Vampires of the Chesapeake: Nikolaus Schild

By D. A. Rhine

Nikolaus Schild has come a long way in 1400 years. Once a Frankish prince, who ruled over Reims, he now oversees his small estate along the St. Mary’s River. He prefers this peaceful existence in the country, which affords him time as a famous concert violinist to perfect his violin pieces. Until one evening, his quiet life in the country is interrupted. As he strolls his property, he finds a battered woman named Donella Fitzpatrick hiding in his field. She has nowhere to go and Nikolaus begrudgingly offers her a temporary room in his home, only until she recovers. Having a human houseguest is anything but easy and Nikolaus must hide his vampirism and unusual sleeping habits. But when he gets word that an ancient hunter is after him hiding his eccentricities from Donella becomes the least of his problems.

Donella doesn’t trust him; she doesn’t really trust any man since her ex, Tucker, accused her of being unfaithful and then beat her. She knows she should be grateful for “Mister Bossy’s”— or as he calls himself, Nikolaus’—hospitality, but she can’t stop arguing with him. The man gets under her skin. The sooner she finds a job, the sooner she can get her own place and get away from him because the last thing she needs is another controlling man in her life.

• Language: English
• Publisher: D. A. Rhine
• Release date: Apr 11, 2016
• ISBN: 9781311154392

D. A. Rhine

I hope you enjoy reading about my three favorite vampires and their lives. Visit me on Facebook or Twitter and let me know what you liked most, or who you liked most! Please, take a second to rate the books you read. It helps me and my series get noticed. ?Happy Reading!Warm Regards,D. A. Rhine

Book preview

To my mother who went Home August 6, 2012. You left us too soon and were far too young, but I will not claim to understand why, for only God knows. To my father, a man who has supported my creative streak for as long as I have drawn breath. He endures my requests for feedback on stories and my artwork with a smile. He is a kind and loving man with great patience. Thank you, Dad. To my children and my husband who supported me, inspired me, and tolerated me as I sat for hours behind my computer screen because I had to get the chapter(s) down. I love you all more than you know. Thank you to everyone for being patient and inspiring me to keep writing!

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

Thank you to A. K. Michaels, Jenn, Susan, and Pamela for providing me with wonderful feedback to help me make Nik’s story the best I could write it! Thank you for buying this book and for reading. Without you, I couldn’t continue to do what I love..

CONTENTS

Dedication

Acknowledgments

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Chapter 36

Chapter 37

Chapter 38

Chapter 39

Chapter 40

Chapter 41

Chapter 42

Chapter 43

Chapter 44

Chapter 45

Chapter 46

Chapter 47

Epilogue

More Books by D. A. Rhine

CHAPTER 1

Donnie rushed into the tall grass. The cut on her lip bled, and she licked it, cringing. As her lungs struggled for air, she glanced behind her. No one followed. She stopped and gasped for breath. Puffs of mist floated from her mouth. The pain in her head made contemplation difficult, but she had to keep moving. Tucker would be coming to finish punishing her.

A frigid wind blew, and the grass bowed against the forceful gale, making Donnie pull her coat around her tighter. Where was she going? If she didn’t get far enough away from Tucker, he’d beat her again, especially after she’d hit him with a fire poker. Without noticing if Tucker had gotten up, she’d bolted out the front door, forgetting her car keys. He’d been drinking… again. Tucker’s judgment blurred when he drank. And this time he’d accused her of screwing another guy.

She shook the memory from her mind and focused on her goal―escaping. Straightening, Donnie closed her eyes against a wave of dizziness―Must be from his punch. Another sharp pain shot through her skull wrenching a whimper from her. She took a step forward and wobbled. With the next step, she lost her balance and landed on her hands and knees.

Somewhere in front of her, water lapped the shore. She didn’t know St. Mary’s county as well as Tucker did. He had friends and family here. He was as familiar with Lexington Park as he was with Jack Daniels.

She staggered to her feet, but the spinning sensation drove her back onto her knees. Where he’d punched her temple pulsated.

The vertigo consumed her. Donnie dropped to her side and inhaled deeply to control her breathing and fear. She squeezed her eyes shut with the intent to ease the spinning sensation, but it did not. The ground rocked beneath her as if she were on a boat. Donnie covered her ears and curled into the fetal position. If she got the vertigo under control, then she could move, but the dizziness continued. Forcing her eyes open, she rolled onto her back, stretched out, and stared at the black sky. The longer she lay motionless, the slower her world spun, until it stopped.

