Chapter 11
Chapter Eleven
ORPHEUS
After enjoying an extended sojourn within the luxurious residence, I left the Brandenburg’s home, having overstayed my welcome.
No trace of the family or their staff would be found, and I had kept such a low profile that my stay would go undetected.
It was during my search for a new residence that I came across a witch’s coven.
It was the whispers of spells and sacred scheming that gave them away.
Their country estate hidden in the heart of Bodmin Moor.
Its grand silhouette half-swallowed by the creeping fog.
Sturdy tone walls, dark with moss and rain, rose from the coarse, untamed grass.
Ivy choked the walls. Wild heather and gorse had claimed the gardens.
Somewhere deeper in the mist, a stream could be heard but not seen.
At first, I had considered finding refuge here.
I had never minded the women who believed in magic, nor those who gathered leaves and roots for medicine—in truth, I much preferred their quiet, enduring kindness. They, after all, were just as persecuted as someone like me.
This manor hid another secret.
Athena, a female vampire had ensconced herself within the clan.
Fascinated with the occult, I took a few moments to peer through an open window, closing my mind to Athena.
I perceived she had sensed my arrival in Cornwall and had considered coming in search of me. Though concerned I might covet her den, she had reconsidered. She selfishly obsessed over her darling witches.
In the name of politeness, I waited for her in the kitchen and gently beckoned her inside.
She appeared in the doorway, fierce and unflinching, eyes blazing with anger—ready to confront me, ready to defend her brood without hesitation.
“What do you want?” Her voice low.
“That depends,” I teased.
“You don’t belong here.”
“And yet here I stand.”
“If you so much touch one of them.”
“That is not my intent.”
She tried to read my mind as I did hers.
Her hair was a striking cascade of red brilliance that framed flushed cheeks and a rare beauty.
The deep crimson velvet of her cape was draped over her shoulders, suggesting she was just about to leave.
Beneath it, a shimmering silk gown clung to her figure.
The boddice untied at her chest revealing plumps breasts.
Once a Cornish girl, she had transformed into something extraordinary, curvaceous, radiant, and dreamlike, as if spun from the very mist that drifted over the moor.
“You don’t look real,” I whispered it.
“This is sacred land.”
“Then worship me.”
She rolled her eyes playfully. “How do I know you won’t hurt us?”
Caressing my lips, I tested her knowledge of me. “My name’s Orpheus.”
And if I wanted her dead, she would be, and with that softening of her eyes, she proved she knew it, too.
“What are you doing in Cornwall?” She was breathy.
“Private business.”
Her lips twitched with amusement. “Let me read your mind.”
“First, yours.”
“What do I get?”
“With a face like that, anything you want.”
It drew a laugh from her, light and girlish, a glimpse of who she was beneath the vampire she’d become.
In a heartbeat she stood before me and raised her wrist and offered herself. Stepping forward, I gently nudged her hand away and leaned in and kissed the curve of her neck, fangs finding their way into willing flesh.
Her sigh was followed by her softening against me.
Her femininity cherished in these passing moments. “God, you are exquisite.”
“We must talk.”
“I prefer this.”
“Orpheus, you are not safe.”
This, I knew.
“You’re lonely,” I sent the mind message. “I want to soothe you.”
Her blood flowed with the quiet reverence of one who unknowingly honored our kind—a warmth steeped in respect, rich and inviting. It carried a subtle sensuality, delicate yet undeniable, the kind only a nightwalker could truly savor.
Her story unfolded with each pulse of her blood . . .
Her name was Grace.
This was her home.
The coven had embarked with just three women, all midwives.
They had developed medicines and magical spells to assist the other villagers with every conceivable ailment as well as ease the suffering of labor pains for those with child.
These were the women with whom everyone sought counsel when in need of medicinal sustenance.
But the tide turned now with frightening rumors that other sister cults had disbanded, their members burned at the stake or even drowned as Christianity swept the nation.
Before long the coven had grown in number as witches sought solace within this small house deep in the countryside in the county of Redruth, Cornwall.
If an affirmation was needed for these sisters of witchery, then Athena was it.
Though unknown to them, her real name was Grace.
