely able to understand what had just happened. A fist smashed into his mouth; the pain spread over the side of his face and blood filled the space between his teeth and gums. Christian's legs wobbled beneath him.

Christian spat out the blood on the face of his basher.

You’re finda die for that! Now I got AIDS!

The blunt end of the bat jabbed into Christian's chest. Christian coughed and a thick mixture of blood and saliva expelled from his mouth in a pinkish spray.

Christian bent over and fell to his knees. Tiny shards of glass and stone on the asphalt ripped into the palms of his hands, which were soon slick with blood. He glanced up, but his vision was blurred by the blood in his eyes. Christian rubbed his eyes, but a tiny stone got stuck in the eye as he did. A tear, his body's natural defense, welled up to wash the irritant away.

Christian glanced up. Mike? he asked.

Aww, don’t cry! Michael Cynn said sarcastically. I said I have something for you and I do. He held up the discarded books.

Can I have them? Please? asked Christian.

Of course, it's yours right? I just wanna look at it first. European Vampire Folklore? I like vampires and shit too! But I did promise you could have your books, didn't I? So I won’t steal them from ya.

Please?

Mike grasped a hand full of the pages and tore them from the spine. He wadded them into balls, containing a few pages a piece.

Christian screamed as he watched the destruction of his books, his only way to have his questions answered. Within the pages, he hoped to find the answers to questions about himself-about who and what he was. These were questions he asked for most of his eighteen years about why he never quit fit in anywhere, why he always felt like a freak and was treated as such. And why the sight of blood, although he knew it should disgust him, made him excited-even hungry.

Open your mouth! said Mike, grinning wickedly. Mike grabbed Christian's lower jaw and pried mouth open. You still want them? Christian shook his head. Mike shoved the paper down Christian's mouth. Christian gagged as the musty tasting paper was shoved to the back of his throat.

Christian bit down, not entirely on purpose. He tasted the blood where his teeth pierced his enemy's skin.

Son of a bitch! screamed Mike. Mike pulled out a knife with a pentacle emblazoned on the handle.

No! Please! I didn’t mean to do it! Don't kill me!

The knife pierced his chest with a horrible popping sound. He gasped for breath that wouldn't come. Christian clutched the wound and the blood quickly filled the space between his fingers.

Don't worry, said Mike. I missed your heart. He said not to kill you and I didn’t. Trust me.

Christian fell unto his back. Even as he felt the life drain from his body, he pondered the words. Christian had thought this was because Cynn thought he was gay, but now considered there might be more to this bashing than he realized.

Exhausted, he closed his eyes. Christian thought he heard footsteps running away from him and at the same time footsteps approaching him, but he couldn't be sure. All he knew for sure was that he was more tired than he even felt before. He surrendered to sleep, the last sleep of this life. The last thing he heard was a voice with a strange accent saying It will be alright, little one. To say hello to a new life, you must die to the old.

Chapter 2

Christian arouse from unconsciousness slowly. He cried out in agony. There were throbbing pains in the tender flesh where his assailant punched and kicked him. The pain from the stab wound was a sharper pain, although a strange one. Under the bandages, the torn edges seemed to have enhanced sensitively in a way that wasn't entirely bad.

He was on his side in a fetal position. As his consciousness increased, he became more aware of his surroundings. He was lying on a soft and warm bed, unlike the hard asphalt and concrete littered with stones and glass.

Hello? he called. "Am I in a hospital?"

The blood soaked bandages clung to his skin like filthy rags. Naked, and in pain, he felt very vulnerable.

If this is a hospital, then where's my hospital gown? What kind of hospital leaves their patents naked?

His clothes weren't the only the only things missing. The crucifix he wore around his neck was missing. He wasn’t religious; it was the only heirloom he got from his grandmother. Christian was a little upset over its absence, but reasoned that it was probably just stowed away for safe keeping.

His mouth tasted of stale blood and the taste made him gag.

Confused, he felt like he was in a strange dream that he wanted to both wake up from and stay in. The taste was strange in this state of half-consciousness. Christian slowly opened his eyes. A narrow slit of sunlight beamed through the blinds and hit his eyes like a needle. He placed his arms protectively over his eyes and tried to make it over to the window to close the blind. He took a couple steps and collapsed on the floor.

He called out Help me! but there was no help coming. Fresh blood flowed into the thin fabric of his bandages where his battered flesh met the wooden floor. Christian stared up at the ceiling for a few minutes.

This is no hospital. Where are the nurses? Where’s the medical equipment? he called out to anyone that might be within earshot.

This was more like a hotel than a hospital. A huge crystal chandelier hung from the ceiling. The furniture, even from the limited vantage point of lying on his back on the floor, seemed very elegant with highly polished surfaces. That fact was a little comforting to Christian; no one would kidnap a person just to surround him in luxury.

Christian managed to bend his torso forward and sit up. He placed his palms flat on the highly polished hardwood floor and forced himself to stand. He walked carefully, each step deliberate and slow until he worked his way to the window and closed the blind.

He breathed a sigh of relief. This was much better, no sunlight to burn his eyes. Yellow flames flickered in red jars along a shelf above an empty stone fireplace provided sufficient illumination to see. Everything looked as though it came from an antique store. From Art Appreciation class, he could guess that everything was from the Victorian era. The antiques were in such impeccable condition that even in candle light Christian could see his reflection in the polished surfaces.

