| QUOTE #1 from Vampire Royalty: The Rebellion |
Craven leaned forward, "How about a drink while we enjoy our reunion?" Without waiting for a reply, he slid open a cabinet next to the desk and pulled out a bottle of reddish-brown liquid. Setting two crystal glasses on the desk, he poured and then handed one to the marquis. Andrew accepted the glass and cautiously sipped it.
Craven's brows lifted sardonically. "Afraid I'm trying to poison you?"
"If you could,” Andrew laughed hollowly. “I wouldn't put it past you." Then, he soberly asked, "Craven, what are you doing?"
Craven leaned back. “That must be obvious even to you, brother. I am running for vice president of the United States. Doing quite a good job of it, too, I might add. Have you seen the latest polls? We are ten points ahead of our opponents. Are you proud of me, Andrew?"
He ignored the last comment, took another sip of his drink, and set it on the desk. "You know what you're doing is forbidden by the laws and customs of our people."
"I'm surprised at you, Andrew. You've always been such a strong advocate of integration with the diurnals."
"I advocate integration, not interference," he shot back. "In such a position of power, you would be able to influence the diurnals’ laws, society, and their way of life. I doubt you would have their best interests at heart."
"I don't know about that. Have you read any literature about my political views? Mr. Callahan and I have a wide range of reforms that we have planned and this country is in desperate need of reform."
"Mr. Callahan may be sincere, but you aren't. I want you to withdraw from the race."
Craven idly twirled his glass while he gazed intently at the red liquid sliding up the sides. "I have no intention of withdrawing."
"Why not?"
Putting his drink aside, he shrugged. "A lot has changed while you were out of the picture. The human race has evolved emotionally. They have reached the point where they are not as superstitious about what they cannot explain. The religious fervor has died down. Their medical knowledge has expanded so that people with rare diseases are cured rather than persecuted. I believe the political climate is right for integration."
"I have a hard time believing your intentions are so noble. Yes, the diurnals have progressed far, but they have much further to go before they will accept something that could be considered a threat to their existence. It's also true that the religious fervor has died down, but there are still plenty of zealots ready to persecute any imagined evil. As far as medicine is concerned, do you really want to spend the rest of your life in a laboratory being poked and prodded while doctors and technicians analyze you? Besides, there are still many of our own kind who are opposed to being exposed."
"Perhaps, but they will learn to adapt along with the diurnals. Really, Andrew," he said in exasperated amusement, "anyone would think I was the one advocating integration."
Andrew thoughtfully gazed at him. He was sure that Craven was motivated by ambition and power. He searched the office for clues to his real purpose. The portraits of past presidents and serene countrysides offered no clues. "I can force you to concede."
Craven's lips twisted. "It might be interesting to see if you still could," he said congenially, "but I have no time to get involved in a power struggle with you, especially since there are other ways to protect my interests."
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Craven pulled open another door of the cabinet and extracted a newspaper. Folding it back, he casually tossed it across the desk. Andrew glanced down without picking it up. The headline boldly glared back at him. It read, “Student Nurse Mutilated at Insane Asylum.”
Snatching up the paper, he examined the date. He blanched as he skimmed over the story. Revulsion and anger tinged with remorse swept through him as he dropped it on the desk.
"That woman was alive when I left," he said through clenched teeth.
Steepling his fingers, Craven leaned back. "Suffice it to say, she wasn't after I left."
"What do you expect to do with that?" Andrew asked disdainfully.
"Well, I had considered using it as kind of a trump card."
"To turn me in if you couldn't overpower me?"
Craven nodded.
"That would do wonders for your campaign," he scoffed.
"I considered that. Fortunately, another more effective way to insure your cooperation has presented itself."
An image of Victory Parker flashed into Andrew's mind. He paled as he whispered hoarsely, "How did you know?"
"I knew the first time I saw her, which was by chance a couple of weeks ago. There was a haunting familiarity and the resemblance is striking. Don’t you agree?" Savoring the moment, he slowly sipped his drink. There was such a strong resemblance that my curiosity was aroused. I did my homework and had her genealogy traced. The staff aides who did the research probably thought I was checking for a potential bride."
