Bathory

She smiled and said “I am madame Bathory. Mayhaps you have heard of me?”

Darius recalled the legend of Countess Bathory, who had bathed in the blood of virgins. “Are you claiming to be THE Bathory? The Countess?”

Bathory nodded. “I am her, yes. And before you ask, yes, we are vampires. I will shortly return to my home in Europe, but I had wished to establish a base here, in this American college town. You will be my eyes and ears here, and you may build a harem for yourself, if you so choose. But I caution you, try to avoid too much attention, for just as we vampires are real so too are vampire hunters.” She gestured for him to follow, then she turned and made her way up the stairs.

Darius hesitated, looking around the crypt. He saw the coffin he had just climbed from was in the center of the room and was on a raised dais. He also saw that there was a door leading to another room; he vaguely remembered there was a bed there, and that’s where he and Bathory had fucked. Once again he felt that lustful hunger, and he quickly moved up the stairs.

They wound in a spiral, moving ever upwards. He passed a few nooks and crannies on his way. Then he felt cool fresh air, and saw a pale beam of moonlight ahead. Finally he reached a door, which he exited, to find Bathory waiting for him. He looked around and found he was in a graveyard, mist covering several inches of the ground. The moon was full, and the sky mostly clear, only a few small clouds dotted it.

“Follow me,” said Bathory, her voice sultry and seductive, “before this night is over I will board a ship to return home. But I wish to explain a few things.” She moved, almost guiding towards the front gates, where there was also a small house for a grave keeper to live.