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Fangs To My Blood
Fangs To My Blood
After decades of servitude, Dumitru’s werewolf pack wants to be free. To do this, they must convince the vampire king to reveal their origin in order to have hope for the future. Their plan falls apart when they discover Tatjana. In the middle of an endless war between vampires and lycanthropes, will love find its place?
Fangs To
My Blood
Fangs To
My Blood
Virginie T.
Translated by Mustapha Naceur
© 2020. T. Virginie
Dépôt légal : mai 2020
« Death begets death »
Prologue
In the remote lands of Russia, life is already difficult of origin, in the Middle Ages. However, life in the service of Lord Vladimir is a real hell. He does not realize all the privileges granted to him by the tsar. He has wealth, women and food in abundance without even lifting a hand, while his people die of hunger and cold working in the fields, but nothing is ever enough. It’s really an impossible mission to serve someone who is never satisfied like Vladimir. He always wants more and more, and it is up to me to make sure that his wishes are totally fulfilled. Unfortunately, this time is no exception, he is never satisfied at all.
– Once again! I am disappointed again, Zoran. Do I have to ask you each time to do your job properly?
The Lord’s voice raises high so that my humiliation is complete. Whenever he intends to mistreat a servant, he invites his vassals into the great hall. He likes to make public stoning examples to establish his power in this isolated country. He does not need it because no one dares contradict his authority or even think to do so. However, I suspect he enjoys these debasements he does in public.
– The people are poor, my lord…
– Enough pathetic excuses. If they can’t afford money to pay the tithe, they only have to send me their daughters as compensation.
His obscene smile scares me. These poor women… their pleading eyes haunt my nights.
– My Lord, they have already sent you all the young girls who are old enough to please you, there are only little girls left…
– Little girls can work until they’re old enough to suit me. You make no effort, Zoran, and the other servants begin to think that they will risk nothing to disobey and provoke me.
My fellow wretches can never think that way. I always see them walking along the walls of the castle, with their heads down, silently praying not to be the next to suffer Vladimir's wrath. As I understand them. I wish I were in a less uncomfortable place myself.
When it comes to punishment, my lord has a great sense of imagination. He has a deep affection for ear amputation or tongue piercing. Beheading and the pyre are also his favors. So many torments suffered by servants who have only the misfortune of having found themselves in his path. For these same absurd reasons, I have already lost an ear and my tongue still feels the warmth of the poker that pierced it. I begin to tremble, worrying about the devilish smile displayed by Lord Vladimir. What part of my body is going to have to suffer his wrath? How much more pain am I going to have to endure without flinching and reacting?