Dyvina Sollena - Black Blood

Dyvina Sollena

BLACK BLOOD

Translation by Roberta Pastorini

Title | Black Blood

Author | Dyvina Sollena

Translator | Roberta Pastorini

© All rights reserved to the Author

No parts of this book can be reproduced without the Author's permission.

Cover image designed by Winterly Graphics.

This is a fantasy work. Names, characters, places and facts are figment of the Author's imagination or used in a fictitious way, any analogy with existing facts, real or existed persons, is completely casual. All brands reported belong to their legitimate owners.

Copyright © 2018/2020 by Dyvina Sollena

All rights reserved.

www.dyvinasollena.wordpress.com

www.facebook.com/dyvinasollenaautrice

Index

Prologue

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Chapter 36

Chapter 37

Thanks

Did you enjoy Black Blood?

BLACK BLOOD

“When I asked him if he knew Count Dracula,

and could tell me anything of his castle,

both he and his wife crossed themselves,

and, saying that they knew nothing at all,

simply refused to speak further.

[Dracula – Bram Stoker]

Prologue

That mansion, “The Black Raven Hill”, was rising in all its sacrilegious majesty in the middle of the forest. Isolated, far from the city and from the busy life of Hazycreek. It was staring at you from the distance, stately and massive, protected by trees and its thick walls that were surrounding it completely.

A big keep was boldly rising from a middle position, two slender towers with sharp roof were rising aside, built entirely in bulky stone. Big pointed windows and adorned eaves, resembled some sort of gothic appearance.

Then the gargoyles, from each side, looking ferocious, they were looking upon the building.

Local people tended to avoid the place because of strange myths regarding the mansion. Creepy stories, tales of blood and death. Mysterious disappearances, satanic rituals; the ground on which it stood was considered the focal point of the occult power.

The Black Raven Hill was scary, as well as its owners who built it in 1346. That of the Winterbournes was a powerful family of successful entrepreneurs, their richness and prosperity was leading each member since many generations, nobody ever dared to challenge them.

Hazycreek inhabitants were superstitious persons, bounded to their popular traditions, they kept insisting that it was better staying away from that evil place and that only crazy fools dared to approach it, but only few returned. They said that the Winterbournes were not like the others, they were different, strange, wrapped in darkness' obscurity. They whispered they had made a deal with the Devil. Too much of power, beauty and longevity, for common people. Everyone respected them, having a sort of reverential awe. Children were told to keep the eyes away while they were passing. No words, avoid to stare in their eyes unless it was necessary. Always being submissive and never gainsay them. Frightening stories were told by old people, they referred to them as animals and demoniac creatures, sucking blood for surviving.

Human blood.

They called them... the Thirsty.

Chapter 1

Rebecca

My name is Rebecca Janette Cross, but everyone knows me as Reb J. Cross, or simply Reb. I was a journalist and I was writing for Hazy Daily , the local Hazycreek's newspaper.

I loved my job, looking for news to propose to people, that always stimulated me a lot. The column which I was dedicated to dealt with daily facts, news and every sort of hearsays. From Mrs. Ryder's cinnamon biscuits to commissioner Tanner's shooting parties.

I thought it was fun in the beginning, but as years passed by, I realized that I was longing for something more.

My biggest dream was to emerge in journalism. I was aiming to the Capital, any well-known editing department of success. The place where I was born hadn't much to offer but a peaceful living, labored at times, but still carefree.

Hazycreek was a joyful town not very far from London. It seemed like a bubble was shielding it from the world's disgraces. Not many crimes were happening and for me finding interesting stuff to write about was everyday harder.

All this until ten days ago.

«Dear God, Reb! You must be kidding, you can’t really want to go there», Josh fussed while looking at me with wide open eyes and stretched facial features.

I was sitting at my desk in our Hazy Daily 's office.

Josh Coleman stood at my side, shaken and a bit upset. He was my best friend, also a colleague at the editorial. He was in charge of sport news, he was a great football fan, also rugby and many other sports of what I personally didn't understand a damn.

We grew up together, close friends since early ages; on the other hand, we all knew each other in Hazycreek. It was a small hamlet where getting unnoticed was difficult.

«Of course, I want to.»

«It’s crazy. Nobody ever gets close to Black Raven Hill», he went on, putting his hands on his head. He kept watching me incredulous, diving his fingers into his brown curls.

He could have kept that chocolate eyed look on me all day long, still I wouldn’t have changed my mind. My decision was taken: I was going to the mansion, with or without his help.

«Nobody is disappearing in Hazycreek», I argued, turning off my laptop.

«Well, it has happened. We have gangs here too and it won't be the first time», he persisted.

I got the office chair I was on turning, I crossed my arms under my breast and stared at him sulking.

A week or so had passed when the Harpers had called the police denouncing their younger daughter Claire's disappearance.

I took advantage of that and started some researches. I managed to write a good article, different than usual. I received good criticisms; local people loved my job. I rolled up my sleeves, I grabbed pen and note and I started interviewing the locals.

It seemed that nobody knew, everyone was denying and scared for what had happened.

That same morning however, a new reporting came: also Rose Weather had disappeared.

Something to sink my teeth in!

I was scared and bewildered as everyone, but I had big potential that rarely I was able to exploit, I had to grab this chance that I was given, even if at the expense of those poor people.

While investigating on Harpers' case, I ran into some strange declarations coming from some old people. Citizens having the same age my grandfather would have had, sometimes talked about strange tales, some sort of macabre stories, quite scary, dealing with the Winterbournes.

They referred to them calling them: The Thirsty.

I barely believed, I took those as same old plebeian tales meant to scare children and keep them away from that noble family.

The Thirsty. They described them as parched vampires longing for blood, but the Winterbournes did not look at all as demons with strange habits, they were just an egocentric family, extremely powerful.

Rich with no doubts: they owned vast properties and a large amount of local commercial activities, and not only in Hazycreek. They had properties all over England: in London, Manchester, Liverpool, Oxford, Cambridge and in Nottingham. It must be said that they did nothing to be loved, their presence in town was leading to fuss, everyone was looking at them with fear, most people didn't even stare at them, they went on straight avoiding any type of contact.