Friday, June 2, 2017

Chapter 6 of Book 1 of 3 as a sample read

Chapter 6

Demetrio left early for the airport, early enough to avoid his guests, especially Bekka. He was afraid that seeing her again might give him second thoughts about leaving for Merida, about Rose, about his 200 year-old dedication. He still had trouble with his feelings for Bekka. It had only been a few days, and he thought he loved her. He had always been sure of his love for Rose. Until that night. 
On the beach. With Bekka. Maybe his “dedication” should be understood as an “obsession,” but what would that say about him?   “Dedication” is the behavior of a gentleman. He had been raised to be a gentleman at all costs, and a good one, given what passes for such in the 21st century. “Obsession” is the behavior of an idiot.  The thought that he might be an idiot made him feel strange, but how would he know? Who would confront him with such information? 
If Rose was not ready to come back to him this time, then he would re-visit the issue with a new perspective. Maybe he would refuse to have her back at this point, with his new love developing so fiercely.  So quickly.  Too quickly? 
He thought to himself, “Did I just say the word love? It cannot be,” he further thought, “I just met the woman. Sure, we had a few minutes of torrid sex – torrid and wonderful and exciting sex – but that is not love.” He could not keep her out of his mind; he kept replaying the way she looked at him, the way she spoke, the way she moved, the smell of her skin.
“Okay,” he said to himself, “but that was not just sex either. There’s definitely something about her that fascinates me. I admit it.” What kind of cosmic irony would it be to fall in love with another woman right at this very moment? He was getting a chance to win Rose back, and nothing was going to prevent him from doing that. Keeping Rose in his mind helped ease Bekka from his thoughts.
Surely, Rose would be able to sense a half- hearted attempt at reconciliation; she had been uncanny in her ability to read him when they were together. That was one of the reasons everything was so right between them; she just seemed to understand how he was feeling. Determined to win Rose, he left without saying goodbye to Bekka. He would later regret that decision.
As Demetrio sat on the airplane from Leon to Merida, he thought back to when he first met Rose. She was only 20 at the time and beautiful.  Her grandfather had come from Ireland to Mexico to make his fortune and stayed when he fell in love with a village girl. His red hair and freckles were handed down to her father and then to her, which made her quite exotic.
That red curly hair, ivory skin, and freckles caught his attention in the colonial town of Dolores that fateful September night in 1810 when Father Hildago pushed for war against the Spanish crown. Demetrio had been under the impression that the rebellion was set for December. 
A few weeks prior, Col. Ignacio Allende, who lived across the street from Demetrio and was privy to all that transpired in the Queretaro political meetings, had included him in the conspiracy. But something had happened.  Demetrio was not ready. He had only come to Dolores to discuss the potential war against the crown with Father Hildago, and here the good Father was, screaming with indignation. And there was Rose, right beside him.
She stood out, a beacon in the crowd of Indians and Mestizos. She wore a long dress made of the finest cottons. Odd, he thought, usually a woman of her status would be running from the rebels instead of joining them. But along with Father Hidalgo’s cries for justice, hers was one of the loudest. 
He kept his eyes only on her when he approached her. She darted her eyes back and forth from Hidalgo to him. She noticed his height, over six feet, tall for a Mexican; his long shoulder-length hair was streaked with silver. She smiled at him when he was only a few feet away and said, “Don Demetrio, what a pleasure it is to see that you have joined our cause.”
He replied, “You have me at a disadvantage. You know me, but I do not know you.” She bowed to him and offered her hand and said, “I am Rose, but who doesn’t know Don Demetrio from San Miguel de Grande? We are going to march to your home town and run the Spanish out.”
He responded, “Indeed! Your parents will not be worried?” She did not answer as the gathering crowd began to march, with their clubs, pitchforks, and machetes. He noticed that she wielded her machete far more gracefully than those around her; it seemed like an extension of her arm.
As she began to walk away, she looked over her shoulder at him and said, “Well, I guess I could use an escort. My parents are long dead, and I am quite alone.” 
He looked into her dark, impenetrable eyes and said, “I am sorry, I meant no offense.”
 “You did not know,” she said by way of an apology for her abruptness, “but, will you kindly see that no harm comes to me?”
He could not resist her smile, so he agreed. Truly, he thought, a woman such as this knew how to take care of herself. He started to worry when the crowd approached San Miguel de Grande and grew angrier, larger, and louder. As they entered the town, the unruly crowd unleashed its fury.
Demetrio was shocked to see his hometown ransacked. He looked to Father Hidalgo to quell the crowd, but instead Hidalgo incited them even more. 
“Of course,” thought Demetrio, “Spain destroyed Hildago just a few years ago. He is finally venting his hatred.” Five years earlier, after losing the battle of Trafalgar, the Spanish crown looked for resources from anywhere and destroyed the fortunes of many, Hildago included. 
In addition to his problems with the crown, Hildago had difficulties with the church: he did not believe in hell, and he did believe in sex.  Hildago needed a new world and was intent upon making one. Demetrio looked around for the more reasonable Col. Allende to take control of the situation but could not find him.