She had arrived during a ceremony when they performed an incantation summoning up the goddess of wisdom, Athena, their magic so powerful that it succeeded with unexpected triumph.
She descended from the air, as one would expect of a goddess, and invited the worship of the sisterhood.
They soon discovered her powers, and if any doubt entered their minds she would soon dispel such thoughts with proof of her birthright, using feats of magic and mind reading.
For those who pleased her most, which all of them strove to do, she would reward their loyal devotion by allowing them to drink her sacred blood from the ceremonial chalice, permitting them to experience her sensuous elixir.
Soon the witches of the sect were in awe of this powerful being, and with her promise of great rewards were soon lovingly enslaved.
The coven had been in existence for over thirty years, the very affirmation of their faith in the arrival of their deity, whom they worshipped with fervent sacrifice and idolization.
Easing my fangs out of her flesh, I blinked as the images faded.
“Did you see?” she said wistfully.
“No one will hear of this place from me.”
That seemed to calm her. “You can’t stay.”
My smirk reassured I had surmised that. “Would you like to hunt with me?”
It was good to spend time with my own, to have another who understood what this never-ending long night of the soul felt like.
“Meet me at The Hollow Stag tomorrow,” she said. “We’ll talk more.”
“I’ll see if they have a room for me now,” I said, thoughtfully.
She took a moment to compose herself. “If you watch through that window.”
I turned to see the one she pointed to.
“You’ll see us.”
She was gone. Startlingly reappearing at the center of the courtyard.
In the pale wash of moonlight, her red hair burned like embers. Her features were otherworldly, impossible to look away from. Her velvet cape fell from her shoulders.
Eleven mortal women left the comfort of the manor and joined her in the open-air space.
With the witching hour, the ceremony was in full swing. The witches stood at the feet of their mistress, their goddess, and offered her their exotic ritual.
Her story had unfolded in my mind like the first page of a novel, vivid and unguarded.
I felt I knew her as deeply as one soul can know another—with that offering of her blood, she had held nothing back, giving herself in that moment with a quiet honesty.
It was not a confession, but a gift. Her life passed to me in innocence, without shame or secrecy, as if she believed it was something worth giving.
For Grace—now Athena—the arrangement worked out wonderfully.
She would sleep during the day, completely safe from the sunlight and protected by the women who watched over her, bestowing the adoration she believed she so richly deserved.
As far as she was concerned, as an immortal, she was a goddess.
After all, she would never die. Was this not a gift of the gods?
She had been born two hundred years earlier into the life of a servant girl, her parents both dead before she was nine years old. She had lived an uncompromising life.
Made a vampire at the age of twenty-one, she discovered her gift of reading minds—as easy, she had thought, as reading the lines in a book for those of noble birth. She would go out into the night to feed after she had been luxuriously bathed and dressed by her loving consorts.
And here she was now, in her element, revered as a sacred being among these extraordinary women—witches of rare power and remarkable grace.
Within the center of the courtyard curled a cathedral of wildflowers to enhance the setting. Steeped in moonlight and layered in fallen leaves. Mist slipped inside as though, like me, unable to stay away. They flowed into the courtyard, the witches—the royalty of midnight.
Her affection flowed for her delicate sparrows, who flocked toward her willingly. Entranced, yes, but a familiarity with the promise of what she offered them as the darkest gift—that of blood. A taste that would carry them to sensual oblivion.
Their pale skin caught the silver light. Every movement seemed a language of longing—hips swaying in time with some hidden rhythm, wrists tracing invisible stars. They knew what was coming, what was ahead, and yet they patiently waited for their moment.
They formed a circle around Athena, and with an eerie swiftness they lifted off their gowns.
The material tumbled around their ankles.
Unabashed in their nakedness, their bodies glowed with the blush of cold air, bodies gleaming with dew.
Their dance began, a slow unfolding of limbs, a touch of air against skin.
Bare feet pressed into moss, leaving ghostly prints where they danced.
A fine rain, each drop a benediction that kissed their bare flesh, gilding them in a sacred, spectral glow.
Two beauties knelt before Athena in quiet rapture.
Taking turns, they lapped at her sex, and she threw her head back in wanting, glancing my way offering a knowing smile.
