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Father continued to teach me in the evenings, after a couple more weeks, I was able to make out the writings in his letters to friends and family. I also began to practice writing with a stick in the dirt in the yard. Some of the sisters started to take notice and joined in—it soon seemed that teaching me to read and write had become a community project.

As the winter approached, the weather cooled. The trees turned and the men worked late in the fields. Father sometimes worked with them. In the convent, I helped with preserving food in clay jars. Bags of wheat, barley, turnips, and carrots were stacked in warehouses. We also sealed berries and some fruits collected from the forests and hedgerows in jars.

It was during this time that my relationship with Father took on another new aspect.

Father Demetrius was always fastidious about his appearance. He had blond hair and his skin was white. Veins were clearly visible below his skin. He was the cleanest man I had ever met, washing daily. He always insisted that he have clean clothes, and I spent about an hour a day, every day, washing. Soon after I had arrived, he began to insist that I be as clean as he. He got me new clothes and, being a girl, I really enjoyed that. I was one of the best dressed girls in the village.

I was quite surprised, the second night I spent in his house, when he had me bring several buckets of water in and pore them into a half barrel near the hearth. Then he stripped and washed himself. I had, of course, seen men before and we children often splashed around in the river during the summer heat. What I had never seen before was the ritual of washing. This was not something that we normally did. Today, I think back on it and am aghast at how we must have stunk!

Father was thin, with sinewy muscles moving under his almost transparent skin. There was a spray of blond curls across his chest which narrowed on his hard stomach. His hair was longish, reaching the nap of his neck. He had a small beard. His facial features were fine, his eyes were gray. He had long legs and a small butt. I remember the deep indentations on his cheeks. When I think back on him now, I realize that he was a very attractive man, today he would be described as having a runner’s body and very sexy.

A couple of days after that, he called me to him, had me strip, and then handed the soap and a rag to me. I was a little embarrassed to be naked in front of him. Usually, girls started to behave modestly at around eight or ten. But, afterwards, I felt comfortable and my clean shift was soft on me. I combed out my hair and it was softer than it had ever been. This bathing became a habit, two or three times a week.

After the night of the murder, we began to sleep together regularly. It was beginning to get quite cool in the night and the warmth of sharing the bed was good after our nightly baths.

Over the weeks, Father had been becoming more and more physical with me. He was now regularly hugging me, holding me on his lap while he read, caressing my hair when he would come up behind me during the day. I was also becoming very attached to him. No adult, not to mention a man, had ever treated me with so much kindness and warmth. He continued to be my Father Confessor, but, I found that, living with him, I had few sins to confess. In Confessional he was always stern, he made me understand the full implications of my sins, he made me understand how my sins could cause others to sin. But, he also was forgiving, he allowed me not to feel guilt. It is ironic that he would soon commit what even vampires considered an unforgivable sin.

I really don’t remember the specifics of the evening that Father Demetrius first molested me, but I do know that it was a night that he had fed. He had seemed especially listless and had insisted that we turn out the lights early that night. It had snowed a wet messy snow that day and the house was chilled. We had washed as usual and crawled into a damp and cold bed. I was not able to sleep, and shivered, even though I was curled up next to father. I remember him leaving. He got up, dressed silently, and slipped out. I lay alone and shivered in the cold.

It was several hours later that he came back in. I awoke when he opened the door. I watched him as he undressed, stripping completely. Not only was there steam from his breath, but, after he was naked, slight wisps of steam rose from his body. He got into bed next to me and wrapped his arms around me. He was so warm! Instinctively, I pushed myself against him. It seemed that his warmth made me colder. I had my arms and legs wrapped around him in an effort to get as warm as possible.

Then, I felt his erect penis against the inside of my thigh. I had seen many men naked, but this was new to me. I looked into his face and I was lost. His eyes glowed a dull red and my very soul was caught. I felt his power engulf me. I was powerless against him. An thirteen year old girl has no will against a 300 year old vampire. I was an insect against his will, against his passion. As he ran his hand up my shift I could feel nothing but amazement at the power of his gaze and will. I was no longer in control of myself; Demetrius’ power had engulfed me. I felt his heart, I was his desire!

