Bitten by Time (The Vampire Genesis Chronicles Book 1), page 1
Bitten by Time
Lara Bronson
Tacit Press, LLC
Copyright © 2023 Tacit Press, LLC
All rights reserved
The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.
No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher.
Printed in the United States of America
To my readers
“Do you believe in destiny? That even the powers of time can be altered for a single purpose? That the luckiest man who walks on this earth is the one who finds… true love?”
Dracula, Bram Stoker
Chapter 1
“You’re never more aware of your surroundings than when you plan on traveling to a new corner of the world.” The thought brought me back to the Sea-Tac airport café, where I was waiting for my friend and roommate Mei to get us some coffee. Since the numbers on the clock neared two a.m., everything seemed a bit slower than usual, as if time or the perception of it resembled a disoriented sleepwalker’s steps. The barista, in a daze, kept moving the same cup from one place to another, a neighboring coffee drinker missed the sipping hole repetitively, and another traveler gave up entirely as he collapsed in the middle of an airport path. Yes, everyone felt the pressure of sleeplessness—everyone except Mei.
When Mei approached the barista and squeaked her hello, it startled him out of his slumber. She then gave a glorious smile, making him blush though still in a daze, till he heard her order: “I’d like a Venti latte with one vanilla, two pumps of caramel syrup, three pumps of mocha, one pump of raspberry, double blended, with low fat whipped cream, caramel, and mocha drizzle.” Mei knew her favorite recipe so well that she could recite it like an incantation. She turned toward me and mouthed: “What do you want?”
I answered in the same mime style, “an Americano, please. Thank you.” I didn’t want to torment the poor guy even more. He had had enough with one exuberant UW student.
When the barista received my order request, the relief lowered his shoulders. But that’s how Mei was. Her jovial enthusiasm knew no limit, especially since her best friend, aka me, planned on traveling across the ocean to her dream destination. Since Mei and I were roommates at the University of Washington campus, she knew more about me than I learned about myself. So, when she heard I finally took the plunge and bought tickets to Romania, she jumped up and down in excitement.
For some, Romania didn’t seem like a dream destination, but given that my father was Romanian and my Bachelor’s degree was in History, the trip’s significance became apparent. When my dad heard the news, he couldn’t contain his tears as if his daughter planned to become the first solo woman to embark on some kind of ancestral archeological exploration. But let’s be honest, everything they could find on those lands had already been discovered. Nonetheless, Mom had to calm him numerous times until she provided one of her “rejuvenating” teas, and suddenly he got better.
They didn’t think much of the reason behind my decision, considering it a graduation present. But there was a second reason why I chose to leave for a while.
It happened when I least expected it. He was my boyfriend at the time, the one who finally stuck. All prior dates ghosted me like shadows in the night right after our first date, as if something about me spooked them, so they never returned to ask for a second date. But not Elijah. He stayed with me even during finals or when I had a fight with my mom about not coming home for Spring break. We had been dating for several months, and all was so dream-like, but he came on to me one night after a drunken party. I refused to sleep with him because I still wasn’t ready. He tried to force himself on me. He ripped the buttons off my flannel shirt and scratched me while trying to remove my bra. I hit back hard, to the point where he was too drunk to fight, and I was too fired up to stop. I continued to slap him, which proved less effective. Kicking him in the shins produced far greater results. Afterward, he fell to the side, and I could finally breathe freely as his body weight had been lifted. He lay there half-asleep, defenseless, and I knew this was my only opportunity to take control of what had happened to me. I hit him a few more times as if he were a pillow, releasing all the anger, fear, and disappointment. The following day, I texted him to never look for me again and forget we were ever a thing.
He listened and never contacted me for a while, but then started stalking me. Several times, I felt a shadow lurking behind me. Sometimes it seemed like my imagination was at work. Other times, I could distinctly hear footsteps. So, I took control of the situation again, and I bought tickets to Romania the following week. I had never felt as strong before. I always feared the consequences of my actions, except when it came to Elijah.