Crunching gravel urged her to her feet, urged her to run.

Move Donnie, she thought. Move dammit!

With shaky hands and unsteady legs, she got to her knees, and then to her feet. The contents of her stomach sloshed against the sides of her belly and forced its way into her throat. On the ground again, she covered her mouth. As she tried to swallow the bile, her stomach refused it, and she heaved. Blood surged to her brain. Pain pounded in her skull. The vertigo and throbbing in her head had her trapped. No matter how much her brain demanded she run, her body overrode the order.

Right now, she’d give anything to be bussing tables and making idle chitchat with customers back at the Pennsylvania diner. But he’d walked in looking handsome, the son of a bitch. If he’d stayed the charismatic guy for whom she’d packed up her life and moved to Maryland, then she wouldn’t be lying in this meadow, puking out her guts. She’d most likely be next to him on the couch watching an episode of Supernatural.

Stones crunched again. The sound came from the same direction as the rushing water. She wiped bits of vomit from her mouth and held her breath, listening for the direction from where the footsteps came. However, the surrounding noises, as well as those inside her body, drowned out the footfalls. Somewhere waves splashed against land. Distant cars hummed along the pavement. Overhead, wind knocked branches together, clicking and clacking. And her pulse beat against her eardrums. From her position on the ground, the tall blades of grass blocked her view of the surrounding field, and the moonless night concealed the shapes that might help her discern the area.

Was it one person, or more? Was it Tucker?

She exhaled a little at a time to quiet the drum solo in her head.

Shoes shuffled over the grass. Donnie sat up. Goosebumps broke out over her skin. She considered bolting. If she stood and ran, she might trip from the vertigo; that belief held her as immobile as a mouse beneath the gaze of a snake.

A breeze cut through her coat eliciting another round of chilly bumps. She closed her eyes and clamped her jaw shut, but her teeth chattered and white vapor gusted from her nose.

The stranger stopped walking, and she heard only the waves slapping at the distant shore. Then, dry grass swished, breaking the brief silence. Closer the footfalls came. She curled into a ball, hoping the grass and darkness concealed her enough that the stranger walked past. Her heart hammered against her ribs. Icy sweat beaded across her forehead.

Like a panicked rabbit, Donnie sprang to her feet and darted to her right away from the stranger. Footsteps pounded behind her. Her head ached and the world tilted. She stumbled and plummeted onto her shoulder.

The person stopped a foot from her.

She lifted her head.

A tall man loomed over her, glaring at her. She scurried to sit up, but her vision blurred, and she fell onto her back. Donnie shuddered, wondering if she’d made a mistake running into this meadow. It may have been the worst blunder of her life―and her last one. He lifted his arm. She recoiled and screamed.

CHAPTER 2

Skeeter drove Nikolaus Schild home from National Airport after returning from a concert tour in Australia. It was almost dawn in D.C., so the beltway traffic was light. They made good time. The moment they drove over the Thomas Johnson Bridge and Nikolaus spotted rows of boats docked below in the Patuxent River he smiled. In a matter of minutes, he would be home.

They rode up his long driveway flanked by stately, red cedar trees. Nikolaus leaned forward when he saw the historic, brick colonial at the end of the private road. His estate rested at the top of cove off the Saint Mary's River.

He found it charming that mortals thought this house, built in the seventeen hundreds, old. During his mortal days, even as king of Reims, he lived in what was a shack by current standards. There were no toilets, or running water, no electricity, or heat, other than a fireplace.

Skeeter parked the Mercedes in the detached garage. Nikolaus got out, walked a few paces, and turned to his driver.

Skeeter, please take my case and overnight bag. I'm going to walk the property to stretch out my legs.

Yes, sir, Skeeter replied and retrieved the luggage and violin from the trunk.

December in southern Maryland was schizophrenic. Some years, snow came late and covered the ground in an inch or two, but other years were as brown and bleak as a graveyard in autumn. This year, December started out more like the latter.

Nikolaus followed the brick pathway in front of his house to the backside where Saint Mary's river flowed slow and dark against his property. The tide was low and bits of shells, rocks, and driftwood were exposed. If he stood by the shore long enough, he could hear the fish slapping the surface of the water or the tiny fiddler crabs skittering across the sand. But this morning he heard the motor of a Deadrise oyster boat heading out - earlier than usual - to begin a long day of dredging. The red and green lights on the bow of the boat pierced the fading dark and then receded into the horizon.

