3400 words, today

Still dealing with the 4th section of Leonides. He's not happy with his agreement with Gabrielle so goes seeking not only food but a diversion...and here he finds it.

-----

I found my dinner just as the sun was setting. Four American marines walking away from a trampled field about a mile from the ship's berth on the river. One was trying to tuck his dick away in his uniform trousers as the others laughed and jostled each other and shared a jug of what smelled like Takju...Korean rice wine.

A quick recon of the area showed the bodies of an older farmer and his daughter. He was face down but the red moist earth around his head told his throat had been cut. She was lying on her back, most of her clothing torn aside, her throat also slit. She had once been very pretty. Apparently, the Americans had agreed...and enjoyed themselves, with her...until perhaps ten minutes ago. Her blood had only just stopped flowing. They had left her lying in a manner that was depraved.

I circled back to look at the men, keeping above them. Two were well into their thirties, one very thin the other edging into obesity, maybe a dozen teeth between them. They were drinking most of the Takju. The lad tucking himself away was very young and very drunk, which was probably why he was having trouble. He had only a hint of a beard covering a wide, boyish face and would have been acceptable, if only he'd had more ass on him. Granted, those hulking uniforms were not conducive to revealing a man's general anatomy, but they didn't exactly hide it, either.

Fortunately, that is what helped me choose the fourth one as my diversion.

He strolled along, grinning ear to ear. His hat was hiding his face, but he was sturdy, not stocky, in a uniform that had probably been the right size for him when he joined the service and now was close to being a bit too tight. Also, his walk was casual and cool. Far too much so for a man who'd just helped murder two innocent people...but that stride helped reveal how nice the flow of his ass into his legs was. I checked his front. His jacket was open and the top three buttons of his shirt undone, showing his chest had an abundance of hair, was full and oh-so inviting. A bit more around the tummy than need be, but not too much. Minimal crotch filling, but my guess was he'd depleted himself in the dead girl.

Still...we'd see about that.

He had just fired up a second cigarette and, as he walked, was rolling another. Apparently, he did not like rice wine. This was good. I preferred unencumbered blood.

They were chattering in words that almost sounded English, but were so different from my ancient tongue I had difficulty understanding them. Considering how America was exploding in strength and purpose, it looked like I'd have to spend some time there to get an idea of the lingo. Boston or New York, perhaps. Large cities to shelter yourself in. But that was for later consideration.

I have to admit, the more I watched the fourth man walk and interact with his companions, the more I wanted to keep him for more than a single night. Then he took off his hat and wiped his brow, even though it was a cool evening, and I saw a strong face with dark eyes and a wide grin under an untrimmed beard.

Okay...first things first, the beard would have to go. I don't mind whiskers, but when they hide the impact of a man's neck and chin-line, they are a hinderance to appreciation...and can also interfere with the joy of feeding. Second, his hair was definitely in need of washing, but to my surprise, not trimming. Apparently they had a barber on board the ship to keep the lads neat.

Well...my course of action was now determined. I swooped in and snapped the necks of the two older men. Like my mother had once done with chickens who'd stopped laying. Quick and easy, killing both before they even knew they were dead.

The other two were so shocked, they just looked at me, eyes wide, then the one with no ass turned to run but I grabbed his jacket and yanked him back. He screamed, "Clerik!" and the fourth one pulled a knife and jumped at me. I could smell the recent blood on it.

So...he was the one who did the killing.

Good.

I merely took hold of his hand and twisted his arm around to his back in a way that forced him to his knees. Then yanked the no-ass bastard to me, wrapped my other arm around his head to hold it in place, released my fangs...and fed on him.

He kept screaming, for a moment, thrashing and fighting as his buddy...Clerik, struggled to free himself. I won't say the no-ass bastard was the worst meal I'd ever had, but he was barely decent. His blood was blood, and that's all.

When he was dead, I dropped him and turned to Clerik, who was now in full panic mode. Screaming for help.

I noticed some Korean peasants hurrying over to where the bodies of the old man and girl were. They cast a glance at me and saw Clerik struggling in my arms. They were really too far away and the light was too low for them to truly see me, but I still shook my head...and it seems they understood. They turned away and coldly focused on their countrymen.

Good.

Clerik kept fighting and twisting and trying to shift his knife to his other hand so he could face me, still howling in his odd version of English. I made out the words bastard and slaughter and die, but the rest almost sounded like Gaelic, which was more a Saxon way of speaking. Being Norman, I never truly learned it, and now that I've spent more time in France, Germany and Italy, I had lost even that smattering. I could handle the Queen's English, but that was not his.

I wrapped my free arm around his neck then removed the knife from his hand...without breaking a single bone! I was very pleased with my restraint. I ferried Clerik to the shore of that nearby river but well-away from his ship, all in the blink of an eye. To say he was panicking now would be an incredible understatement. I could easily make out the words devil and demon and God as he pled for assistance.