Suddenly, the airport voice spoke, “Ladies and gentlemen, flight 76D to Frankfurt will be delayed for another hour. Excuse the inconvenience. We appreciate your patience. Thank you.”
Just when I decided to embark on the journey of my life, my flight got delayed for more than eight hours. The delay wasn’t because of a big storm ravishing the land or unexpected high winds blasting the windows. No, just human error, which no one wished to divulge through the speakers. Everyone reacted to the news the same way, with a plenitude of disappointment.
For a second, I wished to return to my cozy bed filled with plushies and forget all this nonsense, but I couldn’t. The trip meant too much, and this delay meant I was still stuck here with a past threatening to extend into my future. It was why I was leaving, so I could experience being me again in the surroundings of a different, new (to me) world. So I could learn to live without the hindrance of the memories of a failed relationship. I chose me, even when I wished to become nothing and simply disappear. Sometimes, I wondered how the world would continue to live without me. Will there be a blip of a difference? Most likely, not. The world would be fine and continue as usual. Good thing I didn’t do it for the world or the pursuit of a perfect love story. I chose to face my life in its present form because it was the best, albeit the scariest, thing I could do. And now I was here taking the trip of my lifetime—number one on my bucket list.
“Earth to Petra. Please land safely. You aren’t allowed to fly toward your dreams unless it’s on a plane,” said Mei while handing me my Americano. We both decided to match our outfits today, so we wore black leggings and a cropped top that said “Double” on mine and “Trouble” on hers.
“What can I do if fate delays my dream’s fulfillment?” I said dejectedly.
“Hey, if not today, then tomorrow, but I will make sure to send you off on this trip of yours.” She grinned.
“What do you mean today or tomorrow? It’s already tomorrow. Look at the clock.”
“You and your negative thinking.” She teased.
“You meant to say realistic,” I said and sipped some of my coffee.
“Better tell me what you are going to do in Romania. I don’t mind hearing it again since I never quite listened the last bajillion times you told me,” she said, smiling.
I wanted to protest her not-so-friend-like behavior, but it was late, and the situation had already aggravated me.
“Well, once I arrive in Brașov, I’ll stay for a few nights in a hotel. I’ll take my time and visit the city and then plan to travel to Bran Castle. Then, I’ll–”
“Now that you’re finally going to Transylvania, do you think you’ll bump into Count Dracula?”
“How many times do I need to tell you? Vlad The Impaler, or Vlad Dracula, never lived or even visited Bran Castle. He ruled over Wallachia, a land next to Transylvania,” I said, exasperated as Mei giggled like a schoolgirl.
“This is the pre-boarding announcement for flight 76D to Frankfurt. We are now inviting passengers with small children and any passengers requiring special assistance to begin boarding. Please have your boarding pass and identification ready. Regular boarding will begin in approximately ten minutes. Thank you,” said the airport voice.
“See, the sun hasn’t come out yet,” said Mei.
“As if the sun ever shines in the land of Seattle,” I retorted.
“A drop of positivity never hurt anyone.”
I hated when Mei was right. This time, I really wanted to listen to her advice. I was done with painful experiences tinting my happiness. My journey aimed at helping me heal and enjoy the pleasures of life the way I wanted to, not how others deemed it. I leaned on the back of the chair and exhaled deeply.
“You know I like to joke and stuff, but I’m happy you’re going. The douchebag didn’t deserve you. And when you pushed back, he retaliated by stalking you. Putting some distance between you and him will make a whole lot of a difference. And when you return to campus, you will have enough strength to move forward. Just know you didn’t deserve it,” Mei said as she held my hand and looked at me with her beautiful brown eyes.
I always knew how good of a friend Mei was. She never spoke of the incident before, always trying to protect my feelings, but now I could see it in her eyes the hatred we both shared for the man I once loved.
