Disclaimer: I don't own Khayman, or any of the other vamps, and I certainly don't own Alexander! Anne Rice is the creator, not me, and Alexander belonged to himself.
Dedicated to: My friend Ziri, the Alexander expert. If it wasn't for her, I would never have written this story! Also, to Mary Renault, the Author of the Alexander Trilogy. I highly recommend these books, they're awesome. Plus, a very special thanks to Mercredi, for introducing me to this amazing bored. You’re right, it is addictive!!
Authors Note: Alexander, Ptolemy, Bagoas and Hephaestion were all real people, and a lot of events in this story are historical fact, such as the scene in which Alexander says goodbye to all his men. In this story, I've tried to blend fact, Anne's vamps, and my own creative insights and interpretations. Forgive me if I don't quite pull it off.
And, without further ado...


These Nights Will Never Die.
-A tale of Alexander the Great, and The Vampire Khayman.

Part 1: The Seduction of a King
Well, he knew he wasn't dead. He was sure that dead people couldn't feel so much pain. His whole body hurt, but his lungs were the worst. Every breath he took felt like daggers digging into his chest, and breathing was something he couldn't escape. At least he didn't have to move if he didn't want to, but breathing, ah well, he didn't want to stop breathing just yet. He was born a fighter. He would die a fighter.

He could hear his men talking outside his tent, thinking him to be unconscious, as they often did. He didn't have the energy to open his eyes and speak, to prove them wrong. Let them talk of how he didn't have much longer to live. He knew. It comforted them to speak in hushed whispers among themselves. Let them have it.

"Alexander," a soft voice whispered close to his ear. He recognised it as his loyal servant Bagoas. Bagoas, who was so much more then a servant, really, had stayed with him throughout the entire sickness. Bagoas refused to talk of his death. Bagoas had been raised to the level of a God in Alexanders eyes. "Alexander, please drink. You must have water. Come on, Alexander, I know you're awake. Please have some water."

Alexander opened his eyes slowly to see Bagoas' sweet, worried face. He smiled softly, and with much pain spoke, "Did it really take me dying for you to learn how to pronounce my name properly, Bagoas?" he rasped, appalled at the sound of his own voice. Dear god's how he hated being so weak.

Tears ran down Bagoas' dark cheeks, "Al'skander, you aren't dying," he said, slipping into his old Persian accent, "soon you'll be well, and able to lead your men on the field again. I swear." He held the water to Alexanders lips. "Drink some, my lord. It will make you feel better." Bagoas pleaded. Alexander sighed. It hurt him to drink, but it hurt him even more to see Bagoas so worried. Best to try to drink the water, if only to appease. He took a hesitant sip and immediately fell into a coughing fit, the spasms hurting his chest. Bagoas hovered above him anxiously, fear showing in his large brown eyes as he tried to think of some way to help. Eventually, the coughing died down and Alexander lay back, beads of sweat clinging to his forehead, his breathing ragged.

"Al'skander, are you alright?" Bagoas asked frantically. Poor thing, Alexander thought, he only wants the best for me, I almost feel I should get better just to make him happy.

He tried to speak, but he just didn't have the energy. The coughing had taken too much out of him. Instead he nodded slightly, golden curls tumbling across his face. Bagoas seemed to understand. "My lord, it's time for your bath. Are you up to it?"

Alexander again tried to speak, and this time he was successful. "As long as I don't have to move from this bed, Bagoas," He whispered. Bagoas nodded,

"Of course not, my lord," he said, "you don't have to move a muscle." Bagoas called for a slave to bring a tub of warm water and some towels. When they arrived, he wet a towel and moved aside the sheet covering Alexanders naked body. As always, he marvelled at the site of Alexander nude. The sickness had not wasted away any of his beauty, he was absolutely exquisite, his well defined muscles gleaming in the soft light of the oil lamp.

Bagoas slowly began to run the towel over Alexanders body, gently across his chest, covering the scar's of war, which seemed to not mar his beauty, only enhance and add to it. It passed over the stomach and torso which could have been sculpted from marble, then down over his hard thighs. Alexander sighed in pleasure. Bagoas was relieved that he could even still feel pleasure. So often in these days he was delirious or unconscious. This evenings lucidity was a surprise and a blessing.

"Bagoas, how would I survive without you?" Alexander murmured, half falling asleep.

"My king, I'm sure you could get any amount of men clamouring to be your nursemaid." The boy replied.

Alexander reached out and caught Bagoas' hand, holding it in his weak grasp. He looked him in the eye. "I'm not talking about that, my love." The boy blushed, and hastened to finish bathing his lord. When he had finished, and dried him off, he stood by the kings bed and asked if he could be of any more service. Alexander waved him off.