The young Rose, whom he tried with sporadic success to keep by his side, was fending off Spanish attackers. Demetrio quickly fetched a machete from a dead rebel and rescued her.
“This is getting out of hand. My home is not far away. Let me take you there for safety’s sake,” he said as he tried to pull her towards his house.
She pulled her hand out of his and retorted, “Safety is only for the old, Demetrio.” She took the machete from his hand and left him to dispatch the group of soldiers more permanently while she went off with several rebels to storm a large house.
He followed her, reluctantly. He knew the owners of that house. They had been made arrogant by their wealth, but they did not deserve to be slaughtered like pigs.
After San Miguel de Grande was taken, the cries for plunder became louder, and Father Hidalgo shouted for the group to march on towards Celaya. By then, the crowd had grown larger with looters who were more interested in gathering treasure than the rebellion itself. Demetrio was relieved when the town fathers of Celaya surrendered their homes in return for a safe passage.
That night, Father Hidalgo, Col. Allende, and the rebels celebrated their victory in the local cantinas and in the former homes of the oppressors. Demetrio sat at a table with Col. Allende, who was somber and nervous and quite blatantly not in the mood for conversation, so he looked for Rose and saw her dancing a corrido with some of the rebel men.
She saw him and came to his table after her dance. She sat down to share his bottle of wine, and Col. Allende immediately stood, wished Demetrio a fine night and walked away. 
Rose rolled her eyes at Allende’s back as he departed, then teased Demetrio, “I guess I have you to thank for my life.”
He, made bold by the events of the last 24 hours, touched her cheek and said, “I think you did fine all by yourself. I do not mean to pry, but how have you managed alone, without parents?  You are so young.”
She looked up at him and replied, “I was a seamstress at a factory in Guanajuato. Then I was hired out to clients’ homes and sewed their curtains and made dresses for the Doñas.”
He looked at her with shock and said, “You are too beautiful for such tasks.”
She replied, “My male clients thought so as well, which is why I had to leave so many times. They were all married but pestered me without end – for one thing only. I was not good enough to marry into their Spanish families. An orphan daughter of immigrants is nothing to them but a possible mistress. I have no dowry or position to offer their sons.”
He caressed her creamy, soft cheek and said to her, “A rose by any other name is still a rose.”
She enjoyed his advance and replied as she took his hand and kissed it, “No flattery is necessary but welcome.”
Later, after their torrid and violent love making in a bedroom that was not his, Demetrio stood naked by the window with the curtains drawn. He watched the moon shine its pale light upon her sleeping body. He admired how her red hair stood out against it, scattered across the pillows.
He stared at the full moon while holding the pendant around his neck. He wanted to tell her what he was, but it was far too soon for such a conversation. He knew he would have to tell her eventually because he was madly in love with her and would not be able to keep secrets.
He did not know what possessed him to immediately give his heart and soul to her. He knew nothing of her at all, yet he had given her everything that was his to give. Love was truly mysterious; he felt like a schoolboy because he had fallen in love in one day.
He saw her stirring on the bed; as she turned over, her beautiful dimpled ass was revealed to him. He was immediately aroused by this and climbed back into bed lightly kissing her back. She woke up and said, “Ready for another round, are you?”
He did not respond but trailed his kisses downward to her dimpled cheeks and slid his tongue between her legs. She moaned and grabbed his hair, “You are not the shy one, are you?” She enjoyed his warm, wet tongue kissing and licking her and wanted more of him, “I swallowed your seed the first time. I cannot bear to get pregnant, so please sodomize me.”
There were many torrid and erotic nights of passion and pleasure between them. They spoke about running away together, but Demetrio was close to Father Hidalgo and would not leave his side.
Some of his friends, the ones who had remained in San Miguel, knew Rose and warned him to avoid her because she had caused trouble in the households in which she had been employed. He ignored their advice; he felt he knew the real story behind the “trouble.”
With over 50,000 rebels following, Father Hidalgo and Col. Ignacio de Allende took the town of Guanajuato in a single day. Demetrio remembered Col. de Allende trying to quell the looters and trying to stop senseless massacres, to no avail. He saw Father Hidalgo and Allende arguing about the treatment of the Spanish. To Allende, the treatment was brutal, and this was not an honorable battle, but Hidalgo saw the brutality as vengeance and continued to encourage the rioters.
The town was in complete chaos. Spanish homes were looted and set ablaze, and in some cases, entire families were executed. Rose took part in the slaughter with delight as she had many scores to settle in this town. Demetrio was aghast that the uprising for independence, that was once so noble, had become a massacre. The thousands of peasants who had joined the movement were now an unruly mob. Demetrio thought, “There is no use. They have all gone crazy with blood-lust. Father Hidalgo has gone mad.”
Then other battles followed. Each time, Rose stayed close to her hombre as she had begun to call him. He loved her volatility; her nature would change almost daily. Sometimes, she was submissive and obedient, and at other times, she was aggressive and assertive. These were traits that he enjoyed when she brought them into their lovemaking. It was like making love to two different women at the same time, which confused him morally but physically excited the raw male instinct inside him.
