deneco4
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Synopsis
A troubled stripper reads a book from her childhood: The Last Vampire. The story of a wealthy 15th Century French Lord's son, Nicolai, who rebels against high society, and his murderous father, only to fall into the hands of a troupe of vampire hunters who use Nicolai to seek out and destroy a hidden vampire lord's lair, where Nicolai learns the truth about his past, and evil forces seek to tempt him into letting go of his sparse principles for power.
But the only power in mortality, is the immortal thunder of one's own heart.
Excerpt
Chapter 4
-NO LEGACY
Sara was hiding her beauty under the grey hood of her jacket––blonde hair spilling out.
Drying tears.
She sat at the back of the bus, cross-legged.
The bus would take her to work. A half-hour’s ride through the heart of the desert.
A few rows up from her, a rugged man, a passenger on the bus, stared at her, barely trying to hide the avidity of his thick desire for her.
“You’re beautiful.” he said. “I’m too old, I know. But, I just wanted you to know that." Then, through yellowed teeth, he said, “That I just thought you were…the prettiest damned thing…in this whole godawful desert."
He carried his sadness well. "I spent my whole miserable life…searching for you. And you never came." Then he turned around.
Prettiest damned thing.
She forgave him immediately, and she would never condemn him for it. He was, afterall, just another victim of the male condition. And she was no answer. The only thing she brought to men's lives was chaos; a curse from her mother. And after witnessing what had happened to her father, she could forgive any man of their varied weaknesses, and their thoughtless dreams. And he didn't know her. And she didn't know him. But they were both riding the same transport to nowhere, separated only by seating. So yes, she not only gave mercy to his despair, but loved him; loved him for being honest, for being sad, for being lost, for being just like her.
Maybe sharing his words with her would save this withered man's life.
But not hers…
She ripped the hospital bills in half, and set them scattered over her lap. She opened the book that she had once cherished as a child:
THE LAST VAMPIRE
Before her emerald eyes touched down on the first page, she closed them tightly. When they opened, she could hear her father's voice reading the words aloud to her, as a child, another life ago, when the world was not yet lost to her, and she to it.
To Sara,
With all my love.
THE LAST VAMPIRE
-Chapter I-
15th Century, France.
The Velmont Manor was upon a great hill, surrounded by a poverish commune of villagers and slaves, and beyond that, The Landes Forests, which were teeming with cruel wildlife, and strange rumors.
Serkai Velmont, the Lord of the manor, had just returned home from the morning’s hunt. Inside The Velmont Estate; sequent preparations were being made for his 'La Grande Party’. Servants carried cooked swine on top of brass plates, along with crates of champagnes, wines, and rare and expensive liquors.
"Where is my insolent cur of a son?! NICOLAI!!!!"
Serkai burst through the double doors of his manor, throwing a servant's tray to the floor with his intrusion. "I swear if you are not ready for tonight I will cut you off! You…and that trouble-making prick of yours!"
His father was a man of great wealth, title and status. Originally Serkai Valzven, his bloodline was from a long line of Germanic tyrants and warlords, but his marriage to his son’s late mother afforded him the luxury of a wealthy French maiden name: Montique, which he callously transformed into Velmont. He hid all traces of his ruthless bloodline to remain a high figure amongst European political control. Anyone who opposed the roots of the Velmont name was always met with a duel. And his Lordship did so enjoy watching his victims struggle to breathe through their own blood.
The manor was the pride of his father. A careless son would have to parade around all night meeting men of stature; men that could bring upon great wealth, or great harm to his father’s name. The careless son would detest the grandeur act his entire life. It was a stain upon his sparse principles that would never wash off.
This was the nature of the grand parties held at The Velmont Estate: entertaining, wining, and dining royalty and political powers. During the height of the 15th century Renaissance, many new ideas had been discussed under the lavish gilded ceilings of Serkai’s grand ballroom.
Leonardo Da Vinci had once been on the guest list.
So had Louis XII.
“Monsieur!” A french servant exclaimed, but before she could say another word, his father Serkai slapped her with the back of his hand.
“I say!” Serkai shouted, “Where is my bastard?!”
Upstairs, sleeping naked next to a beautiful French servant girl named Alice, was the careless, insolent son, Nicolai.
When she heard his father screaming downstairs, Alice became fearful for her life and left his bed.
"Where do you think you're going?" Nicolai said.
He always slept during the day.
"You're father is going to kill you!" Alice replied, as she quickly dressed.
"Don't be an idiot." Nicolai smiled, "Without me there is no legacy."
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The crimson red yacht was bound westward on the Atlantic Ocean. 400 million in raw worth. 450 feet long. A Wartsila RTA96-D 100,000 horsepower engine, which was usually used for massive cargo freights, but the power was in his father's name, and 'custom built' was his favorite game.
The name of the ship was Knotty Boy. Knotty Boy was the pinnacle of crass completion with a female captain, and all-female crew, capable of fine meals and massages and 'service' of every kind. A swimming pool on the third deck; an adjacent jacuzzi. Giant beach pillows sat on giant beach sofas on four different decks. A heli-pad. And built into Knotty Boy's bullet-shaped frame were two detachable jet-ski pods on the adjoining wings of the ship.
Inside was complete with the finest in extreme luxury. A bar room with billiards and a back-lit amber-onyx countertop which glowed in the dark. A private theater with a massive plasma screen and full-length lounge chairs. Six guest rooms, and an underwater master bedroom with a plus-sized king bed and jacuzzi bathroom––windows that looked out to the undersea. Secret passageways for service crew to travel around unseen by passengers. A hidden armory within a hidden vault, containing a stockpile of most world currencies, and his deceased mother's jewelry.
Dinner had been served, and consumed, and was being cleaned up. Dessert was in the private theater: a porn star sucking him off, with one of her gangbang videos playing on the massive screen behind her. His favorite.
Once you tasted him…you would never forget.
He drank Bacardi 151––with a splash of tabasco––while she blew him to the sound of herself getting fucked on film. The fire had burned charm into his lifestyle, and was apparent in his feathered blonde hair, perfect tan, and wild eyes that even she, with all her internet fame––fans––and high productional value, could not overcome. He fucked her like a god on cocaine, and she would tire, but he would not.
And with Nicolai, the pain always followed the pleasure.
He stepped outside, onto the top deck under the full moon, alone, suffering post-orgasmic depression like a motherfucker. His naked body caught shivers, but another swig from the 151 bottle cut the cold undertones that were carried in from the tropic air.
His feathered blonde hair swayed in the wind.
Tonight I want to kiss you, sweet death, he thought, I wanna feel my mortality thunder, as if it's the only thing keeping us apart.
The crimson red yacht coasted; a sleeping crew and pornstar on board.
For a moment Nicolai just stood there, rasping away at his own self-loathing. “You goddamn asshole.” he said. “You can’t come up with anything better than this?” He felt the sting of satisfaction creeping up his spine. “There has to be something more than this."
“I don’t want to just live.”
Concepts of time, I have none.
Mistresses of mine, we have fun.
He took another slurp of Bacardi. Gulped. “Only fools are satisfied.” And then looked over the edge into the black ocean, as if it were the reflection of his own soul looking back at him. "Anyone who is supremely happy, knows not the world they live in." His greatest strength, and his greatest weakness, was that he was not afraid of anything––not even killing myself––or the consequences thereof.
"Well…if I cannot thrive…" Nicolai said. "Then I'll fall."
The red dot from the laser scope rose from his spine to the back of his head.
“We fall so beautiful,” Nicolai said, “From these great heights.”
Arms out. Full moon embellishing his face. Wild eyes closed.
And then Nicolai made the decision to end his life.