"Get some sleep," he murmured, "you spend far too much time looking after me, Bagoas," Bagoas nodded.
"Just as soon as you fall asleep, my lord," he said, settling down on a chair next to the bed. Alexander nodded, too exhausted to protest, and almost immediately fell into restless dreams.

Bagoas had absolutely no intention of going to bed. He would keep watch over his lord until morning, then get a few hours sleep after the sun rose. Alexander might need him in the night, and he would not let his lord down.

*************************************
Khayman watched the great king conversing with his boy. He had been trailing the king ever since his illness began, and soon, very soon it would be over. Surely Alexander could not have much longer to live. The time was drawing closer. Soon he would have him in his grasp for all eternity.
**************************************

Alexander awoke with a start. It was the early hours of morning, and pitch black inside the tent. He could vaguely make out Bagoas' sleeping form on the floor beside his bed. He heard dogs baying out in the camp, but that wasn't what had woken him. Above him was a still white face, eerie in it's perfection and beauty. It seemed to shine in the darkness, like a ghosts face. Its black eyes were like two holes in a mask. As Alexander painfully tried to speak, call out, a long white finger shot up to the faces lip's and it whispered, "Shh, Alexander, no need to frighten your men. Call them too you and you call them to their deaths. But be still, and I won't harm anyone."

Alexander finally found his voice, "How did you get in here?" he rasped "Who are you?" Under his covers, his hand was frantically searching for his sword, which he always kept beside him.

"I am Khayman," the thing said softly, "and that sword, when you finally find it, is not going to help you. Besides, your little darling Bagoas is well within my reach. I could kill him before you came within a foot of me." He smiled, reaching out playfully to the oblivious Bagoas.

Alexanders eyes widened, "Don't you dare hurt him!" he said raggedly, his strength already failing.

Khayman pulled away from Bagoas and drew closer to the king, "Don't worry Alexander, I'm not going to hurt your lover. I have a proposition to make you. Do you know what I am?"

Alexander drew his full lips into a sneer, and hissed, "Demon!" Above him, Khayman burst into peals of soft laughter.

"Yes, perhaps, though not in the way you mean." Suddenly, he caught Alexander by the throat and bared a set of small, razor sharp fangs at him, "Demon in a very different sense of the word, Alexander. I am a vampire, and as such, I am immortal. I come to offer this gift to you," He danced back a little and bowed, "Great king of Macedonia, I give you the chance to live forever!"

"No!" Alexander cried feebly, but he was passing out. He could only watch in helpless horror as the white monster drew close to him, again baring those beast-like fangs.

"You have had a long taste of death, great king," Khayman whispered. He knelt down by the bed and embraced Alexander, nuzzling into the kings neck, "I can take away this frustrating weakness, this helplessness that you hate, and make you like a god. Yes, a god! You will live forever with the strength of ten men. You will kill at will, with ease! You will never get sick, your wounds will heal almost immediately, you will be able to read the minds of men and women," Khayman stroked Alexanders hard chest softly, "Yes, my king, you will be a god, and together we shall reign supreme!"

Alexander was sinking into oblivion. But before the darkness overtook him, he felt two points of searing pain in his neck as the vampire began to feed.
************************************

The morning light awoke Bagoas. He jumped up, appalled that he had let himself fall asleep. Quickly, he checked on the sleeping Alexander. The kings skin had taken on a deathly pallor, and he seemed somehow gaunter then he was last night. Bagoas felt tears coming to his eyes yet again. His lord, his friend, his lover was dying, and Bagoas would be left all alone. If only he could die to, perhaps follow Alexander into Hades, the after world. He shook his head roughly. He would not even think of such things until Alexander was gone. At the moment, his king needed him to be strong, and Bagoas was loath to ever disappoint him. He wet a towel and wiped Alexanders brow. The king stirred.

"Demon," he murmured. Bagoas frowned, taking the towel away.

"What was that, my lord?" he asked in confusion. Alexander widened his eyes and cried out with surprising strength, struggling to sit up. He's delirious again, Bagoas thought to himself, trying to calm Alexander down. The king was having none of it. He thrashed and turned in bed until his energy ran out and he lay still, panting, beads of sweat glistening on his face.

"Demon…" he whispered again. Bagoas was at a loss.