Then came the battle of Calderon Bridge. The new war had begun to turn. Hidalgo and Allende had won a battle near Mexico City, and Allende wanted to push on and invade the city, but Hidalgo did not. With half the rebel army under Hidalgo’s command, Allende had to retreat. That was a crucial mistake.
Later, the rebel army had to take a defensive stand outside of Guadalajara at a place called Calderon Bridge. After six hours of fighting cavalry and infantry, the battle had turned in favor of the rebels until a cannon shot hit the munitions dump. The giant explosion killed hundreds and scattered the rebels. Demetrio and Rose, who were fighting side by side, were near the edge of the explosion.
“Stay close to me!” Demetrio demanded. He was about to grasp her hand when a shot exploded into his side.
“Demetrio!” Rose screamed. She saw Demetrio stagger as a Spanish soldier came upon her with his one-shot musket emptied. He was ready to run her through with his fixed bayonet. She screamed as the soldier rushed towards her, but the soldier fell at her feet, shot dead by a bullet to the head.
She saw Demetrio, bleeding from a gaping wound, standing with his pistol drawn. He was not in any pain, and his wound was quickly healing itself. She screamed, “What kind of devil are you?”
He tried to hide the wound with his hand. “Rose, I can explain.”
“You are the devil! Get away from me!” she shouted, as she ran off into the mass of retreating rebel crowds.
Later, after the retreat, Demetrio searched throughout the war-torn area but could not find her. Each time he encountered a witness, their information led him to a dead-end. He had found both Father Hidalgo and Col. de Allende, still arguing about the aftermath. Allende was actually arresting Hildago, under what authority Demetrio did not know. 
The tension between the two men had bloomed into hatred.  Demetrio respected Allende as much as he loved Father Hildago, and he did not intervene in their current dispute. He asked them about Rose; neither had seen her. They said they were going north, but they urged him to follow the retreat. Disillusioned, he went back home, hoping to find her there.
Months later, he heard the news that both Hidalgo and Allende had been captured and executed. He was afraid that his Rose had met the same fate. He sat in a somber mood in his study when he heard someone urgently pounding the metal door knocker on the large wooden gate. Usually, he would have asked who was there before opening them, but he was in a foul mood, and so he abruptly opened them to a startled, old nun.
He tried to calm her by saying, “Forgive me, Sister, for my manners. I am presently preoccupied with other matters.”
The nun answered solemnly, “I know, Demetrio.”
He studied her face but did not recognize her and said, “I am sorry, but I do not know you.”
The nun swallowed the fear that she had in her throat and replied, “What I am about to tell you will come as a great shock. I can assure you it was a great shock to me as well. I will first share a bit of information so that you will know the truth and understand that I am not crazy.”
Demetrio tried to read the nun’s mind but, like Rose, the nun was mentally strong, so he was not able. He saw desperation in her eyes, and that alone was enough for him to pity her. “Come in,” he told her. The two sat in the private chapel on the third level as she told him her incredible story, and that she was, in fact Father Hidalgo.
“God had seen my arrogance and pride and the destruction and death that I caused. True, I had started the revolution in earnest, but my madness carried me away. When the Eagle King left my soul in the body of a dying nun a week ago, I thought I was being resurrected. I quickly found out that the nun had been suffering from a high fever for days. I surmised that her soul had already left her. Although I am a woman now, I thought it would be inappropriate for me to stay there when I became well. They told me your secret, the secret between you and the church. So is it true? Are you a vampire?”
Demetrio corrected her and said, “A White Vampire. Father, please do not confuse the two, and you said you had something else to tell me.”
“I know where Rose is, Demetrio.” The nun told him the terrible news that Rose had been captured as a spy and was slated to be executed in Guadalajara in five days.
Demetrio hurried to the stables and saddled his horse and rode off. With no train to take, he kept trading one horse for another until he arrived five days later on a moonless night. This was perfect for Demetrio because his powers, with no moon at all, would be at their strongest.
He had never used his vampire skills to kill anyone before. During the battles he had waged with the rebels, he had fought as a regular man and never encountered a situation in which he allowed his true nature to take control of him.
Rose was being held inside an old mission. Thankfully, with the war temporarily at a standstill, there were not too many guards around. The mission was protected by a surrounding stone wall. Most of the guards protected the main entrance while a few soldiers patrolled along the top of the wall. He had the ability to go through the front gate and kill everyone inside, but that tactic would surely result in Rose’s death once an alarm was sounded.
He waited for the soldier on the walkway to pass, and then he extended his nails and scaled the wall quickly to the top. From that position, he could survey the fortifications inside and also the gallows that held three nooses. He was making his plans when, suddenly, he heard a scream from one of the cells.
It was Rose; they were dragging her out, along with two other men, to the nooses. He had no time for stealth. To save her, he had to be brutal, savage, quick, and unleash himself like a mad dog.  
