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Author: Jessica Ann Meade
Date: 01-07-05 23:35
My story has a vampire as the central character. Cliche, I know, but I am attempting to mix it up a little. I'm trying to break the rules, and go more on the legend of the fallen angels rather than the blood-sucking spawn of Dracula.
So far I only have the first three chapters, so nothing major has gone on. I'm really just looking for someone to critique the writing, not so much the storyline yet. Does everything flow together alright? Does it make sense? Most importantly, I'm struggling with chapter three. I think I might be revealing too much about Denunci and Odio. If anyone has time, I would greatly appreciate any criticisms you can make.
DARK WARRIOR
PART ONE
CHAPTER ONE
The dagger hit Sicuro on her cheek and fell to the ground. Blood began to drip down her face and, as it fell to the ground, light could be seen reflecting from the edge of the blade. She wiped at her cheek with the tip of her thumb and placed it between her lips.
“Nice shot.” Sicuro pulled her hand down and grinned at the man standing before her. He was an eroi, and Sicuro had been sent to kill him. He was strong, and fast, qualities she admired in her opponents. She bent to pick up the knife, watching her target. Their eyes met for an instant, passion flickering in them like small candles.
Standing, Sicuro tossed the silver, bloodied blade back and forth between her hands. She and her prey stepped rhythmical around each other, daring the other to make a move.
Looking over his shoulder, the eroi left himself open to attack, but Sicuro did not go to strike him. A soft sound echoed in the distance and the man ran off toward it. No eroi had ever backed out of a fight before. This baffled Sicuro. ‘Coward,’ she thought to herself as he moved out of sight.
“Denunci, come out with me,” Sicuro said plainly to her sister. With anyone else it would have been a pleading gesture, but Sicuro never pleaded for anything. Denunci frowned, and Sicuro knew that she was close to giving in; just one more push. “I’m sure you will be able to find someone to spend the night with. And, if not, you can always have a nice midnight snack.” Denunci was appalled at Sicuro’s bluntness.
“You really are heartless, aren’t you,” laughed Denunci. Sicuro feigned a smile.
“Why yes, I am.” It was a well-known fact among the nosferati as well as the eroi that Sicuro was as cold as ice. If she were to have no soul at all she would probably be more human. Sicuro showed no emotion, if she felt any at all, and that’s what had kept her alive. That and her fascination with weaponry. Swords, guns, you name it she had mastered its art. “I can’t be all that heartless. I do love you.” Denunci hugged her about the waist. Sicuro had won. She and Denunci got dressed and were out the door in just under an hour. Sicuro wore black leather pants and a matching bustier; Denunci dressed in a simple crimson-colored dress and paired it with stiletto boots that reached to her knees.
They made their way through the city to Sicuro’s favorite nightclub. It was about nine or ten o-clock, late enough for the clubs to be hopping with activity, without the hassle of a crowd of drunk men to chase after them. The club was one of those places frequented by a very shady crowd. Denunci sat with her sister in a dark corner of the bar for a while, looking around as though she expected to meet someone. After a few minutes of this she got up and walked off on her own, leaving Sicuro to amuse herself.
From across the room Sicuro’s eyes met again with those of the eroi she had allowed to escape earlier in the night. He smiled, and, standing began to maneuver his way toward her. The dim light made it seem as though his face were glowing. Sicuro had not had the chance to notice how ruggedly handsome he was fighting him in the dark alley, but here, in del Strano she couldn’t get her mind off him.
The way he moved, with such confidence, and the shape and build of his body told her that if she were to ever lose her life, it would be to him. When the eroi smiled his mouth wrinkled at the corners, and his eyes sparkled with curiosity. His hair was dark brown and it hung about his face, peeking out from under the cap he wore. There was something she liked about the little earring he wore in his left ear, and…Sicuro shook herself away from the thought. ‘Where did that come from,’ she wondered.
“Why did you run away, eroi?”
“I couldn’t bear to kill anything as beautiful as you.” He grinned at her, and it made something deep within Sicuro go weak, so she gripped at the side of a table to keep herself steady. He was genuine, she could tell, and she couldn’t forget the feeling she had gotten watching him as he moved through the crowd of people.
“How heart-warming. Really, why did you leave?”
“I was told to, that’s all.” This was unexpected, and seemed too simple to be true. He must have noticed her drifting away in thought, searching for her own explanation. “By the way, my name is Nik, not eroi. But, that’s ok, your kind often mistake it to be that.”
