Blood Legacy: The Story of Ryan Part 10

Ryan's gaze settled on Susan. Susan felt warmth gather at the back of her neck and realized she was blushing. Ryan's words were soft, amused. "Yes, I am well aware of your examination, Dr. Ryerson." The words hung in the air, and then Ryan raised her voice once more. "Technically, I was born a female. But until I was 19 seas-, years old, I was raised as a man. In fact, for the first 400 years of my life, I lived as a man."

Susan's disbelief was evident. "Why?"

Ryan laughed. "You have to remember, Dr. Ryerson, things were not as you think they were. I would have been at a tremendous disadvantage had I been raised female, and perhaps would not have survived. As a male I was given many privileges and freedoms that would have been questioned were I female."

For the first time, Ryan turned her attention fully to Susan "I've watched your moving pictures, your films, and I've seen the portrayals of both my time and of other times, of this world, and of other worlds. And I can tell you, in every portrayal I've seen, even the wildest fantasy or science fiction, I have never seen a world more alien than the one from which I came."

This statement silenced Susan, simply because it had the profound ring of truth.

Ryan stood, moving to the fireplace. "You have to remember that when I was born, the only light in the world was fire." She turned back to Susan. "There was no running water, no bathroom facilities, no supermarkets. Food had to be grown or killed." Ryan gestured to a picture of a wolf that sat on her desk "There were no photographs, no paintings for the common man, no drawings, no likenesses of any kind." She pointed to the shelves and shelves of books. "There were no books, no written communication of any kind. And it wouldn't have mattered anyway because we were profoundly ignorant. No one could read or write other than the clergy and whatever they said was taken at face value." Ryan glanced down at the Wall Street Journal. "Higher math was unknown because few people could even count; they had no need to. Life was simple and harsh."

Ryan returned to her chair, reclining once more. "A horse was the most rapid transportation known to man, and if a person traveled more than a 100 miles from their place of birth, they might as well have seen the whole world." She shook her head. "No one knew anything of political events, so the myths you read in history books about the peasants rising up to fight for some n.o.ble cause are just that: myths. We were profoundly ignorant about everything, and the 20th century forgets that when they try to imagine what it was like."

Susan was drawn into the account against her will. If the woman was making it up, she certainly had an amazing amount of detail, details that Susan had never considered. Susan chose her words carefully, reluctant to give any ground. "My grandmother talks about how difficult it's been to live through changing times. If you truly are 700 years old, how have you survived that change? It would be as if you came from another world."

Ryan nodded. "That's exactly my point. I would imagine your grandmother had to heat water over the fire in order to take a warm bath."

"Yes," Susan nodded, remembering their conversations, "And you had to do the same?"

"No," Ryan laughed. "We did not bathe. I'm amused by your *historical' depictions. I never saw anyone that clean. The filth we lived in would have been considered obscene by 20th century standards."

Susan thought back to the earlier conversation.

"So how did you end up fighting for the Black Prince if you were politically ignorant?"

Ryan shrugged. "It was very common for the poor to be *conscripted' into the army. I fought as a mercenary. I fought for two years, never knowing what I was fighting for. I returned home when I was perhaps 18, 19 years old, at which time my life changed forever."

Victor watched the child in the bed. Now that she was clean and her golden hair was untangled, she did indeed look more female than male. He frowned. At some point in time, his instructions for her to take the waters every day had been ignored. Perhaps at the same time the instructions for her to stay in the village had been ignored.

Victor controlled his anger. Years of planning had nearly been destroyed; he had taken his fury out on the village. He cared nothing that the child had exacted her revenge against Derek and the others. He cared only that she was now here.

The child moaned slightly in her sleep and rolled over. Miriam eyed her carefully for signs of awakening, then returned to her st.i.tchery.

"Child" was probably not the appropriate term for the figure in the bed, Victor reminded himself. She was nearly two decades old now, and by common standards, a fully grown woman.

Victor gazed again at the figure, this time with misgivings. To his mind she was still little more than a child, far too young. He sighed his frustration and Miriam glanced over at him beneath raised brows. Victor waved towards the door and Miriam nodded primly and disappeared.

Victor began pacing about the room. He knew it would be difficult once he was in her presence; he had underestimated how great that difficulty would be.

No he hadn't, he reminded himself. That was why he had kept her away for nearly two decades. It would have served no purpose to take her as a child.

And she is still a child, he told himself.