Their tongues pink as they flickered pleasuring her there, bringing her to a blissful place, with Grace trembling with surrender.
Then she offered them what they secretly craved, a sacred gift of her essence, and one by one they knelt in reverence, drinking in the eternal flow of her power.
She commanded them to dance.
And they drew together and played out their every fantasy, like whispered promises that only nature understood.
The earth a churn of grass as bodies collided with one another.
Sweat glistening over pert breasts, soaked trembling thighs.
Some tumbling and others grinding in a frenzy of raw energy.
Every thrust, every sinew hammering as locks of their hair plastered to their bodies.
This was obscene as it was sacred, a gallant worshipping of the female form, a brilliant orgy of the night.
They twisted and coiled, naked bodies brushing and grazing, their needs spilling radiant and alive.
Each collision a sigh, as they writhed and shimmered in an endless, intimate ballet of lust and desire.
With some laying on the ground now, thighs unfurled, welcoming the gentle exploration of those exploring them, the woman sinking fingers deep into the depths of soft discovery to bring desire alive.
Backs arching, moans carrying beyond the courtyard in a song rarely understood.
The rhythm grew as they swayed closer, twining and parting, eyes catching and holding in glances that spoke of secret oaths. One brushed another’s shoulder, another tilted her head back, lips parted to taste rain.
The air thickened, luminous and heavy with magic. Hair now tangled, laughter spilling, fingertips tracing the line between power and tenderness.
Being here like this felt wrong. I was a stranger watching something ancient, something not meant for my eyes. I wasn’t welcome, and I knew it.
Before the end of the ceremony, I withdraw from the witches’ orgy.
I flew through the woods and headed for the nearest brothel, paying several coins to the innkeeper before being guided to a back room by the prettiest young redhead. With the vision of what I had just witnessed still fresh in my mind, I doubly enjoyed the girl’s affections.
It was my way of keeping Athena safe from myself, from the restless hunger I couldn’t name, from the part of me still trying to understand what it was I felt. I treated this new woman with dignity, with an uncommon gentleness.
I eventually left her lying fatigued upon the bed, resisting the urge to drink from her, willing myself out of the room. Her death would have been a topic of conversation within the village, and I was trying to keep a low profile.
Within an old chapel, I descended into the lower chambers, delighted to discover a new coffin that had been constructed for some poor soul who had not yet died. I took advantage of the tenant’s absence and pulled the heavy lid down, sealing myself in, grateful for the rest.
Oblivion.
I was awoken by the harshest scream.
My head banged against the coffin lid. I leapt out. My heart pounded. Then I realized that the startling shriek had not come from anywhere near the chapel but had been transmitted to me from Athena. She was calling to me.
I flew out of the dark room only to stagger back, stopped in my tracks by sunrays that flooded in from the top of the stairs. It was impossible for me to take another step, impossible to save her.
The waking nightmare unfolded.
I withdrew into the darkest corner, crouching low and hugging my knees, recalling when Sunaria had called to me and I had been powerless. Here, now, another vampire begged me to save her.
Athena had been so engrossed that she had not sensed the five masked men approaching. All dressed in black, the assailants worked quickly with their torches of fire, setting aflame the house.
Desecrating what was truly sacred.
They stormed the courtyard, as though they had a right to enter this sacred ground.
Athena protected her beautiful witches valiantly, fighting back. She didn’t flee, but remained, trying to aid their escape. Refusing to leave until each was able to flee. Fighting off the men, fighting the vulgar assailants.
Athena’s strength was noticed, her pale telltale beauty revealing that infamous fashion of a vampire.
It was her they had come to claim.
She rose into the air but the men were upon her, grabbing at her ankles. Athena struggled fiercely, her inhuman strength throwing some of them off balance. But there were too many of them. Swiftly, they tied her hands behind her and bound her feet.
It terrified me to my core. Filled me with a fury I could barely contain. Had I been there, I would have destroyed them all. Yet all I could do was watch from afar, cursing this paranormal ability to see and yet do nothing.
Savagely, they beat her into submission.
Then, securing the blindfold, they pulled her from the burning house and dragged her into their darkened carriage.
I mouthed their name, “Stone Masters.”