“Nik,” someone called. It came from across the room, and Sicuro couldn’t make out the face of the man. Nik lead her to the voice. The crowds had dispersed so they didn’t have to twist their bodies every which way to get through. Sicuro could make out the dark, tan face of the man. He looked young but his voice betrayed him to be much older than he appeared. She could see Denunci standing nearby. The light was playing tricks with her eyes, making them shine as though they were made from pure silver.
Sicuro leaned toward her sister as Nik and his companion talked quietly together. She smiled, thinking to herself how pleased she would be for saying what she was about to say to Denunci
“Midnight snack?” Denunci jabbed her in the side.
“Sicuro, shut up,” Denunci growled at her. “That was not funny. If you ruin this for me—“
“You’ll what? What could you possibly do to me, Nunci?” More than anything Sicuro wanted her sister to do something to punish her. Denunci lacked aggression and conviction. And, while this made her pity her sister, there was something she envied about it.
CHAPTER TWO
The day had been good to Sicuro. She had come home from del Strano, her favorite club in Otranto, and slept long into the evening. Once or twice she remembered hearing her father’s footsteps moving through her room. It sounded as though he was searching desperately for something, but she couldn’t be certain drifting in and out of wakefulness. She finally awoke to a painful memory. Sicuro had lived un-plagued for over one hundred and fifty years, why now, she wondered, was she bothered by thoughts of Alex, the man who had abandoned her?
“Good evening, Sleeping Beauty,” Denunci said smiling as she threw open the door to Sicuro’s room. She pulled the curtain to one side of the window, letting a burst of light in. “Well, I hope you are well rested, sister of mine.”
“Go away.” Sicuro growled, her eyes still closed. She could still see Alex’s face in her mind. Denunci came and sat beside her on the bed.
“Oh, you have nothing to complain about. You’ve slept the entire day away, now you must get up!” Sicuro slipped a pillow over her face, angrily scolding her sister for interrupting her thoughts.
“No, you pest. Let me alone.”
“Father says you must. He wants to see you.” Denunci laughed nervously. “I believe it’s about that eroi from last night. You’re going to get it for letting him get away, my dear.” She laid her head down on Sicuro’s stomach and sighed. “Don’t let him get to you, Sicuro. Don’t let him.”
Sicuro sat up and kissed Denunci on the cheek. “I won’t. I couldn’t. He never means anything he says, anyhow.” She paused, watching Denunci. Her face seemed brighter than usual, but her eyes were far away and cold. “What’s wrong?”
“Do you promise not to tell anyone?”
“Who would I tell? You’re my only friend in all the world, Nunci.” Sicuro laid her head back on the pillow. Denunci pulled herself up and sat looking off at nothing with her back to Sicuro. Sicuro waited for her to speak, but nothing came. “Alright, tell me when you’re ready.” She stood and went to her closet to find clothes, but stopped short in front of the door. “Really, Denunci, please don’t keep anything from me.”
Denunci got up and, without ever looking back at Sicuro, she left the room. No word, no explanation whatever. Sicuro worried that she might, somehow, be losing Denunci. The past few weeks she had become distant, as though she no longer needed Sicuro.
It had been a long time since Denunci had had someone else around who she trusted as she did Sicuro. It was 194 years, to be exact—since the death of Alex. Alex’s family had been close to the clan since their ancestors first appeared in Mesopotamia, and they had been there to aid them in building their lives after Alahim cast his curse upon the gods, turning them to beasts for all eternity. The D’Nemaraques had always been well-off, high-class citizens, and Denunci had been intimate with them from the time she was born till the last of them had died. Alex and his wife Maria were unable to have children, as she was infertile, and so the legacy of the D’Nemaraque family ended with his death. Since then Denunci had kept nothing from Sicuro.
Sicuro looked around her and sighed. Wisps of light shone in through the window, hitting the wall beside her bed and reflecting from her tall mirror into the rest of the room, coloring things varying hues of orange and yellow. There had to be something she could do to wrest her mind from thoughts of Alex, and thoughts of the time when life meant something to her; when she was naïve and free to feel without all the pain. She touched a small wooden chest sitting on a table nearby and smiled.
There were times when she looked back and all she could see was happiness. If she knew that in taking away the heartbreak that came with Alex’s betrayal she would lose all the joy in her life, things would have played out differently. With one last glance at her reflection in the mirror, and one last sigh of goodbye Sicuro began to dress. She pulled her long nightdress over her head, replacing it with a red, leather zip-up vest, and dark pants. She knew her father would be expecting her, and, if Denunci’s presentiment of coming punishment was true, she didn’t want to keep him waiting for much longer.