He ripped my shift down the front and our bodies were together, flesh against flesh. His hands were on my back, then my buttocks. His fingers probed between my legs and pushed between my lips. His penis pulsated against me as he pushed a finger into me. I felt a flow, a wetness I had never experienced before and I caught my breath as he probed deep into me.

I knew what needed to happen. I pushed against him, rolling myself on top of him. His penis was between us, pushing between my lips. I pushed forward as he pulled his finger out of me. Then he positioned his penis at the entrance to my womb and I pushed down. He slid into me. The pain of my rupturing maidenhead passed over me and into his eyes. The pain seemed to make him stronger. As I rocked back and forth, impaling myself on him, the pain passed into the turmoil of his eyes. A pressure was building within me. It started in my stomach, then moved up into my chest and down into my thighs. As I pushed down on him, pushing him deep into me, the pressure built. I was lost in his eyes, his will, his power, his soul flowed through me. It flowed through my mind and down my back, then pooled in my stomach. The pressure built, filling my stomach, my thighs, my chest, my throat. I rocked back and forth on top of him, his penis deep inside me, splitting me, filling me. The pressure and pleasure built to an intolerable level, then exploded through me. I felt his penis surge and his semen flooded into my preteen womb. He roared, and I screamed in ecstasy as waves of orgasm washed over me. My eyes were locked on his, my mind locked in him. I was totally overpowered, engulfed, drowning in an ocean of my orgasm. I slipped down, down, down into his eyes. I collapsed onto his chest, panting. I could feel his pulse in his penis deep inside me. He growled, a low other-worldly growl as my consciousness returned to me.

Now I was again a thirteen-year-old girl. But now, I was lying on top of a man, his penis deep inside me, his sperm and my dampness and blood oozing out of my vagina. My face was against his throat, my legs on either side of his hips. I did not understand what had happened. I knew that I was no longer a virgin; I didn’t know that I had just felt the will of a spiritual being. I slept.

When I awoke in the morning, I was still laying on top of him, our bodies were still coupled. My blood and his semen had dried to a crusty glue which held us together. When I rose up, his penis, now softened, pulled painfully inside me. Demetrius woke up and held me against him.

“Don’t move little one, I don’t want to hurt you.” He reached up and wet his finger with his mouth, then spread his saliva around his penis. After doing this several times, and some gentle pulling, his penis fell out of me. When I lifted off of him, I saw that our stomachs and thighs were covered with dried blood. I started to cry.

He pulled me back against him, holding my head to his chest. “Sush, Sush, sush,” he said. He held me as I cried. “It’s alright child, it’s alright.”

I lifted my head and looked into his eyes—fell into his eyes. Again, I was lost. I don’t know how long I slept, it could have been ten minutes, it could have been ten hours. Outside it continued to snow, a dark, grey day. I spent the rest of the day in a fog. I know that I did my usual chores and we ate that evening. Then, later, we went to bed.

This time, things went differently. I did not bother to put on a shift, I just striped and waited for father in the bed. He striped off his cloths. This time, I looked at him in a different way. I noticed the muscles moving under his white skin. I had never really noted the spray of fine blond curls on his chest, I had never looked at his penis before.

He blew out the lamp and slid in next to me. With a great deal of tenderness, he leaned down and kissed me on the mouth. Then he kissed me more deeply, his tongue brushing my lips. It just seemed natural to open my mouth and meet his tongue with mine. I felt his penis swell against my thigh as he moved his hand from my side up on to my chest. A shiver ran through me as he caressed my nipples with his fingertips. It started in my nipple, then spread under my arm to disappear. Then it reappeared between my legs. I know I quietly mewed, a low cat like sound.