Andrew's lips tightened and his eyes narrowed. "I am warning you, Craven, stay away from her."
The ominous black eyes widened. "Jealous already? Are you worried that she might find me more appealing?" he taunted.
White-hot rage exploded through his brain. Andrew shot forward. Fury made him reckless. Missing his target by several inches, he drove his fist through a portrait.
Craven shook his head as he surveyed the damage. "Lincoln will never be the same." Before Andrew could begin another round, he continued, "I would be the last person to wish harm to that lovely young creature. All I need is your word that you will not interfere with what I am doing."
Andrew hesitated, withdrew a handkerchief, and wiped the blood from his knuckles. "I can't give you my word since I don't know what your plans are."
Again, the image assailed him. His stomach muscles convulsed. Reaching for his glass, he drained the contents and then slammed the glass down so hard that it shattered.
Craven shook his head. "It was such a nice set," he sighed as he watched the shards sprinkle onto the carpet.
A loud knocking sounded at the door. "Is everything all right, Mr. Maxwell?"
His eyes shifted towards the door and then back to his brother. He shrugged and explained to his sibling, "Security." He raised his voice, "Fine, John." His gaze hardened as he turned his attention back to Andrew. "I'm waiting for your word, brother," he asserted coldly.
Andrew closed his eyes. Trembling, he relived years of tormented loneliness. Now that happiness was within his grasp, was there any concern worthy of such a sacrifice?
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| QUOTE #2 from Vampire Royalty: The Rebellion |
He leaned towards her and then reached across the coffee table to take her hands in his. "Victory," he began earnestly, "I love you. It was my intention to ask you to marry me after you had some time to recover."
A shaft of joy pierced the darkness! For a moment, she basked in its glow. Then, realization struck. "Was?" she asked with an obvious tremor.
Andrew searched her face, squeezed her hand, and sat back. Sighing regretfully, he nodded, "I have some things to tell you. Things I would have preferred to explain over a period of time. Time I could have used to allow you to know and understand me better."
Victory was undaunted. She loved this man and nothing that he could say would alter her feelings. She was forestalled from telling him so by his upraised hand.
"Please wait until I've finished before you decide. Although my dearest desire is to have you return my feelings, you need to be apprised of all the facts."
"So apprise me," she said jauntily. She was eager to get the confessions finished. Then, she reconsidered. “He might want to tell me that he is divorced and has a nasty ex-wife hovering in the background. He might have a child – or several children. Or maybe,” she thought with her mind rebelling, “he is already married and can’t offer me an honorable relationship.” Tightly controlling her conjectures, she nodded for him to proceed.
Andrew warily eyed her. He was aware that her attitude had changed from benevolent unconcern to suspicious aloofness. He wondered what could have been the cause. “Not that it matters,” he thought despondently. Nothing that she could be imagining could be even close to the truth. Abruptly, he stood and walked over to the mahogany bar. He poured two stiff drinks. Using the task as an excuse to study her, he memorized every detail of her elegant face and graceful form. Stopping beside Victory, he handed the glass to her.
"What is it?" she asked. She wrinkled her nose when she sniffed the contents.
"Jack Daniels," he said, as he resumed his seat.
She examined the glass. "This looks like enough liquor to drop a horse. If I drink all this, I'll never know what you said."
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He didn't respond. Instead, he upended his glass that contained twice the amount of hers. Placing his glass aside, he said, "I am returning to Washington this evening – alone." She started to protest, but he continued, "Hear me out." Taking a deep breath, he plunged ahead, "I am not who you think I am, Victory."
"Do you mean you're not really Andrew Gabriel, Marquis of Penbrook?"
He shook his head. His eyes locked on hers. A premonition of dread settled in the pit of her stomach. He restated, "I am the marquis, but I am not what you think I am."
She reached for the drink, while she waited for him to explain. "I am a porphyrian.” She was totally puzzled. He rushed on, "We are a subspecies or race, if you prefer, whose main genetic makeup differs from humans in that we manifest a rare condition called porphyria. This condition is caused by a lack of certain enzymes in the blood's hemoglobin."