Another beast begs God to help him after committing the devil's work. It was almost pathetic.

I removed his jacket, in shreds, adding to his terror. The joy I felt as his body twisted and pressed and jerked against mine added to my need for him. To own him.

His trousers were held up by braces, so I tore them off their buttons then pulled us both into the water. The shock of it made him stop struggling. When I lifted him back onto shore, his trousers were around his hips, caught in place by his nice round ass, and his shirt clung to him in ways that describe erotica. His belly was soft but not as much so as I had thought. His chest was firm and inviting. His nipples only barely pressed against the material but were noticeable. I was glad I'd fed on the other one.

I shifted him to face me, held his arms behind him, at the wrists. Used my teeth to pull the shirt away from his left breast as he howled and cursed and cried to the heavens...then I dove in to lick and kiss and suck on his nipples, one after the other. The hair around them tickled my lips and nose...and did that build a fire in my heart.

Yes, I would not soon be done with this beautiful beast. Not at all.

Serendipity comes...

I think I know where the story is heading. All of it is like background leading up to Leonides building an empire of shipping, manufacturing, financial services and security...and maybe the start of a graphic novel. He and his minions, who will number twelve by this point, are renown for providing protection to anyone that needs it...if that person or group meets their standards.

For example, they would do nothing to keep Putin safe, for damned sure. Same for Orbán (of Hungary) Erdoğan (of Turkey), Bolsonaro (of Brazil), or the leaders of China, North Korea and a number of African states. They maintain a certain level of right and wrong in their dealings.

Looks like Leon's sister, Gabrielle, will need his company's help in saving her mate, Tristan (also a Blood Angel), from destruction by another vampire. Not sure what it's all about yet, or if it's even a trap. Maybe it's just a business deal going wrong. But it gives me something to lead towards.

I'm not making my good vampires sweet and cuddly, nor will they drink fake blood. When unleashed, they are as cruel and brutal as the worst of mankind. But like cats, they cover their doings. In fact, I may have one branch of Leon's business be fertilizer. Excellent cover for the dead and helps with the feeding of the world, with no critters popping up, by accident.

And it's definitely going to be totally male-centric, except for the section regarding Gabrielle in New Orleans; there'll be some MF in that. I'm at the point where Leon is going to take Franz, and I won't know how that will turn out until I write it. But even thought the lad is unconscious, he's already causing a rift between my BA and his main vamp, Geoffrey, who also wants Franz. After all, he saw him first and kept him alive during the battle at Mars-le-Tour.

Sometimes un-life is so unfair...

Fourth bit...

This is to the end of the first chapter of this part, which I'm now calling The Prussian. I'm up to 6800 words on it, and it's begun to flow together. Leonides and his crew are deciding to become a part of the modern world (as it was in 1871), which sets the stage for the next two or 3 parts. Oh, and the image I'm using for Geoffrey is of Pavel Novotny...

-------------

To my surprise, he gasped but did not cry out. He knew how to tolerate pain. My respect for him exploded. Even after he took several deep, slow breaths, then drifted into unconsciousness. He had lost more blood than I thought.

I tasted the bullet. That which covered it was rich and elegant and filled me with happiness and a near sense of peace. He was of my lineage. He could be another Blood Angel.

But first, he would need to heal in a place where he would be well-protected.

That, of course, is when Geoffrey appeared on the other side of him, sitting cross-legged, elbows on his knees, watching me with anticipation.

"So he is one like you," he said. "Or will be, soon."

"Not just yet..."

"Yes, he is very pale."

I could only smile.

He offered me a yarrow poultice, saying, "I made more." Then he just had to add, "And did it correctly. You use too much mud."

"It's warm."

"That is how it should be applied...not that it matters for the horse."

I pressed the poultice into Franz's wound, glancing between it and Geoff. "But how did you manage? You didn't build a fire."

"Just laid it between some leaves and let them burn away."

"You carry a flint?"

He pulled a small round canister from his coat pocket, unscrewed its lid and showed me... "Safety matches. Swedish, no less. My Frenchman was of a modern frame of mind. Far more modern than I thought he would be, considering his actions." I must have given him one of my wary looks, because he added, "He had captured a page from the German side, and was about to cut his throat."

"Which makes him a normal human beast."

"More normal than you think. Most of the lad's clothes were torn away, and my meal had his pants around his knees, with his dick hard as a rock and the knife at his victim's throat. I would say it was not a loving embrace, and assumed you would approve of my...oh, interference."

"I rarely question your feeding choices. Was the boy hurt?"

"I would say I stopped things just in the nick of time." Spoken with such exaggerated emotion, one arm raised to the skies, it was comical. I know I gave him a look of complete incredulity, then. He winked. "It's from a melodrama, I saw in Paris. The Perils of Sandrine...or something like that."

"Will you be joining the theater?" I asked, fighting a laugh.

