He sat down at the piano and sighed, running his long fingers lightly over the keys. Unlike Cyn, he'd never had a single lesson. There had been no time for such things where he grew up, no money to pay for it if there had been. He pulled the cover down over the keys, resting his hands on the shining black lacquer. Hands that were soft and well-cared for, nails manicured and buffed. A gentleman's hands, not the hands of a peasant. Not anymore.
* * * *
Muscovite Russia, 1472
Vadim Nestor closed the door of the ancient barn, dropping the heavy bar down to secure it for the night. They'd had a problem with wolves lately, damn clever things that seemed to find their way in through every hole or crack in the worn siding. He'd spent a goodly amount of time today, filling in holes dug under the walls, patching any gap he found. It would be hard enough trying to get through the winter with only the two healthy animals left to them; they didn't need to lose any more to the damn wolves. He sighed, gazing out over fields lying fallow, fields that would have been ready for late harvest if his older brothers had not gone off in search of better lands, a better life than this hard scrabble farm. Vadim hoped they found it, but he'd heard sorry tales of harsh servitude in the new lands.
"Volodya!” His little sister's voice carried across the hard, dry yard as she ran to him, her long, black hair flying loose from its proper braid, her pale legs flashing as she lifted her skirts away from the dusty ground.
"Sasha,” he scolded, “you must remember to act like a lady. What would Arkady think if he saw you running across the yard like a hoyden?"
"Pffft, what do I care about that old man? He stinks of pigs. I don't care what Father says, I'll run away to Novgorad like our brothers before I marry that toothless relic.” She looked up at him, her face flushed with the cold air, her black gypsy eyes, so like his own, sparkling with mischief. How he loved her, and how he hated the idea of her going to the bed of a pig farmer.
"Softly,” he said, pulling her around the side of the barn, away from the shabby house where no doubt their father was watching their every movement. “You mustn't speak so where Father can hear you."
She leaned into him, resting her head against the middle of his chest. “I'm not afraid of him. Besides, you'll protect me, won't you, Volodya? You won't let him hurt me again."
"No,” he whispered fiercely, drawing her into his embrace. “No, he will not lay hand on you ever again.” He kissed the top of her head. “But we must be smart, dushenka. This is still his farm, no matter that I do all the work. He could throw us both off the land, and then what would we do? We'd have to find somewhere else to live, somewhere to work. I worry about our brothers, worry they're little better than slaves working for strangers."
She shivered in his arms. “Papa wants rid of me,” she said in a small voice. “He says my only value is between my legs and Arkady will pay good silver."
Rage burned in his chest until he thought he'd choke on it. “I'll kill him first, Sasha. You won't be wasted bearing brats for an old man."
It was her turn to urge caution as she put her fingers over his lips. “Sshhhh, Volodya! Don't say such things. Father Feodor says God is listening."
"Then let God show us the way, little sister. Or I will find my own."
* * * *
It was full dark outside when Vadim sat up straight, shivering in the cold air as his furs fell away. Something had woken him. Was it wolves? Were they at the barn again? He listened, reluctant to venture outside. The animals came in packs, vicious beasts with no fear of man, especially not one armed with nothing more than a pitchfork.
Something was moving on the other side of the thin wall. Not the snuffling padding of wolves, but softer, more furtive. Feminine laughter lilted close to his head, and he leapt from his pallet, staring at the wall. Sasha? Was she outside on a night like this? He raced for the door, grabbing his heavy tunic as he ran, then chanced to look across the room where his parents slept, where Sasha lay deep in slumber on her pallet next to the fireplace.
The door rattled softly and he dropped his tunic, shuffling backward on all fours, reduced to a terrified animal. Something was out there. Something unnatural. His skin shivered over his bones and his breath froze in his lungs as he stared at the pitiful wooden latch holding the door closed. It shook slightly as something pressed against it from the outside. The stink of sweat filled his nostrils as his own fear ran down his chest to his belly.
There was more laughter, then. Louder. Not just a woman anymore, but men too, laughing like animals braying in the night. He heard the cows lowing and cried out at the thought of the poor animals helpless against whatever ravening beast was upon them.
"What?” His father's gruff voice sounded from the alcove. “Vadim, something's at the animals.” He sat up in bed and began pulling on his boots, his lip curling with disgust when he saw his youngest son crouched on the floor in fear. “What's the matter with you, boy? Afraid of a few wolves? I'll show you what—"
Vadim jumped up and grabbed the old man, wrestling him back to the bed before he blundered into the night and cost them all their lives. “Listen! Listen, Father! It is not wolves, not this time. Listen, you fool!"