Father moved his hand down and ran his finger up and down my slit. I felt a tightness and unconsciously spread my legs for him. His finger found my clit and a shock ran through me as he circled it with his fingertip. He moved his finger down and pushed it inside me. I pushed my hips forward to meet him and felt the hardness of his cock against my thigh.

Somehow, I knew what to do. I reached down and wrapped my hand around it, slowly pulling back and forth. I felt the skin move over the hardness underneath. He let out a ragged breath and humped into my hand as he pushed two fingers deep into my preteen vagina.

I wanted to feel him in my mouth. I don’t know why, but I had this strange desire to feel his penis in my mouth. “Let me see you,” I said. Father rolled on to his back and I sat up next to him. In the dim light I could see his erect penis. It was about eight inches long, no larger around than a broom. I stroked it up and down, watching the head disappear and reappear from the foreskin. Then I pulled the foreskin back and took the head in my mouth. Father groaned as I sucked him into me, pushing down and taking the entire head and some of his shaft before he hit the back of my throat. I just kept moving him in and out of my mouth. I felt him relax, laying back. He brushed my hair back and I looked into his face. He smiled and said, “Keep doing that child, you are so wonderful.”

Then he started thrusting forward to push his penis deeper into me. I relaxed my throat and felt him pass beyond. I swallowed and his penis moved down my throat, filling me. With him this deep, I couldn’t breathe and I had to pull back. I did this a couple more times as he became more and more excited. Humping faster and harder into my mouth. I knew that he was about to squirt his seed (I remembered the feeling of it flooding into my womb before) and I wanted it. His penis surged, swelling in my mouth as he erupted. Suddenly, my mouth was full of his seed, shot after shot of viscous fluid flooding me. I swallowed as much as I could, but still, with his thrusting, some squirted around the sides of my mouth and ran down over my hand. After a few moments, father calmed down, relaxing on the bed. I looked up at him. I could feel his semen running down my cheeks. More was on my hands and his stomach. He reached down and, grabbing me under the arms, dragged me up to kiss him, a deep French kiss.

Over the next weeks our relationship became quite regular. My days were spent taking care of his house, washing his clothes, and preparing his meals. During those days, Demetrious spent most of his time visiting in the village, helping with the labors of the farmers when they were in special need, and we both spent a great deal of time in prayer.

Ok, I guess I’ve given you enough background, so now I really do need to tell you about how I was ‘Made,’ in other words, how I became a vampire.

First, understand that I knew there was something very different about Father. The fact that there was a vampire in the town was well known but nobody really talked about it, it was something whispered about, like a nasty family secret. Still, every few weeks a body would be found, the throat slashed but with very little blood, and the slashes were not the clean line of a sharp knife but ragged tares. Usually it was some stranger to the town, or a known criminal. Sometimes it was an old person, someone waiting on death to ease them into the afterlife. It was not long before I connected these attacks in the town and Father’s unaccountable trips at night.

Usually he would try to leave quietly once I was asleep but, at the same time, usually I was chilled beyond sleep on these nights, laying with him, cold and listless. Then he would return, his body hot to the touch and he would take me, making love to me with incredible passion and power. On those nights I would cum for what seemed an eternity, the orgasms rolling over me like tidal waves. He would usually fill me three or four times, first my womb, then my mouth, then again my womb.

I started to look forward to these nights. I would know when they were about to arrive because he would look pale and not have much energy, sometimes he’d be snappish. Then, one night we’d go to bed, his skin would be cold, he’d still embrace me, his lips cool on the back of my neck. Sometimes I’d direct his hand down to my sex and he’d try to pleasure me, his cold fingers moving along my slit, working up inside me, but they’d chill me. And, as much as I might try, his cock would remain listless, even if I slid down to suck on it.

Usually he would be able to get me off, he’d lick me between my legs, even his tongue cool against my clit. I’d feel a twinge, a small release of tension, then he’d smile at me and cuddle me more, still an uncomfortably cool embrace. Then, an hour of two later, he’d leave me, dress quickly, then be out. At these times I’d smile in anticipation of his return. It would be an hour or two later that he’d re-enter and strip off his clothes.