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Sicuro walked up the lonely staircase toward her father’s office as she had done so many times before. It seemed as though she were going back in time with each footstep. Pictures of various members of the D’Nemaraque family lined the walls of the dank-smelling tower. There was the scent of sweet cinnamon mixed with the awful stench, which, in a strange way, gave the castle a homely feel. As Sicuro turned the corner she saw that one of the fairly new lights had begun to flicker, casting a glare upon the gray, stone wall as though it was truly a candle.
Sicuro stopped to stare at a small, plain-framed painting hanging on the wall, and looked into the pale blue eyes that sat watching her. They were kind eyes belonging to one of the nicest, gentlest people she had ever known. The face in the painting used to evoke such a feeling of comfort, but that was long ago, when she was still young and innocent. Now she felt nothing at all. It was the face of Carlo D’Nemaraque—Alex’s father.
A door opened abruptly beside her, and her father stepped out from the opening. He looked down at her, disappointment plastered on his face. She hesitated to speak, or even breathe, and his glare bore a hole straight through her. His hard, jaw-clenched face softened a little, and Uccisione let out a deep sigh.
“Looking at Carlo, I see. He was a good man. Don’t find many men like him these days.” He crossed his arms and Sicuro looked again at the painting. “Sicuro, come into my office.” Uccisione turned and went into his room with Sicuro following close after. She bit her lip and felt a slow, warm trickle of blood in her mouth. She hadn’t eaten in days.
Though it was late in the day, and the sun was low on the horizon, Uccisione still had not opened the curtains to let in the light. Sicuro found this odd: Uccisione liked to look out upon the castle grounds. His common room was the largest in the castle, and it faced the southern part of the estate spanning five acres of garden and patches of forest that dotted the earth here and there. Large shelves lined the walls to the far right of the door, and behind Uccisione’s desk, housing thousands of books both ancient, and relatively new. On the left was the gigantic window, hidden by huge white satin curtains.
At the turn of the twentieth century Uccisione had added a fifteen-foot bar directly to the right of the entrance, attempting to modernize the castle to match the changing times. There was a small area in front of the window with two old fashioned sofas and a carved coffee table that served as a place to entertain guests. A light layer of dust covered the sofas and table, signs that they had not been occupied in quite a while. The newest furniture in the room was three large, cushiony chairs strategically placed in a semi-circle in front of Uccisione’s desk. These, of course, were there for use by Uccisione’s three closest right-hand men—Sicuro, and two others named Pegno and Guasto. Sicuro did not trust Pegno or Guasto, but her father did, and he was the boss
Pegno and Guasto were already seated to the right and left of Uccisione, leaving the middle, and most comfortable seat open for Sicuro. She sat down nervously, fearing her father. Uccisione sat high up in his chair, his back to his visitors, leaving them in suspense. Sicuro felt a lump growing in her throat and wished her father would hurry and get on with chiding her for letting Nik…the eroi escape with his life. ‘Sicuro,’ he would say, ‘Sicuro, I’ve been monitoring you recently. I’m afraid you’re losing your fire, dear. You just aren’t living up to your potential; you aren’t doing as well as you used to. I remember there was a time when you would hunt for days on end to kill a blasted eroi. What happened to those days, Sicuro?’ Uccisione turned abruptly in his chair to face the three. His face was flushed a crimson red, and Sicuro’s lump grew to an enormous size. Uccisione frowned, shook his head in disappointment, and sighed deeply.
“Sicuro, what has gotten into you lately? I remember when you would do anything to kill an eroi. Anything. You used to be so excited; racing up the steps to tell me, through deep breaths, everything. How you found him, what he looked like, how much of a challenge he was, and how you somehow managed to kill the fool. Where has that adrenaline-addicted fighter gone to?” This was a low blow to Sicuro. Her stomach lurched, both in hunger, and from her father’s stinging words. Uccisione looked at her indifferently, and motioned to Pegno. “Pegno, get the girl something to eat.” Uccisione had never referred to Sicuro as ‘the girl’ before. He had never referred to her being anything but strong, and determined, like himself. Though this hurt Sicuro profusely she would not let it show; she wasn’t about to give her father the satisfaction of knowing that she had, indeed, let herself go.
It wasn’t long ago, she knew, that she had pushed her emotions down deep inside, hiding them even from herself, and now—now she was losing the fight. Something had triggered inside her, bringing back the pain and the anger of seeing Alex in the arms of another woman, and knowing she would never get him back. She drifted off in thought remembering the look on his face as he turned and stared into her eyes; remembering how her heart broke with every word as Denunci told her about them. Her father cleared his throat loudly, and, for a change, smiled down at Sicuro. He began to nod his head.