He had seen about twenty soldiers present. The two dragging Rose had made their way to the steps of the gallows. First, he needed to take the guards along the walkway. His fangs protruded fully, and he used his supernatural speed to leap upon the guards and tear their throats out as he passed each one in a fury. 
As the soldiers on the gallows fastened the noose around their prisoners’ necks, an officer shouted and someone rang a bell to alarm the other soldiers. “Quick! He is here for the prisoners. Hang them now!”
A soldier reached for the lever to free the trap door from under their feet. White Vampires cannot fly, but they command the gravity around themselves, so Demetrio used his energy to land safely next to the man and twisted his head so violently that it turned completely backwards.
The commanding officer saw the terrible scene, and even the men who were being hanged shouted, “El Diablo, el Diablo!”
Only Rose shouted his name, “Demetrio!”
Even with his great speed and strength, Demetrio was overtaken by five guards who had responded to their commander’s alarm. Two of the men had pistols and fired at his mid-section while another stabbed him with his sword.
He had to act quickly, as even a vampire could be killed by natural means if he were damaged enough. The gallows were twelve feet off the ground, and he had enough fight left in him to throw himself among the oncoming guards who rushed to finish the hanging. Demetrio snatched a pistol as he stood over them on the steps and fired at their heads. Then he heard the trap door spring open and turned to see a soldier moving the platform lever, and he screamed, “Rose, no!”
The three were hanging, but the fall did not snap their necks since no weights had been fastened to their feet. They were being slowly strangled and tortured while swinging in the wind. Demetrio reached down for a sword and flung it at the soldier; the blade struck the soldier in the gut, but even as blood dripped from his mouth, he said, “It is too late, Diablo. We have hung your bruja and her acolytes.”
Other soldiers quickly arrived and began firing their long guns at Demetrio, but the sight of Rose slowly dying, slowly choking to death, incited him with such anger and furious purpose that he rushed screaming at the remaining men. He gnashed his fangs on one man’s neck so fiercely that he tore it open, exposing his gelatinous thyroid. He then grabbed the ankle of another soldier, and with his great strength swung him like a club at the soldiers who fell like dominos until none stood.
He looked at his beloved, the rope swinging her still body slowly back and forth along with the other two men. Wounded and staggering from the bullets, he made his way to the gallows in tears, softly saying, “No es cierto, mi amor.”
He cut the rope and loosened her body to confirm that she was dead. He held her over his knee on the gallows’ platform. He buried his head in her hair and breathed her in as he caressed her soft cheeks and then cried into her breasts and held her tightly. He thought about his parents’ death, and the great pain he felt as he watched them, tied together to a post, burn in a blaze of fire. He thought that he also was going to die and felt it was best to die alongside his love.
Then he heard more soldiers approaching outside the walls. He had to make a decision – to die with her or to drink her blood to heal himself, which would also condemn her to life as a White Vampire and keep her with him for eternity. Things did not turn out the way he had expected.
As he sat on the plane remembering, he wondered why Rose would risk meeting him on a full moon, a spring equinox no less, at the Chichen Itza temple outside of Merida. It had always amazed him that she had been able to survive all these years without instruction about the dangers of the moon. It had never been a problem for him because of the pendant, but it should have been a problem for her.
Somehow, she had learned how to live on her own and was taking this risk to meet him. He thought about how Bekka looked like Rose, only older, and wondered if that was his immediate draw to her. If Rose had not returned, he knew he would have been happy with Bekka.
After a long day of travel – from San Miguel de Allende to Leon to Mexico City and finally to Merida – he grabbed a taxi at the airport and drove the 80 miles on the highway that cut almost straight through dry scrub forest towards Valladolid and Cancun, and suddenly, Chichen Itza loomed above the treetops.
He chose to stay at the Mayaland, a beautiful colonial-style hotel surrounded by acres of gardens within walking distance to both the 500-year-old town of Piste and the temples.
After he checked into his room, he ordered room service and unpacked. He was meeting Rose the following morning by the swimming pool for breakfast. He thought it was best to turn off the questions in his mind about why he was there. In the morning, he would have answers.
Rose lay in her bed and reminisced about her arrival in San Miguel de Grande. She had come from Mexico City with another bruja because the town was rumored to be a sacred place. San Miguel de Grande, as it was called then, was not very large, but the Holy Three Rivers traveled underneath it. And most important, it had the sacred Temple of Hearts that secretly lay just outside of town.
Only those who dealt with the undead and other dark magic knew the temple was there, so they had to be careful not to fall under the seduction of evil. Only the most experienced went there in the dead of night, just as Rose and her companion had on this night. They climbed the hill carrying heavy sacks that made the hike, already long, even more tiring. They sweated and panted until they reached the top. They laid down their cloth sacks on the flat ground and rested.
Rose had been suffering from a malady, probably cursed by another bruja, and this malady caused her soul to split; one half was still Rose, but the other half had been inhabited by a very dark soul who called herself “La Malinche.”