"What demon, my lord?" he said, stroking Alexanders forehead. Alexander seemed to come to a bit. He stared at Bagoas,

"I don't want you sleeping in this tent tonight, Bagoas, stay with the other servants, make sure you're well protected. And I want guards, lot's of guards in here tonight. I'm not to be left alone in this tent." Bagoas nodded hesitantly. He had no idea what had gotten into his lord, but before he could ask any questions the doctor and a few generals came in and he had to move respectfully to the side. Alexander shot him one last urgent look before his attention was taken up with the doctor. Bagoas moved respectfully to the side, the doctor knew he would not leave, and accepted this. Besides, it made Alexander happy.

The generals started to talk in hushed voices, they seemed to be asking if Alexander would see a few of his men. In a hushed, raspy voice, Alexander nodded and whispered, "Let them all come,"
***********************************

Another soldier entered the tent, tears hiding behind his eyes, and viewed the sick king. Alexander smiled, and whispered, "Persocles," the man's name. Persocles smiled in delight, and took his leave, only to be replaced by yet another soldier, who Alexander greeted with a smile, lifting his hand slightly to acknowledge the man.

Bagoas watched in silence, standing in the corner of the royal tent. They had been coming all day. It had been Alexanders old friend and general who had asked permission that morning for the men to see their king, and he stood beside Alexander now, his face full of pride and sorrow as he watched the many soldiers of the army come to worship his king.

There were a ten thousand men in the army, all of them had raised Alexander to a God, and all of them wanted this last chance to see their king. It was nearing nightfall, only a few hundred remained in the line outside the tent. Alexander, though he was losing strength, had a smile, or a wave, or merely a look of acknowledgement for each and every one of his loyal men. He was not merely a king, first and foremost he was a soldier and general, and each of the men had followed him into battle and would trust him with their lives. While Bagoas had resented the idea at first, he saw how happy it made Alexander to greet his men, so he put up with it without a word.

A young soldier, about seventeen or eighteen walked up to Alexanders bedside. He had lost the battle with his tears, they were flowing freely down his face. The kings eyes lit up when he saw him,

"I remember you!" he exclaimed, "You fought beside me last year,"

The young man nodded, "Yes sire, I did. You saved my life, sire. Pulled me up onto your horse just as I was about to be run through." His voice was choked up with sobs as he knelt at the bedside for a moment, then stood and left, shaking in his grief. Bagoas marvelled at Alexanders memory. He had to have fought besides thousands of men in battle, how could he remember every single face? But he did, that was the thing. Alexander loved his men just as much as they loved him.

It was dark when the last soldiers left. As soon as they were all gone, Bagoas rushed to attend to his lord. As he stripped him for his bath, he remembered Alexanders orders from this morning. He hoped he had forgotten, there was no way he was going voluntarily.

"How do you feel, Al'skander?" he asked softly towelling him down. Alexander just sighed and shook his head, closing his eyes wearily. Bagoas took the hint and finished bathing him in silence. When he had done, as always he stood by the bed awaiting his orders.

Alexander opened one eye and said gently, "Bagoas, it's time for you to leave," Bagoas' face crumpled. He dropped to the floor, kneeling at the side of the bed.

"No, my lord, please don't send me away! I'll get all the guards you want in here, but please, please let me stay with you tonight! I'll sleep on the floor, right here if you wish, I won't disturb you at all, I swear." He looked up pleadingly. Alexander sighed again, and motioned for him to stand.

"Bagoas, you know how much I love and care for you. I fear something or someone is going to come into this tent tonight, and I won't be able to protect you. Please, for your safety and my peace of mind, go sleep with the servants. I won't ask you again." Even with halting words, interspersed with coughs, Alexander commanded respect. His was a voice one did not argue with.
Bagoas nodded, heart-broken, and headed towards the exit. "Bagoas, wait," He turned to see Alexander with his arms held out to him. He smiled in relief, and rushed into them, stroking the hard chest, his tears coating Alexanders face.

"I love you, Al'skander," he whispered over and over again, holding onto the king fiercely. For some unexplainable reason, he knew that this would be the last time he saw his lord alive, and he didn't want to let him go.

"I love you too, Bagoas. You have been with me for so long, I don't think I could have survived like this if it weren't for you. I could never forgive myself if you were harmed because of me." Alexander murmured. They stayed like that for a while, the boy in the kings arms, until Alexander gently pushed Bagoas away. "Go now, my love. Be safe."

Bagoas reluctantly pulled himself away, and with one last look at his beautiful king, went outside to the guards on either side of the doorway and told them that Alexander wanted to speak to them. Then he slowly walked away.
******************************************

Alexander slipped in and out of consciousness. Sweat poured down his naked body, soaking the sheets that he lay on. His dreams were full of images of the demon, his waking thoughts were full of fear for Bagoas, his men, and yes, himself. Whatever it was was strong enough to overpower him in seconds, and though Alexander had a firm grip on his sword, he could not stop the icy dread washing over him.

