Monarchy Of Blood

By Erika Knudsen

After surviving the streets of Montreal for most of his life, Stone Rossi was beaten and left to die. Like a dark angel who sought to end his suffering, his life was left to the capricious desires of a vampire. Seeing that Stone refused to die peacefully, Mylana admired his will to survive. Leaving his humanity intact, she took him in. Fate tore his life asunder when against his will, and Mylana’s, he was embraced into the immortal family. Following his chaotic transformation, Stone falls for Olivia, a mortal woman who stirs a deadly obsession.
While unknown to Stone and others at La Maison Chantonnay, vampires are being tortured and eviscerated. With these grotesque murders making headlines, a new sovereignty is formed to combat the unknown enemy. Willing to risk their lives, they must keep their existence in the shadows or suffer genocide at the hands of humans.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Erika Knudsen
• Release date: Apr 7, 2013
• ISBN: 9781301940295

Erika Knudsen

Daring to walk in the shadows, Erika Knudsen never came back. At an early age, she was intrigued and mesmerized by suspense, horror, and drama. The idea of “creatures” coming to life at night was a scary and thrilling idea. After years of being a fan of horror and the supernatural, she took her fandom of the genre to the next level. Erika resides in a quaint hamlet northwest of Edmonton, Alberta with her husband and daughter where the dark country nights add to her nightmarish and twisting plots.

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Monarchy of Blood

Erika Knudsen

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead is entirely coincidental.

Published by Eris Publishing at Smashwords

Discover other titles by Erika Knudsen at http://www.smashwords.com/profile/view/erikaknudsen

Copyright © 2013 by Erika Knudsen

All rights reserved. No part of this book covered by the copyright hereon may be reproduced in any form or by any means – graphic, electronic or mechanical without the prior written permission of the publisher, except for reviewers who may quote brief passages. Any request for photocopying, recording, taping or storage in any information retrieval system of any part of this book shall be directed in writing to the publisher.

Library and Archives Canada Cataloguing in Publication

Knudsen, Erika, 1976-

        Monarchy of blood / Erika Knudsen.

ISBN 978-0-9687479-6-4

I. Title.

PS8571.N83M66 2012             C813'.6          C2012-906934-5

Cover design by: Vanessa Kotyk

Cover illustration by Vanessa Kotyk

This book is dedicated to my parents. I’d also like to acknowledge and thank Christoff. You were a huge help and a wonderful sounding board. I couldn’t have done it without you.

Monarchy of Blood

by

Erika Knudsen

* Thou shalt not slay thy Sire, nor drink of them, until Blood Violation is committed or you shall meet Final Death.

* Honour thy Sire.

* Thou shalt teach your Progeny the fortitude of survival.

* Thou shalt hold the eldest among you as thy dominant.

* Thou shalt honour each other’s Monarchy.

* Thou shalt not reveal yourselves to Man.

* Thou shalt not create Progeny without permission from either thy Sire or Monarch.

* Honour another’s Progeny.

* Thou shalt not imbibe solely the blood of another vampire.

Prologue

There was a time in my life when I was homeless. When I was barely thirteen, in my naiveté, I made the stupid decision to run away. Between my mother’s love of booze—which was stronger than her love for her son—and my father who barely knew I existed, except when he felt the need to make me his punching bag—I figured anywhere would be better than with them. I had retreated into my damaged and disillusioned world, believing that escape was the only answer.

For five years, I lived on the streets of Montreal in fear. I desperately wanted to go home, but had no home to go to. Even though I knew it would take them a while to discover that I had run away, their reaction to me wanting to come back would be much quicker. I know that my father would be furious, surely beating me within an inch of my life, while my mother would just drink herself into a coma to avoid having to deal with me.

Starving and emaciated, my body ached. I was tired and battled dizziness all the time. I could feel that my eyes and cheeks had hallowed, giving me a frightening gaunt look. At this pivotal low, I made the devastating decision to become a male prostitute. The first John to pick me up was a man in his late forties. I was so scared that, once alone with him, I had thrown up, despite my empty stomach. In his guilt, he handed me ten dollars and let me be. With cash in hand, I walked into the first convenience store I found and bought a bag of chips, two hotdogs and a Slurpee. With change in my pocket and food in my hands, this was the happiest I had been in ages. Never have ketchup chips and hotdogs tasted so scrumptious! My mouth watered profusely as I drenched the hotdogs in ketchup, mustard, onions and the thick gelatinous nacho cheese. Before I even left, I started chomping away on the first dog. Having wolfed it down so fast, I was quickly overcome with pain in my stomach from having too much food, too fast. But it was worth it.