Then, he wandered near the river, glancing toward the opposite shore where warm yellow lights dotted the land. His muscles loosened and his shoulders relaxed.

The grass grew high this far from the house. He liked the pasture, the tall grass, dotted with white Queen Anne's lace, and wild black-eyed Susans in springtime.

With the river to his left, he walked further north, bent his knees, grabbed a handful of sand. Cool and smooth, the grains moved over his palm. He dusted his hand off and pivoted at the faint sound behind him in the pasture. The swishing of grass caught his ear as if someone or something was moving in the field. Probably an opossum or deer.

Feeling decidedly watched, he was unable to focus on the river and moved to study the grassy expanse again. Lifting his chin, he scented the air, noting a hint of copper and vanilla, conspicuously not smells inherent on his property. He shut out the rest of the world and listened to the spot where he saw movement.

A heartbeat.

Something alive was on his property that smelled of copper and vanilla. No animals smelled like vanilla.

He could turn to mist, walk, or run to his unannounced visitor. Easing his way toward the sound, not bothering to muffle the thud of his footfalls, he startled when a person shot out of the grass and ran. He followed at a jog. Nikolaus stopped when she fell. He looked upon the ground at the huddled, small form, which smelled of blood, lots of blood. He reached for her, offering his hand to help her stand, but the woman screamed.

Stop, he commanded, forcing her with his preternatural power.

Short, dark hair, spiky as winter tree branches sat atop a delicate, oval face. Her full moon eyes, moist with fear, stared up at him. A quivering bottom lip, swollen and bleeding, hinted she was on the verge of hysterics. A gash on the side of her temple, scrapes on her knuckles, and a trickle from her right ear were why he’d smelled copper. He reached for her once more to wipe the line of blood from her temple, but she flinched.

What are you doing on my land? he asked, gently, so not to frighten her anymore. He lifted his spell and permitted her to speak, but she did not, instead, the young woman crab-crawled backwards, away from him. Nikolaus closed his eyes and murmured, Stop. He stilled her body with his powers. Tell me why you’re injured and hiding in my field.

He... he's going to kill me, she stuttered and scrambled to get to her feet, but collapsed on her bottom. I'm sorry. I'll go, she whimpered and tried again to stand.

Who’s going to kill you? Nikolaus stood, watching her struggle to right herself, knowing any attempt to help her would only frighten her more. She was tiny, no more than five feet and even through her cuts and bruises he could tell she was beautiful, like a fairy. The woman looked as fragile as dried autumn leaves. It made him want to protect her. Once steady on her feet, she stepped away from Nikolaus. He repeated, Who’s after you?

If he sent you, please, let me go. She turned to run, but tripped and fell.

Shit, Nikolaus mumbled, running a hand through his hair. She was small and hurt, it twisted his gut to know someone had done this to her. Woman, answer me. You're on my property. I didn't seek you out to harm you.

Softly at first, and then escalating, her whimpers grew into sobs. Now, he’d never get answers. He rolled his eyes and crouched. But that didn't have any effect. The woman lay on the ground and curled into the fetal position, sobbing. What in the hell was he supposed to do? He didn't have time to play twenty questions. The sun would be up in a few hours, and he'd have to sleep. Plus, she needed medical attention and he was no doctor.

Nikolaus pulled out his cell, tapped the screen, and dialed the emergency number. He said, Yes, I need the police ―

She sprang at him like an angry jack-in-the-box, clawing, grabbing at the phone in his hand, and screaming, No, no! Hang up, please. Hang up! She swung her tiny fists at him. He jolted, dodging her feeble punches.

Standing, he held the phone out of her reach, squinting at her, as he told the nine-one-one operator it was a false alarm and hit end, stuffing the phone back in his pocket.

Her hands gripped his shirt. Two large, beautiful eyes stared at him, tears pouring from their corners. One eye looked puffy, he noted. Nikolaus tried to read her mind because she refused to answer his questions, but her mind was busier and more confusing than the beltway at rush hour. So many thoughts, jumbled and clogged, he couldn't make any sense of them.

Look, you have one minute to tell me why you're on my land, bleeding, near dawn, or I call the police back. He had no idea how imminent the threat to her was.

She released his shirt and stepped away. With the back of her hand, she wiped her cheeks and nose. Her winter jacket, torn and dirty, slipped off her shoulder, and she shrugged it on again.