The tent was fully surrounded by guards, and a guard stood on either side of Alexanders bed. The fiend would have to be invisible to get through this line of steel, and Alexander didn't care what it had said last night, one man could not overpower twenty highly trained and vicious Macedonian soldiers. But he feared for them still, because no doubt the demon could fight off some of them. If it came tonight, some of his men would be killed.

It must have been nearing three in the morning when Alexander was awoken by a strong arm embracing him, and lifting him out of bed. He struggled to fight, to call out, but an icy hand was clamped over his mouth, silencing him instantly. "Alexander, great king, put your men ahead of yourself. I have managed to take you without alerting any of them, but if you scream, they will come, and then I will have to kill them," a soft, soothing voice murmured in his ear. Alexander immediately recognised it as the voice of the demon. He froze, dropping his sword, realising it was right. Khayman was stronger then Alexander had thought, the arm gripping him was like an iron bar.

He felt fresh, cold air hit his face, and he knew that they were out of the tent, moving so fast that the guards did not see them. He was carried in this manner until they reached a quiet clearing in the forest, bathed by the light of the moon. Khayman gently laid Alexander down, then dropped to his knee's beside him. He sat there for a while, gazing at the helpless, naked Alexander, with a small smile on his face. Finally he sighed. "Oh, Alexander, my king, you are exquisite. What a fine vampire you will make. Perfect body, perfect face," he reached out and tapped Alexanders chest, "And you have the strength for it, oh yes, I can see it beating inside of you. You have a fierce heart, Alexander, one that is determined to live. I have made many an immortal who did not have the heart for it, and invariably they went into the sun, or the fire. But I see no such fate for you, great king. You and I shall be as god's together, relishing life, living it, taking it!" the smile grew wider, and in Alexanders dazed state, Khayman did seem as a god, his undoubted beauty supernatural, yes, but magnificent. The king could feel an unwanted attraction for the being who knelt beside him, and for his offers of immortality. The more he tried to fight it, the more he was drawn into the spell.

Khayman leant over and planted a soft kiss on Alexanders lips. Alexander responded, and tasted a hot liquid on Khaymans tongue. Blood! It was exquisite, a warm, rich, salty elixir that seemed to promise life and vitality. Khayman pulled away, letting Alexander have only the smallest taste of what was to come. "More," the king said pleadingly, but Khayman only smiled and shook his head, stroking Alexanders face with his long, slender fingers.

"Not yet, my love, not yet, but soon. I cannot merely take you away tonight, your men will be confused and heartbroken, they will never get over it. It must be slow, drawn out, so they think you are close to death, and then I shall drain you so much that they believe without a doubt you have crossed the river to Hades. When you are locked away in your tomb, I shall come for you, and then we shall be as one."

Alexander stared up at Khayman dreamily. He felt all fear, all inhibitions taken from him, until there was nothing but the white, chiselled face, long black wavy hair, dark eyes and soothing voice of the creature above him. He forgot Bagoas, forgot his men, forgot even himself, and became lost in the sea of words Khayman was drowning him in.

"Yes…" he sighed. Khaymans smile grew wider, and he stretched himself out on the ground besides Alexander, snuggling into his side, his strong arms wrapped around the king.

"Great, great king," came his muffled whisper as he nuzzled into Alexanders neck, stroking him all over with his hard hands, "You will be mine soon. I have waited so long for you, my king, nothing, nothing will keep us apart," Alexander was yielding completely to the strong, cold figure that held him. Suddenly he felt the teeth bite into his neck again, but this time it wasn't the excruciating pain of the night before, it was delicious, intimate, arousing. Alexander was sure he was going to die of ecstasy, but instead he just slipped slowly into oblivion.
**********************************

As soon as Bagoas awoke the next morning he rushed to Alexanders tent. When it came into view, he knew something was wrong. Men surrounded the tent, talking in hushed voices, looks of concern on their faces. Quite a few were trying to hide tears.

Bagoas pushed through the throng until he reached the entrance. He saw Alexanders doctor and Ptolemy, each with drawn looks on their faces, emerging. He looked up at the doctor questioningly. It wasn't really his place to talk to such men, for he had no rank, title, or even any real standing in the camp, other then as Alexanders friend, but they knew him, and knew Alexander loved him. This lent him respect enough.

The boy dropped to his knees in front of the men and bowed his head before looking up pleadingly. "Sire's, how fares my Lord this morning? Why are there so many men here?" The look on his face was so heartbreaking, Ptolemy took pity on him.