"Fool?” his father roared, bringing one thick arm around to knock Vadim to the floor. “You dare call me fool?” He stormed over to the door, grabbing the pitchfork as he yanked it open. “I'll show you—"
Vadim shouted in horror as the creature grabbed his father's outstretched arm, jerking him out of the house and sinking impossible teeth into his neck. Blood sprayed over the old man's chest, his body convulsing like one of Arkady's pigs at the slaughter. Sasha's screams joined their mother's, jolting Vadim from his own shock. Their mother streaked by, leaving the safety of their home to beat on the creature holding her husband. Sasha followed, clinging to her mother's arm, trying to drag her back into the house. Vadim jumped up and grabbed the fallen pitchfork, charging into the yard and stabbing at the monsters, shouting at his mother, at Sasha, to get back. But it was too late. The dreadful creatures were everywhere in the yard, tossing his father's body between them, playing with him as the barn cat played with a dead mouse. His mother's bloody form was draped over the grisly arm of another, its fangs buried in her neck and making obscene slurping sounds as the life drained from her body. Vadim swung about in terror. Sasha. Where was his Sasha? A shrill scream spun him fully around and he moaned in horror. Two of the creatures had her between them, their hands crawling over her body, ripping her bodice to bare her breasts, their foul mouths closing over tender flesh. Sasha's terror-filled eyes found his and she mouthed his name, no longer able to scream.
He howled, raising the pitchfork and thrusting it at her attackers, one of them shrieking in agony as the sharp implement buried itself in his side. The ungodly creature turned to snarl at Vadim with gore-filled teeth, and he thrust the pitchfork mindlessly, again and again, until they were forced to let go of his sister and deal with him.
"Run, Sasha,” he screamed. But she lay limp and lifeless, fallen to the ground only to be taken by yet another monster who lapped the blood from her torn neck like the sweetest cream. Vadim fell to his knees, numb with horror and loss, waiting for the creatures to take him, to tear his throat out and let him join his family in death.
A woman's laughter drifted over his shoulder. He shrank from the sound of it, watching fearfully as the most beautiful woman he'd ever seen circled around him, her hips swaying seductively beneath a whore's tight dress, her tongue sliding out to lick full, red lips.
"Don't,” she snapped.
Vadim twisted around to find one of the creatures backing away, hissing at the woman, its eyes glowing red in the dark night.
"I want this one,” the woman said, jerking Vadim's attention back to her. “He's pretty.” She strolled around him, running a delicate hand through the silky black length of his hair, along the breadth of his shoulders. “And so strong.” She leaned her face into his and he almost gagged on the carrion stench of her breath. “Would you like to live forever, pretty one?"
Vadim shook his head in denial, fighting to break away from the impossibly strong grip of those delicate hands.
"Too late,” she whispered. And then she laughed again, her shrieks rising into the night sky as those red, red lips opened and her fangs sank into his throat.
* * * *
He stumbled down the rutted track, weak with hunger, with unquenchable thirst. Dried blood caked his clothing, his hair ... he lifted his hands and stared at the crusting of black beneath his nails. Not the clean earth of mother Russia, but blood. An endless amount of blood. Wolves followed along in the underbrush, whining pitifully, drawn by the smell of flesh, but confused by the scent of danger exuded by this pitiful remnant of a human.
He was only peripherally aware of the wolves. All that mattered was satisfying this overwhelming hunger, a craving as if he'd never before eaten in his life. He heard human voices and lifted his head. A monastery shone in the darkness, candles lighting its windows, the sound of singing echoing over the green fields surrounding it. He blinked, suddenly confused, not remembering how he came to be standing on this road covered in blood, knowing only that he was empty, hollowed out by grief. He howled his anguish to the night sky and the wolves shrank away, their bellies pressed to the ground in fear.
"Jesu Christu!” A monk hurried out from the gates, a lantern held out before him to light his way. “My son,” he said, his voice filled with a terrible compassion when he saw Vadim. “My son, do not despair, God is with you. He is with all of us.” The monk circled him with strong arms, ignoring the bloody stench surrounding him. “Come,” he said. “Come inside. We will find a way. God will help us.” He put his sturdy shoulder beneath Vadim's arm and pulled him to his feet. “A short way, my son. A little further to the succor of God himself."
