THE FIRST ATTACK
The door swung open and the young Vampire, followed by several others, entered the room and kneeled, their heads down, not daring to look up at the Vampire that sat in his chair against the wall, a red book in hand.
“Your Majesty, we have just received word, the Elves of Etria are nearing the City,” the first Vampire to enter the room said.
“Are they now?” the smooth voice asked. “Show them the utmost hospitality when they reach the City, will you? Have the grand welcoming ceremony as they walk through the streets.”
“Yes, right away, your Majesty.” Then they stood, heads still down, and scurried out of the room, the door closing behind them.
He turned to the book in-hand once the door closed, eyeing the crimson cover. He had no interest in resuming his reading now that things were finally starting to get interesting again. Rising from his seat, he strode to the long table and set the book down upon it, mind lost with thoughts of his Vampires.
He turned from the book and stared across the room toward the desk he’d just left, eyeing the number of papers upon it, the requests from other Creatures...the demands from those bravest...and still he could only think of what Xavier had questioned only weeks ago.
Eleanor Black. The Vampire had wanted to know of her. Had wanted to know who Alexandria Stone was, as well, but he couldn’t be told. Not yet, anyway. There were things that he, himself, was not so sure about things that had to be prepared for.
But it was true other Creatures were beginning to see things in the World.... Were beginning to question. And questions, he decided, moving toward the door, were just as dangerous as the answers being sought. It would not be wise to have things questioned.
He grabbed the door handle and paused, for he suddenly remembered the book upon the table. It would be rather troublesome if an Elf or Vampire managed to get their hands on it; what with the content of the book, one could not be too careful that someone might take it too far, but then, he thought, as he lifted it from the smooth wood, perhaps one Vampire already had.
Making his way to the door once more, book clasped tightly in hand, he squared his shoulders, ready to attend to the preparations that had to be made. For of course, in the Vampire City, one never lacked something to do—not even Dracula.
The horse moved quickly, the ground ripping up beneath its hooves as Xavier pressed on, edging it ever forward against the sun’s sinking glow.
His hands had stopped shaking some time ago, and he gripped the reins tighter, the smell of lilac and blood reaching his nose as the flap of the satchel jumped against the horse’s side.
Eleanor. He pressed on faster, the brown of trees blurring as he kept his gaze straight ahead, the Vampire soldier at his horse’s side running swiftly. He could barely question why on Earth it was that Dracula had soldiers accompany them, let alone had them ride on horses when they were very capable of reaching the City on their own, when he heard disturbed thoughts that were not his own ripping through all senses:
“...She can’t have been real...”
He pulled on the reins, turning the horse around, much to the surprise of everyone else. The other beasts began to whinny and shake their long heads, doubling into each other. He paid no mind to the gazes of the other Vampires as they pulled on their own horses to settle them, and only stopped guiding his horse through the trees when it reached the black one, the dark Vampire atop it looking quite lost in thought.
“Damion,” he called, causing the Vampire to look up.
The brown eyes widened for a moment before a veil of coldness replaced the surprise. “My Lord?” he asked, a hint of unease in his voice.
“Your thoughts. Do you care to explain them?”
“Explain them, my Lord?”
The snarl escaped him as the impatience rose. He had always known Damion Nicodemeus was a touch strange, seedy in his air, and spared a place in the Order if only for his skill with sword. Other than that, Xavier hardly cared for the Vampire. “Do not feign ignorance, Nicodemeus. What were you thinking? Who is the woman you were referring to?”
Damion’s expression remained blank, but there was a twitch in the dark Vampire’s mouth that allowed a flare of dread to rise to his dead heart. Could he know? “The human woman, my Lord,” Damion said at last, “I merely thought on her.”
“You need to question whether or not she is real?”
“I can smell nothing of her blood while she remains asleep.”
“Really?” The anticipation died. If he had only thought on the strange woman, then there was nothing to fear. But what would I have to fear if he did see Eleanor? He turned his thoughts away from her with the implication of the Vampire’s words. “You cannot smell her blood?”
Damion shook his head.
“Be sure to relay this news to Dracula when we see him, Damion.” Xavier turned the horse around once more, catching the eyes of Victor and Lillith upon him. He could not help but feel their gazes cautious, though he could not understand why. “Something wrong?” he asked as he guided his horse slowly past them.
“Just why you would stop the line to ask Damion a simple question,” Victor said, a pale hand running along his brown horse’s mane, as though to comfort it.
Xavier said, “A feeling overtook me—I had to clarify something. Let’s move on.” And with a snap of his wrists, the horse took off beneath him, leaving behind the others with their confusion.
It hadn’t been about her, he thought, relief filling him. Damion had not seen her. He still thought her dead. That was best.
For he knew if Damion had seen her, had known she existed, then he would know that she had shown herself to he, Xavier, and there would be no end to the madness he would face, for as far as insecurities went, Xavier knew Damion was filled with them.
But she had found comfort in him all the same...
The dread increased and he let the cold blood he’d drunk settle in his veins, washing away any trace of her, of the kiss they shared, and continued on toward the City.
The day faded with the sight of the moon and darkness fell over them. Xavier was the first to spot the familiar black, rusted gates as they approached the entrance of the long, damp tunnel.
“Hold!” the commanding voice said, Elisa holding up a fist.
They all skidded to a stop before the high gates, Xavier sliding off his horse, narrowing his eyes upon her small frame. She wasn’t keeping her gaze on the gates as she signaled with a gloved hand to the Vampires that had flown above the trees, her other placed atop the handle of her sword.