“But I know you can bring yourself back from this pitfall; I know you, Sicuro. You’re the best warrior I have ever seen, you’ll get that passion back, somehow.” He hadn’t lost faith in her after all. Sicuro could feel her cheeks reddening and she struggled to cover it up pretending to wipe sweat from her forehead.
The door closed and everyone looked to see Pegno enter. He was carrying a closed pitcher of thick, dark liquid with him. With the curtains closed it was difficult to see the color of the liquid, but they knew that it was fresh blood. Sicuro’s mouth watered as she thought of her comment to Denunci the night before. ‘Midnight snack,’ she thought, pleased with herself all over again. She knew that the curse was meant as punishment to the gods for their crime to man, but she couldn’t help feeling good as she breathed in the scent of the blood.
Pegno handed Sicuro the pitcher. She sighed, bringing it to her lips, savoring, again, the sweet smell. ‘I know this is wrong. I know it. But, I must say, I know, also, that none of you had any qualms about feeding after you got used to the curse,’ Sicuro addressed her dead relatives as though they were close friends of hers. She drank the pitcher dry, and placed it on Uccisione’s desk.
“What were you thinking just now, Sicuro?” Uccisione asked.
“I was wondering how anything this wonderful could be considered a curse.”
“It is. You still don’t understand that, even after all that’s happened,” he spoke quietly, as though he were speaking only to himself, “but one day you will.” Sicuro looked at him in disbelief. He was the leader of the desiderio clan, fearsome and powerful. It seemed illogical that he, of all, would think of it as a burden. “There are things you have yet to learn, Sicuro. It’s very tough being a nosferatu. Throughout your lifetime you will have to make many choices, both good and bad, and most of the time the choices you will have to make will be those that upset you the most. I know you think I’m wrong, but you have lived for only four and a half centuries—you’re still a child; you haven’t suffered enough losses to understand.”
He studied her face a few moments as she absorbed everything. It was a side of her father that Sicuro had never seen before. He was being too insightful, too philosophical for her liking, but she couldn’t stop herself from thinking about what he had told her. There was no tone of superiority in his voice, no anger, no emotion at all. He was simply being truthful with her, she knew.
“May I go now?” Sicuro asked, longing to be free of his intense stare, and the questions he had aroused in her.
“I can’t see why not.” He said flatly as she removed herself from the chair. She looked at him again, frustration on her face, and turned to go. As she closed the door behind her Sicuro heard the beginnings of a conversation Uccisione and Pegno were having.
CHAPTER THREE
The sun had set in the sky, leaving nothing more than the moon and a few street lamps shining down on Sicuro. She and Denunci had gotten into three fights in the past week—a disturbing thought, seeing as how they had never fought with each other before. Sicuro had given up the hope of discovering Denunci’s secret, and by now she really didn’t care about it at all. Denunci was being ‘little miss secretive tramp’, running around for her ‘papa’ doing everything he asked of her.
‘Who cares, anyway? Not me. I have more important things to deal with,’ Sicuro rationalized her growing hatred for her sister. Her heart kept telling her that things would clear up, but her mind—and temper—fought back, dealing a mighty blow. She stopped at the edge of the walkway and let a car pass by in the street, then continued on her aimless way through the city. This was how she liked to find her victims when not sent on specific missions; they were mostly eroi, who would fight back, with a few innocent bystanders here and there. But tonight Sicuro had no intention of fighting.
The buildings in Otranto were old, with few exceptions. Glowing in the light of the street lamps they cast long shadows onto the street, blackening the world. Ahead of Sicuro stood a tall, towering structure that once served as a prison, but was now used as a library. Though the bars that covered the windows had been removed long ago, feelings of sadness and oppression still lingered.
Something caused Sicuro to stop. She was standing before a narrow alleyway. She remembered this old shop down the way about a hundred or so years ago that Denunci loved. It always smelled of fine perfumes and teas. Sicuro sniffed the air hoping for even one small remnant of the wonderful aromas. She walked down the alleyway and peered inside the window of the old shop.
Inside she saw movement. Squinting, she could just make out Denunci and a man as they held each other in the soft light of a few candles. Sicuro couldn’t believe what she was seeing. A tear dropped from her eye and fell softly upon her boot, and she covered her face. Sicuro longed to feel, herself, the warmth of a man beside her, but she knew deep in her heart that she would never have the strength to face her fears and just let go of everything that held her back.
