AllFreeNovel
Share Us
While Vlad was away defending their territory, the count engineered the death of Vlad’s beloved bride. And so the legend began.
Vlad discovered his father’s hand in his bride’s death and responded by picking up his long sword, which he plunged deep into and through his father’s heart. His rage not assuaged, he then sliced across his father’s neck so vigorously that the count’s head, splattering blood everywhere, went flying across the room.
His father was not immortal. His father was not a vampire. Dracula looked at the corpse of his father and felt only one thing: rage.
Vlad became Count of Dracula, and he went on the bloody rampage that won him the title “Vlad the Impaler”.
It was then that he discovered that he was immortal. He knew at once that this had not come from his father’s side of the family. He had often seen his father sustain an injury that took as long as most to heal. He realized that all his life, his wounds had healed quickly—too quickly to be a natural thing.
And so a curiosity that had always been in the back of his head was revived. His mother—what had really happened to his mother? If she had given him this self-healing ability he possessed, surely she had not died. Was she also immortal? Why then had she left him?
However, his new and decadent life enveloped him, and he put the question aside.
Vlad Dracula, father of all vampire tales, was not by the true definition of the word a vampire. He did not die, to awake a vampire. He did not die and awake with a thirst for blood. He did not die and awaken an immortal. He was born an immortal. His lust for blood and killing was born from the need for revenge and the loss of his soul in black magic.
He became skilled in the Dark arts as he denounced God and all religion. He dove into wicked pursuits in an effort to eradicate the memory of his beloved. Memory was too painful; memory left him empty.
And then he began turning humans. He discovered quite by accident that if he allowed humans he had impaled to drink his blood they would die, yes, but they would be reborn with a thirst for blood—and a need to kill. This amused him for a time.
One day, something someone said made him remember that his mother was an immortal and must have untold abilities. He grew bitter when he thought about her. Why she had left him was a question that ate at the soul he had not quite lost. His soul was a dark, dense shade of black, but it was there somewhere inside him.
Thus, in the nineteenth century he began his search for her. He only knew his mother’s name had been Elizabeth.
In the Highlands of Scotland, his mother and his twin had prospered over the centuries, keeping their secrets to themselves. Elizabeth MacFare’s grandfather had died shortly after her return and had left her his fortune intact. She knew her grandfather was not immortal, she knew of course neither of her parents were immortal, and she wondered how it was that she was. At that time, she hadn’t realized the truth of the matter.
Elizabeth had named the son she kept with her John, and he took her family name—MacFare. Together they went forward.
She never ceased to mourn the empty spot she had for her other son, Vlad Dracula. She knew one day he might discover that she and John were alive—
And tales
of what he had become made his mother’s gentle heart tremble.
“For it was not into my ear you whispered, but into my heart. It was not my lips you kissed, but my soul.”
—Judy Garland
~ One ~
CHADWICK MACFARE STOOD on the stone steps of Darby Bray Grange, his Scottish home, and stared up at the stars. They were bright and appeared full of untold stories. Some of the stars seemed to take shape, forming a warning in the night sky.
He had just walked Mary Beth to her car, and he watched as she started to drive off. Her convertible top was down, and her red hair glowed in the dim lights that lined his courtyard.
He had felt nothing but relief as he watched her leave. She was a lovely, experienced young woman, and he thought she had understood the rules. He had told her from the start he was looking for ‘fun’—not friendship, not a romantic tie, nothing stable …
He had told her they could never have a future together. She was a worldly lass, and he was sure she understood what he had said to her. However, apparently he had been off the mark.
Lately every expression on her classically lovely face had warned him she wanted permanence, at odds with the fact that everything about her told him she was not in love with him. She wanted position, money, and power.
Lately, every word she spoke seemed to hold less affection for him, seemed calculated. This night, more than ever, she had tried to force his hand. She had suggested that, if he weren’t ready to declare himself, she might have to start ‘seeing’ other men.
He had given her a long look. He had already decided it was over between them. He answered softly, “Aye then, Mary Beth, you are entitled to do that and have the life you want.”
“I want it with you,” she snapped at him.
“You want it with what I own.”
“You are being cynical.”