"I've thought about it. Might be fun. It's all indoors, so I could even do matinees. What do you think?"

"I think you would be brilliant. And also become very well-known."

"Yes, there is that. Notoriety is the bane of any vampire's existence. And one can grow weary of French cuisine so quickly. For example, the meal we were discussing. While his clothing was well tailored, and he had boots as fine as mine, they did not fit him well...and he also had this..." He held up a leather purse filled with coins. "Pfennigs and francs. From the blood on some, I'd say they came off his fallen comrades. Looting the dead. Of course, that does suggest he's part of high society."

I rolled my eyes. "That sort of thing crosses all social strata."

"I'm joking. Unfortunately, he was not pleasant enough for fun, so I only fed, looted his body, and used the first match on him."

I knew Geoff was good about being discreet, but I still had to ask, "Did the boy see any of that?"

Now he rolled his eyes at me. "He scampered off, terrified, crying for help. Didn't even look back. Even if he had, all he'd have seen was someone in a German coat grabbing the fat bastard, whom I carried to the other side of the forest, to be sure. My guess is, he was a scout or spy, so no one will miss him, for a while."

I groaned, but not unhappily. "Must you always live so dangerously?"

"That's half the fun."

I smoothed more of the poultice over Franz's head, then I placed my hand on his heart and could feel the warmth of it. Feel the beating of it. And having my fingers resting against his skin brought to me all the fires of want and need I had ever felt. A gentle moan whispered from me.

"May I touch him, now?" Geoff asked.

I had to regroup my thoughts so held back from saying anything. Just took his right hand and placed it next to mine, on Franz's chest. Our fingers almost mingled.

He drew in a deep breath, then a truly wicked grin returned and he cast a glance at the lad's groin and said, "Be nice to see what we have to look forward to."

Again, the little bastard was reading my thoughts. But not so fast.

"I'll take him to our chateau," I said. "You bring his horse. Then you may help me bathe him. And prepare him for a nice warm bed. We will introduce him to the others, in a day or two."

"He does look weak. How long do you think it will take him to recuperate?"

"About seven, maybe eight days."

"Will he accept remaining with us, for that long?"

"I will see to it."

Geoff rose, smirking down at me. "And will we be allowed to have fun with him like we did you?"

That jolted me to my feet and I gripped his coat. "If any of you so much as touch him without my expressed authorization, I will cut you off."

He looked at me, uncertainty in his eyes. Wariness. Even a depth of confusion I'd never seen in him, before.

"So he is my replacement," he said.

I hesitated. Released him. "No, Geoff, no..."

He backed over to the horse, saying, "We'll see."

Third bit...

Continuing from the previous post...I'm up to 28 pages and 6000 words on this section, alone.

-----

I looked at my clothing. All well-tailored, of course, but I could be just out walking in the country. I put a finger to Geoff's lips and...

I was strolling up the road towards Franz. Calm and casual. Hands in pockets to show my contempt for convention.

He saw me, forced himself to straighten up, and drew his sword. And it was a beauty. Sharp and gleaming. Well-honed and touched with the blood of many Frenchmen, I was sure. He took a wary stance next to his horse, almost holding his breath.

I smiled at him and said, in a perfect Hamburg dialect, "Hello, what a lovely day it has been."

He gave me a vague shrug of confusion. "If you say. Are you German?"

I laughed. "What else could I be?"

"We are in France."

I shrugged. "What are boundaries, today? You've been badly hurt. Were you part of the fighting, a couple leagues over?"

"Are we that far from it?"

"Don't you know where you are?"

He grew weak, again, and leaned against his horse. "I...no, I do not."

"Your horse is also injured. There is a creek just the other side of this copse. Why don't we go there. Clean off the blood. See if I can find some yarrow."

"I...I must get back...to my regiment..."

"Night is falling. You will not get far. Come. Let's get you cleaned up, first. I am Leonides."

He almost smiled. "From the Greek. That is surprising."

"You know of the legend?"

"My teachers. Much...of Greek history. Roman. Russian."

"It was the same for me." Then I switched to Latin. "Do you know the classical tongues?"

He responded in Latin that was better than mine. "Of course I do. It is part of my education. I am Franz."

I switched back to German. "A pleasure to meet you. Now wouldn't fresh water make you feel better?"

"I...I suppose...but to leave the road...and the brush is very thick, so I didn't know if Greunnald would be able to make it."

"Is that the name of your horse?" He nodded. "You're a cuirassier, aren't you?"

He nodded. "The...the rest of my company is...is..." He pointed up the road.

I chuckled to myself. The battlefield was at least four leagues away. And his regiment...I did not want him to be part of them, any longer, because some had comported themselves in ways cruel, though not at all unusual. Women and girls raped. Villagers killed for daring to try and protect them. Stores of food looted. It was so typical of war, as I had seen, over and over. And this thought finally helped me realize my only hesitancy in dealing with him was wondering if he had joined in their festivities.

