Black Blood. Dyvina Sollena
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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
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Index
Prologue
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
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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.