Date: Sun, 9 May 2010 18:04:15 +0200
From: Luca Warberg <lucawarberg@gmail.com>
Subject: Tainted Blood 1

Hey guys, I'm starting a new story here that I'm hoping you guys will enjoy.
I've been reading a lot of the science fiction/fantasy stuff on nifty, and
I'm really impressed by some of the work I've read (especially Gone from
Daylight and Savage Moon -- Comicality). So I decided to give this a shot
myself and see how it ends up. Please send me thoughts on what you guys
think! I'm obviously hoping to make this a series, but need to know I'm sort
of on the right track!

But anyway, here goes: the first part of a new gay fantasy series called
Tainted Blood!

******************

*Prologue:*

*As soon as she was shoved into the room, Kristina sank to her knees,
sobbing. She ignored the overly extravagant four poster bed looming
ominously in front of her. She would touch none of the belongings of the
wretched man who had thrown her here. With that thought, she felt the
sobbing increase in its intensity, waves of mind-numbing hysterical pain
coursing through her body like fire, forcing her to abandon control and
start weeping until she could hardly breath.*

* *

*Images of the carnage she had seen just hours earlier flooded her mind. Her
beautiful baby brother ripped apart limb for limb, his soft blond locks
matted with thick, coagulated blood: his once crystal blue eyes bloodshot
from the internal bleeding he had suffered when one of the men had hit him
in the face, breaking his nose. He was only three years old for FUCKS sake!*

* *

*Next, unbidden, came pictures of her parents. Her father's normally loving,
kindly face hideously mutilated beyond belief. His once kindly lips had been
cut off to leave a ghoulish, sickening grin. His eyes gouged out, had been
forced into his mouth and he had choked to death on them. Finally, her
mother... Kristina closed her eyes tightly refusing to let the image
envelope her like the others had. She had loved her mother more fiercely
than the rest of her family. It wasn't to say that she didn't love the
others, but her and her mom had been the only two of their kind in the whole
of the Austrian Empire. They had shared a bond closer than that between a
normal mother and daughter. They had shared a bond of spirit the likes of
which only happened once a generation.*

* *

*The thought of such a precious person in her life having been murdered in
cold blood sent a torrent of anger shooting through Kristina's blood. She
was to turn sixteen tomorrow, and had been told under no uncertain terms
that she would be wed to the Prince of Sardinia come morning. The prince
came from a fabulously wealthy family and had searched his entire Kingdom
and all the surrounding areas for a bride to suit his opinion of himself. He
had finally heard rumours of Kristina, whose beauty was fabled to be the
most pure, the most amazing to behold in the entire Europe. It was her
beauty that had led to the murder of her family. If the prince thought that
she was just a pretty face, he was sorely mistaken. Fired with a rage that
she would never be able to slate, she jumped from the floor, walking to the
mirror. Without thinking twice, she threw the chamber pot against the mirror
next the bed, causing it to shatter into a hundred pieces. There was a
pounding on the door, undoubtedly one of the prince's lackeys.*

*"Hey, behave yourself in there or I'll have to restrain you!"*

* *

*Ignoring the muffled voice coming from the other side of the door, she
picked up one of the larger shards of mirror lying on the floor. She gripped
the sharp end of it with her left hand and then savagely pulled it out,
slicing a deep gash across her palm. Brilliant red blood quickly bubbled
across her palm. Without flinching, she dabbed her right index finger in the
blood and started tracing a patter on the cold, stone floor beneath her. It
took her a full five minutes to finish the small picture she was tracing in
her own blood, and she had to deepen the cut twice to ensure there was
enough blood to continue. Finally, she stood back, admiring the pentagram
she had drawn on the floor.*

* *

*Without giving it a second thought, she started mumbling the incantations
her mother had taught her. She had never tried this before, her mother had
taught it to her only because it was tradition. She had forbidden the use of
it, making Kristina swear a blood oath to never repeat the words after she
had been taught them. Now, it didn't matter. Her family was dead, slain as a
result of her own good looks. There was nothing stopping her.*