"The king is unconscious, young one. He is much, much worse today. We are sure that he has no more then a few days left." The doctor took over as Ptolemy became choked up with sobs.

"He has not once opened his eyes, and his breathing is shallow and laboured. I don't believe he'll last the week."
Bagoas, still on his knee's felt as if his heart had been torn out. He felt the tears wash over his face as the horrible words sank in. Alexander was going to die. For the first time the reality of it hit him. All through the sickness he had harboured the hope that his lord would get better, he had not once let himself imagine life without Alexander. And yet now these two men were telling him that the king was all but gone. It was too much to bare.

"May…may I see him? Please my lords?" Bagoas stammered. He did not know what he would do if he was refused. Most likely crawl off somewhere and die himself.

Ptolemy and the doctor exchanged looks, and then nodded. "You may," said the general. "Alexander would have wanted you to." Bagoas flinched at the past tense, and then, bowing and thanking the men profusely, entered the darkened tent.

Alexander lay on his bed on the far side of the room, covered by a single sheet. Shadows surrounded him, creating the illusion of a death shroud, a dark premonition. Hesitantly, Bagoas approached the bed, not really wanting to gaze upon the dying Alexander. The sight that awaited him was sure to tear him apart, the face of his dying lord almost too much to contemplate. But he had to. He had no real choice.

The face of the great king was as pale as parchment, his lips bloodless, his cheeks waxen. Beads of sweat lined his forehead, but when Bagoas gently brushed his hand over Alexanders face, he found the skin icy cold. A tear rolled down Bagoas' cheek and landed on Alexanders full bottom lip. Slowly Bagoas bowed his head and kissed it off, tasting the saltiness of it against the cold, slack lips. He remembered a time when there had been fire in Alexanders kisses. But all the passion, all the life was gone. The king lay unconscious, on the verge of death. Never again would he kiss Bagoas, or anyone. Never again.

The boy fell to his knee's next to the bed, and holding tight to Alexanders lifeless hand, stayed there for countless hours. People came to view the king, the doctor came back, Ptolemy came back, but he would not be moved. If anyone suggested that he leave, take some food or drink some water he just raised his tear streaked face and shook his head, refusing even to speak. Night fell and still Bagoas stayed with his lord, only surrendering his position when sleep finally claimed him, making him topple from his knee's, his fingers slipping from Alexanders.

Khayman slipped past the sleeping boy, careful not to wake him, and sank down on the bed next to Alexander.

"How do we fare tonight, my sleeping king?" he whispered mockingly, "Having sweet dreams, my love? Dreams of the king you once were, or of the monster you soon will be? Ah, let me taste your dreams, Great Alexander, let me drink the sweet blood of a lord." Brushing away the golden curls clinging to Alexanders muscular neck, Khayman lowered his head and pierced the skin. The only sign that Alexander felt this was a sharp intake of breath, before yet more of his life was drawn into the powerful vampire.

Part Two: Alexander

1

Bagoas’ face floated in front of me. I saw his huge brown eyes, long, fine nose and small, full mouth. He was smiling at first, dimples standing out on his dark skin. Then the smile disappeared. He moved his mouth as if trying to say something, and a look of panic came over him. He was frantically trying to speak, but I couldn’t hear him. Fear shone in his large eyes, and it looked as if he were screaming, but still I couldn’t hear him. Then his face began to change. His creamy brown skin started paling, as if it were being bleached. As his skin paled, his eyes darkened, until they were almost black. His cheek-bones grew much more prominent, and his mouth grew bigger. His tight black curls loosened and grew out long over his shoulders, and suddenly, he wasn’t Bagoas at all. He was Khayman. The vampire laughed, showing his small but razor sharp teeth. His face came closer and closer, until it seemed mere inches from my own. He whispered something, and this time I heard it.

“Great king, you are mine.”

My eyes snapped open. But they may as well have remained shut, for wherever I was was pitch black. And hot. I was covered in sweat. I slowly sat up, and realised that I had been lying on some sort of stone tablet, naked. I tried to stand up, but as soon as my feet touched the ground, I collapsed. Still too weak. The floor was dirt, and covered in sweat as I was, I could feel the grime sticking to me. I wanted more then anything to have a bath, a long, cool bath.

“Bagoas…” I croaked. My voice echoed pitifully. The room I was in was huge. It suddenly occurred to me that I wasn’t in my tent. I was somewhere else, and I was alone.

“Bagoas!” I called again, my voice stronger this time. No answer. My head was swimming with confused thought’s. “Where am I?” being the most prominent. I leant against the stone tablet, and tried to clear my mind. Abruptly it came to me…I was in my own tomb. My mouth opened and I let out one, long scream, before the darkness inside my mind overtook me, and I fainted.