The furniture was elegant to the point of being aristocratic. Even the legs of the dresser were as intricate and subtle in appearance as a human leg. The bedposts were spiraled and tall, as though trying to reach the heavens above.

As he looked around, Christian noticed a total absence of bright colors. There were no whites, yellows or even any prime colors. Everything was a dark stained wood color, or a deep rich bottleneck green or burgundy red. Even the bed sheets were very dark red, almost the color of blood. It was a color scheme that he liked.

Footsteps could be heard approaching. The sound seemed amplified in the otherwise silent stillness of this place. Christian grew nervous, instinctively knowing that this would be the person that brought him here.

Why did you bring me here? he yelled before he even saw the person that was approaching.

The heavy brass doorknob turned. Christian grabbed some bed sheets to use as cover for his naked body. He recoiled, his back pressed against the far wall. Christian's heart beat in his chest like heavy metal drums, fast and furious. The door opened with a slight creaking sound. Christian swallowed hard in his throat.

Christian clutched his sheet as if that could protect him as the door opened. A man stepped through the doorway. Seconds passed like hours as Christian's mind raced through all the possibilities repeatedly. A nervous sweat welled up from his pores.

Christian looked up at the man. His face was gaunt and pale. Their eyes met. The man's eyes seemed not quite human, possessing fierceness he had never seen before. He felt the instinct to flee, but there was no place he could go. The window was closed; the stranger blocked the doorway. If the stranger meant to harm him, there was nothing he could do about it. But why would he hurt me? He must be the one that bandaged my wounds? Right? Right?

The silence was broken by a thick accent that was somewhat like German, but not exactly. I am Markgraf Heinrich von Stockerau. Even under the thick mustache, Christian could notice the man's teeth. They were larger and sharper than usual, especially the incisors-much like his own.

I-I'm Christ....

I know who you are, Heinrich said with either a snarl or a smile; Christian couldn't tell which. I know everything about you, Christian.

What? How? Who are you? Christian became afraid again and wondered if this was some obsessed pervert.

Don’t be afraid. I have brought you to my house because I found you on the street. You were dying, lying in a pool of your own blood.

Why-why didn't you take me to the hospital? Why bring me here? Christian studied the man's face for a moment. The face was extremely pale, almost translucent, but it didn't seen the face of a man that was about to do something unspeakable to him. Still his needed the explanation to be completely at ease.

"Relax, mein Neffe. There is no need for the hospital."

Christian tried to relax, although this was a bizarre situation.

How do you know me? What’s Markgraf mean? Mein Neffe? I can figure out the Mein part, easily. It means my, he rattled off nervously. Can’t you just speak English?

Do you know what happened to you? said Heinrich by way of not answering.

I think....

Yes, think child! What happened to you?

Christian closed his eyes. The images of the brutal, senseless beating flooded his mind. I was bashed!

Yes, that's right! Feel your anger; let it give you strength to recover. We will deal with that animal that attacked you soon enough. I know him as well. His mind is too small to tolerate anybody that is different from himself. Tell me, why did I save you?

That seemed a strange question. Usually Why? is the question you ask the perpetrator of senseless violence, but not a question to ask somebody that saved you from certain death.

Ordinarily, I would have let nature take its course. It would have been no concern of mine if you had died. And why would I make it my concern and create more work for myself? In fact, I might have assisted you in your journey to Hell; except I noticed, or I suppose the more proper word would be sensed, something unusual about you. More specifically, about your blood.

Christian was appalled. Are you saying you would have killed me, except for my blood? You don't care if I live or die?

That is not what I said. I would have helped you on your way, yes. But your death would have been inevitable. You were as good as dead already.

Christian frowned. You could at least call an ambulance or something!

Ah, but I did better than that. I saved you myself, yes? Enough about what might have happened and let's focus on what did happen, shall we? Look at me!

This Markgraf was fairly tall, at least three inches taller than his father. He dressed strangely, with red trousers and a blue jacket with a red collar. Going across the breast of the jacket were shiny buttons and metals. A sword hung at the man's side, ending just about were the highly polished black boots ended. It seemed to be some sort of uniform, but old fashioned.

Why did the brute attack you?

I don't know, Markgraf. Because I'm different?

The man laughed. You may call me Heinrich, my young friend. I suppose the correct English pronunciation for my title would be Markgrave. But different in what way?

Christian didn't like this question. This Heinrich was going to make him reveal secrets about himself. I'm not a jock like he is?

Is that right? He beat you nearly to death for not being an athlete? What is the real reason? I know why, I just need you to say it.

I-I drank this kid at school's blood! He has a lot of problems and he cuts anyway and he let me drink it! Christian began to cry.

Stop crying! That is not beautiful! Our kind must always be beautiful.

Our kind? What do you mean? Do you drink blood too?

Heinrich didn't answer but instead continued his line of questioning. And how did you feel when you drank your friend's blood?

I felt strong and powerful, to be honest, since you seem to know everything anyway! It's like the person's energy just flows into me. I love it! Yet I also feel ashamed.

"Ashamed? Nonsense! That is who and what you are. Why be ashamed of what you are?

Because it's sick! You could catch AIDS or something from it. I hate myself for doing it. I'm a fucking freak!

If it's sick, how do you feel when you don't drink it?

Then I feel weak and tired. I crave it when I don't have it.

Heinrich laughed; his teeth glistened in the candlelight. "Tell me, if it's sick, as you say, why you feel ill when you don't drink