* *

*The torches in the room started spluttering  and the candles were blown out
completely. Without turning around, Kristina felt the malevolent presence
filling the entire room behind her. She knew what it was, but despite this,
she felt nothing. If he tore her to shreds right now, she wouldn't even have
flinched.*

* *

*"Who summons the mighty Asmodai?"*

* *

*The voice was eerily beautiful, not at all suited to the dark, deadly force
which had gathered behind her. It was sultry, dripping with raw sexual
 prowess.
It made the hairs on the back of Kristina's neck stand up.*

* *

*"It is I, mighty king, who has summoned you. I have come to offer my blood
to you, to be made your servant."*

* *

*Nine months later, to the day, Kristina was in labour for 17 hours, before
finally dying after giving birth.* The year was 1860.



Chapter  1: Fall, 2010.

Nico Raffaele  sat languidly watching the water drip down the window of his
bedroom. He was supposed to go into town with his brother in an hour, but
his brother had bailed as usual, finding something better to do than
re-register for their third year of university. Nico tried not to think
about it. He had spent hours last week trying to convince his brother it was
the right thing to do. Even so, he couldn't help but think that his brother
would skip out on him once again. Sighing to himself, he stood up. He was
still in his boxers after having woken up this morning. Without thinking
about it twice, he pulled them down and threw them on the bed as he headed
to the bathroom for a long shower. One of the maids could sort the room out
later, when he was away.

Standing in front of the mirror while he waited for the water to heat up,
Nico looked critically at his naked body. He had the distinct, masculine jaw
most Italians sported, his cheeks despite being clean shaven, still hinting
slightly at stubble. His thick mop of almost black hair just came down to
his eyes. He had noticed that as far as most Americans were concerned, it
was considered a little long, but as long as he couldn't force it into a
pony tail, it was fine, he decided. That, however, was as far as his Italian
heritage went. For some reason, he had inherited all his other features from
his mother. The same ice blue eyes, coppery skin that looked almost gold in
the sunlight. The same tall, muscular frame, which at just over 6 foot, he
supposed wasn't really all that tall. He looked down to the rest of his
body. His skin was the same coppery golden colour everywhere, no tan line.
Well, why would there be one, he thought, it's not like he needed to tan.
His cock was nestled in a thick patch of black hair, his only body hair
apart from a similarly thick patch under each armpit. His legs, torso and
arms were smooth, naturally. Nico wasn't one of those metrosexual guys: he
left his body as nature had designed it. Yeah sure he loved sport: his thick
arms, raised pecs, incredibly tight six pack and well muscled legs could
attest to that. But he wasn't besotted with his own body, he just didn't see
the point.

Seeing steam rise from the shower, he stepped in. To most people the shower
would have scalded the very flesh of their bones. Nico found it amazingly
refreshing, the searing hot water finally waking him out of his lethargy. He
felt the energy slowly unfurl itself through his body, tingling as he felt
his blood pump it faster and faster. This was the best part of the day for
him, where he felt as strong as a god without it becoming an almost
egotistical obsession he had to fight off to remain normal. It wasn't the
way he liked to think, but the many years he had spent surrounded by the
wealth and influence of his family had made him non-the-wiser that he even
thought like that. Non-the-wiser, that is, until he had moved to America.
Shaking his head, he tried to focus his thoughts. Now was not the time to
wander down memory lane. He had things to do today, things that he had to do
quickly if he planned on maintaining control over his own sanity. And he had
better do them quickly. Even now, he could feel the tingling energy waking
up his body was stronger than yesterday. He couldn't allow it to grow much
stronger. He had to sort it out tomorrow or the next day.