When I awoke again, I knew immediately that I was not alone. I could feel the presence of Khayman, hovering above me, though I couldn’t see him. I sat up, groggily, and tried to pull myself up on to the tone tablet. The vampire reached down to help me, but I roughly snatched my hand away and struggled by myself. Impossible, and I knew it. I was much too weak. With a frustrated sigh I slumped back down on the floor, and then allowed him to lift me up gently and lay me down on the cool stone. It felt good against my hot, sweaty back, and for a moment I just lay there, relishing the coolness.

“So full of pride, my king,” Khayman murmured softly, and for the first time since I had met him, his voice was without mockery when he called me his king. He reached out and stroked my hair, and his fingers, like the stone tablet, felt good.

“Why am I here?” I asked, staring into the darkness, wishing I could see the fiend.

“Because, you are about to die,” he answered simply. I knew those words should have struck terror into my heart, but strangely, they didn’t. I accepted them calmly, and asked another question.

“Is Bagoas safe?” this seemed to surprise him. His hand drew away for a moment, and I heard him sigh before he answered,

“But of course, my lord. I would never hurt him against your wishes.” The mockery in his voice was back, but I believed him nonetheless. He knew that if Bagoas had been hurt, I would never have forgiven him.

His hand returned, this time stroking my chest, then my stomach. Despite my weakness, I could feel myself responding to his touches. A moan escaped my lips when his hand travelled down to find my inner thigh, and my breathing became heavier as it reached my man-hood.

“Alexander, you will soon forget him, you will forget them all. I will be the only one for you, my king, my love. Bagoas, the servant, he means nothing.” Khayman had lain himself down on top of me, and began to kiss my neck gently. I could feel myself becoming spellbound, caught up in the magic.

“I am everything to you, my Alexander. Only I can give you this pleasure, only I can give you this power. Succumb to me, my love! Forget everything else, I am your world now.”

His hand was working me gently, I was quickly losing all reason. His silken lips travelled down my neck, teasing my collar bone. I felt his tongue dart out to caress the hollow of my neck.

“Oh God…” I moaned, as his hand worked me faster and faster.

“I am your god now, Alexander,” he replied, “I am everything. I hold the power now, but you can have it too. Do you want it?” His teeth grazed my throat, I was beyond the point of no return. My mind was clouded with erotic images, my body coursed with pleasure.

“Yes!” I gasped as I neared climax. I felt the indescribable sting of his teeth entering me, the pain mingling with the pleasure. He started drawing on me, taking away more and more of my life. I knew I was about to die, I knew that this time he would not stop after a few mere mouthfuls. But I didn’t care, I was nearing orgasm, and my mind was swirling. Just as I was sure that I could not take any more, that I had to come or die, he stopped drinking, pulling away roughly. I screamed in agony and ecstasy and felt him press his wrist against my mouth. As the first drops of his hot blood touched my tongue, I reached climax. I sucked and sucked, eagerly drinking the elixir, as I writhed around on the tablet, overcome with wave after wave of rapture. It seemed I drank an ocean of blood before he wrenched his wrist away from my grasp, and I lay back spent.

I closed my eyes, suddenly horrified at what had just happened. I wanted to scream, to jump up and run the length of the room, to beat against the stone walls with my bare fists, but I was too weak…Suddenly I sat bolt upright. I was no longer ill! The weakness that had tormented me for so long was gone! I jumped up off the tablet, and for the first time in a month could stand steadily by myself.

I danced around joyfully, relishing the strength I felt. I jumped high into the air, leaping and turning about as if I were a boy again.

“Khayman!’ I called happily, “Dance with me, my love, come to me, oh can there ever be words enough to thank you for what you’ve given me?”

I felt him catch me around the waist, and hold me close. “Shh, Alexander,” he whispered. “Stop jumping around like a fool for a moment and see.” I couldn’t understand what he meant for a moment, and then my eyes widened. The room, which had been pitch dark a moment ago, was suddenly illuminated as if by a thousand candles, though there were none. I could see the heavy stone doors, the tapestries covering the walls. But what intrigued me most, was this new vision of Khayman.

I reached out and touched the white skin of his face. “Khayman, my love…why do you look so different? What has changed?”

He laughed and took my fingers away. “It is not I that has changed, my king, only your perception of me. You are a vampire now, and this is but one of the many, many changes you will experience.” I stared at him blankly, mouthing his words, unable to form them. He kept talking, though I was barely listening. “The new vision, ah, that is just a start. Strength, power, the kill…It is all awaiting you, Alexander, and I will be the one to show you. I’ll lead you, and together we will be gods!”