Mei sat beside me and enveloped one arm around my shoulders. We remained silent till it was my turn to embark on the plane. Mei came closer to
I was flabbergasted. Could Mei read my thoughts so easily? “I am of the same opinion,” I said.
She then hugged me again and let me loose like a mother bird letting her chick spread its wings into the unknown vastness of the sky.
I threw my favorite knitted crossbody bag on my shoulder, grabbed the handle of my heavy yellow carry-on, all plastered with stickers of my favorite things, from coffee to the countries I still had to visit, and rushed to check-in. Mei kept waving, reluctant to separate. Though I couldn’t turn back yet, I was still mesmerized by what awaited me. But right before I stepped into the tunnel, I turned around and waved an exuberant goodbye, to which Mei responded in the same overly excited way.
As I entered the tunnel connecting me to my new adventure, I couldn’t help but question how my life would change after this journey of a lifetime.
Chapter 2
Upon arriving in Brașov, my body and mind reached complete exhaustion. An eleven-hour flight to Frankfurt, another two hours to Bucharest, and one hour to Brașov took a heavy toll on me. It boggled my mind how other travelers endured such torment repeatedly. At the beginning of my flight, I planned on sleeping the whole time. I even took a melatonin pill, but sleep refused to settle between my eyelids. The excitement woke me every time I closed my eyes. After several attempts, I gave up. During the entire trip to Europe, the flight attendants and I guarded all the peacefully sleeping and snoring men, women, kids, and even babies. One of the flight attendants took pity on me and offered a glass of liquor, but I refused. I didn’t want to arrive in an unknown city tired AND tipsy. So, by the time the passengers exited the third plane, I was ready to collapse on the Romanian airport benches. Only by sheer will did I drag my feet to the luggage claim area, and by sheer will, I climbed into the first taxi willing to open its door for me.
Inside the cab, the driver, a man in his sixties wearing a flat cap, spoke cheerfully in a heavily accented English. His enthusiasm revigorated me and brought my attention to the scenery beyond the windows of his car. “I am finally here,” I thought.
“Where are you traveling from, miss?” the joyous taxi driver asked.
“I’m from the states. Washington state, to be precise,” I said. Then I repeated the same phrase in Romanian to see his reaction.
“Oh, miss, you speak Romanian?” he interjected, turning toward me and almost losing control of the wheel.
“Is it such a rarity?” I asked.
“Oh, no. It’s just I’m new to the taxi trade. I’ve been a professor my whole life. Since I retired, I missed having conversations with others, so I chose to drive people around. My wife always complains about the risks of getting mugged or beaten in this business, but I’ve only had wonderful experiences so far.”
“I think it’s a great opportunity to meet people this way. What did you teach?”
“I taught Romanian Mythology, miss. I held lectures in front of hundreds of students every week, and my wife still made me take out the trash.” We both chuckled.
“We have similar professions. I studied History for my Bachelor, but for my Grad, I want to study something closer to my heart: ‘The Evolution of Eastern European Linguistics.’”
“Why is it close to your heart, miss?” the driver asked.
“Well, my dad is Romanian. He and my mom met in Brașov and fell in love. They traveled the whole country together, and when it was time to leave, mom decided to stay here. My sister was born in Brașov as well, but when she turned two, they decided to move to Spokane, my mother’s birthplace. I was born six years later.”
“So Romanian blood flows through your veins, miss,” he said.
“I guess.” I wanted to stop talking about me and more about what he knew. “Could you tell me more about Romanian Mythology?”
“Oh, miss, I could tell you stories for weeks. I’m afraid a short drive would not be enough.” His demeanor changed, resembling that of a professor.
“At least tell me a short summary, professor.”
He chuckled to hide the flattery he felt.
“Fine, miss, you win. Romanian Mythology, like other European ones, stems from Greek or Roman deities but also from the core fears of humanity. Myths are quite valuable to our society as they represent a big part of our history and help us better understand the human mindset. Zburătorul, werewolves, and the most famous ones, strigoii, beings resembling vampires, represent the core of Romanian Mythology, each with their own genesis story and historical influence. Based on Stoker’s novel, many have the impression that strigoii get their origins from Vlad the Impaler. But they have dwelled in the Romanian mentality for hundreds of years before.”