Stepping out of the shower, Nico quickly got dressed in a pair of faded
jeans and a tight blue t-shirt. He slipped on some flip flops and dragged
some wax through is hair before heading out of the room. He preferred
America by far to the stifled Italian environment he had grown he had grown
up him. He thanked his lucky stars for making the move every day. Walking to
the kitchen, he grabbed an apple from the  bowl of fruit mounted on the
granite table where he usually had breakfast. He'd get something proper to
eat once he was done at the university. Hearing someone clear their throat
behind him, he turned around.

"Buon giorno, mio signore. Che cosa ti paici oggi?"

Sighing, Nico answered.

"Morning Luciano, I want to go to the university to enrol today. And I told
you before, stop calling me `my lord' and speak English man. We're in
America, not Italy."

"As you wish, my lord," the fat valet said, bowing slightly to show his
respect.

Nico sighed again. He would never get the man to stop being so formal. He
had tried, god knew he did, but it was all in vain. It was one of the few
conditions his family had imposed on him and his brother when they had
decided to move to America. Every four years, the family would send over
staff: Italian staff they knew they could trust. They wouldn't stand to hear
that Nico didn't want servants. To boot, his brother had seemed pleased at
the idea anyway, so Nico hadn't pushed to point. He knew a lost battle when
he saw one. The staff that were sent to America every four years, despite
being fluent in German, French, Italian, Russian, Chinese and English,
insisted on speaking Italian to him and his brother. Their families had been
servants in his family for longer than he cared to remember now. He supposed
it would be difficult for anyone to acquire new manners simply because they
had changed countries. As far as they were concerned, etiquette stayed the
same, country be damned.

Luciano bowed once more before leaving to bring the car up front. The car,
yet another one of the family's small wishes, didn't do anything but draw
attention. Nico would much rather have taken the subway, but there was only
so much he could insist on. The staff would report him to the family and
there would be hell to pay.

It took them a full half an hour to get from home to the University. New
York could really suck balls when it wanted to, Nico reflected. Once the car
drew to a standstill outside of New York University, Nico got out. The
pavement outside the school was swarming with students of all ages,
obviously all there to register.  He pulled a pair of almost black Police
aviator sunglasses over his eyes, noticing everyone sneak sideways glances
at him as he walked past them. He quickly bounded up the stairs to the
University entrance, looking for the signs to inform him where registration
would take place this year. It took him two hours before he was registered
for all his subjects and had gotten all the information he would need for
the classes. It was such a mission to change courses so late, but he didn't
care. It wasn't like he had a limit on how long he could study for. Besides,
language and literature would be so much easier than pre-law. God that had
been boring. He was glad to have changed, even if it meant that he would
have to take first year classes again. It didn't worry him at all. Like I
said, he told himself, its not like im in a rush to finish this shit.

 He was on his way out when he noticed a tall, blond girl standing in the
passage looking completely lost. She was clearly not American, that much he
could tell. In fact, if he had to hazard a guess, he would have put her down
as more Scandinavian, maybe from Sweden or Norway. She had the tell-tale
golden glow to her skin, the blond -- almost white- hair and sharp blue eyes.
He noticed her glancing at him and he felt the energy creep up again, this
time swirling in growing concentric circles from his groin. While no
onlooker would have said there was anything untowards about him, he could
feel his bodily instincts kicked in: the ones he DIDNT have control over,
like the pheromones being released to increase his subliminal sex appeal,
his blue eyes growing brighter to the point where they would sparkle an
almost unholy sapphire blue, his voice becoming more gruff and rugged, the
list went on. It was all small things, things that taken by themselves would
not have made a difference, but when combined, had the lethal ability to
conquer anyone.