Then I heard a group of French chevaliers approaching, from behind us. If they saw him they would put him to the sword.

So I grinned and said, "Come. I know of a path to the brook, and yarrow will help both you and Greunnald to heal."

"You think so?" Concern for his horse overrode concern for himself.

Okay, without question I could not allow him to rejoin his compatriots. He was of too fine a character, and they would corrupt him into their evil. Probably. Because part of me thought he would never commit rape or murder, not because they were wrong to do, but only because it was ill-mannered.

"Come," I said. "Keep your sword out, if it makes you feel better. I'll lead."

Then I walked into the woods.

I caught a glimpse of Geoff across the way, watching, smirking at me. And rubbing his groin. I cast him a quick sneer.

Franz followed me, carefully. Not fast, for Greunnald was limping, badly. I quickly found the trail, and also had to admit the wood was thicker than I had expected. But that worked out well, for not two minutes later, he heard the soft clatter of horses galloping past on the road.

He hesitated, listening. We couldn't see them, but he could tell... "Five...no, six horse-men."

"Probably French."

"Did the battle go poorly, for us?"

"Considering you were outnumbered six to one, I would not say that."

"But you know the outcome?"

"The fighting has only ended. It's not over, yet."

He looked around, close to frantic. "I should be with the rest of my men!"

"Your men? That's not a commander's insignia on your jacket."

He nodded. "I brought friends...from home...men who worked our lands...I...I'm responsible for them..."

It took me a moment to speak, his face was so angelic in the soft light of dusk filtering between the thick trees. He was caught with worry and heartache. "I'm sure they're all right," I said.

In response, he gave me a weak shrug that all but screamed, Maybe. Maybe not.

So I had to ask, "Are your friends also of the aristocracy?"

He cast me a sharp glare. "What makes you think I'm high-born?"

"The way you speak, your education, and how you comport yourself. Tell me, haven't you read Cicero's De Re Publica? OR Ovid's Poetics? In Latin, of course. "

"Are...are you well-born?"

"Would I have been given access to such an education were I not?"

He huffed and held his sword tighter. "Who are you? What is going on here? Are you leading me into a trap? To hold me hostage, for ransom? My family will not pay."

"No, no, no," I said. "I do not know who you are. I am only offering help. Don't you hear the brook, now? Cold clear water beckons you. It will refresh you."

The splashing water was just audible, in the near distance and the shadows were growing deeper. Stars were hinting at an appearance, to the east. He nodded and forced himself to stay alert, keeping his sword at the ready as I led him on. The trees were even thicker, here, but then we came upon a clearing and there was the brook. It was a large one rushing down the side of a hill over a tumble of stones from a small pool to dance the rest of the way as if playing with the trees.

Franz smiled at seeing it. He managed to remove his boots...how, I have no idea...then he waded into the pool and led Greunnald behind him. The water came up to his hips, soaking his trousers. He slowly, painfully pulled off his shirt and I could see the entry of the bullet but no exit. It was still in him. That would need to be taken care of or it would fester.

He dipped into the water to let it ease the wound to his head, as well, then ignored his own injuries to wet the shirt and daub at the animal's wound.

Seeing water trail down his taut body through the waves of soft down over his chest kicked away the last of my hesitation. Geoff was right; I wanted him to join us. Wanted him to agree to join us. Gabrielle's mention of this being a necessity for a certain level of love to happen took a near obsessive hold of me. I wanted that certain level.

I found some yarrow at the edge of the clearing and worked the flowers into a bit of mud, to make a poultice, then he applied it to the horse's injury. Greunnald remained quiet and easy, throughout. Finally, he led it out of the pool and tethered him to a tree. He noticed the beast was now grazing, and that made him smile.

"Thank you," he said to me. "I think he will be well, now."

The way his trousers clung to his thighs and calves. And around his ass. And outlined the shape of his dick and balls. I found it difficult to concentrate on words, but I managed to say, "Your turn."

He collapsed to where he was cross-legged and slightly hunched over. "Are you a...you a surgeon?"

"I know enough medicine to help you."

"I'm so tired," he murmured, rocking back and forth in near delirium.

I didn't think. I quickly shifted him to an area of grass, next to the rushing brook, and lay him flat, his arms to his sides. His trousers clinging to his hips and thighs and calves, enhancing their well-shaped beauty. His skin still hinting at warmth and golden shades, despite the growing darkness. His chest so full and rich, with nipples in perfect harmony. His crotch looking even more inviting. I was almost frozen by the sudden pounding need within me.

I soaked his shirt in the clear clean water and caressed the wound in his shoulder, with it. Saw that the bullet had not gone too far in. I could almost see it. His breastplate must have slowed it.

"So weak," he whispered. "Is...a...a surgeon nearby?"

"I'll have to do," I said. "Lie still. This is going to hurt, but it needs to come out."

"What do you mean?"