The figure stirred in the bed once more, and he moved to her side. He stared down at the perfect features, the golden lashes, and his jaw clenched. In a sudden fury, he stormed from the room, slamming the door behind him. He stalked down the halls of his castle and through the courtyard. He took the reins of his favorite stallion and, throwing one long leg over the horse's back, galloped from the castle into the night.

Miriam watched him from the window, a candle in her hand. Her face was expressionless as she watched her master flee.

Victor stayed away several days until he felt he had regained control. His reappearance was greeted with the usual lack of reaction from his staff; he had chosen them well although he could hear their whisperings even from great distances.

He spoke briefly with the stablehand on care for his horse then left for his own quarters. The girl's room was adjacent to his own, and he wondered if she was still sleeping. He c.o.c.ked his head to one side as if listening to something that no one else could hear; he didn't think so.

When he walked into the room, the bed was empty. He glanced to the window, then to the far corner. The room was empty.

He frowned, more annoyed than concerned. He again c.o.c.ked his head to one side as if listening to a far-off noise. He started down the pa.s.sageway to the great hall.

He entered the great hall and caught sight of the figure on the far side. She looked like a young boy once more, dressed in leggings and an oversized shirt. She was balanced precariously on the hearth, reaching for a sword hung ceremoniously on the wall. She came down, sword in hand. She turned, startled to see Victor a few feet from her.

"I don't think you need that."

The lithe figure gazed at the Man with supreme distrust. She did not know where she was or why she was here, but she recognized this man. She raised the sword in front of her.

"I'll judge that."

The man smiled ever so slightly and the next thing she knew, the sword was out of her hand and in his. She had not even seen him move and wondered what sort of magic this was. He tossed the sword aside as if it was inconsequential. She felt for the dagger concealed in her shirt. The man saw the movement.

"Why don't you give me that as well?"

She removed the dagger from its hiding place then made as if to hand it to him. Instead, she dodged to the right and fled from the hallway.

Victor simply stood there, sighing. He didn't know why he had a.s.sumed this would be easy.

The girl fled down the hallway, accidentally tackling the nursemaid, Miriam, in the process. Miriam screamed and the girl continued to flee. Victor came striding down the hallway, unperturbed. He glanced at Miriam, who was attempting to gather the basket of spilled yarn. He continued after the girl.

The girl was completely unfamiliar with the layout of the castle and found herself going up when she wished to go down. She wanted to backtrack down the spiral staircase, but was uncertain how much of an alarm had been sounded in the castle. It seemed to her as if no alarm had been sounded at all.

To her frustration, she wound up exactly where she had started, which was on the level of her original quarters. She heard footsteps behind her and had no choice but to enter the bedroom she had so recently left.

She hid herself behind the doorway, the dagger clutched in her hand. She had never feared any man, nor ever found one she could not do battle with. But for some reason, this man seemed different.

The door opened and the dark-haired one walked in. She lunged forward with the dagger and he turned and caught her easily. She surprised him with her strength, however, and broke her wrist free, slicing forward with blinding speed.

It was only Victor's own preternatural speed that allowed him to deflect the blow. The dagger glanced off his leather jerkin and caught him just above the collarbone, nicking the skin. A drop of blood welled in the cut, then began to trickle downward, staining his white shirt.

The child stared at the bloodstain, feeling the strange lightheadedness that had overcome her at other times. But this time it was different. A knot began to twist and uncoil inside of her. Breathing became difficult and her mouth was suddenly unaccountably dry. She stared at the bloodstain as if mesmerized, unable to draw her eyes from it.

Victor watched the reaction and felt his self-control begin to crumble. A thousand arguments formed over hundreds of years tumbled through his mind and none of them seemed to matter. His words were an anguished whisper.

"You are still too young."

The girl looked up at him, but her eyes were drawn back to the blood seeping from the wound. She took a step forward and Victor no longer cared about her age. His pa.s.sion for this young one was all-consuming.

She reached up and touched the wound, fascinated at the blood she came away with on her fingers. She could not understand the compulsions filling her as she touched her fingers to her lips.

The sensation was strange and thrilling. An odd pleasure shot through her, beginning on her lips but spreading throughout her body. She had tasted blood before, but it had been salty and metallic. This tasted different, and was not so much a taste but a feeling.