Trying to get a grip, Nico smiled at her, and kept walking, quickly pulling
his dark glasses over his eyes so that no one would see them. He stepped
outside into the grey haze that was New York during fall. He looked up and
down the street, looking for the black Maybach he had come here in, but he
couldn't see the car anywhere. Luciano was probably parked off a side street
waiting for him. Before getting the chance to second guess himself, Nico
strode quickly away from NYU. He knew it was unfair to Luciano, but he
didn't care right now. He needed some alone time, away from staff, family
and his normal life in general. The worst that could happen was his family
would stop giving him money. It's not like he really needed it anyway, he
was more than wealthy in his own right. He was just trying to lead a normal
life where he hurt others as little as possible. And it was sapping him of
his strength. It was unnatural for him to live like this, he knew. Three
years of living like this had taken its toll on his emotional  strength, and
his brother had been right to taunt him for it. His brother lived as he
pleased with no regard for anyone, least of all the family back in Italy. He
did what he wanted, when he wanted and defied anyone to criticise him and he
flourished because of it.

Shaking his head to clear his thoughts, Nico wandered into a small pub,
Irish by the looks of it. A slight smile crossed his face as he realised
what he must look like to others, always slightly shaking his head to clear
his thoughts. It's not like he could help it though. It seemed to be the
only way to actually clear his head.

Sliding onto a bar stool in the corner the furthest from the door, he
ordered a beer. American beer was awful stuff. It was one thing he missed
about living in Europe, being able to drink a strong, German or Belgian beer
any time he wanted to. The swill these Americans called beer would have been
chucked out into the street of any Germanic town long ago. But still, it was
better than nothing.

Hunched over his beer, Nico didn't even notice the other patrons move around
him. He looked into the amber liquid, staring at it as if it had every
answer he needed if only he could interpret it properly. He was startled out
of his reverie by the barman.

"Can I get you anything else, dude?"

"No I'm good for now thanks."

After the brief interruption, Nico looked up to see the bar had filled quite
a bit more since his arrival. He must have been staring at that beer for
almost an hour. He took a sip of the beer, and almost spat it back out. It
was starting to get lukewarm. He must definitely have been staring at it for
longer than he thought. He raised the beer slightly, indicating to the
barman that he wanted another one. Within seconds, it was slid infront of
him. At least the guy was efficient. Then again, he supposed, this wasn't
some Italian city where everyone seemingly had hours to kill as they lazed
away the afternoon. This was New York and everyone had too many things to do
with too little time to do it in. Efficiency was sort of second nature here.
Compared to Italy anyway.

It was as he was sweeping his vision across the other customers in the bar
that Nico noticed her again: the Scandinavian girl. There were two drinks in
front of her, a beer and a glass of wine, but she was sitting by herself.
Clearly she was waiting for someone else. He increased his concentration as
he saw a boy walk up to her and sit with his back to him. The guy was
sturdily built, probably similar in size to Nico. Except like the girl, he
had blond, almost white hair, and coppery skin. More than that Nico couldn't
see as he was facing the guy's back. He tuned into their conversation, it
taking a little more energy than it usually required. He was definitely
going to have to do something about that later, he was becoming weak and it
was time to do something about it. He brushed the thought aside, once again
tuning in on the boy and girl's conversation.

"Ja, ek dink dat dit ok sal wees. Ma het gese sy't die geld in ons rekenings
inbetaal. Dit behoort more op te wys."

It was the boy speaking. He had a soft, almost shy voice, but it was
undeniably masculine, almost sensuous. He was speaking a language similar to
German, Nico knew that much, but it was one he wasn't sure about. Flemmish
maybe? Or Dutch? He listened closer.

"Is pa al terug van Johannesburg af? Wanneer vlieg hy terug Kaapstad toe?"

The language became easier to understand the more he listened. It was one of
his gifts to quickly decipher languages, but since he had come to America,
it was one he used seldom. Everyone here spoke English. It was the girl that
had spoken and she had a much deeper voice than was usual for a girl, but
not so deep as to be unattractive. It was more gruff than anything else, as
if she had just woken up. Nico found the energy starting to swirl from his
loins again, in wider circles.

"Nee, hy vlieg oor-more terug Kaap toe. Dan het ma gese dat hulle miskien
volgende maand sal kom inloer om te sien hoe ons doen. Pa wil Vegas to gaan
anyway. En vlugte is goodkoper deur New York."