I backed away from him, stumbling against the stone tablet. I finally found my voice. “I…am a vampire?” I whispered. Khayman nodded, seemed confused.

“Yes, my love, you are what I am. A creature of the night. A dark god…” he trailed off, seeing that his words were having no affect.

“A vampire,” I repeated. “You mean, I have too…drink blood? Like you did too me?” My head was spinning again, and suddenly the room seemed claustrophobic. ‘A vampire, a vampire’ my thoughts kept chanting, ‘one of him’

Khayman was approaching me cautiously. “You will feed on humans, yes, so you can survive,” he was saying, “but surely you knew that?”

I couldn’t bare it any more. I had to be out of the room, into the cold air of the night. With a strangled cry I ran past him and burst through the heavy stone doors.

“Alexander!” I heard him call, but I ignored him. I was running into the woods, further and further away from him, until I stopped in the middle of nowhere and let out an almighty roar. I screamed and cried and thrashed around, tears blurring my vision, my throat becoming horse, until finally I felt his arms surround me, calm me, hold me still.

“Khayman…Help me,” I sobbed brokenly. I was not the king of Macedonia, the king of the world, anymore. I was broken, and horrified, all euphoria gone, leaving behind an ugly black hole. I was a monster, a demon. A vampire.

“Alexander, it gets better,” he whispered. “Come, come back to the tomb. Come with me, my love. My great king, my lord. Let me be your god still. Let me guide you.” I allowed him to gather me up and take me back to the tomb. He once again lay me down on the tablet, this time lying down beside me. He continued whispering words of assurance, vows that it would get better, that I was bound to be confused and scared on the first night, but that I was the great king, the ruler of the world, and I would get through this, be stronger for it all.

“Tomorrow evening I will take you out to feed,” he was saying, “and you will realise your own greatness. But for now, sleep my love. I am here beside you, I am your god, and you are my king. Together, we rule the world.” I was listening dreamily, drifting off into a death-like sleep. Khaymans usual worshipful yet patronising words lulling me into the blackness, until it finally swallowed me up, and I was at peace a last. And so began my existence as a vampire.


2

The next night, Khayman took me out for my first kill. Of course, by this I don’t mean I had never killed a human being before, I’d killed countless by my thirty-third year, but killing as a vampire…that was another matter. I was reluctant at first, scared and confused still, but Khayman knew exactly what to say to me to make me proceed. Only now, years later, do I realise how he constantly manipulated me, told me what I needed to hear…but more on that later. What he said to me was, very simply, that I had always killed to survive, only now I would do it in much more direct way. The unfortunate victim would be giving his life to the king of the world, a worthy cause.

We exited the tomb again, and sped too fast for human eyes to see to the farthest reaches of the camp, away from the main throng of the caravans. There Khayman chose an old merchant, one of the many travellers tagging along with my army hoping to sell to the soldiers. (My army…when I never have the right to use that term again.) He was alone, which was perfect for us, sitting beside a desolate little fire. Khayman crept up behind him, playing the demon for me, and took hold of him quickly, blocking his mouth to cut off the inevitable scream. He gestured to me and hesitantly I approached, unsure of myself still.

“Alexander, you are King of the world! You are a god! Walk like you know what you are, leave the night time creeping for me. You are my king, act like it” Ah, the level of manipulation, the way he played me as though I were an instrument, to be tuned to his liking. But again I did as he said. I strode into the clearing as if I were walking on to the battle field, my head thrown back and my arms swinging. As I came into the firelight I saw the mans eyes widen, and with my skills as a soldier coupled with the new found instincts of a vampire I knew that he was petrified, and would not run.

“Release him,” I commanded Khayman, slipping easily into the role of king. Khayman obeyed, slinking off quickly out of the light. I stood in front of the merchant and said one word.

“Kneel.” The poor old man was terror stricken. He was on his knees so fast that at first I’d thought he’d fallen. I gazed down at him for a long moment, considering what I was about to do, considering all that had happened to me, considering my future. Then all reason left me, and I felt a bloodlust one hundred times what I had ever felt in battle. I was an animal, my mind was focused on one thing and one thing only, his blood.

