Love Really Bites: Love Bites, #2

By Kyt Wright

Book two in the Love Bites series.

 

A year has passed since nosferatu crime lord Gyorgy Thurzó attempted to disrupt the long-standing truce between vampyr and humans in what has come to be known as the Crisis.

 

Things have changed - greater numbers of undead roam the streets of London making it necessary for a team of Enforcers to patrol the capital where one used to be sufficient, while Whitehall now retains a unit of soldiers trained to fight the undead if required.

 

Against this background the former Blood Countess, Elisabeth Bathory, looks back over her long tenure on the planet while reflecting on lost love and the events leading to her present unhappy situation - in a new adventure that sees a threat to the existence of the vampyr race itself!

• Language: English
• Publisher: BLKDOG Publishing
• Release date: Jan 15, 2022
• ISBN: 9798201760717

Book preview

Chapter One – A vampyr remembers

B

athory gingerly opened the front door so as not to let the morning light fall on her before sitting on a chair in the hallway of her home – it was far too early for what she intended, and she wasn’t drunk enough yet.

Well, I can improve on one of those things!

She threw the empty vodka bottle across the hall, unscrewed the top of the second to take a deep draught then thought about Liz while trying not to cry. The nurse was back at her mother’s in Rotherham now. Bathory had begged her not to go, telling her they would work it out somehow, but she would not listen, insisting it was better to make a clean break.

What did she know?

As she took another swig, her mobile rang; it was Tamsin.

‘What do you want, fed up with Fabio already?’ she slurred angrily.

‘I just thought I’d ask how you were?’ answered Tamsin in her cut-glass tones.

‘Great,’ she replied with little conviction.

‘Elisabeth, are you alright?’

‘I thought you were never speaking to me again?’

‘It doesn’t stop me worrying about you.’

‘I told you, I’m fucking fine,’ slurred Bathory.

‘Are you still drunk?’ There was concern in the girl’s voice.

‘I said I’m fine, now fuck off and leave me alone!’ she snarled before ending the call abruptly.

Elisabeth unpinned the gold brooch from her dress and twirled it in her fingers. The trinket was in the form of the Bátory family crest; a dragon curled around a jawbone with pointed teeth – it was one of the few things she had kept from her life as a sixteenth century noblewoman. Over four hundred years had elapsed, but the memories were as clear as if it was yesterday.

The sun was setting over Castle Csejte on a cold February evening as Gyorgy Thurzó led his entourage into the courtyard; they were a tough-looking bunch who had served alongside their lord during his many campaigns against the Ottoman Empire. The Palatine of Hungary had been forced to return to Csejte after receiving word of a Lutheran pastor discovered hanging from the rafters of his own church. It was not a crime that would usually attract the interest of the highest official in the land, but this particular clergyman had played a part in imprisoning an infamous murderess – one whose downfall benefited him greatly.

Alighting from his mount, Thurzó climbed the spiralling stairs of the sturdy tower where, less than a week ago, something very unpleasant had been incarcerated.

It would be awake now that dusk had come.

‘So, the creature is behind there?’ asked Thurzó, regarding a stone wall in which could be seen the outline of a bricked-up doorway. A block had been left out at shoulder height to form an opening, beyond which all was in darkness.

Of course, it did not need light to be able to see.

Something had run from the bottom edge of the aperture to form streaks on the brickwork; it looked like dried blood and upon spotting Thurzó’s interest, the soldier in charge revealed what had occurred. ‘When a soldier called Gergo brought the Countess her food, he made the mistake of handing the dinner tray directly through the slot and she grabbed his arm, pulling it through up to his shoulder. We managed to drag him away but not before she had bitten off his hand to drink from the wrist stump.’ The officer pursed his lips. ‘We tried to save the poor soul, of course, but he’d lost too much blood.’ As if on cue a serving woman appeared from the stairwell, she was carrying a wooden paddle upon which was a tray that held a jug of beer and a platter of sausage, bread and cheese. The officer gestured at it. ‘This is how the Countess receives her meals now.’

Thurzó noticed there was also a bowl of bright red liquid on the tray. ‘You’re giving it blood?’ he snarled in disgust.

‘It’s just pig’s blood, sir; she is of a noble line and the king has ordered explicitly that the Countess be given sustenance for as long as she endures.

‘Did he tell you to feed it blood?’

‘The Countess requires it for her continued survival, sir!’ replied the officer curtly.