That was it, they were speaking something very similar to Dutch called
Afrikaans. It was a language with its roots in South Africa, and many of the
Afrikaners travelled to Europe to get back in touch with their European
heritage and family. They were talking about their father and mother going
to Las Vegas via New York from Cape Town, or "Kaapstad" as the girl had
called it. That must mean that they're siblings. That would explain the
Scandinavian looks too. He knew a lot of the white people in South Africa
were descendant from Northern Europeans and as such had inherited their
features. The fact that they both had the same general physical features was
obviously because they were brother and sister. Hell, even their language
was sort of a Northern European dialect, so he supposed it wasn't that
ineloquent to assume their ancestry was also. As they were talking, Nico
noticed the boy had finished his beer. He continued to listen to the boy,
still speaking in Afrikaans, but Nico had figured the language out and
understood it completely now.

"I'm grabbing another beer. You want something, sis?"

"Freak, Christian, you maybe wanna slow down. We still gotta get home and
this subway thing is crap confusing."

"Chill out sis, its only my first one. You never tuned me bout drinking like
this back at home."

"Yeah well, back home I would know how to actually get home."

"Ok, jeez, one more and we can chuck? OK?"

The girl grumbled but nodded her head anyway. Haha, she must be the older
one if he had to hazard a guess. It wasn't like her brother would have taken
that type of command from a younger sibling. It was then that the boy turned
around to head to the bar and Nico got a clear, full look at him.  Nico felt
the energy in his groin tingle with a viciousness he had never felt before.
This time, he actually got fully hard from the sensation: something that had
never happened to him in all his years. The electric sensation swept past
his loins into other parts of his body, making him shiver very slightly. It
felt like his body was alive with a feeling so delicious, so amazing, that
he didn't care what others thought. He just wanted to abandon himself in it,
to bask in the glory of it. Shaking his head, Nico tried to get a grip of
himself. He hoped that he hadn't calculated his timing wrong and had spent a
few days too many without satiating his hunger. The effects would be
disastrous. But still, the guy over there...

As soon as he thought about the boy again, Nico felt his eyes once again
slide calmy towards the boy. He could feel that ice cold determination
mixing with the electrical current running through his body. What was his
name again, Christian. Yeah, that was a hot name. Suits the boy perfectly.
Nico felt his thoughts sliding along the familiar path as they became darker
and darker. He stood up, pulled fifty dollars out his back pocket and threw
it on the counter. He grabbed his jacket and before his body could realise
what he was doing, he stepped out of the bar into the fresh air. The cold
enveloped him almost instantly, making him calm down. The cold was good for
him, always had been. It made it easier to control himself. He revelled in
the feeling, noticing a few awkward glances at people walking past him. He
was standing in the same thin blue t-shirt and jeans he had put on this
morning. He hadn't put his jacket on yet, his hand still clutching it so
hard his knuckles were white. People must have thought he was crazy to stand
outside like that. The weather was, after all, viciously cold. That was just
another part of who he was, however. Nico didn't feel the cold. He was
impervious to the weather, except for the heat. The heat made it harder to
control himself. It wasn't so much the effect it had on his body as the
effect it had on his mind. But still... the cold was good.

Feeling a little more in control, Nico swung the jacket on quickly, more to
stop others from staring than any real need on his part. He walked back to
NYU to look for Luciano. He had to get home, he had to feed his hunger, he
had to get a grip. He had almost lost it in that bar. As he walked off, the
feeling of the boy in the bar, Christian, was still making him feel slightly
uneasy as it hung in the back of his mind.

*********

Hey guys, that's the end of the first part. Hope you all enjoyed it. If it
feels a bit slow paced, just bear with me, im building it up slowly! Please
let me know what you guys think! I really need the input! I do things so
much quicker and more easily when theres messages in my inbox!!! Hehe.

Peace,

Luca.

lucawarberg@gmail.com