She raised her hand again but Victor caught her wrist and pulled her toward him. He sat down on the bench and pulled her onto his lap so she was facing him. She wanted to ponder the strangeness of this position, but her attention was attracted to the blood seeping from his neck. It was much nearer her face, now, and she leaned forward to touch her lips to the wound.

A shudder went through Victor at the touch. He entangled his fingers in the golden hair and pressed her head to him.

The girl's mouth filled with blood but it was neither salty nor metallic. With a certain horror, she swallowed and felt a powerful warmth spread throughout her body. It was as if an old hunger was suddenly satisfied, but the satisfaction only increased the hunger. She began to drink.

Victor leaned back, knowing the child had no understanding of what she was doing. She had the appet.i.te of an infant, instinctive and undiscriminating. Her own neck was exposed to him in this position and he fought to control himself. But he had waited so long and had shown such extreme patience that his control was slipping. The combination of her power and her vulnerability was intoxicating to him, and he was tired of waiting.

He grabbed her by her shirt collar and lifted her forcibly off the ground until her feet dangled in the air. He slammed her backward against the stone wall, pressing the full length of his body against her lithe, muscular form. He could feel her powerful heart beating in her chest and it was the final sensation that pushed him over the brink.

Pinned against the wall, her feet dangling above the ground, she felt the familiar slicing to her neck. But now it was agonizing. She felt warmth run down her back and down her chest, and realized it was her own blood she was feeling. She also realized this was not the first time this man had fed off her in this fashion.

She tried to feebly struggle against him, but she was locked in his iron embrace and growing weaker by the minute. She kicked at him but it had no more effect than would the kick of an insect.

Her head was swimming and she could no longer focus on the objects in the room. Her eyelids grew heavy and she fought to keep them open. Her head grew heavy and she rested it on the man's shoulder.

Victor felt the girl's limbs grow heavy and fought for control. It took everything in his willpower not to kill her, because oh, what a sweet consummation that would be. Instead, he forced himself to pull back from her and lowered her feet to the floor.

She was unconscious and for a moment, Victor simply held the limp body, still grasping her by her shirt collar. He felt her blood race through his veins and felt powerful, more powerful than he had in ages. He lifted her body and carried her to the bed. He lowered her bloodied form onto the pile of coverlets, then went to the door and locked it. He settled into a chair by her bedside and began his long vigil.

She swam through a strange world on the border of life and death. She had been here before, but never so close to death's side. Her mother and father were there, and she wanted to join them, but the Man was standing in her way.

He did not speak but his piercing black eyes spoke for him. He would not let her cross the border, not now and not ever. She was so very tired and wanted to cross that border, but was not strong enough to fight him.

She awoke, feeling lightheaded and nauseous, too weak to even lift her head. She was no longer wearing b.l.o.o.d.y clothes but was wearing another oversized shirt. Several blankets were piled over her to keep her warm.

She slowly turned her head and the pain in her temples was excruciating. She closed her eyes but white light flashed behind her eyelids and she wondered if this was a vision from G.o.d. She re-opened her eyes and focused upon the Man, and her thoughts were that it might be a vision from Someone Else.

The man gazed at her, unperturbed and with a hint of amus.e.m.e.nt in his black eyes. She wondered why her mouth was so dry, and why the thought of water did not appeal to her.

Victor stood and moved to the bedside. His pa.s.sion was not completely satisfied, but he felt more controlled now. He felt the risk of killing the child had pa.s.sed, and now it was time to complete the act. He sat down on the edge of the bed.

She tried to move away from him, but did not have the strength. Her feeble attempts seemed to amuse him even further, and this angered her.

"What kind of monster are you?" she whispered with hostility.

"I am no more a monster than are you."

She was preparing a scathing retort but something in his words made her pause. He still looked at her with desire, but it was a much different type of desire than that which had caused him to attack her. It was not like the desire of men who had tried to rape her, thinking she was a young boy, nor was it like the desire of men who took women forcibly. It was not like that of his mother and father in their crude wooden hut, nor was it like the l.u.s.t of the priest in all his wants.

It was a desire that had nothing to do with s.e.x and everything to do with power. And she looked within herself and saw the same longing, although she had no idea what she was longing for.

She turned away from him, swallowing hard, but he had seen what was in her eyes. He placed his hand beneath her chin and turned her head so that she was again looking at him. She could feel her heart in her chest, although beating weakly, beating rapidly.

"Ah, little one, I have waited so long for you I cannot wait any longer."