The Palatine noted how the soldier insisted on referring to the creature respectfully; it seemed that loyalty to the accursed creature still ran deep within the local population. Thurzo’s involvement with the family had started with the death of her husband, Ferenc Nádasdy, who married the noblewoman Erzsébet Bátory when she was just fifteen. They had moved into the castle, built on a hill overlooking the small town of Csejte and resided there for twenty-nine years before the husband died, crippled by a protracted and unidentifiable illness.

In his will, Nádasdy entrusted the care of his wife and her four children to Gyorgy Thurzó, a powerful man who would eventually become the Palatine – the king’s representative. Seven years later, he would lead the investigation that resulted in the immurement of the Countess on multiple counts of sadism and murder – the revelation that she had become a vampyr only giving further justification to the harsh sentence.

The serving woman gingerly pushed the paddle through the feeding slot and when she withdrew it the tray had gone. Thurzó waved away the guards then moved closer to the aperture to hear someone drinking greedily; silence fell, and a cultured voice came from within the dark of the room. ‘Gyorgy, is that you?’

‘Yes, creature, it is I,’ he replied.

‘Come closer; I can’t hear you.’

‘How stupid do you think I am? I have heard what happens to those who stray too near.’

A pair of brown eyes appeared at the slot. In the dim light, they looked almost black. ‘Why am I being honoured with a visit from my old friend the Palatine of Hungary, and so soon after having me walled up in here?’

‘You were lucky only to have been imprisoned. Had it been left to me, your head would be on a spike at the castle gates!’ The king had been quite insistent about her sentence; since Bathory was of noble stock, her execution would have caused public disgrace to a powerful family.

During her husband’s mysterious illness and following his death, Erzsébet Bátory had ruled in his stead with a rod of iron yet had remained fair in her judgement. The darkness in her soul only began to show itself after she provided sanctuary for the infamous nosferatu Vlad Tepesh, supposedly years deceased. The pair had become lovers and Erzsébet, approaching her fifties and fearing the onset of old age, had asked him to turn her into a vampyr. Following that, she began to treat the local population with disdain; often committing unspeakable acts in her zeal for blood. Yet on rare occasions, she was still capable of benevolence and charity. Fortunately for the undead Countess, the people feared the encroachment of the Ottoman Empire far more than her and realising this, she strove to keep the enemy at bay, using bribery, cajolement or force if necessary.

Bathory had once even fought a vicious Turkish vampyr to excision; causing no small amount of injury to herself in the process. When her faithful servants recovered her torn body, they healed the vampyr’s wounds by bathing her in the blood of condemned criminals, one of whom was a woman.

When news of this got out, gossip began to spread about the terrible atrocities she had committed. Of course, there was some truth in them but as often happens with rumours, they became more sensational in the telling.

A local Lutheran minister, incensed at her behaviour, sent a letter of complaint to the royal palace and Matthias II, king of Hungary, almost reluctantly dispatched the Palatine to investigate. On his arrival in Ecsedi, Thurzó was surprised by the loyalty of her subjects and, at first, made little progress in his investigations until Bathory’s sons-in-law came forward to offer their assistance. Eager to get their hands on her lands and wealth, they lost no time in fabricating evidence and inventing new horrors, supposedly of her doing. Thurzó sent men to arrest the Countess during the daylight hours when she was asleep, but even then they found it hard to contain the enraged vampyr upon awakening. As a result, Erzsébet Bátory was tried in absentia and sentenced to entombment within her chambers for as long as she endured – which for the vampyr meant eternity.

‘Tell me, Gyorgy, were you well rewarded for your part in my betrayal?’ asked the voice beyond the aperture.

‘What betrayal? You are an evil monster, responsible for the torture and murder of hundreds of helpless young women – in what way were you betrayed?’

‘Lies, all lies!’ screamed the vampyr.

‘Monster, are your bloodsucking ways a lie?’

‘I shepherded the townspeople, looked after them, even standing up to the Turks when they strayed here, my bloodsucking ways came in quite useful then.’

‘An interesting term, shepherding. Keeping your flock safe for you to prey on at your leisure?’

‘I did not do half of the things they accused me of and even then, I acted little different to many others I could tell you of, but, of course, they are all men!’ she hissed.

‘You committed acts of depravity, many against young women in your care.’ Bathory had occasionally taught the daughters of the lesser gentry courtly etiquette, some of whom she had seduced, and worse.

‘I have needs, tendencies – my vampyric condition only made them worse. Gyorgy, listen to me. I have repented and prayed to God for salvation, and he has given me the strength to change. You could let me out, it is in your power as Palatine.’ Her voice took on a wheedling tone. ‘I know you have always wanted me, Gyorgy, from the moment Ferenc’s will set you to look after us. Let me go free and I will be beholden to you. I will be yours to have, whenever you wish and however you desire.’

