Blood Orange (Dracula Duet #1)

Chapter 1 – Valtu

Valtu

I write this down because I don’t trust Bram to write his novel without twisting my story around.

I’d seen the wheels turning in his head in that peculiar way writers get when an idea starts taking off on them like an ornery horse.

I’m sure the countless days and nights we spent together in Cruden Bay where I opened myself up and poured my heart out to him paled in comparison to what Mr. Stoker’s brain could conjure up.

Thus, I’m not relying on his tale to be accurate in any way, shape, or form (He told me his title is The Un-Dead , I was hoping it would be called Valtu or Count Aminoff).

Besides, over the centuries, my memories have begun to fade.

I used to pray for the day I would forget all the pain, for the day I could burn my memories of her to ash.

But I know that one day I will have to remember her.

To forget her would be to forget what it’s like to be human, and I’m dangerously close to losing myself all together at times.

And so I will write down all I remember of her, in hope that our love might bring about my humanity.

One can only dream.

I have been doing a lot of dreaming.

THE GREAT WRATH 1714

The Kingdom of Sweden

(the land currently known as Finland)

I waited for her that morning like a starving man for a crust of bread.

Nothing would ease my hunger, not the sunshine on my face, the call of the meadow larks from the thicket, nor the wind rustling my humble field of wheat, all things that would normally bring me pleasure, even on the saddest of days.

Mina. Even her name felt like a song, like an answer from God to make up for a past awash with grief.

Losing my first wife Ana and the child, a child we never had a chance to name, then having the country invaded by the enemy, the burning of Helsinki, then most of my land taken away from me, even all of that felt trivial whenever I thought about Mina.

She was my redemption, my second chance at life.

She was a salve on the deepest wounds of my existence, and those wounds ran deep.

Even the harsh reality of this new world didn’t have a chance against the way she made me feel, the hope she brought me.

If I thought about it even for a moment, I would have known how impossible our love was, how there was no future for us, not when I was a lowly farmer, just a peasant in his mid-thirties, and she was the daughter of the general, the very monster who took over the countryside and made it his.

But I never dug deeper. I didn’t want to think. I was content to live on the surface of love, letting it sweep me from one day to the next on an unyielding current, no fear of the turbulent water and jagged rocks that lay ahead ready to flay me to pieces.

The sound of hoofbeats came from beyond the line of birch trees and a flock of starlings suddenly flew above the leaves, frightened by Mina’s approach.

I was standing at the start of the forest, my cottage barely visible from around the bend.

If anyone else were to approach, they would come along the road, not from behind through the birch and berry shrubs, where there was no trail. That’s how I knew it was her.

I found myself running now to meet her, leaving my wheat field behind and disappearing into the trees. I was almost to the pond, our meeting place, when I saw her horse between the tree trunks, the eyes on the white bark watching me. Perhaps even judging me.

Mina was cloaked, her gray hood covering her head, and I watched in awe as she lifted it off, her face becoming visible.

She saw me approach and smiled, so joyful that it nearly brought me to my knees.

She would always be the most beautiful woman I had ever seen.

Mina’s hair flowed around her like a cape, red and chestnut, shades of burnt bark and raspberries, strands of blonde catching the light as the wind pushed it off her face.

Her hair was the color of the fiery light from a dying sunset, one last burst of crimson before it faded into night.

Her skin the color of fresh cow’s milk, eyes the color of unfurled leaves. Her smile was sunshine.

She was my everything.

I felt a sudden warmth in my chest, a feeling so strong it was an almost physical pain. I could see all of her beauty then, in the way the light shone on her face, and I knew then that I loved her beyond measure.

“Hello, Valtu,” she said in broken German.

“Hello, my dear Mina,” I said, my German only marginally better than hers.

Language had been difficult for us—with Sweden’s rule over Finland, Finnish was largely forbidden and I had learned to talk, read, and write in Swedish, as well as a bit of German for trading purposes.

But in my early days, I didn’t understand Russian and Mina only understood some German.

It didn’t matter though, because when I was with her, words didn’t mean as much. We communicated in other ways.