Rose preferred to call her dark half Rosa and thought to herself, as she lay on her hotel bed two stories above Demetrio, things have not changed that much. She laughed out loud. Back then, she was seeking power, and now she was seeking even more. There was only one person in all of the Americas more powerful – her lover, Itza.
As she reflected on the past, she remembered the aged bruja whom she had asked to help to restore her soul. In her youthful ignorance, she initially thought that in a battle of souls, only one could survive. The bruja had taken her to shamans and other brujas to find a solution. They had given her the prayers, items, and the instructions she would need. The most difficult of these was obtaining three human hearts.
Brujas were not killers. The two had taken the hearts from the freshly dead at the local cemetery. The women were discovered after they had cut out the last heart and ran off when the night watchman came by and shouted his alarm.
They had climbed the hill where the sacred Temple of Hearts was buried. When Cortez and the Spanish had ravaged the lands and torn down the temples, the Indians had buried this one temple to hide it because it was where they had taken the most sacred hearts.
The old bruja said, “It was here that the real La Malinche was sacrificed. Before her sacrifice, she had caused a blood bath; it was a terrible night, la noche triste. They say that the wails of women were heard for miles. She relished the pain she had caused. It was her revenge against the Aztecs who had massacred her village and made her and her sister slaves. Her soul is strong and now dwells inside you.” 
She had said that if the ceremony was done right, Rose would be rid of her. The old bruja continued, “When the new millennium and its sixteenth year arrives on the fall equinox, her spirit will be released once again to devour her enemies.”
Rose said, “Too bad neither of us will be alive to see that.”
The older bruja replied, “Unless you are a vampire. But that is a dangerous combination.”
The old bruja searched their sacks and placed a combination of stones that formed a small table on the ground. She set the wooden bowl on the table and began her chant in a mixture of Spanish and Nahuatl.
Rose had thought, even back then, that she wanted to be more than a person with remedies and herbs for ailments and love spells for ugly people. She wanted to be loved. She wanted to be powerful. She wanted to be a Queen, and she wanted to live forever.
Rose never forgot the look on the old bruja’s face when she opened the box and saw only two hearts. All the while that Rose was learning how to rid herself of her other soul, Rosa, the two had grown close, inseparable really, and now they worked together to fuse their strength. 
According to Rosa, if they could capture a beating heart at this specific spot at this very moment, they could perform the fusing ceremony, and Rose would never have to live in some dusty hut conjuring spells for little or nothing and healing people who preferred to be sick. Rose pulled out a knife and plunged it deeply into the old woman’s liver and said, “I believe we need a beating heart for this. I cannot have you destroy my spirit – let us liberate my good friend La Malinche.”
Rose had wanted, back then, to couple with Rosa, just as she was happy today to be both a bruja and a White Vampire with the powers and abilities of both. Rosa had tried to talk her out of her plan to become a vampire and warned her then, in 1810, that she would eventually feel the loss of her humanity and would grieve for it. “Some vampires never get over it; they spend eternity grieving, lost, and hoping to die – afraid to die.” Rose never felt a thing. 
She wondered if Demetrio would have loved her or turned her if he had known that she was a bruja possessed by a ancient soul. She remembered how much she had manipulated him, so that she could achieve the power she had today. “I got what I wanted that night he brought me back to life, and I had no further use of him.”
She remembered storming off, away from the fort, pretending horror and anger, and she remembered how he had followed her, crying his “I am sorry” over and over again. “What a pathetic, narcissistic man he was,” she said to the soap commercial on her television screen, “and probably still is. But men are, are they not? They think they are so important.”
She stared at the screen and put her cigarette out on an empty crystal plate. The room was non-smoking and had come with no ashtrays. If there was an additional fine for smoking she would pay it, or maybe she would kill the manager if he were rude about it. She thought she should sleep now in her darkened room with the closed curtains.
Demetrio walked to the swimming pool in the morning and asked for a table for two, and the waiter handed him a rose colored envelope that smelled like roses. “Some things never change,” Demetrio thought to himself, remembering her sitting naked at his desk in San Miguel de Grande, red hair loose and free, penning a letter on similar stationary to an old friend in Mexico City. He opened it and recognized her writing as he read her note.
Dearest Demetrio,
Please come to my room 333. I have already ordered a special breakfast for both of us.
Love, Rose
He was thinking, as he walked across the well-manicured lawn to the elevator in the lobby, “How am I going to tell her that I was unfaithful? What if she wants to make love to me now, so soon after I have been with Bekka?”
As the elevator opened, Rose stood there and handed him a Bloody Mary and said, “I thought this an appropriate breakfast drink. Follow me to my suite. I thought it would be better to have breakfast in my room.”
He was surprised to see the tablecloth was black, the napkins white, and the plates and glasses all red Mexican hand-blown glass. There were many candles burning on the table even though it was a bright morning. Also on the table were silver chalices imprinted with the Celtic cross and filled with various liquids and plates of herbs in the center of the table.