The line of Denunci’s back could be seen glowing in the light of the room. A sheet covered half of her upper body as she sat up in bed. She was with Odio, the eroi Sicuro had seen her with at del Strano. He reached his hand up to her shoulder and brushed it against her skin, then ran his finger down the length of her body. She couldn’t stop the tears now. Her sister had betrayed her, and so had the wall she built to keep the world away. Sicuro knew it was time to sever her relationship with Denunci, she could no longer place her trust in their friendship.
So this—this was her big secret. This was what Denunci had tried to tell Sicuro and this was the one thing that she had not. Sicuro felt there was nothing for her now. She lived only for her sister: to protect her, to be her shoulder to lean on. But when the time had come for Denunci to do so, she had forsaken Sicuro. What was she to do? She couldn’t tell her father, it would make things worse. Whatever she did, she could mention nothing to him.
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Walking alone that night Sicuro became so lost in her own thoughts she didn’t notice the soft, flickering light following her through the darkness. So many things were playing in her head at once she couldn’t tell one from another. At one point, she wasn’t sure at all who she should be angry with: Alex or Denunci. She kept mixing the events up. But surely she should hate both, for both had betrayed her to a point where she didn’t think she could forgive them. But in time she had forgiven Alex, even if it came only after a gypsy’s curse. And, she knew, in time she would forgive Denunci.
Sicuro stopped abruptly, discovering the footsteps behind her. She listened for a moment, and then turned when they too stopped. Though the dark-clad figure tried masking himself in the shadow of a tall bush, Sicuro easily spotted him.
“Come out here,” she commanded. “I know you’re there, and I’m sure I know why. Let’s get this over with; I have more important matters to deal with at the moment.” Sicuro swore as the man stepped into the light of the moon that it was Odio standing before her, only she knew better, for Odio was much taller than this man—this boy—and much older in appearance. Where Odio looked like a young man in his twenties, this person looked like a child
“I know who you are, vampire.” His words were hard, like daggers.
“You’re at an advantage, but no matter. I don’t really care who you are.” She had no weapons on her; she hadn’t expected too much action so soon after Nik. But here she was, and here was this child before her, waiting for her. She didn’t want to hit him at all, let alone initiate any violence between them. He stared back at a moment, then, moving toward her, he raised his fist and swung it at her chest. Sicuro found herself feeling almost ashamed with every blow she struck to the eroi, if he was one at all. This would be an easy fight, she knew. Her nails cut into his cheek, just below the eye, and she stood mesmerized by the blood trickling slowly down his face. She was finally fed up. There would be no more fighting for Sicuro, if she could help it. Denunci had made her too disgusted to fight.
“No more,” she said. “Just what are you trying to prove, boy. You’re no eroi. You aren’t even a match for a dog.”
“A dog?” he screamed, “You called me a dog! Gee, that’s something coming from you.” Sicuro narrowed her eyes, moving toward the boy.
“ Who are you? What’s your name?”
“Dimitris.” He smiled proudly. “And you are Sicuro.”
“Yes—,” Sicuro thought for a moment. “You must be—let me guess—Odio’s brother.”
“Yeah. I guess you aren’t as stupid as I thought you would be.” Dimitris said this with such malice Sicuro had trouble containing herself. She balled her fists at her side and took a deep breath before speaking through clenched teeth.
“Go home. You could get hurt wondering around here on your own; it isn’t safe at night.” She turned to walk away, fed up with his games; she was eager to get home. Sicuro hadn’t taken two steps before Dimitris kicked her in the back, bringing her to her knees. She stepped to her feet and spun toward him.
“Enough!” She screamed, gripping him by the throat. It was nothing for Sicuro to lift his body, though larger than hers, into the air. She held him there dangling his feet and clutching at her hands to break free. Then, swinging him like a baseball, Sicuro threw him a few feet to hit the ground with a shattering noise. His arm had broken, and he was bleeding from his forehead. Dimitris sat moaning in agony. He was calling for his brother, for anyone who could help him. Tonight was not the time to get on Sicuro’s bad side; she had no intention of letting Dimitris live.
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“I want to get this straight,” Uccisione mocked Pegno, “You saw Denunci doing what?”
“She was—uh—how can I put this lightly—Sir…she was with an eroi.”
“An eroi,” laughed Uccisione. “What would she—,” he stopped as he finally caught on to Pegno’s meaning. By now he was outright screaming. “What in hell would she be doing with an eroi? What in hell was she doing with an eroi, Pegno? Tell me now!” he growled, pounding his large, powerful fist on the table.
“Well—well, Sir, I’m hoping you can put two and two together,” Pegno was getting his courage back. Something in that conniving little mind was ticking away a scheme.
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