"That's why you drink that awful-tasting liquid. Right?" she asked tentatively. She recalled how he had told her about drinking it to replenish electrolytes that were lacking in his system. "But you couldn't think I would be so shallow as to reject you because of a rare blood disorder?"
The corners of his lips lifted slightly. "No, but there's more. Some of the other characteristics unique to my people are intense sensitivity to sunlight, receding gums, and, in some cases, neurological damage. Our women are more prone to suffer and are especially vulnerable during pregnancy when they can not partake of the drink."
Victory shifted nervously. "I'm not sure I am following you. You claim that you have a rare genetic disorder called porphyria. I've heard of it, although, right now, I can't remember in what context. What I don't understand," she said puzzled, "is why you believe having this disease classifies you as a subspecies or why you think it would alter my feelings. Unless," she said with her eyes widening, "you're concerned about the affect on potential children."
Andrew lifted agonized eyes to meet hers. "The answer to both your questions is the main characteristic of porphyria. One of my ancestors was responsible for inventing the PS4. However, prior to the utilization of the drink, our people were plagued by an insatiable need to derive the enzymes we needed by drinking blood."
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| QUOTE #4 from Vampire Royalty: The Rebellion |
Remembering Andrew's words about the differences in porphyrian anatomy, she paled. Thomas appeared even more amused at her reaction.
"I see that you are finally grasping the reality of your predicament. Well, I'm afraid you learned this lesson a little too late."
He leaned back in his chair. Relief flooded through her as she realized that he simply was baiting her. Abruptly, she was engulfed in flames. She gasped in alarm as flickering pillars of red and orange sprang up all around her. Jumping to her feet, she backed against the wall while trying to avoid the sudden onslaught of heat. Victory was petrified as she tried to peer through the dense cloud of smoke and fire in order to see her tormentor. Her skin singed and her eyes watered. She coughed and tried to gulp in air, but the smoke filled her throat and burned her lungs. Slowly, she sank to the ground. Just when she thought that she would pass out, the fire vanished. Victory sat up, leaned against the wall, and gulped fresh air.
The room suddenly was plunged into darkness. The hair rose on the back of her neck as a man's voice echoed eerily ahead of her.
"That was just a small demonstration to put you in the mood. The real fun is just starting."
Victory shuddered, as she strained her eyes in the direction of the voice, but the blackness was too complete. “This porphyrian is playing with my mind,” she reasoned, as she remembered Andrew's demonstration in the hotel room. She desperately clung to that thought as the slithery voice continued to echo around her.
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Abruptly, the light returned. She blinked rapidly at the sudden brightness. Her relief was cut short as her eyes focused on the creature before her. Her eyes widened and her mouth dropped open as a scream tore from her throat. She watched in awestruck horror as the thing approached. Caught somewhere between a reptile, a rodent, and a human, the thing stood upright and appeared to have two arms and two legs. The creature had glowing red eyes and a head shaped like a toad, except for the nose and mouth. The snout was that of a dragon. When it spoke, a long forked tongue snaked out from between protruding fangs. The entire body was scaly with a set of greenish-black leathery wings on its back. The creature had claws in the place of hands and feet and it dragged a long hairless tail.
Revulsion and terror held her in an iron grip. Her sanity broke. As the creature advanced, she covered her face with her hands and screamed. Straining against her bonds, she moved as far out of reach as her chain would allow. She became numb with fear. She watched the creature advance, while it flicked its tongue and targeted her with a baleful amphibian eye. Petrified, she shrank against the wall as the thing backed her into a corner. “It’s only a hallucination created by the porphyrian! It’s only a hallucination. It’s not real. It’s not real!” her mind screamed.
Victory shook violently as the creature grasped her arms and scratched deep furrows into her skin. Its tongue flicked her face and she tried to turn towards the wall. One claw grasped her chin and held her in place. Its tongue felt like wet sandpaper as it coursed down her cheek. She gagged as the tongue slithered across her lips.
"What's the matter, bitch?" the thing rasped in her ear, “Don't you want to play anymore?"
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