This looked too extravagant for the two orders of huevos divorciados that sat there, already cold. He looked at her and said, “Rose, have you finally embraced your Irish heritage? You so rarely spoke to me about it.”
She replied, “That, and many other things that you shall learn of today.”
As he sat down, she leaned over him and picked up some of the herbs on one plate and sprinkled them on his eggs and said, “This is a special herb I found in Salem. I can no longer enjoy food without it. Let me know how you like it.”
Then she poured a liquid from one of the chalices into his Bloody Mary and told him that it would add a kick to his cocktail.
She sat confidently across from him and pretended to do the same to her Bloody Mary and eggs. She then asked him, “So, what has been happening in your life during all of this time we have been apart?”
He felt this was the perfect time to bring up Bekka since it seemed that things were going smoothly between them, just get it out in the air. “I have something important to share with you. I have been using a dating site for my hunts outside of San Miguel de Allende, and I am afraid that I have made some other White Vampires, other than you.”
She looked startled and replied, “How would you know?”
He said, “I did not at first, which is strange, but they found me. I have serious feelings, more than just as a creator, for one of them. ”
She thought to herself that this was going to make things far more complicated than she had anticipated, and as the possible implications unraveled in her mind, she became angry. 
Demetrio mistook her anger for jealousy, “I have loved only you for the last 200 years even though you left me. All I have done since then is think about us, and what might have been if you had not run away. But on this hunt, the woman looked just like you, and I could not control myself. When I realized that if I did not stop draining her blood while penetrating her, she would turn as you did, I left her and hunted twice more and took more blood than I should have. I hope you can forgive me.”
Rose stood up and laughed at him, almost spitting, “You really think I care? Do you? Any part of me that had feelings for you is long gone.  I, as I am now, never loved you. I used you. That day in Dolores when you first saw me, I was looking for you. I had seen you before in San Miguel – so dashing, such a gentleman, and part of me, the weak part, wanted to be with you. I had placed a simple love spell upon you to fall in love with me, and you did, you poor fool. Then I found out you were a White Vampire and waited for you to turn me, so we could be together. I waited, and you said nothing. You waited too long, Demetrio, waited too long to tell me, to know me, and to turn me. Do you remember the night I died? I took a great chance, a gamble that you would come and rescue me. It had to be done just right. We cast a spell asking the Eagle King to take Father Hidalgo’s soul and put it in Sister Helga, so that she would tell you where I was. Do you recall when that soldier called me ‘bruja?’  He was telling you the truth. We planned the whole thing from the very beginning. I promised my followers eternal life after you rescued us, but it did not work out for them. Oh, well. That piece of Rose that was innocent, the piece that felt something for you and constantly nagged me about doing the right thing, died when I died, but she did not return. The innocent Rose died that night. I knew then I did not need you, you arrogant ass, so I pretended to be angry and left. I did not reveal that I was a bruja because I thought I might need you someday, but I never have. You are pathetic.”
  “You know, Rose, you cannot keep calling me ugly names; it is just getting tedious. I already know you are angry; you made your point, so calm down.”
Rose glared at him and said, “Do not tell me what to do, you asshole. You think I was angry with you for turning me, for stealing my afterlife? I only made you think that to keep you away from me.”
“I can kill you now if you would like that.”  Demetrio said, only half joking. 
Rose was unmanageable and rudely said, “Look, asshole, I do not know if I even have a soul anymore. I do not think I get the same afterlife now. I will probably end up in hell because I killed so many people in the 1820’s.”  She sighed and let her face fall into her open hands. 
Demetrio thought that he had an opportunity at that moment to comfort her and perhaps begin the process of healing, but to do so now would seem contrived and hollow. There was something about her that was different than when they were lovers. Demetrio felt like a fool for pining away for this woman for two centuries.
“Those were your choices, Rose; you did not have to kill anyone. Maybe you should start calling yourself ‘bitch’ and add the word ‘murderess’ in front of it. Your rampaging was about revenge and power, not about need, not about hunger. You cannot go crazy like that every time a war does not turn out the way you hoped.  I understand the disappointment; I felt it too.”
Rose almost snorted as she laughed so hard and said, “A war disappointed me? Maybe, for about a month. Then I died, and you turned a, what did you call me? A bitch?  Well, I was a bruja whom you turned into a White Vampire. I am the first one ever known, the first one anyone can remember. The only thing I am angry about is losing four days of every month. I do not like living like this.”
“Rose, you sound like a psychopath, and you joke about being a bruja.”
Rose retorted in a loud voice, “I am a vampire and a bruja. What would you expect?”
Demetrio tried to reason with her by saying, “I am a vampire too, and I do not go around killing people. I just take what I need, cause as little damage as possible, and move on. Why can you not do that?”