“I know what I’m asking is pure rubbish, but I must. Was Vlad the Impaler the closest thing to a strigoi?” My face turned beet red, given how unprofessional the question was.
He laughed and said, “of course not. He remains one of the greatest rulers of our land, but he was never touched by magic.”
I wished to ask more, potentially far more moronic but burning questions, but I feared divulging how much of a fan I was of Vlad the Impaler. It might’ve seemed like a stereotype, the half-Romanian girl fangirling over the cruelest Romanian ruler in history and the most infamous vampire in the world. But it bridged a bond with my sister. One we struggled to build for years. Finally, we could fangirl over someone together.
The first time Dad told my sister and me the story of how Vlad the Impaler fought an army far greater than his and how he punished the guilty in the cruelest of ways, my sister became obsessed. She would never stop talking about Vlad and his heroic deeds. And after months and months of blabbering, her curiosity spread to me. In an instant, Mom and Dad had two chatterboxes annoying their ears with Vlad the Impaler trivia. By the time she turned seventeen, my sister already knew she would study history at UW and, eventually, a master’s degree in Eastern European Cultures. But she never got the chance to graduate.
I dismissed the thought and focused instead on the expert on Romanian Mythology and the inconsiderate number of questions roaming in my head. But, by the time I could formulate one, the car had arrived at the hotel. Dazed, I got out of the car as the driver carried my luggage to the doorsteps of the hotel. When I turned to ask his name, he was gone as if never there.
When I entered my hotel room in a semi-dormant state, I dropped my luggage to the side, threw myself on the cushiony bed, and went straight to sleep.
∞∞∞
Thirst woke me up in the middle of the night. For a moment, I forgot I had arrived in a new country, a new city, and in a new bed. A cool breeze caressed my cheeks. When I turned to the side, curious of where it came from, I noticed the window was open, and the white curtains fluttered under the air currents. “Weird, I don’t remember opening the window last night,” I said. When I went closer to it, I noticed the Brașovian houses gleaming from the full moon’s light. It contrasted with the cold beam illuminating the giant Brașov sign on the mountain. It seemed like everyone was sleeping except me and the moon. As I pushed the window wider to inhale the freshness of the night’s air, I noticed a strange fragrance emanating. I looked down from the third floor to check what could produce such a smell, but except for the asphalted roads, the worn-out clay tile roofs, and a few trees, there was nothing. My gaze went to the sides, and upon a closer look, I saw pots of flowers hanging from the adjacent window. “It must be the flowers,” I thought. But flowers usually smelled sweet, while this aroma had earthy notes. Though a familiar scent, I had a hard time pinpointing its origin. In the end, the night’s deep silence gave me some tranquility and compelled me to try and give sleep another shot.
Morning caught me lying with eyes wide open and glued to the ceiling. As if remaining motionless somehow would convince my brain to fall asleep. “Cursed be the jet lag,” I said. By the time it reached six a.m., I was ready for coffee. Copious amounts of coffee. I didn’t feel like dressing up, so I put on a simple T-shirt with space kittens, distressed jean shorts, and my not-so-white sneakers. When I stepped out into the street, the crisp mountain air welcomed me, offering a much-needed rejuvenation. I walked for half a mile to the closest café from the hotel called The Coffee Tree. Brașov resembled Seattle in many ways but with an added old European flare, especially the burnt orange rooftops contrasting with the dewy fog of the mountains. Nothing about the houses I encountered resembled a cookie-cutter American home. The façade of the houses varied between bright colors of mint, blush pink, and yellow. Some had tall, ornate metal gates, while others had no gates at all. The roofs challenged one another with different forms, from pointy domes to office-like rectangles. You could feel the clash of new and old, and for the most part, history won.
