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She was busy mending one of her gowns when he stumbled in through the front door. A tall dark drifter with a black hat, open wounds and burns strewn across his entire body. Her father was a compassionate man, ushering him in without a second thought.
They lived in the outskirts of the city, her father cast out from the protection of its walls for having the audacity to work on advancements in medicine deemed not of God's will. A hate he would not reveal to his daughter burned deep within him for the corruption that was the church. He wished only to heal people. The church cared not for such a pursuit beyond keeping its people in line. At least out here he was free to help any and all, rich or poor. But a pursuit so noble can lead to naivety. He offered the man some tea as he had him rest in their spare bedroom.
“Well, well, well. Aren't you a sight for sore eyes.”
The drifter wasn't shy with his words as she entered the room, a tray of kettle and biscuits in hand. She didn't say anything back to him, merely keeping her head down as she placed the tray onto his bedside table. All the same she could feel the searing stare of his amber eyes upon her. The girl would tell her father of the encounter, only to be met with belittling reassurance that it was a harmless compliment. She warned him of the man's teeth, that he appeared some kind of demon, only for her father to give a lecture of the time he saved a familiar from certain death, simply because he asked. She remembered this. She knew that as a devoted man of medicine there was no changing her father's mind. So, despite her suspicions, she trusted her father that they would be alright.
It didn't take long for the drifter to pick up on the doctor's anti-religious sentiments, based on what little he pried. He became more bold, revealing more and more of his manifesto each day until the doctor was completely taken by the beauty of his revolutionary words. This all happened over time behind the closed doors of the guest bedroom, the young woman none the wiser to her father's slow conversion. Under the rule of this drifter turned Savior, her father could be free to return to the city. Free to help anyone he could without interference from the church.
The wounds the drifter sustained were severe and still needed help mending, so he did not see the harm in playing the long con with this simple minded man.
。。。
A creak of loose floorboards woke her from her slumber.
“father?”
But there was no reply. Only the ominous image of a dark silhouetted figure standing just before the doorway.
“M-my father has a shotgun.” She stuttered. “Come any closer and-”
Another creak of wood echoed in the room as the figure stepped forth closer still, unphased by her threat.
“Try anything and I will scream! He will come running!”
In the blink of an eye her suspicion was confirmed as what stood before her at her bedside, illuminated by dim candle light, was none other than the dark drifter.
"Go ahead, scream.” He mocked. “Your daddy ain't comin’ to save you.”
Before she could ask what he meant by that, the girl was now suddenly face to face with a demon as he gripped her tight at the arms. He leaned down close. She struggled. He gripped tighter. The pain soon had her at his mercy.
“You see, your daddy obeys me now.”
From the corner of her eye she saw the pale hairless creature that was once her father, crawling about the cottage floor just outside her bedroom door.
“It's the nature of a familiar, after all.”
“So that is my fate then.” Tears ran, her sight blurred, save for the near pitch black of the figure before her. “You will have us as your slaves.”
“You? A slave? Oh, no. I could never.” He now grinned wide, baring fangs sharp and eager for flesh.
He pulled her up into an embrace almost tender. His gaze upon her remained unbroken, and as she lost her battle to look away, she found herself drained of will. She was a limp doll in his arms. His touch was gentle as he brushed her hair to the side, revealing vulnerable neck and nape.
“Besides, what is a vampire king without a queen at his side?”