One evening, after he had left, I lighted a candle and left it burning. When he returned I flung the covers off of me, laying on my back and displaying myself to him. My breasts had just begun to develop, small rises under my nipples had made them grow larger but, still, what I have cannot be called breasts. My stomach is still flat and, on my sex, there has never been even a hint of covering. Demetrious once told me that he found my being a girl, not a woman, to be very alluring, in fact he had not had sex with anyone for over 300 years, from before he was ‘Made’ until he met me. In fact, he said, the first time he saw me in the bath was the first time in centuries he had wanted sex.

That evening he stripped off his clothes as he smiled down at me, his cock was already raging hard, unlike what it had been earlier. Then he knelt between my legs and his tongue seemed to seer my most sensitive parts. I was almost immediately bucking my hips and jamming my pussy into his face. Then he moved up, kissing and licking my stomach and breasts as he jammed his cock into me. We kissed, his tongue playing in my mouth, I could still taste a trace of blood.

I wrapped my legs around his hips, clinging to his chest as I had orgasm after orgasm. As I clung to him he rose from the bed, holding me, and stood, I was impaled on him. I didn’t really realize what was happening as we moved toward the door. I bit into his neck as another intense climax shot through me. Demetrious threw open the door and carried me, still impaled on his cock across the yard to the church where he took me into the graveyard and we finished on a stone slab, me laying on my back across the crypt as he stood, looking down at me and filling me with his seed.

I sat up and hugged him, with his cock still inside me, and saw the dark stain on his shoulder where I had bit him. I wanted to taste his blood and leaned forward but he gently pushed me away, “You cannot abide my blood, child. Do you know what it would do to you?” His eyes glowed red in the darkness.

Suddenly I was scared, I sensed a coldness creep over my soul and I pushed him away. Now we looked at each other in the dim light, him standing naked, me sitting with my knees apart, wanting him desperately but also fearful of his other-worldliness. “Someday, if you want, I will make you one like me,” he said. “But not now—you are too young.”

Then he turned and walked back to the house. I followed after sitting and listening to the night for a few moments, naked under the dome of stars on a moonless night. I slid into bed next to him, I needed to feel his warmth again after the night air had chilled my sweat.

That was the night my suspicions were confirmed. I knew he was a vampire but I really wasn’t frightened. The following afternoon there was a funeral for a man known around the village as a bully and a generally lazy malcontent.

Dates were unimportant then, so I really can’t tell you exactly when I was ‘made’ but it must have been sometime in the fall of 1651. I can say this because I know it was a few weeks after our love making in the graveyard. That had to have been in the early fall because there were leaves on the trees then (I remember them moving in the darkness) and there were leaves falling when I was ‘made.’

A group of Gypsies brought the pox to the village. Over the course of a month it swept through the community, most of the young people caught it, many died. Three of the seven novices died, my sister survived but was very sick. As for me, at first I seemed untouched but, as the plague seemed to be winding down, one day I felt listless and by that evening I was feverous. The next day I was throwing up, Demetrious stayed with me, sponging my forehead and holding me as I vomited. Two days later, I was still very ill and I had a bloody sore on the inside of my lip. It was the following morning that a sister came in to feed me some breakfast. She looked at me and dropped the spoon, then ran from the cottage wailing that I had “Black Pox.”

By that evening I was bleeding from my nose and mouth, there was also blood when I used the chamber pot. I was delirious with fever and every inch of my body ached—I knew I was dying. Then, late, Father Demetrious came to me on my cot.

“I can save you, child,” he said, “but only at the cost of your soul.”

I looked up at him through a fog, “I---I---I love you, Father. I want to stay with you.”

“Do you know what you ask?”

“To be with you.”