I just smiled. Kept my right hand out of his eye-line and allowed my fingernails to expand, sharp and ready. I kept his shirt dripping wet, in my left hand, then using the excuse of cleaning his face I pressed against his chin to face him away from me, saying, "I think the injury to your head is not so bad."

Then I dug my fingernails into his shoulder and plucked the bullet out.

More of Leonides

Continuing from what I posted yesterday, as Leonides and Geoffrey consider what to do about Franz...

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"To replace me?" Geoff asked, a hint of concern in his voice.

"Never." And I put every ounce of truth I could into it.

A near coo came from behind Geoff's heart, filled with relief. "Oh...that would infuriate Gabrielle. But I still sense hesitation..."

"I know."

The thing is, I was not used to indecision. Eight-hundred years had shown me my gut instincts were right. Always. The only occasions where I had trouble were when I ignored them, and those few times had been within the first few years after my turning. Two of which had been caused by my sister's anger at me also being a Blood Angel. But I had learned quickly. Become certain and determined in my course. Brought together minions of my own. In fact, taking the first six from Prior Pious had been my first real joy in my new existence. And truth be told, I know they were much happier with me. I would never keep them tied to a boring monastery, pretending to be monks. I laid only two conditions down upon them -- feed only on the evil, not the innocent, and turn no one without my approval, which I never gave. I'd have chosen oblivion over that.

And almost did.

Twice.

But now? Now...after eight centuries...I was having my first doubt as to a course of action. My first want...no, need to turn someone to my world, to join with me in eternity, and it made me just a wee bit nervous.

"I...I want to know him, first," I said. "I want to know he is worthy."

"You already know."

"I want to be certain."

That made Geoff step away, turn me to him and cast his amazingly goofy Are you mad? expression on me. "And how do you propose to do that? He's a cavalryman in the middle of a war on a battlefield. Of course, he'll have done things he would be ashamed of. All soldiers do. So will you engage him in small talk to see if his atrocities are acceptable to you? Hi, Franz, good to make your acquaintance? Have you slaughtered anyone you shouldn't have?"

I had to chuckle. "I've thought of that. But he's alone, now. And vulnerable."

"And hurt and probably scared."

"As he cares for his horse instead of himself? On a road?"

Geoff leaned against me, looking at him. "I don't think he realizes how badly he's been wounded. He was unconscious..."

I cast him a sharp look. "You saw it happen?"

That was not acceptable. Geoffrey would have needed to be in the open, probably in the middle of the battle, exposing himself in ways unnecessary. No chaos was so complete as to hide a vampire feasting as others fought around him. It was amazingly stupid.

Geoffrey grew a bit sheepish. "I wore a coat...an officer's. It had his blood on it. And I had his hat...and I stood in the midst of a hundred dead men. I even helped a couple over to the next world. No one would have paid me any attention."

"But why risk it? Night will be here, soon..."

"I was...I was watching over him. Hid myself, this way, to keep anyone from noticing. Saw him coming, in another charge. Saw him struck in the shoulder and then the head. Knocked his helmet off. Knocked him out. The horse kept running...into the woods. Nearly fell off, more than once."

"Nearly fell off?"

Now Geoff grew awkward, which made me very uncomfortable. "I...did...sort of help him stay on, once or twice."

Oh, this was unacceptable. "In the middle of the day?!"

"In the midst of chaos."

"How long has he been in your sights?"

"From this morning, just before dawn. Brushing his horse." He finally looked me in the eye, then whispered, "I wanted more than nourishment from him. I'd have taken him, then, but others came up."

"That is how you learned his name." Geoff shrugged. "I've never heard you speak like this, of anyone."

"I've never wanted this, before."

I held him close. Touched my forehead to his. "Geoff, if my feeling is correct...if he is of my lineage...and I turn him...would your allegiance shift from me to him?"

"No, Leonides, I could never...never...no..." He seemed truly anguished that I would even think such a thing. "It's just that I saw something in him, like I saw in you. Our first day together. So I kept watching. He comported himself well, in the initial charge. Fear, but no hesitation. Relief that the French turned and ran. He killed some, yes, but that's what happens in a war. You slaughter men you won't know for people you won't know for reasons you won't know. I decided then that if...if he was wounded...mortally wounded...I would turn him."

I jolted back, shocked. "Without my permission?"

"You'd have understood. You...you already understand."

Whether I did or not was immaterial. Geoffrey's casual willingness to ignore my rules for a human lad shook me. As I said, I had but two of them, only they were there for a reason. Eight-hundred years together, with him always my support and protection, as I was his, and this was the first hint of mutiny. Of possible dissatisfaction.

My sister, Gabrielle, had a similar rule. In fact, it was her only one. Feed all you want, but turn no one to our side without my permission. And she was ruthless in her enforcement of it. Her minions were kept in line by fear. I thought mine respected me enough to do it out of loyalty. It appeared I might have been overly optimistic. 