I dropped to my knees in front of him and seized him roughly, breaking his neck I think. Just before I sank my teeth into his throat I looked to Khayman. He was standing in the shadows, looking on coldly. When I caught his eye he nodded almost imperceptibly and whispered, so that only I could hear, “My king”

It was enough. I closed my eyes and tore into the merchants throat, tasting for the first time the blood which I had let flow from countless men in war. It flowed into my mouth, hot and rich, the mans very essence, his life. I could feel it rushing through my veins, filling my mind with images I could never understand. I had my eyes shut tight, and I half-noticed that I’d slipped to the ground, lying cradling the body. I heard his heart thumping louder and louder until it was almost thunder in my ears. I heard it slowing, pounding it’s own death-beat until the rhythm had stopped almost completely.

Suddenly I felt Khaymans strong grasp ripping me away from the man. I tumbled back into his arms and lay on the ground with him, staring at the dead merchant lying in the dust. The sensation of power, of greatness was gone, and I was left feeling empty, despite the hot blood flowing through my veins.

“He’s dead, my king. You mustn’t drink after they die. But you did remarkably well, lord, I can see the true king shining through you, you were born to command, you were born for this power…”

At the first ‘My king’ I tore away from him and went to stand on the other side of the fire, staring into the dancing flames.

“I am no king.” I said flatly. He rose to come to me, but I stopped him with a glare.

“Alexander, you are not just a king, you are a god…” he attempted feebly. I couldn’t stand it. I’d had enough of his patronising.

“I am no king!” I yelled, “I have no place in the lives of my former subjects! I am a dead thing, dead like that man lying there!”
“No! you are living, full of vitality Alexander-”

I walked over to him and took his face in my hands, forcing him to look in my eyes.

“This is not life.” I whispered, “It is not life that quickens our limbs and allows us this existence. Khayman, do you not see? We are dead. You have brought me into death.” I moved my face closer to his, until our lips were all but touching, “You have damned me, my dark god. You have killed all that you wanted in me. You have killed the king of Macedonia.”

I let go of him and moved away, back towards the fire. He was staring at me in seeming confusion, his smooth white brow furrowed.

“Alexander, you don’t know what you are saying…”

“Oh, but I do. It is you who are lost, beautiful demon, bringer of death.” I reached down to the man and took his knife, quite a beautiful Grecian worked weapon. “This blade, it cannot harm me, am I right?” Khayman nodded, at a loss. I turned the blade in the light of the fire, watching the flames reflected in its smooth surface, then quickly I drove it into my heart, up to the hilt.

Oh, the pain was awful! I felt it was magnified a thousand times due to my new vampiric senses. But I held the knife tight to my chest, resisting the urge to rip it out and cast it away.

Khayman rushed towards me, reaching for the handle but I yelled hoarsely “Stay back!” and he stopped, hovering uncertainly in front of me. “I should be dead right now, I should be in my tomb, and if not, this knife should be killing me right now. But I still stand!” I could feel the skin healing, closing up around the blade, but I had lost a lot of blood. “What is it? What is it that does this to me? What power makes my skin as white as yours, what power brings me from my death bed and turns me into walking death?” I was screaming at him, tears streaking down my face, and as I wiped them away, I noticed that they too were tainted with this blood.

“Alexander, my love if you won’t be my king, please, calm down, stop asking these things that I myself do not know the answers too! I don’t know how I came to be this thing, this walking death, as you put it. I have no memory before I saw your face, no history before I heard your voice, only that I was meant to serve a great king, a great king such as yourself. Other then that, I do not know! Stop tormenting the both of us with these questions and just be mine, be my companion, my lover, my only peace. Accept what is yours, let your past be mine, let us find some sort of happiness together,” I could not believe what I had heard. ‘No memory, no history…” He knew nothing…nothing.

I collapsed to the ground, and Khayman came to my side, gathering me into his arms. “My love, I’m going to take this knife out, and it is going to hurt. Be warned” with that, he wrenched the blade from my chest, reopening the closed wound and sending another flood of warm blood down my chest. He quickly covered the gaping hole, but the damage had been done. I felt light-headed, felt myself drifting away.

“Khayman…” I murmured, and then I saw him bite into his own wrist, shoving it into my mouth. I sucked greedily, taking all the blood he had to offer before he gently pulled away.

“Alexander, you need more blood. Let me bring you another victim, please,” Khayman’s tone was so soft, so plaintive, and the thought of more blood was almost too good to refuse, but I shook my head.

“No, please, take me back to the tomb, my Khayman. I feel no urge to be Lord Death to another innocent tonight.”

I felt him sigh above me, then he made a small sound of assent. He held me tight to him, and then I vaguely noticed that we were moving swiftly through the night until we were back at my tomb. He lay me down, and then lay beside me, entwining his limbs in mine.

“My lover,” he breathed into my ear “My soul, my world, my…king.” I nodded and yielded to his embrace, accepting his kisses.

“My dark god,” I replied. “My death.”