He picked me up and carried me across the yard and into the church. The place was dimly lit by a few candles, a sister hurried up from the shadows. “Can I help you, Father?” she said.

“Yes,” he said, then he lay me on the floor.

In the dimness, I watched him take her. He moved impossibly fast, wrapping his arms around her. With one hand over her mouth, he forced her head back, her eyes wide with terror and tears, and he lowered his mouth to her throat. It seemed he was chewing on the side of her neck as she slowly relaxed, then went limp. He followed her to the floor, still holding her to him as her life drained out of her. Then he stood up and looked at me, his eyes glowing red.

He lifted me a carried me to the alter where he lay me. He tore my shift down the front, leaving me naked, looking up at the Crucifix of Jesus, His peaceful face staring down at me. Then I felt Father entering me and I looked at him. I drew energy from his eyes as he pushed deep inside me. Somehow my illness was shrinking as my libido grew, pushing my weakness aside, rocking me on the granite alter. Father moved back and forth, pushing deep, then withdrawing, only to thrust again. With each thrust my strength grew, tension building in my thighs and stomach. I pulled myself up, sitting, with my knees against his sides, holding his shoulders, still mesmerized by the glow in his eyes. It built inside me to an intolerable height as he slammed into me. I screamed as I was taken, feeling him filling me, and, at the same time, there was a sharp pain on the side of my neck.

As my orgasm flooded over me, filling me, at the same time my life was being sucked from me. An emptiness filled my throat and chest, my breath was sucked away, and I sank down into a cold darkness even as I felt the last of his seed being released inside me.

The darkness was complete, overwhelming everything, silence, cool, floating. Then, somewhere, I felt a warmth. In the distance, a warmth on my tongue, I feebly sucked more warmth in and a trickle went down my throat. It blossomed in my chest and abdomen, running down my arms and legs. I opened my eyes. I was still on the alter, wrapped in Demetrious’ embrace, still impaled by his cock, but now I was holding his shoulder to my mouth, filling it with blood. But not his blood—our blood—my blood.

He gently lay me back down on the alter and pushed my mouth away. “That is enough, my love,” his cock pulled out of me as he stepped back, “let it run its course.”

For a few moments I felt almost normal, my illness was gone, my strength returning. My eyes still burned and I still had the taste of blood in my mouth. My muscles and joints still faintly ache but my sickness was gone, I felt strong now, and warm, even though I was naked, laying on a stone alter.

Then there started a buzzing in my ears. First it was in the back of my conscious but it grew, slowly filling my senses. My skin began to tingle, first my hands and feet, but then spreading up my legs and arms.

Suddenly my stomach convulsed and I doubled over in pain. My chest tightened, the pain made me want to scream but my breath wouldn’t come. I sat with my knees under my chin, trying to breathe. The pain filled my stomach, chest, shoulders and legs. My vision blurred, then went dark.

It may have been a minute, it might have been a week, I don’t know. I was carried out, up through the roof of the church. I could see the convent, the valley, the village but this too faded. My last thought was that I had died, my soul was leaving this world. Blackness took over.

I awoke. I was still naked on the alter, the body of Sister Yetka was sprawled in the aisle, Father Demetrious was still standing near me, watching. Then I could see things, a rat scuttling in the recesses, a bird asleep on a beam near the back of the church. I sat up.

“Yes….now you see….”

“I want to feed,” I said.

“Not tonight, child, tomorrow it will be time.

We walked together back to the cottage, Father wrapped his cloak around both of us. Outside, I was amazed that, in the darkness, I could see every leaf on the trees. I slept through the entire next day, it was after sunset that Father awakened me.

In the darkness I dressed, I was still naked from the night before. I was also hungry, but it was not an emptiness in my stomach but an overall feeling of listlessness. We left the cottage and made our way across the fields toward the village. I was amazed at how I could see everything, not like in the daytime where light guides your eye, but, somehow, I could sense the presents of every creature.