I looked back at Franz. He was leaning against the horse, weak. Probably from loss of blood and pain. In fact, the wound in his shoulder was still seeping blood while the horse's was clean, and I got the sense the water skin was empty. He had cared for his animal before himself, as if it were his own child. Possibly to his own detriment, for if he did not see a surgeon soon, he would most likely die.

And that is when all doubt left me.

He was worthy, and Geoffrey had sensed it, too.

The decision had been made.

Polished up what I did, yesterday...

 And wrote a bit for the 4th part, set current day. But here's the first 5 pages of my work, yesterday. Can you guess when it's set?

-----

It was from the purest luck that I saw him before I sensed him. By the side of the road, caught in the shadows of evening, tending to his injured horse. His breastplate was on the ground. His cloak and uniform jacket were slung over his saddle, so all he wore was a well-fitted shirt over broad shoulders and trim torso, with tight gray pants showing off near-perfect legs and rear, held in place by a pair of braces that only added to his glamor. Boots crafted from the finest leather folded over at his knees to his feet.

And blood.

Dried down half his face.

Over his left shoulder...matting the shirt to him.

Powerful in its draw...in its promise...

Even though I was not yet hungry, I still felt the deep growling desire to taste of it. See if he might be someone to keep for a while...to enjoy myself with him.

But something deep within brought me hesitation. I had no idea what it was, so I remained hidden in the trees, watching him. No...no, gazing upon him in a way that was from far more than a need for nourishment.

His head was such a perfect shape. Hair tightly cropped and of a color that could be light brown or blond, in the sun. No beard hid the elegant line of his jaw or fit of his lips, and the simplicity of his nose and eyes more than complimented them. All of this truly pleased me in ways I had not felt in so many years.

Years? Hell, centuries, to be honest.

His jacket's off-color white, where there was no blood, revealed he was a Prussian Cuirassier, and the cut and quality of it emphasized he was of higher birth. As did his every move. Even wounded, as he was, he radiated breeding and ability.

That is when Geoffrey snuck up behind me and draped his arms over my shoulders settled his chin on them. He was still the only one I allowed to do that.

"He is almost as beautiful as I," he whispered in my ear.

I smiled. For Geoff to say that about anyone was all the proof I needed that my eyes were not deceiving me. Nor was my infatuation or...oh, let's just say it -- lust.

"His name is Franz Sebastian Giselher von Bergren," Geoff continued.

I am never surprised at how quickly he can gather information about anyone, anywhere, any time he chooses.

"Northern Germany," I murmured.

Geoff nodded. "They have a castle. Much land."

"And sent this lad off to die in war. Such a waste."

"I would have taken him, but I thought you should see him, first. So I found myself a Frenchman."

"Is he a gift?" I was only half-joking.

Geoff shrugged. "Offering, maybe? To my Blood Angel?"

I caressed his cheek with my ear, pleased beyond measure. And didn't the little bastard know it.

"What do the others think?" I asked.

"They're busy, and don't know of him. Yet. It all depends on if my offering is accepted."

"In what way?" I only asked to be polite. I knew what Geoff was suggesting...and he knew I would agree to it.

He wasn't fooled. "Oh, Leonides. Look at him."

As if I wasn't, still. The gentle way he checked his horse where the blood was greatest. The tenderness of his hands and care in his cool blue eyes. His lashes almost glinting in the last rays of the sun.

"He would bring our number to ten."

"So?"

"The more there are of us, the harder to control how others see us."

He nibbled my ear. "I have a plan for that."

I had to chuckle. "Don't you always?"

"Leon..." I softly growled at his shortening of my name. "You are smart, but I am brilliant."

I barely kept from bursting with laughter. "And arrogant."

"Of course." He held me closer. "I would love to have him as a brother...but it is you who decides."

As noted, I already had, but I chose to play with Geoff a bit longer. "I don't know. He's German and my lineage is Norman."

"You still feel akin to that?"

"Not so much."

"Well, keep in mind -- it was France who started this idiotic war. You would think after their debacle in Russia they would have learned better. But no."

"Men have no real interest in history."

"Outside of one's past capacity for profit."

Again, I had to fight a laugh. He was such fun to be around. And it was true, greed is probably the easiest emotion to manipulate and feed upon. I pulled his arms tighter around me and sighed.

"You have already decided to take him." Geoff was all but whispering into my ear.

"I...do...not...yet...know," I said, with more emphasis than necessary. "Both sides have committed such atrocities..."

Of course, he cut right through it. "You like how he cares for his horse, even though he, himself, is wounded."

It was true. Young Franz had found a wound to the animal's left shoulder and was using water from his skin to wash it. Looked like the jab from a lance, and the horse was favoring that leg. Any other man would have put a bullet in the poor beast's head then requisitioned another. But this lad loved his mount, wanted him to heal, which all but screamed to me of innocence and kindness.