She dismounted but I was already at her side to catch her, taking her in my arms and lowering her to the ground.

There was a shy moment when we were too close, when it felt formal and we didn’t really know each other, but I erased it by leaning over, grabbing her by her shoulders, and kissing her hard.

She let out a cry of surprise—sometimes I was rather rough with her, my passion unbridled—but that disappeared into one of lust. At any rate, we didn’t have much time with each other.

Over the last two months we had met every morning for mere moments, all of it in secret, and did all we could with the time we were given.

Feeling this urgency, my fingers pressed into her skin as my kiss deepened, like she might dissolve if I didn’t hold onto her, like she was a mere leaf in the wind.

She responded eagerly, her arms winding around my neck as she pulled me closer.

We kissed like that for what felt like hours, exploring each other, tasting each other, wanting more and more.

I had never craved anyone or anything like this in all my life, and the more I kissed her, the hungrier for her I got.

Finally, we pulled apart, both of us panting for breath.

“I missed you,” she said, her voice a throaty whisper.

“And I have missed you,” I replied, brushing her strands of strawberry hair off her face.

We didn’t need to say anymore. We both knew what we wanted, what we needed, what we dreamed about in the hours and days we were apart.

I took her hand and led her through the trees to the pond, my heart racing in anticipation.

The sun was filtering through the birch, casting a beautiful flickering light over everything. We reached the edge of the water and I turned to her, taking her in my arms once again.

We kissed, our bodies pressed together, and I was hard as wood.

She slid her hand down, grabbing me by my cock, and I gasped in pleasure.

She had become more and more bold with me over time, her curiosity lowering any inhibitions.

There were so many things I yearned to do to her, blasphemous, unspeakable things, and I knew over time that she would let me.

She would even enjoy it. I would make her see stars.

She started to stroke me through my trousers, her hand moving up and down, and I couldn’t take it anymore. I needed her, right then and there, or else I would explode.

I grabbed her and set her down on a soft patch of moss and she leaned back, her legs spread wide as she beckoned me closer, the many layers of her dress billowing around her like clouds.

I didn’t need to be asked twice. I pushed up her dress and undid my pants, sliding between her legs, pushing myself inside her in one smooth thrust. She was already wet and ready for me, as she always was.

She cried out and I started to move, grabbing her hips and pounding into her.

The water stirred near our bodies, wind rustling the trees, and I felt everything so clearly, it was as if I was ascending into something new, a higher version of myself, like I was closer to that God I once cursed for taking my wife and child away from me.

Being deep inside Mina was like stepping onto another path, toward another life, a better one.

I could feel my orgasm building, could feel her tensing up around me, and I knew it was time.

I slipped my hand between her legs and rubbed where she was slick and slippery until she let out a long moan.

Her orgasm started to build, her body tensing up and then exploding around me.

I grabbed her hips and shoved myself in as deep as I could go, holding her there as I came, my body jerking with pleasure so encompassing, I felt like my head was put on backward.

I stayed there until we both finished, her body going limp beneath me, and then I withdrew, rolling over to my side and staring at her.

She was breathing hard, her chest heaving, and a satisfied smile playing on her lips, their color a deep red, bruised from my own lips. I felt a sense of calm wash over me, a sense that everything was going to be okay.

She looked at me, her eyes deepening in color as the sun shifted, the pink of her cheeks fading. Then a look of fear came across her pale brow.

“What is it?” I asked, my voice hoarse.

She rubbed her lips together, the line between her delicate brows deepening. “I have to tell you something…”

“Tell me what?” I sat up a little, propped up by my elbow.

She swallowed, her throat moving softly and I was struck by the most unbecoming notion, that I should bite her neck, that I should sink my teeth into her tender flesh, and drink her blood.

I had to swat that feeling away, it was too far gone from any of the other lewd thoughts that would pop into my head from time to time. It felt dangerous in ways I couldn’t understand, but soon would very well.

She didn’t seem to notice how I was staring at her neck. “I’m pregnant,” she said.

The words hit me like a fallen tree. I could scarcely believe it.