Inevitably, I ran out of money. On the same street, Rue Wolfe, the same John had come by and picked me up again. This time I wasn’t as lucky, and an exchange of services was the only way I’d be eating that night. Knowing that I was green was probably why I was so appealing to him, which made me cringe. I discovered later, over the next few years, that he was one of the easier Johns to deal with, since he usually only wanted a hand-job or to watch me masturbate. It didn’t give me much money, but I was okay with that. As the years went on, the Johns became more demanding and most times I blocked out what I had to do to survive.

It was in the early morning hours, after the clubs had started to close, that I made my way to Rue Plessis. The area was known for bathhouses and nightclubs, which meant plenty of opportunity to make a few dollars. I was picked up by a man in his mid-twenties. He was horny, drunk and even though I sensed that his nature was malicious, I accepted his offer. I hadn’t eaten in a week—I needed food. I also hoped I’d be able to make enough to rent a room, so that I could shower and get a good sleep. But all my simple plans changed in the blink of an eye. Before we even found a private spot the John started making advances. The moment I stopped him, he lost all composure.

I was already weak and much frailer then him, and he took that to his advantage. With a hard right hook, he had me staggering. Unable to right myself, I fell to the ground. Immediately he was on top of me. I tried to protect my face as he repeatedly swung his fists with such power. When he had enough of that, he stood and proceeded to kick me in the ribs. I lay there, curled in the fetal position, trying to protect myself, but with no advantage, his beating was turning me into ground meat. Pausing, he leaned down and whispered into my ear, Whore! My whole body shuddered in fear as I heard him unbuckle his belt and unzip his jeans.

After he raped me, he took my last bit of change and ran off, leaving me in the alley to die.

That was when she had come to me. Her green eyes were fierce and her skin like porcelain.  She picked me up and wrapped me in her arms. Leaning in to kiss my forehead, her wavy red hair cascaded around me. Breathing in deeply, the mixed scent of flowers and vanilla calmed and aroused me. Her whole being exuded a calmness that washed over me. When her eyes locked with mine, I felt at peace. Closing my eyes, I absorbed the love I felt from her with my whole being.

It wasn’t until pain encircled my neck, like a barbed collar, that I woke from my daze. At first I was confused, not understanding the pain. I then realized that she had bitten my neck. Panicking, I pushed against this immovable living statue, but most of my protest I yelled within my head: I don’t want to die.  I felt my life fading away as I became weaker and weaker. That night she meant to end my suffering, but my silent fight for survival altered my fate.

Surprised to be alive, I woke up the next day only to find myself in an unusual and peculiar circumstance: it was early evening and I was lying in a huge bed. The weight of the black and white modern floral designed duvet was thick and soft. If I had known where I was, and certain that I wasn’t going to be murdered by some serial killer, I would have lavished in the luxury of it. But soon enough I wondered how I had gotten there and if I were even still in Quebec.

Pulling back the heavy blanket, the fresh scent of linen brushed past me, which in turn made me catch the soft woodsy floral aroma that perfumed the air. Soon enough, I realized I was naked—and clean. Feeling panicked and unsure of how to handle the fact that someone bathed me while I was unconscious, I immediately began looking around the room for my clothes. It was then that noticed the various perfume bottles, make up and elegant jewelry boxes that scattered dresser tops and side tables. A gentle repetitive ticking came from an ornately carved antique clock that sat atop an armoire giving the room a sense of tranquility. However, I didn’t spot my clothes anywhere.

Unexpectedly, nausea washed over me. I felt dizzy and my vision blurred. I paused and waited for the sensation to dissipate. Shivering, goosebumps formed and I slid back under the warmth of the comforter. Every time I moved, my body ached. My face was hot from the swelling and I was sure the ribs on my left side were bruised, which caused my laboured breathing. Lying there, I tried to remember what had happened for me to get to that place, but to no avail, I was unsuccessful at shaking the cobwebs off my memories.