Scowling at him, Rose replied, “Because I am not built that way, Demetrio. You have never understood this because you are a delusional romantic idiot, but let me tell you in a way you cannot misunderstand: I am a violent woman, born in a violent land in one of its most violent times. I enjoy making other people suffer and feel pain; I love power because as a woman I had none, except through the favors of men, and you were very, very powerful, so I used you. In the end, we were lovers only because Rose was in love with you, and you would do what I wanted you to do, and I liked having a powerful man in my pocket. Oh, Demetrio, you will never know all of the things I did in your name! You would be outraged. But when I was being hanged and died, I saw a different world, a world in which power was possible for me without a man. It seems funny, now that women have come so far, that I can hurt others without hiding behind a man. But my God, Demetrio, I destroyed women during the war through the use of your position and family name, and you never knew it. Your friends tried, in vain, to tell you how corrupt I was, but you would not listen to them, and then they started dying, disappearing, and you never wondered why; you just thought it was the war. Being your woman was like riding a stallion and breaking him to my will. I am now just as I was before you changed me to the light. I am a woman who enjoys the power to make other people suffer, because that is the only real type of power that exists in this filthy world. I do not understand how you could have been so stupid. It also angered me that you never questioned who I was, only why I had red hair. Would you have loved me if you knew I was a bruja or if I had black hair? Would you have turned me? Hell, you do not even believe me now when I tell you.”
Demetrio gasped; her revelation caused him physical pain. “But the last time I tried to reach out to your mind, you almost let me through.  Why would you do that if all you could feel is hatred?”
Rose laughed, a petty, mean sound, full of contempt, “I was going to let you through because I was doing something I knew would disgust you; I was slowly killing a little girl. She was about 11 –an innocent, awkward child – too young to comprehend her own beauty and so very trusting.  Like a puppy she was, trusting me until the very end, until the very last moment of betrayal. Then her fear was glorious. I sucked up every ounce of it, saw how it came out of her eyes when she realized she was going to die, and she did not know why. She crumbled under my power, and I took every ounce of energy the girl had along with bits of her soul. I almost opened my mind to you just to let you see her die but decided against it. I was thinking that if I wanted to use you again, you had to stay in love with me. But you are of no use Demetrio – you are too soft and too stupid. You could do a lot for me, I suppose, but that fact does not compensate me for the aggravation I feel when I am around you. I feel like I am watching the Special Olympics every time you open your mouth. And besides, you cannot hurt me. I have very powerful friends in your world, and I myself am more powerful than you realize. I have become so because I have exercised my powers and searched for more, flexed my muscles and my mind; I do not sit around waiting for time to bestow power upon me. I take it.”
Demetrio was motionless, horrified, memories flooded through his brain. My God, this woman standing in front of me has had my heart for so long, almost a quarter of my entire life; I would have done anything for her. How could I have missed it? How could I have been so blind? 
In one motion, Demetrio reached out to grab Roses’ throat, to rip it out, but suddenly his vision blurred, weakness overtook him, and he fell to the floor.
Rose looked down on him with contempt and said, “Now do you believe me Demetrio? I have put a curse on you again, and you will do as I say again. I want your pendant so I can survive the full moon, and I want to give your heart to my followers. I am not only a bruja and a White Vampire; I also mingle with the vampires who avoid the light and the only one who is also a bruja.”
And so it was that a man, who had loved a woman for 200 years, found himself betrayed by her very nature, and as he slipped into a deep slumber in another place, his last thoughts were about pursuing the abilities that would enable him to kill her.
She slipped the pendant off his neck and put it on. She had to get him to the main pyramid – also known as El Castillo – with its four staircases running from the top to the bottom of the pyramid's facades, notorious for the bloody human sacrifices that the Mayan’s performed during celebrations of sacrificial rituals. She would need to get him up the steps to the top to cut his heart out as the Moon rose to its apex. Her followers would have to clear a path through the crowd of tourists and shield her from view.
Then she would return to San Miguel de Allende where she now had three new enemies. Finally, she would be rid of this man she no longer needed. But, even in death, the bastard had left her with three new problems – potentially serious problems.
Demetrio opened his eyes and saw Rose, a strange Rose he never knew, standing over him with a knife as the moon rose up behind her. He was powerless to move as she thrust the knife into his breastplate with great force. She commanded him, “Do not die yet. I need you alive for this last part, so hold still; I promise you this will hurt immensely.”
He thought in a flash, “I cannot move, but I can communicate with Rebe.”
As Rose began to carve his heart out he sent his message, “I am not coming back. Rose is killing me, and I do not know if this is forever because I have never died before. If I can return, I will, and I will try to communicate with you, as only you will have the power to hear me. Take care of Bekka and learn from Sister Helga. Be careful. You now have an enemy who wants to destroy the three of you. Her name is Rose. I am sorry, my child.” 
As a grinning Rose offered his heart to the moon, he was dead.