Victor took the knife from the bedstand and in one quick movement, sliced a thin cut through his neck. Blood began to seep from the wound.

She was startled by the self-infliction of the wound, but her eyes were drawn to the blood that began to run down his shirt. She dragged her eyes away from the wound to look in his.

"I cannot do this, this abomination."

Victor shook his head. "It is too late, my dear. It is already done."

She looked away, at the floor, at the wall, at the ceiling, at anything but the blood on his shirt. He kneeled at her feet and she swayed towards him, catching herself. She tried to stand but he grabbed her wrists, pulling her to her knees as well. She could not resist now, the blood was too close to her mouth and all she had to do was lean ever so slightly forward...

And then her mouth was on his neck and he was holding her tightly as she fed. But this time it was different. Sensations raced through her body as his blood coursed through her veins. Pictures, disjointed and nonsensical fluttered through her mind. Pictures of things she had never seen and places she had never been.

Her hand rested languidly on his cheek and he gently turned her wrist. She felt a slight pain and knew that he was now feeding off her as she fed on him. But again, this time it was different. She had felt only pain before at his touch, but now a flush of pleasure spread out over her body, radiating from the wrist he held so tightly in his grasp.

The sensations that went tearing through the girl were extraordinary. Her entire being was flushed with blood, first with his and then with her own as he returned what he had taken. She had no concept of how long they were locked in their deadly embrace. She only knew that the sensations continued to build and pulsate until the pleasure became unbearable, and she broke from his grasp.

He released her, sated for the first time in centuries, and reveled in the power coursing through his veins. Nothing in all the known world provided such completeness, such satisfaction. He gazed down at his unholy child, knowing all had come to fruition.

Susan shook her head, trying to clear it. She felt as if she were coming out of a trance. She and the woman had been having a conversation, but at some point in time she forgot that they were talking. It seemed almost that she stopped listening and began seeing, although that of course was preposterous.

Susan glanced around the study. The images were so vivid the study seemed strange, incongruous. But when she tried to picture faces or details, the vividness of the picture faded away until all she could see, or rather hear, were the words that had obviously pa.s.sed between them.

Ryan gazed at her. It appeared she herself was unaffected by the conversation, but not surprised by Susan's numb state. Susan wondered if she had placed her in some type of hypnotic state.

"So," Susan began carefully, "what you're telling me is that you're a vampire."

Ryan's hand stopped in mid-air, not quite reaching her winegla.s.s. Susan heard a m.u.f.fled chuckle behind her and glanced back. She had forgotten about Edward.

Ryan had a look of exasperation and annoyance on her face. She seemed completely surprised at the reference. "Of course not. What an idiotic suggestion."

Susan was taken aback. She felt compelled to apologize without really knowing why.

"I'm sorry. But from what you were describing-"

"Dr. Ryerson," Ryan interrupted smoothly, "do you believe in vampires?"

Susan was slow to reply. "No, no I don't."

"Well neither do I," Ryan said, "and I've been around quite a bit longer than you have. Vampires are a result of over-active human imaginations. People of my time believed in them, but people of my time held trials in which kitchen appliances were charged with witchcraft. I thought you were a little more sophisticated than that."

Again, Edward's attempt to m.u.f.fle his laughter failed. Ryan shot him a dark look. Susan did not know how she had ended up on the defensive end of this conversation. "Well, of course. But from what you were describing, it seemed a logical conclusion."

"What I was describing was what happened," Ryan said, "whatever conclusions you drew were your own."

Susan felt oddly chastised as Ryan continued, now speaking almost to herself. "Besides, I could eat Dracula for dinner."

The words were spoken so casually and with such confidence that Susan abruptly raised her head. There was a subtle sense of danger around this woman that at times could be extremely unsubtle. Ryan glanced up at the antique clock, which now read 4 am. "You should be leaving."

Because the sun will be up soon, Susan thought before she could stop herself.

Ryan smiled knowingly at Susan's expression. Susan noticed Ryan did not show her teeth when she smiled, another thought she attempted to brush off.

The thought of leaving, however, brought her reasons for coming back into focus.

"I'm not certain I believe even a word of what you're saying," Susan began, "but that doesn't change the fact that my son is in the hospital, and that you're responsible."

Ryan did not deny the responsibility although Edward cleared his throat. Ryan's eyes shifted to him once more and he quieted. She turned her attention to Susan.