"You really li-ike him." Mocking whispers. "You want to ta-ake him. You think he's per-rfect. Why do you hesitate?"

"I don't know...I don't know that he deserves it."

"Oh, Leon, please...none of your inner morality."

"He does remind me somewhat of myself."

"And you call me arrogant. Just tell me...would you make him one of us?"

"I don't know."

"Why not?"

I looked at Geoff, almost smirking. "You. There's something about him I find entrancing, this is true, but I fear you fear I would not like you anymore."

Geoff's arms shifted into an embrace, and his voice grew tender. Any time I let him know how important he was to me, he always seemed surprised, and his joy at the revelation would take him over...for a moment.

"So..." he finally said, "we do not feed upon him. And to be honest, I am glad." He let his nose drift across the nape of my neck and kissed my other ear. "But what more do your senses tell you about this entrancing possibility?"

I took in a deep breath, not really wanting to say it, but finally murmured, "He could be like me."

Now Geoff hesitated. "Of your bloodline?"

I didn't meant to say it but..."Possibly."

Good day...

I wrote over 3000 words on Leonides -- regarding him thinking about taking a young Prussian Cuirassier as his next meal. This is the image that inspired me.

It's set during the Franco-Prussian war of 1870-71, which France lost, badly. Which they deserved since they started it for stupid reasons. They were afraid of Germany's growing Federation and wanted to reassert dominance in Europe, as the counterpoint to England. Instead, Paris was sieged and finally had to surrender.

I'm using the Battle of Mars-Le-Tour as the backdrop. The Cuirassier's name is Franz Sebastian Giselher von Bergren. He's pretty and also wounded. He was clipped by bullets in the head and shoulder...but is more concerned about an injury to his horse than his own injuries. Leon wants to take care of him. He can control his hunger for blood, but it still calls to him.

The section I wrote today leads from the point Leon sees the young man to where they've gone to a brook and taken care of the horse, and now Franz is in shock and weak enough from his injuries to let Leon do anything he wants. Leon also senses he might be a distant relation -- another of the Blood Angel line -- something he's goaded about by Geoffrey, one of Prior Pious' monks who's become Leon's closest companion.

Of course, this will be in part two of the book, but I'm finding it's easier for me to work this story out by jumping around in it, as I write. I have ideas for part four, as well, which is set in modern times.

Sex and violence...the way of the world...

Leon's path...

The story of Leonides is beginning to reveal itself to me, and it's almost one of good verses evil. When Leon is turned into a Blood Angel Vampire, he keeps his sense of right and wrong. His moral center. Much to the other vampires' shock. He still needs to feast on human blood, but he's picky. He doesn't take just anyone; he chooses those who deserve to be punished.

Unfortunately, he'll never be with want for food. From the 11th to the 21st Centuries there was not one speck of time that didn't have war and destruction happening somewhere in Europe and the Americas. Not one moment where the rich and powerful weren't out to damage and torture those whom they despised...or just wanted to hurt.

He leads his troupe of vampires through those events to feed, at will, on the brutal and sadistic...in effect, protecting many who cannot fight back. And throughout, builds an unimaginable fortune to help cloud his origins and immortality. This will be the first two sections of the book.

His sister, Gabrielle, however takes a more self-centered path. She has no moral center. No one is safe from her, and when she gets angry, she is vicious. She takes only one companion, Dmitriy, whom she turned in Moscow during the Napoleonic invasion. She thought he would be her mate, but he was gay and a hanger-on so she was left to wander until she found Tristan, the young Jazz musician in New Orleans, after Katrina. She uses Tristan's emotional damage to draw him to her, to Dmitriy's anger and jealousy. He knows he'll be tossed aside, now, but has grown used to living on her luxury. Leon knows what's going on but stays out of it. Maybe. This is part three.

Part Four will be current day, with Leon and his lads navigating a world where it's hard to hide your origins and meaning. By this point, he's wealthy enough to have a hundred layers between him and those who run the systems of information and justice, as well as a willingness to go head to head against Gabrielle...though over what I don't know, just yet. I have a feeling it will be heavy, though, and Prior Pious may factor in, again.

He may be building an army of followers and fighting to make humanity into his own stockyard. I dunno. I just know I'm emphasizing that no vampire may destroy another, so how would Leon be able to stop Pious if that was the case?

Of course, there'll be lots of MM sex, both non-con and con, with some MF between Gabrielle and Tristan that's Dub-con, but the main theme of the story will be how mankind has not changed in the last thousand years. How vile we still are to each other. Cruel. Something like that. Maybe.

I'll see what develops.

Writing once for a purpose...

I pulled out my writing awards and put the framed ones up on the wall of my bedroom, facing the bed. I have 24 of them, for my screenplays, a play, a short story, a short script. From Writers' Digest, Worldfest Houston (back when it was The Houston International Film Festival), Shriekfest, Indie Gathering, Script Frenzy...the list goes on and on. And they amounted to nothing.