Thursday, October 8, 2015

Book 1 & 2 of the 3 book series.

Our cover painting for book 1 of 3 was made by E.c. Bell. You can see his work on his facebook page with same name. Judith Jenya will do a photograph of it for the book cover designer and then we will auction the painting off for a woman's charity in San Miguel de Allende at our book signing. You can see Judith's work also on her faceook page of the same name.

There is another chapter in this blog with a sample read of Chapter 1 - Book 1.
 Our book summary of book 1:

On a visit to Mexico a mature American woman, Bekka, meets a mysterious silver-haired Mexican man at a nightclub in Puerto Vallarta. After an intense one-night liaison he vanishes and Bekka vows to find him again. In her search she discovers that he met two other women that night, Rebe and Susana. The three women become very quick friends and decide to track down this mysterious man. Bekka felt an emotional and spiritual connection to him, he belonged to her, and she wanted to be with him. She couldn't explain why she felt that way, and Rebe and Susana couldn't figure out why they felt so close to Bekka. The three ladies begin to experience strange dreams and feelings toward each other, a drawing of souls toward one another. They hatch a plot to meet him again, unknowingly throwing themselves into a new beautiful but dark world, a world that few know exists. - the complex and inflexible world of the vampire, or vampiro. Demetrio, as they discovered, was different than other vampires. He could walk in the day, and he could age. He was “A Child of the Light” - a White Vampire whose only weakness was the full moon and only protection was the beautiful pendant he wore. Bekka had hoped to be with him, but as much as he wanted to explore that possibility, he told her the truth - his heart belonged to another and that other had returned to Mexico. He was anxious to reunite with her and had to leave the three women in San Miguel de Allende under the protection of his faithful friend Sister Helga. The Sister would help the three discover their emerging powers and advise them about many future dangers that converged around one name, the one name that would toss their lives into a deeper dark hole - Rose

You can now buy our book as a paper back via this link on Amazon.

A video interview about our book.

A video of a book signing in 2015

Videos made at our book signing March 20, 2016

Interview of Rebecca Fass

Videos of the first book signing in San Miguel de Allende for book1:

Book 2 of 3 is done now & you can buy it as a kindle or hard copy at this link -----

Book signing of Book 2 of 3 in Ajijic October 2017

Tres Vampiras is a series of 3 books. A historical fiction, travelogue and gourmet expedition set in the Corazon de Mexico (the heart of Mexico), San Miguel de Allende, Guanajuato. In book 1 we met Bekka, Susanna and Rebe, three women who are bitten by a White Vampiro named Demetrio.
A White Vampiro has the ability to roam during the day, and only needs a cupful of blood each month. His only weakness was the full moon. He was able to withstand death during the full moon because of the necklace he wore. As the story unfolds, the necklace was taken from him by Rose when she took his heart out in a ritual sacrifice.
In book 1 the three women were left alone to deal with Rose and her evil lover, the night vampire Queen Itza. With the help of Demetrio’s servants, Sister Helga, Eduardo, and friend Julia, the three learned what it meant to be White Vampiras and to use their powers.
Their adventures continue in Book 2. Bekka, Susana and Rebe visit San Diego, La Jolla, Fresno, Rosarito, and Juarez. They use their powers to gain revenge on old adversaries. While in their quest for vengeance they encounter many mysterious figures that are in a war between good and evil and the church’s involvement.
On their journey they meet Johnny, a brujo who kills cats and young women, Anna, another White Vampire Demetrio had bitten, Mr. Dark, the Vampire King of North America, and finally Rose.
The women also come to grips with feelings and urges toward each other; while Susanna and Eduardo deal with their feelings toward each other.

Read Tres Vampiras book 2 and find out what they learn about Bekka’s shocking condition, and the book’s surprising ending. Book 2 contains everything you want in a book; sex, violence and great cooking recipes!

Tres Vampiras
 Book II of III
Rebecca Fass
 Demetrio Aldana

We would like to thank our families and friends who have encouraged us to write this trilogy. We would also like to thank our friends who asked us to use their names, personalities or businesses in our narrative. Sharon Griffin, who did the final  proof reading and co-authored chapter 13, Susana Cox a character in our book who has gone out of her way with helping our book signings.

(Book 1 Kathleen Carroll was our proof reader.)