The door opened and a woman walked in. In a sudden flash, I remembered. I remembered her biting my neck. I sat upright in bed, but I really didn’t know what to do. My pulse raced and I held my breath.

Ah, mon chéri, you are awake. Though her voice was soft, she had an air of strength about her. Walking into the room, she appeared as though she glided, despite the fact I could hear her gentle footfall. In her hands she carried folded clothes that I didn’t recognize. I took the liberty of washing yours but they were so tattered, they practically disintegrated. I found some new clothes for you, she added and placed them at the end of the bed.

Where am I? Who thought I’d be all right with someone bathing me while I was unconscious? What am I doing here? What do you want from me? ...Why did you save me? My thoughts raced, but no words came forth.

You are free to stay here if you wish. I offer you sanctuary. However, there are rules that you have to abide by.

Who—who are you? I managed to stammer. Why are you doing this?

Why not? You are a fighter, Stone Rossi. Sometimes I am generous.

With wide eyes of shock and slight fear, I looked at this breathtakingly beautiful woman. She knew my name! How the hell did she know my name? A smile slowly spread across her face and at first I thought I was seeing things. I blinked to clear my vision, but my eyes weren’t fooling me. She had fangs. As she took another couple of steps closer to me, I scurried back until my back pressed against the headboard.

Oui, I guess this would be confusing, to say the least. She sat on the bed and rested her hand on my blanket covered calf. I will be blunt with you Stone. I will care for your every need, but in return I expect you to live by my rules. I would say that’s fair, nést-ce pas?

My Adam’s apple bobbed as I swallowed deeply. What are the rules?

She smiled widely and again her fangs gleamed even though the room was dimly lit. Well, mon ami, simply put: don’t tell anyone of our existence. I will probably put you to work around Chantonnay, to do the things I cannot during the day. She paused for a moment as though pondering whether she should say what had come to her mind. Eventually she did voice her thought. And just so you know, don’t get in our way when we are... moody. She winked at me and smiled sweetly. Standing from where she sat at the foot of the bed, she walked closer to me then sat beside me. I am not like you. I haven’t been human for three-hundred and sixty-eight years. She reached for my arm and took hold of my wrist. The sheer coldness of her skin made me want to recoil the instant she touched me. I was speechless and dumbfounded. I must be dreaming, I kept telling myself.

"You’re not dreaming, Stone. This is real. I am real. With my arm still in her gentle grasp, she brought it up to her mouth. Slow and intentionally, she grazed her cool lips along the flesh of my inner wrist. Do you remember anything from last night? I didn’t mesmerize you nor did I play with your memories. I let you be because I want to care for you, and if I do, you need to know what I am." I nodded, unable to form words. I did remember and I was horrified. Reading my mind, she smiled a tight-lipped smile and kissed my wrist gingerly before giving back my arm.

I’m a vampire, Stone, she paused to make sure I heard her. Do you understand what I am saying?

There is no bloody way..., I stopped speaking. I knew it was possible, but was I ready to accept it? I reached up and touched my neck where I remembered her biting me. I felt the wound and winced. I looked at this stunning woman in awe. I believe you. But... are you—what are you going to do to me? Am I going to be like you now? I asked naively. She laughed at me, not in a mean way, but with gaiety.

No, you will not be like me. I want you to be you. I want you to live and grow to be an old man, she responded sincerely. Leaning towards me, she kissed me on the forehead and then rose to her feet. I will check in on you in a bit. Meanwhile, I’ll get someone to make you something to eat. You must be starving. And she began walking towards the door.

Wait! What’s your name?

She stopped mid pace and turned gracefully to face me. Mylana, she responded simply and continued to exit the room.

So at the age of eighteen in the early spring of 1994 I was taken in, cared for and loved by a vampire. I learned quickly when to make my presence known and when to keep myself at a distance. It wasn’t only Mylana who lived in La Maison Chantonnay. There were also those she called her clan: Deirdra, who was her child, Brenna who was Deirdra’s child and Elijah. There were many others who would come and go, but for the most part, it was mostly those three.

That was seventeen years ago. My whole world changed—for the better, even though I lived in a mansion full of blood-sucking vampires. Mylana was true to her word, even more so. It was one thing for her to take me in and give me a home, but she even let me follow my dream to attend the University of Montreal. She never wanted me to shy away from anything that would better my life. Mylana made sure I experienced life to the fullest, that I remembered to enjoy it, because it could be taken away like the snap of the fingers.