I didn't realize I was on private property. I just ran. I'll go. Steadier now, the woman turned and walked away, but he caught her wrist. She snatched it from his grasp, but he took her arm instead, holding firmer this time. Let go of me! she demanded, as if she had the strength to back-up her words.

He released her, and she stumbled with momentum backwards, landing on her bottom. Nikolaus pulled the cell from his pants pocket, letting her know he would call if she didn't start talking.

Okay. Okay. My...boyfriend, she paused, blinked slowly, ex-boyfriend, the paranoid son of a bitch, thinks I cheated on him. After he slapped me, and pushed me down the steps, I ran. He came after me, but I hit him with something, and he tripped over his drunk self. That's how I got away. I didn’t know this field belonged to anyone.

This man hit her? he pondered. Any man that lifted a hand to a woman was not a man of honor. The thought of men striking the fairer sex dredged up memories he preferred to remain buried.

Nikolaus took her chin between his thumb and forefinger, turning her head left and then right as he studied the wounds on her face. She jerked her chin from his grasp.

No, you will not run off, he said with a sigh. Where would you go at this time of morning? He needed to get her inside for her protection as much as he needed to avoid the sun. Then, he could decide what to do with her. Do you have family in the county? I can drive you to their house.

She shook her head.

Friends?

No, I just came from Pennsylvania a month ago.

He glanced at his watch.

Christ, he should call the police back. She’d be a nuisance: snoop around his house, touch things, and move things, open things, ask all kinds of questions, questions that he’d grown tired of answering over the centuries.

So, why the hell did he say, Look, come inside, clean up, get something to drink, maybe get some sleep, and later this morning you'll have a better perspective.

She eyed him, wiping blood from her mouth with her coat sleeve, but she didn't move.

Do you need assistance walking?

She shook her head and limped forward. Nikolaus clasped his hands behind his back and nibbled the inside of his cheek as he thought about how to get her inside faster. Sunrise threatened. Her left foot dragged along the rocky path, forming a clear line behind her. She glanced at him.

If you were violated, you should file charges. Why not call the police? He wanted to learn more. The woman had been through a traumatic event; the injuries on her face confirmed that.

She shrugged and paused to rest.

He pursed his lips, and bent to scoop her into his arms. She was too slow.

No! She batted his hand and stepped away.

I can get you there faster. She inched backwards, and he sighed. Your man hit you, but I’ll not hurt you. Skeeter will fix you a cup of tea, coffee, water, whatever you want. Then, I'll show you to a spare room with a bath. You can clean up and rest. Later, my driver can take you to a hotel or any place you wish to go. Do we have an understanding? He shifted to lift her, but her head shook and stopped him. The weak rays of dawn touched his back. He stiffened.

No, we don’t. She folded her arms over her chest. I don’t know you. I’ll walk. And she limped onward.

Fine, suit yourself.

She hobbled toward his house, and he walked next to her, grinding his teeth at her stubbornness but accepted that she had a valid point; she didn’t know him. After several steps and a few sidelong glances from her to him, he cleared his throat and asked, What’s your name?

Her lovely gray eyes watched him, sizing him up. A moment of silence, and then she whispered, Donnella. She turned her attention to the ground. A brick path led to the back door. But, most people call me Donnie.

I am not most people, Donnella. Welcome, to Magnolia House.

CHAPTER 3

Donnie’s head ached, jaw throbbed, and knuckles felt like they'd been through a meat grinder. Her legs had no strength left after she'd fled Tucker’s house. She had no purse, no money, no house keys, nothing but her shoes, and clothes on her back.

As they approached his house, she looked up at him and back at the house. Surely, his wife wouldn't want him bringing a strange woman home. But he hadn't mentioned a wife, only someone named Skeeter.

This guy must be rich.

Worn, faded red brick wrapped the exterior of the house. It looked old. Many buildings were historic in this county, she remembered. Lights shined through the first floor windows. The exterior was symmetrical; four windows with black shutters on one-half of the house and four windows with shutters on the other half, with a door in the center, and one more window above it.

They stepped up onto the portico, and up to the front door. Before he opened it, a wide, bulky, he-man yanked it open. The large man said nothing, only nodded.

Skeeter, please prepare Donnella whatever she would like to drink or eat. And I’ll be back to show her to the guest room.

Yes, sir.