Well, not completely. I got a cash prize for Bugzters, while Darian's Point and Return to Darian's Point winning a couple of competitions got me almost produced. I'd been promoted by a producer who loved the script, a director who loved the scripts, people in a production company who loved the scripts, but the big man at the top said they already had script set in Ireland and he didn't want to do another one, so dumped it. Killed it.

It's like with Bugzters. That producer took it wide to try and sell, with her as a co-producer, and got nothing. Word was, it needed a big star to join with the kids, and she'd had me take that role out. Once that happened, the script was dead, in Hollywood. Damaged goods.

Now emphasized by how three of the frames' glasses were broken. But hey, the rest are up.

I can't say I stopped writing screenplays when I left LA. I did The Alice '65, Carli's Kills, and Porno Manifesto. But still got nowhere. My books don't sell like Stephen King's do, but they are selling a bit...and that's bringing me more success than I ever had in LA. Hell, my mother doing extra work for movies, music videos and audience work had more success.

I had put the awards up on a wall in her apartment, when I moved back to San Antonio and left them there when I moved to Buffalo. She wanted me to leave them. Liked to look at them. For a while, after she died, I had them on a wall in my previous apartment, up here, but then took them down and packed them away. I felt they were mocking me.

Now they're just a reminder -- no more screenplays. You write books, Kyle. Keep to it.

Conundrum...

I did some writing on Leonides...just 7 pages...then read some for APoS. Now I'm trying to talk myself into streaming a program, but I'm having trouble. Mainly because this quote by Terrence Davies pretty much encapsulates me and movies, these days:

"I don’t see that many films now because you can’t watch it with innocent eyes. You’re aware of the music, the camera, the acting, the art direction. You can’t watch anything with clear eyes."

And yeah...when I'm watching just about anything, now, I can see the acting and the directing and the editing, and they keep me from being caught up in the story. I've watched 2 seasons of Game of Thrones and it's difficult, at best. Not just the costumes being stupidly designed as modern versions of ancient reality (and made to look cool instead of real or honest), and not just the barely adequate writing. It's the mediocre TV style acting. The dead voices and huffing to express something and nothing going on behind the eyes kind of thing.

So far, the only two actors in that show that have blinded me to the techniques being used are Peter Dinklage and Charles Dance. When they're on the screen, they inhabit their roles and I believe them. Everyone else, I can see the acting. Hear it. Which happens with actors who don't know what they're doing yet.

I caught onto this, years ago, when I went to see Norman's Room, which has Diane Keaton, Meryl Streep, Leonardo De Caprio and Robert De Niro in it. Heavy-hitters, all of them, and for the first fifteen minutes, I'm nodding at who they are...playing these roles and doing well, as expected. But by the half-hour mark, I was lost in the characters and story.

Seriously, that wasn't Diane Keaton on the screen, but a woman with cancer fighting for another chance at life. That wasn't Meryl Streep but her estranged sister who's still pissed-off at her perfect sister. Thanks to them, my conscious awareness of the directing, the cinematography, the editing, the costuming...it all vanished.

A counter-example: I love Daniel Craig as 007. He fits that role as if it was meant for him, and even in that never-ending thing called No Time To Die, he really helped hide the technicals. BUT...he didn't in The Girl With the Dragon Tattoo. At all. As I watched it, I was wondering things like, "Why isn't he wearing gloves in winter? It's Sweden; he'll get frostbite." And "Why is that car driving so fast on an icy road?" His portrayal of the character wasn't strong enough, nor was he really supported by the directing, screenplay, or other actors.

Now, a film that goes both ways is William Wyler's The Heiress, with Olivia De Havilland, Ralph Richardson (before he was a sir), Miriam Hopkins and Montgomery Clift. True, Wyler knows how to submerge his directing into the story, and he had an excellent script as well as production design, costumer and cinematographer to work with.

But what carried the film are the pitch-perfect performances of the first three actors mentioned. Sir Ralph can convey more emotion with a raised eyebrow than Dustin Hoffman can for all his method style. Olivia was beautiful, but she made you believe she wasn't, in her own mind, thanks to the emotional damage caused by her father.

What hurt it was Monte...part of which was really not his fault. He was seriously miscast. It's set in 1850s New York and he's a very modern type of actor, but he was also not yet in control enough of his acting to overcome that...and even though I love the film, I noticed that every time I watch it. It took me years to figure out why it bugged me.

It was the same in Red River. John Wayne fit the western timeframe perfectly, of course; Monte's like this twerp from the upper east side on a lark. But in A Place in the Sun and From Here to Eternity, he was exactly right, mainly because both had modern settings.

I guess I'm saying if the actors are good (and right for the part), I can put my critical eye aside on everything else, and let the story flow. But there ain't that much good in acting out there, these days. Which is why I have to talk myself into watching a movie, now.