No words are as true as those. Even though I lived with vampires, I was never frightened of them enough to leave. They all had their moments, but for the most part, they had good control over their bloodlust. However, there was one instance, in the summer of ’95, when I was forced to leave for my own safety. Vampires had been burning spontaneously around the world and those at La Maison Chantonnay were not exempt from the chaos. I didn’t want to leave the only home I had come to know. But at Mylana’s insistence, I stayed at the Hôtel Frontenac, per her arrangement. My time away from them was bittersweet. I enjoyed the freedom, but I worried for them. After nearly three weeks of no contact from them, Brenna was the one to come for me and tell me that all was well. That was the first time I heard about the Blood god and the havoc he wreaked. Though they trusted me, I was on the need-to-know basis list. I didn’t need to know everything, which was fine with me. However, in the winter of 1999, I learned more than I ever wanted to know. With the return of the Blood god, who I knew as Adam, my world changed once again—forever. My mortality was taken from me against my will.

Amongst the disorder and turmoil with the vampires, I was used as one of Adam’s pawns. Following Adam’s orders, Brenna and Kristine kidnapped me—it was Brenna who had turned me. I had considered her one of my dearest friends, but I guess ultimately that friendship and love is what saved me. I say that because if she did not do what she had, I would be in the ground, rotting. But on the other hand, if she hadn’t kidnapped me, imprisoned me, drank my blood for weeks on end and beat me to within an inch of my life, I may still have been human. I try not to dwell on it. As time passes, the pure hatred I had for Brenna on that night has waned. I do admit that what I feel for her is a bit messed up. A lot of the time I’m confused and torn between devotion and irritation. I guess this is what Deirdra had meant when she talked about her relationship with Mylana. Now that I am no longer an outsider, many of their idiosyncrasies make sense to me.

When I was first brought across, the chaos that surrounded my embrace kept me in check. Or I should say, kept my thirst in check. I was distracted by my physical change, at first, and then by meeting Brian. He was another saviour in my life. He took me in when I needed it most and helped me to deal with my transformation. I am grateful and will always be grateful for his companionship—then and now. Having to deal with the death and resurrection of Deirdra, I didn’t know how I was going manage. When I think back, I’m surprised I didn’t lose all composure and drain any and all mortals that crossed my path. But I thank Brian for his guidance.

However, once things became more routine and normal—if anything in our world can be called normal—that was when the true reality of what I had become hit me hard. I discovered that any control I had been able to maintain was a joke and I was about to learn a new lesson. A lesson about obsession.

Unknowingly within shadows, a dominion grows.

Chapter 1

The sun had set a half-hour earlier and I was already wandering through Mont-Royal Park. A gentle breeze rustled the new leaves and the song of the twilight birds carried through the trees. The air was still a bit crisp and the humidity made the coolness more intense. The cool dampness clung to my skin and clothing, almost feeling like I could wipe away the moisture from my flesh.

Since being turned, almost every night, depending on my mood, I would drive from La Maison Chantonnay to the majestic green space. I used to go there when I was human to picnic with friends, but now it is my hunting grounds. I quickly discovered that I didn’t like to stalk at bars or nightclubs. Their alcohol and sometimes also drug tainted blood made the swoon too intense. It made me feel out of control. Mind you, yes, it was an added bonus to an already pseudo-erotic situation, but I didn’t want to chance that addiction evolving into something harder to control. I have seen what an addiction to a certain blood type has done to the others. It isn’t pretty.

Ever since Elijah, Brenna, Eme and Mylana fed from the antediluvian Adam several times to keep him weak, the effects of doing so changed them—and not only physically. Their desire to feed increased nightly, as did the desire to drink vampire blood, which was tenfold. Their lust for immortal blood was so fierce at first it was frightening—both to me as well as to them. It’s one thing to drink from each other to help another heal or during sex. It’s a whole other matter to crave it with such intensity that while easing that bloodlust you could easily commit blood violation—killing another vampire by draining them dry. It had only been considered a plausible theory to the other vampires until it was confirmed when Adam killed Deirdra in that manner, as well as when Malachi killed his twin brother and maker, Adam, the same way.

