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Buda/Pesth, Hungary

I clung to my savior as he swept me away.

“Do not be afraid,” he whispered. “I have you now, and he is too wounded to follow. He will heal, but not soon enough to follow. ”

“His knives burned like fire,” I whispered.

I was bundled up into his arms like a child. They were strong in their grip and I felt quite safe. The world was a blur of motion around me. I could tell by the stench that we were in Pesth. The strong smells of food, garbage, human waste, and mortal desperation mingled in my nostrils. I pressed my face firmly into his neck, my wounds throbbing with terrible ferocity.

Then we were on the ground and my body jostled in his grasp as he rushed over the rocky road. He pushed open a door with his shoulder and heaved me inside. Setting me down, he leaned me against a wall and set about securing the door. The pain was savage, making me weak and my eyesight poor. I could feel my body burning, my blood fighting whatever infection had been inflicted upon me. Turning to me, the vampire slid his hands around my waist and helped me across the room toward a great stone coffin that rose up from the ground like a great altar to an ancient god.

“Where are we?”

“A simple mausoleum. It lies at the edge of a churchyard. No dhamphir will seek us out here. They cannot feel that the ground is not blessed. They will assume it is and that we could not enter. ”

He lifted me up in his arms and carried me behind the hewn stone resting place. Obviously, he had stayed here before, a thick feather mattress was nestled between the wall and the platform the stone coffin lay upon. A great many pillows and coverlets of fine quality were strewn across it. He set me down with extreme gentleness and once my head was rested on a pile of pillows, he settled beside me.

I wept tears filled with blood as the pain steadily worsened. I writhed in agony, my hands pulling open my bodice, drawing it back from the ugly gash that the horrible creature's knives had inflicted upon me.

“I need to go home,” I whispered unreasonably. “I cannot stay here!”

The vampire pressed me back down onto the pillows. “But you must stay. The sun is on the horizon. The night has left us and we must stay here. ” His long, cold hand pressed against my fevered forehead. “You are poisoned. ”

“I burn inside! I burn!” I tried to rise up, for what purpose, I do not know, and he gently pushed me back down.

“I know you do. His knives are blessed and therefore deadly. He did not deal you a killing blow, but the wound is severe. ”

“I cannot heal. I try, but I cannot. ” I gripped his arms in a fierce grip. “Please, I cannot stay here, My Master--”

His face clouded, then he answered, “Yes, I know, but you cannot return to your Master now. And your Master cannot help you. ”

“But he could, could he not?” My fingers dug into the vampire's flesh.

“Yes, he. . . ” his voice caught on the pronoun, “Yes, he could help you. But he is not here, but I may be able to. ”

My body arched as another wave of excruciating agony washed over me. “Please, help me!”

“I am old enough and strong enough, but your Master. . . he may sense my blood in your veins. ”

I languished beneath him and he held me tightly. I cried out in agony and he leaned down to press soft kisses to my brow. “Please,” I whispered. “Please, I fear I shall die!”

Pressing his forehead to mine, his fingers stroked my cheek. “Yes, I fear it also. ” He drew back his narrow face, his eyes straying to my wound. “I can do this if you wish. ”

I rose up, my hand gripping his coat, my body trembling. “Please, I beg of you. In this moment, I care not what my Master will do to me. ”

The vampire nodded solemnly and lowered me back down to the pillows. Gently, he pushed back my damp hair and then, with ever so gentle fingers, opened my bodice to view the damage.

“I have to cut away the poisoned flesh. Then I shall pour my blood onto the wound, then I will drink of you and then you will drink of me. My blood can heal you. Do you understand?”

“With all clarity, sir. I implore you, please!” I arched my back as a scream tore free of my lips.

Drawing a small dagger from a hidden sheath in his boot, he leaned over me. “Bear with me, Glynis. ” He then cut into my flesh as I gripped the mattress tightly.

I knew not what was worse: the wounds or his dagger slicing away my dead flesh. Flinging away the dead, blackened flesh, he then sliced his hand and poured his blood into my wounds. It felt cold, soothing, and wonderful, yet the pain was there. Perhaps not as harsh, but still throbbing.

Tucking his hand beneath my neck, he lifted me to him. I felt weak as my head lolled about on my slim neck. He hesitated as his mouth drew near my flesh.

“Do what you must,” I whispered to him.