Volenta Popofsky died about three centuries ago.
The lord of the land was more intimidating in the dark. He wasn’t the jovial host, tonight. He was more like a storm. Unreadable. Unknowable. He looked down at me. The candlelight caught in the ruby in the collar of his vest. It looked like a burning ember.
“I did not expect you this evening, Miss Volenta,” he said, after a while. “But it seems that you have again managed to charm my wife.” Ludmilla, behind him, said, “She wanted me to kill her, milord. That seems a waste.” Strahd tilted his head. “You wish to keep her as… a pet?”
“The thing in the mountain temple wants to make me into a monster,” I said. I wouldn’t cry in front of his lordship. “It wants me to betray the people I love. I would rather die.”
“You came here to throw yourself to the vampyr, then?” Strahd asked. He sounded almost amused. “Would you rather I make you into my monster instead? Is that your choice?” Ludmilla stepped forward to take his arm. “Milord, I will point out that we have not confirmed what freed me. I propose a variation on your idea. The thing in the temple wanted to make her a vampire, most likely… a vampire not beholden to any other. It can hardly do so if we do it first.”
“Your theory may not be correct. She could die.”
“She requested that first.”
“Why are you so interested in this now? Why do you need this knowledge tonight?”
Ludmilla curtseyed to her husband. “Milord. Be sensible. This is a rare opportunity. Surely you would rather find out the way of things now, with someone willing, rather than… perhaps… as a woman you love dies of a disease you cannot cure.”
This didn’t mean anything to me, but it made Strahd flinch. Ludmilla nodded with a faint smile. “I thought as much, milord. Let me keep this one.”
I got the sense that this was a battle over me, for some reason. I also got the sense that Ludmilla had somehow won. I wasn’t sure that I was willing, but I’d ceded control over the situation to Ludmilla without a fight. So, apparently, had Strahd. That sense was heightened when Strahd nodded, then gestured. An unseen force lifted me to my feet. His eyes, just as red as Milla’s, burned with the same intensity as the gem he wore. Whatever happened now, I wasn’t going to walk out of here alive. It would save Nyshka from me, though, so it had to be worth it.
I couldn’t look at Milla, but I felt her lips against the nearly-healed punctures at my throat. Her fangs stung, but the sensation faded quickly. My fear enhanced the electric rush. It distracted me, and I did not notice at first when Strahd took my wrist.
His bite was different. It was far more painful; this pain did not fade, it only intensified, from a stabbing spike to an all-consuming agony. I could not move. I could not push him off. I would not have fought Ludmilla. I could not help but fight this. It was pointless. My vision began to gray around the edges. I would not have stayed standing without Strahd’s magic.
It may have been a mercy that I could not cry out as dizziness swamped me. Eventually, Strahd tilted my head back and dripped something – I could no longer focus well enough to guess what – into my mouth. It burned. I coughed, choked, tried to spit it out.
“You need to drink, sweetness,” Ludmilla said. “Or you’ll die and rise a slave. Drink.” I wanted to obey, but I couldn’t move. I felt her thumb brush my lips. More of the burning, acrid, terrible liquid dripped into my mouth. “Drink,” she whispered. “Please, sweetness.”
I tried. I don’t know if I succeeded. A noise I was scarcely aware of hearing seemed to falter. Something on the edge of hearing skipped. Paused. Tried to continue. Silence.
Well. Hopefully, I at least tasted good.
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