The tall, bossy, dark blond motioned forward, and she stepped inside. Donnie smoothed her hair, feeling the ends sticking in every direction. From the foyer, dark-amber wood floors led down the narrow hall beneath walnut wood trimmed archways. A straight staircase was on the right side of the hall.

Donnella, Skeeter will show you to the kitchen. I'll be back in a second. He indicated with his arm that she should follow this Skeeter character, and then Mister Bossy jogged up the steps.

Come with me. Skeeter, who reminded her of that butler, Lurch, in The Addams Family, walked slowly ahead.

The kitchen, and obviously an addition to the house because it looked more modern, had a huge commercial-sized fridge and freezer that took up a quarter of the outer wall. In the center, was an island.

Lurch, also known as Skeeter, paused in front of the fridge, and asked, What can I get for you, miss?

She shrugged and answered, A glass of water would be nice.

Without preamble, he pulled out a pitcher of filtered water and poured her a glass. She drank and found she was thirstier than she'd realized. Just as she finished, Mister Bossy stepped into the kitchen.

All set? he asked her. She only nodded. I'm sure you're exhausted. Follow me, I’ll show you to the guest room. He headed for the steps.

Um, excuse me. He stopped with a foot on the first step, and faced her with one brow raised. What's your name?

Oh, pardon me, I’m Nikolaus Schild. He offered his hand, and she shook it lightly. Now, let's get you settled in the guest room.

The room felt like a picture out of historic Williamsburg. A four-poster bed of dark wood was placed between two windows. To the left of the bed, was a lit fireplace.

Had he come up to light the fire for her?

He explained where the bathroom and towels were, and then added, If you need anything, call Skeeter. Don't wander about my house. When you wake, he can drive you where you need to go. Sleep well. And he left.

She closed her eyes and grabbed her head. It continued to ache, and her eyes blurred, probably from exhaustion. The bed looked appealing with its white, down comforter, and oversized pillows. The fire added to the cozy ambiance. Donnie closed the door. Leaning against it, she toed off her tennis shoes, tossed her coat onto a chair in the corner, and undressed, putting her clothes on top of her coat. She couldn’t get into that bed with all the blood and grime over her. But the thought of putting those clothes back on, made her cringe. She left them on the chair, picked up a towel, and wrapped it around her torso. She snatched the washcloth and hand towel off the cedar chest, and then tiptoed into the hallway.

In the bathroom, Donnie closed the door behind her, removed her towel, and stepped into the shower.

Duel shower heads, cool!

She turned on the water, adjusting the temperature to just below scalding, and lifted her face to the spray. She wiped away the bloodstains and dirt from her face, carefully avoiding the sore spots. Letting the water hit her back, she washed and shampooed and flinched when she ran a hand over the goose egg on the side of her skull.

As she bent to turn off the water, Donnie slapped a hand against the tile. The world spun, making her stomach roil. Once steady, she left the shower and dried off. The bathroom looked like a sauna with all the steam billowing around. She peeked to see if anyone was in the hallway and padded back toward the guest room.

Not wanting to put her dirty clothes on her clean body, she opted for her bra and panties only, then crawled beneath the covers and sank down, cringing when her head touched the pillow. Dang, that hurt. She rolled onto her side, trying to find a position that eased the pain. After lying still for a few minutes, the room tilted and slanted. She opened her eyes, but that made it worse, so she shut them again. The room twisted and turned resembling a psychedelic fun house, which made her stomach flip-flop.

She sat up, and the floor tipped as if she were on a boat. Trying to stand, Donnie stumbled and fell to her knees. Her stomach convulsed. She had to get to the bathroom. Forcing herself to stand, she wobbled toward the closed door, but fell into a writing desk, knocking over a vase. It shattered on the wooden floor. Dammit, she hoped that wasn't an antique.

The door flew open. Mr. Bossy took in the scene and paused long enough to ogle her under-clothed body. She covered her bra with her arms, but reached out to steady herself as she fell towards the floor again. He caught her before impact.

He carried her toward the bed, until she hollered, I'm going to be sick!

He sprinted into the hallway and to the bathroom, setting her down in time to hang her head over the toilet. With one hand, she shooed him out, but he ignored her, standing, glaring at her from the doorway. Dry heaves twisted her gut and tightened her throat.

Could my evening get any worse?

What’s wrong? Mr. Bossy asked.

When her stomach stopped lurching, she lifted her head out of the toilet, and said, I’m throwing up.

I can see that. Why?

She closed the lid, flushed, and tried to stand, but the room rocked sending her