Bathory's Secret: When All The Time In The World Is Not Enough (Affliction Vampires Book 1) by Romina Nicolaides Page B
Authors: Romina Nicolaides
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tightly with rope. The hunger and exhaustion had weakened me and though under normal circumstances I might have been able to fight them, the lack of food and sleep meant that I had barely enough energy to stay upright. Part of my induction involved being kept up at night by being constantly sprayed with silver water and pelted with that despicable whip. The men mumbled in a language I did not understand but made it clear that they wanted me to follow them. They took me up some stairs to another level of the cave into another cell-shaped alcove. This one, however, was different to the one I had been held in. It was richly furnished with upholstered chairs and had a fine carpet on the ground. The walls were fitted with bespoke shelves filled with books. At the end of the room was a massive crucifix and in front of it a wooden desk with papers and writing implements. Seated at the desk was a man in religious garb I did not recognize who looked up the minute I was dropped to the ground.
“Theodora Laskari we have been waiting for you.” He spoke in (strained) Greek, my native language, and knew my name. I hadn’t heard my name in over a century and had nearly forgotten it. No one else who had known it was still alive.
“How do you know my name?” I asked speaking for the first time since my capture.
“We know a lot of things here,” he answered cryptically. “We do the Lord’s work so He helps us in our quest.”
“Your quest?” More religious trash . Though I came from a fervently religious family and city, I had always been particularly suspicious of the Church. My parents cherished the priests in our parish and I knew my mother frequently secretly visited the Catholic Monsignor in times of trouble. I would often catch her in moments of prayer to her Virgin statues when she thought no one was watching. For me, however, the feeling was not the same. I could see that the clergy preached one code of living and practiced another and though they spoke about Jesus’ love they seldom seemed to act accordingly.
“Yes child, our Divine Quest, which is to rid the world of Lucifer’s children in order to enable the Second Coming,” he said interrupting my thoughts.
“ Lucifer’s children ,” I repeated in disbelief and awe at what I was hearing. Was this really what we were?
“You see my dear, we here believe that all people are born to this world with the burden of Original Sin. Some of us strive to improve through prayer, piety and charity in order to reach His Eternal Kingdom in death. Others like you, however, are weak and when tested by the Devil succumb to him, and in exchange for an unnaturally long life he allows you to live solely in order to conduct his vile work.”
I did not understand how simply by being attacked one night in the woods and forced to change by this condition I had been tempted by the Devil, failed to deny him and therefore been branded as his own. Could I have resisted and gotten better? Could I have lived a normal mortal life had my faith been strong? At the time there seemed to be little moral choice. The change was quick and unyielding so it was unlikely that faith could have cured me.
“Surely Father, by this logic, all illness could be overcome with faith and all who die by disease are simply weak individuals whose faith is not strong enough.”
“What you are is no disease!” He spat out the words. “The Devil can see those who are weak and evil and he hunts them down by means of his servants and when they are bitten they too are forever in his service. Disease is a test of the body by God, your condition is proof of a rotten soul, and Beelzebub loves rotten souls…” He stressed words like "weak” and “evil” and bulged his eyes in emphasis.
“If you believe me to be weak, why do you restrict me thus? Come closer and I will show you just how rotten I am!” No sooner had I finished my sentence than I felt the exacting
“Theodora Laskari we have been waiting for you.” He spoke in (strained) Greek, my native language, and knew my name. I hadn’t heard my name in over a century and had nearly forgotten it. No one else who had known it was still alive.
“How do you know my name?” I asked speaking for the first time since my capture.
“We know a lot of things here,” he answered cryptically. “We do the Lord’s work so He helps us in our quest.”
“Your quest?” More religious trash . Though I came from a fervently religious family and city, I had always been particularly suspicious of the Church. My parents cherished the priests in our parish and I knew my mother frequently secretly visited the Catholic Monsignor in times of trouble. I would often catch her in moments of prayer to her Virgin statues when she thought no one was watching. For me, however, the feeling was not the same. I could see that the clergy preached one code of living and practiced another and though they spoke about Jesus’ love they seldom seemed to act accordingly.
“Yes child, our Divine Quest, which is to rid the world of Lucifer’s children in order to enable the Second Coming,” he said interrupting my thoughts.
“ Lucifer’s children ,” I repeated in disbelief and awe at what I was hearing. Was this really what we were?
“You see my dear, we here believe that all people are born to this world with the burden of Original Sin. Some of us strive to improve through prayer, piety and charity in order to reach His Eternal Kingdom in death. Others like you, however, are weak and when tested by the Devil succumb to him, and in exchange for an unnaturally long life he allows you to live solely in order to conduct his vile work.”
I did not understand how simply by being attacked one night in the woods and forced to change by this condition I had been tempted by the Devil, failed to deny him and therefore been branded as his own. Could I have resisted and gotten better? Could I have lived a normal mortal life had my faith been strong? At the time there seemed to be little moral choice. The change was quick and unyielding so it was unlikely that faith could have cured me.
“Surely Father, by this logic, all illness could be overcome with faith and all who die by disease are simply weak individuals whose faith is not strong enough.”
“What you are is no disease!” He spat out the words. “The Devil can see those who are weak and evil and he hunts them down by means of his servants and when they are bitten they too are forever in his service. Disease is a test of the body by God, your condition is proof of a rotten soul, and Beelzebub loves rotten souls…” He stressed words like "weak” and “evil” and bulged his eyes in emphasis.
“If you believe me to be weak, why do you restrict me thus? Come closer and I will show you just how rotten I am!” No sooner had I finished my sentence than I felt the exacting
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