As for myself, I too drank from the antediluvian font, but being a newborn I couldn’t handle his blood. I didn’t drink nearly as deeply as the others. But even with the small amount that I did drink, Adam’s blood had changed me physically. Changes that would have taken decades of being a vampire were accelerated. My flesh lost its ruddy undertone as well as the slightly darker complexion that was still held over from when I was human because I was a newborn. Now my flesh had become much paler. The blue veins were more prominent and my skin was firmer, more indestructible.I felt stronger which, before that time, I never could have dreamed possible. I also noticed that my ability to manipulate a mortal’s mind had increased.

I may not have had that strong desire that the others had for vampire blood per se. But because my need to feed was already strong since I was a newbie, it was now intensified. I suffered physically if I did not feed soon after rising. I was living at the Hospice Ste-Dymphna-de-Geel, the insane asylum that Brian called home, for the first four months after drinking Adam’s potent blood, and even before leaving to hunt I had to drink from Brian to ease the pain. We quickly learned that if I didn’t do this, I frenzied. One night I had lost any trace of humanity that kept the beast in me under control and I had killed damn near the first person I saw. It was a mess; the guilt I felt at losing control was immense. Thankfully, as far as I knew, no one noticed that I had taken someone’s life in front of hundreds of people. But I guess when you’re in a nightclub those around you don’t really pay attention to their surroundings as the patrons become more intoxicated. Now that I think about it, maybe that’s why I don’t like to hunt at the bars and nightclubs.

Although a tinge of the nagging bloodlust was there when I woke—and it still is—I was grateful that the intense hunger, thirst, desire, which overwhelmed me every night for months had finally begun to subside. It had quieted enough for me to have control over my own thoughts and I was able to feed my desire when I wanted—not when it wanted to be sated. So I was able to have some control over my bloodlust; I didn’t know at the time that obsession would be the next hurdle in my new vampiric life.

It was May, 2011. I had been a vampire for twelve years when I first saw her. Her scent caught my attention first. She smelled like a warm Montreal summer’s day and her skin glowed like the sun. I paused and turned to watch her walk away. As she did, her sundress swayed as she strutted with a shopping bag in one hand and purse slung over her shoulder.

Who are you? I thought. Before I knew, she paused and turned to look in my direction. Her hazel eyes met mine and I asked again silently, who are you? I didn’t mean for her to hear my thoughts the first time, but since I unconsciously made a connection with her, I needed to know who she was. Even at a distance I knew my gaze had mesmerized her and she mouthed the words: Olivia Scott. A passer-by bumped into her and woke her from her daze. She turned to apologize, as did the passer-by. While she was distracted, I hid in the narrow alleyway and peered out from around a quaint wool shop.

Once she finished with the woman, Olivia scanned the area to find me, but was unable to spot me. I could see she was perplexed and oddly aroused by our brief, distant encounter. Seeing the reaction that I had provoked in her made me aware of my desire for her—my thirst for her.

I spied on her and stealthily I followed her to her apartment on Rue Saint Paul, not far from where I had first spotted her. For hours after her arrival home, I crouched behind the shrubs that enshrouded her ground floor balcony. I listened as she sang along with gusto to the songs on her MP3 player and went through her purchases from earlier that night.

Her curly sandy blonde hair, cut to rest just above her delicate shoulders, bounced as she unpacked while bopping to the music. Her energy and vibrancy made me smile. Eventually her playlist changed from energetic to quiet and relaxing. After lighting a few candles in the living room, she disappeared down the hall. I waited with bated breath for her to come back into view. Eventually she did, this time in her pyjamas: black tank top and boy shorts.

Once she retrieved her cup of tea she had made earlier, she settled down onto the couch and grabbed a book. Just as she got comfortable, the door swung open. I perked up, hoping it wasn’t an intruder. At once she turned her attention to the door and to the man who had entered. A broad smile crossed her face and instantly broke my heart.

Hi Honey.

Hey Sweetie, he replied as he set his keys into a bowl that sat on a small table by the front door.

How was your day?

Oh, pretty good, he began, slipping out of his blazer and hanging it on the nearby coat-rack. His shoulder holster and pistol swung into view as he turned. "We’re still working on that shooting case from back in December of ’99. My partner had a lead, so we had to go and check it out. I don’t know why they don’t just cold-case the file. Every lead that we