An image came into his mind of the Countess astride him, naked with her long raven-black hair cascading over her striking face, hips writhing. He shook off the stupor that had overcome him. ‘Whore of Satan, your evil magic will not work on me!’

Her mouth appeared at the aperture, fanged teeth visible. ‘Then you will die horribly, as will all who conspired to take my freedom!’ she hissed.

‘One of them is already dead, creature – Father Magyari!’

‘The priest, my original accuser?’ she asked, her voice mocking.

‘He was found swinging from a rope – in his own church. Did you have anything to do with it, demon?’

‘Hanged, was he? If it had been me, would I not have torn his throat out?’ The eyes appeared at the slot once again. ‘And in case you had forgotten, Gyorgy, I am walled up in here.’

The Palatine curled his lip. ‘I did not suggest you were personally responsible, monster. Unbelievable as it seems, some people in Csejte are still deluded enough to believe in you and, furthermore, one of your accomplices is still at large.’

Three of her faithful servants had been arrested and tortured to extract false confessions while being convinced to bring further accusations against their mistress. ‘So, which poor soul has evaded your grasp?’ laughed Bathory.

‘The whore, Katrina – your favourite, I believe? The one who helped you indulge your cruelty while sharing your bed.’

‘Katrina?’ The eyes wrinkled at the corners as the vampyr smiled. Thurzó was not wrong in his assumption; she did favour the woman, who was slightly younger than her.

‘When daylight comes, I will instigate a fresh search and let me inform you that if I find anyone has been giving her refuge or concealing her whereabouts, I will not hesitate to take a firm stance with them.’

‘Which, of course, means torture?’ suggested the vampyr.

‘Only if needs must,’ replied Thurzó.

‘And you dare to call me monster?’

‘King Matthias has given me the authority; there must be no further reprisals. I shall take my leave of you now, Bátory!’ He spat her name as it if were poison.

‘When you go to sleep tonight, Gyorgy, be sure to keep one eye open – for you may be next!’ Bathory called after the Palatine as he withdrew.

Before entering the castle, Thurzó had taken the opportunity to study the fabric of its walls; particularly the tower where the vampyr was being held captive and what he had discovered left him with no intention of sleeping tonight.

Making certain that he had gone, Bathory finished her gory meal then licked the bowl clean; the cold animal blood was a poor substitute for the real thing, but it did take the edge off her hunger. She would satisfy that need later. The vampyr then sat down to drink the beer and eat the victuals supplied – the human part of her required its sustenance too.

When midnight came, she peered through the feeding slot to check that the guard had dozed off then crossed the room to open the garderobe door. Pushing at a particular tile on the mosaic there, she slid a section aside to reveal a small opening beyond which was a narrow chimney leading down inside the wall of the fortress itself. The original owner had it built during the castle’s construction for use as an escape route. The newly-wedded Countess had found it shortly after they had moved in, keeping its existence secret from everyone, including her husband. And so it was, a short time later, a figure emerged from a small door hidden by foliage that clung to the stone of the wall. After scrutinising the area for any sign of Thurzó’s men, the vampyr stole down the embankment under cover of darkness to make her way through Csejte’s shadowy streets and into the forest beyond.

Once in the woods, Bathory found her beloved, Katrina waiting at a pre-determined rendezvous under a large oak and after a brief embrace, the woman recounted her news. ‘My lady, I have secreted caches of gold as you instructed but that bastard Thurzó has had his soldiers searching for me all day and they have been quite brutal in their interrogation of the townsfolk. They remain steadfast at present but it can only be a matter of time before someone betrays me.’

‘Do not fear, my darling; my plan to bring Thurzó to Csejte has worked and once I have avenged myself we shall flee Hungary forever.’ Bathory had indeed been responsible for the murder of Father Magyari, bleeding him dry then hanging his body in the church while taking care that lacerations caused by the rough rope of the noose would, hopefully conceal the puncture wounds from her fangs.

Unbeknown to either of them, the Palatine had closely examined the pastor’s corpse to ascertain the true nature of his demise.

Taking her mistress by the hand, Katrina had started leading her along the forest path towards the first cache when suddenly Bathory pulled her up short. ‘Hist, Kat, there are others nearby.’

‘I did not give you away, mistress; you have my word on that!’ whispered Katrina urgently.

‘I know,’ affirmed the vampyr.

A soldier stepped out of the undergrowth, almost stumbling over the pair, but before he could raise the alarm, Bathory dashed forward to grab his head and twist sharply – there was an audible snap and he fell to the forest floor.

More men appeared from the woods and Bathory turned to Katrina. ‘Darling, you must run. I will catch up once I have dealt with these bastards!’