We walked through the dark village. There were still lights burning in the bottom floor of the only Inn of the town; laughing, drunken voices came out of the windows to us. I felt drawn to the place, I could smell the people within, feel their blood, but Father Demetrius held my arm.

“No,” he said. “You have never taken before, you would be caught.”

We continued through the town to a cottage on the far side. To my surprise, Father knocked on the door. There was movement inside and it was opened by an old woman.

“It’s you,” she said, her voice full of both surprise and fear. She backed away from the door into the single room. There was a candle and a few embers in the fire, otherwise it was dark.

“We had an agreement,” Father said. “I have come to collect.”

The old woman sank down, sitting on the foot of the bed. “Yes, I have been expecting you,” she said. “I was expecting you earlier than this.”

Then she appeared to see me for the first time. “Who is this you have brought?” Her eyes looked me up and down. “Who is this girl?”

“This is my newest apprentice,” he said, “Evacska.”

The woman looked into my eyes. “Do you know what your name means, child?”

“No.”

“ ‘Life.’ Such a strange name for one who will be taking so much.”

She looked back at Demetrius. “Hopefully she will be better at it than my son was.”

“I gave him the life that you asked for. I’m not responsible that he was foolish,” Demetrius said.

“Has he told you about Albert?” the woman asked. “No, I guess not.”

“Albert was my son. I watched him grow into a strong young man only to be stricken down by a fever. I bargained with the Father here—he saved my son’s life at the cost of my own. Little did I know that he would wait so long. Or that my son would be a fool and die at the stake.”

“Can I hear your confession?” Father asked.

“What? A vampire to hear my confession? Now that is ironic.”

“Then you are prepared?”

“I’ve been awaiting death since my son died—the second time. Do you have any idea what it’s like to watch the flames raise at your child’s feet, watch them climb up the body that you bore? I welcome you, Demetrius.” She pulled at the neck of her night shirt.

“No, it is not for me,” Father said. “You are for Evascka. Madam, you have a unique fate—the mother of a vampire and now another’s first victim.”

She looked at me. “Such a pretty, sweet child,” she said. “Where is your mother?”

“I don’t know, ma’am. We were sent here when the Turks came to our city, Mother and Father stayed there. I haven’t seen them in months.”

She looked at Demetrius. “Do you know their fate?”

“The city’s been under siege for months.”

She looked back at me. “You’re parents are probably dead,” she said. “There has been starvation and petulance there.”

Her statement should have upset me greatly but, for some reason I was unaffected. Somehow the idea of my mother and father, my life before yesterday, just didn’t seem to concern me. It was as if it had been someone else’s life, not my own. I realized that this too should upset me, but it did not.

“Come to me, child,” she said, holding her arms out. “I have not held a child for so many years.”

I looked up at Father. His eyes glowed as he made a small nod. I walked to the woman and she wrapped her arms around me, clutching me to her. She pushed my face into her neck.

Suddenly, I could feel her pulse, the warm smell of her blood, the low flame of her life. I wrapped my own arms around her and bit at her throat. She stiffened with pain as my teeth cut into her flesh—then I tasted her blood.

I pulled my head back and looked at the small cut beside her larynx. The metallic smell and taste of her blood, its slipperiness in my lips and tongue, caused a shudder to run through me. I had never felt hunger, or desire, like I did now.

She held me away from her and looked into my face. The blood ran down over her collar bone and stained her shift. “Child, do not think I fear death. You give me paradise.”

Then she pulled me to her.

I plunged my mouth to her throat and ripped at the skin, then sinews and muscles, tearing at her like the most wild animal. I felt her carotid artery stretch and then break. There was a gush of blood that filled my mouth. I sucked and drank as we sank back. Slowly, I felt her life beginning to ebb as I lay on top of her. The gurgling of her breath from her broken wind pipe became shallower, the beating of her heart softer.

I drank and drank, drawing power from her blood, feeling it flow through me, passing through my torso and into my arms and legs.

Chapter 11

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