As the vampyr clawed the first man’s throat open, his colleague had chance to shoot his crossbow; the quarrel struck her in the chest and with a curse the vampyr pulled the bolt from her ribs before falling on him before he had a chance to reload. Elisabeth took to her heels to flee through the forest, with pain searing through her as the puncture wound healed. Had the quarrel struck further to the right, her heart would have been impaled, leaving her immobile and helpless.

The vampyr’s frantic flight came to an end when she burst into a clearing to be confronted by Thurzó, sitting astride his horse; flanked by half a dozen armoured men and with a triumphant grin upon his face. ‘Countess, I discovered your secret exit when I first arrived at the castle and you were followed from the moment you escaped, but my question is, why did you not escape the moment you were walled up?’

Bathory said nothing but took careful note of the reinforcements emerging from the trees.

‘Nothing to say, Countess?’ continued Thurzó. ‘Then let me answer for you; your real goal is me. Magyari was killed in the hope of drawing me here to investigate.’

‘You are very clever, Gyorgy, but I am still going to kill you!’ hissed the vampyr before charging him. Thurzó gave a gesture to his men and she received several crossbow bolts to the chest, but not one found her heart and she surged forward, hissing in pain while pulling the quarrels from her body. On seeing proof of the vampyr’s apparent indestructibility, some of the soldiers ran into the woods, much to the disgust of the Palatine.

‘I think not, monster!’ roared Thurzó as she was almost upon him when he made another gesture and two men dragged a struggling Katrina into the clearing, causing Bathory to pull up sharply. ‘You see, I have something of value that belongs to you.

‘Countess, flee; save yourself!’ cried her servant as one of the soldiers held a knife to her throat.

Bathory did not move but just stood horrified and, on spotting this, a smirking Thurzó spoke once more. ‘See, I know your weakness – give yourself up, monster, and I will spare her life!’

Seeing the look of fear on her lover’s face, the vampyr turned to the Palatine. ‘You will promise me this before your God, in whom you put so much trust?’

‘I swear to it by Almighty God and before all those present and furthermore, I give you my word as Palatine of Hungary!’

Bathory let her arms fall to her sides and hung her head in defeat. Thurzó nodded to a crossbowman who took aim and shot her in the chest – this time, the bolt pierced her heart and she sank slowly to the ground.

While she lay in pain, Thurzó grabbed her head to stare into the expressionless eyes. ‘I know you can hear me, Bátory. As promised, your servant shall live, but she will spend the remainder of her days in prison for her sins.’

‘Bastard!’ thought the vampyr, hearing Katrina’s sobs as they marched her away.

Thurzó discharged all but three of his most trusted men, who then set to digging a hole in the forest floor. ‘Your grave is being prepared, monster. You were sentenced to be imprisoned for eternity and I am going to ensure it will happen – this time, there will be no escape.’

Bathory, fully aware of the horror of what was about to be done, was screaming inside. They would regret this if ever she had the chance for revenge.

With the grave dug, the helpless vampyr was picked up and dropped into a rough wooden box then Thurzó looked into her face once more. ‘There is one final thing to be done. I am of the belief that a vampyr cannot heal without fresh blood and I also believe a vampyr should suffer for what it has done – consider this a parting gift.’ He stood back while a soldier broke her arms and legs with a heavy mallet as she lay in the makeshift coffin. ‘Oh, I almost forgot,’ said the Palatine and with an evil grin, he plucked the crossbow bolt from her heart to release her from immobility.

Bathory screamed in agony and begged them not to bury her alive; she carried on screaming as the soldier used the very same tool used to break her limbs to nail the box tightly shut and was still screaming when they lowered the coffin into the grave, the screams finally becoming muffled when the earth had been piled back and stamped flat.

Bathory had no idea how long she had lain under the earth; the pain was indescribable but her broken bones could not heal properly without feeding. The symbiont within her body desperate for sustenance soon consumed what little iron was left in her blood, causing an ache that only added to the suffering felt from her shattered limbs. The fate of Katrina was uppermost in her mind at first and she lay wondering if the treacherous Palatine had kept his word or dispatched her once the vampyr was in the ground. Numbness crept over her, and her thoughts became confused as she teetered on the edge of insanity – the vampyr considered the ways in which she would kill her tormentor and dwelt on the misery she herself had caused and how it had brought her to this makeshift coffin. Darkness was coming upon her as the symbiont started to become dormant and Bathory recounted her life over and over again, hanging on to her thoughts, grimly determined that she would not make the same mistakes should she ever escape her grave.

Then after what seemed like an interminable length of time, her mind finally went blank.