She was prepared for trouble, he realized, had been the moment they’d left London. But why?
The two Vampires that had flown above landed on the ground without a sound, their wind sending his hair and cloak to billow up around him. Both Vampires walked toward the gates, one snapping the lock that bound the gate together in chains once they reached it, and the other pulled them open slowly to reveal the long tunnel wherein darkness stretched on forever.
As the others left their horses, Xavier watched the soldiers bow low, Elisa included, stepping aside to allow them entry. He narrowed his eyes at the protocol being shown—he hardly felt it necessary. But as he reached the hard stone floor of the tunnel, he realized they remained behind, and, indeed, as he looked over the heads of Lillith and Damion as they followed, he saw the soldiers enter the tunnel, facing outward, swords drawn.
Awful trouble to go through to protect us, Dracula, he thought as they began to walk through the darkness, torches springing to life as they moved, but from what?
No one said a word.
Elisa stepped swiftly to walk at his side, the end of the tunnel appearing through the gloom.
Xavier reached out a hand to push the golden gates at the end of the tunnel open. They gave way to a staircase shrouded in darkness. The torches’ light could not reach it.
Elisa pushed past him and pulled a torch from the wall. “Trent, Azel, Patterson, grab torches.”
The three Vampires moved without hesitation, leaving three empty mounts upon the walls next to them. Without a word to anyone else, she began to descend, torch high in her hand. As she moved, Xavier noticed it shook.
He followed her, feeling her fear, knowing the others trailed behind him. Dancing orange light illuminated his back as they descended.
They walked for what seemed ages, but then Elisa hit the last step and held the torch up to light the beginning of another tunnel.
They continued their walk, Xavier’s green eyes narrowing through the dark, looking for any sign of the large double doors that would mean they had reached the Vampire City.
For a long while, he walked, only able to see the back of Elisa’s head, the light of the torch held high above it, until...yes, the glint of golden handles.
Elisa swept her torch across the doors, illuminating the words embedded within the wood:
The Vampire City
Protection, Preservation, and Peace. Always.
He felt a wave of nostalgia fall upon him and he remembered the last time the Order was together like this: to speak with Dracula regarding the rings that would be used to allow every Vampire to exist atop the surface, excluding Xavier. He remembered the irony in his presence not really being needed for that meeting.
“Ready?” Elisa asked the Vampires.
They all nodded as one, and Elisa moved at once, grabbing a golden handle to turn it, pushing one of the large doors open, allowing a blinding white light to issue forth into the long tunnel.
Xavier could see the familiar small path that lay ahead of them, soldiers of the First Army standing at attention on either side of the dark road that led to the small white building, which blocked any view of the rest of the Vampire City. And it was here Xavier saw the Vampire who stood at attention in the building’s open doorway.
He walked down the small path while the others followed suit behind him, the soldiers on either side of the path lifted their swords above their heads in honor. A frown grew on his lips as he drew ever closer to the tall Vampire in the doorway, very aware that the last time he was here, no such attention was shown to him, for he’d arrived fully cloaked, hood drawn over his head, and moved as though a ghost, desiring not to draw any attention to himself, the grief of Eleanor’s death weighing heavily upon his heart.
So why all the pomp and circumstance now?
Reaching the Vampire at last, he extended a hand toward him and said, “Such an elaborate welcome. The Elves have arrived, have they?”
The First Captain of the First Army took Xavier’s hand, gripping it tight, shaking it before narrowing his fierce dark-blue eyes, while saying in a deep voice, “Yes, they arrived shortly before you.” He then turned to the Vampires who strode behind him, and exclaimed, “Elisa! It was you who was ordered to watch over them? Westley wouldn’t tell me who had been sent. I should’ve known when your squad didn’t show up to the meetings.”
“Hello to you, too, Dragor,” she said, starting toward him, a fist over her heart.
Victor smiled. “Hello, Dragor.”
“Victor! It’s been far too long. And the Princess—ever the beauty.”
Damion stepped forward then. “Dragor.”
Dragor’s blue eyes appeared to darken and his handsome face grew cold. “Damion.”
Xavier cleared his throat. The two Vampires had shared a growing dislike for each other ever since Damion was inducted into the Order leaving Dragor to resume his position as First Captain of the First Army. It was known far and wide that Dragor was overlooked because Damion, who had been aiming for Xavier’s position, singlehandedly pushed back the oncoming Elves of Etria who’d somehow managed to infiltrate the Vampire City a few years ago.
“We should press on,” Xavier said, stepping into the building, eager to get to Dracula.
“Wait,” Dragor said, placing a strong hand on his shoulder as the others walked past into the building, “Xavier, what’s this I hear about Eleanor?”
Unease rolled in his gut as he eyed the Vampire seriously. Was it possible he knew Eleanor still lived? “What have you heard?” he asked, trying his best to feign vague interest.
Dragor waited until the remaining soldiers headed into the building behind the Second Army. “Between good friends, what really happened that night? News spread like wildfire that you have yet to tell anyone—including Dracula—what exactly happened.”
“I never knew you to be one to pay attention to gossip, Dragor.”
“Gossip? This isn’t mere gossip, Xavier. There is talk of Vampires on the surface seeing Eleanor. Of course, when they return here, they are in a state of pure shock and to get anything from them proves to be ultimately useless. They babble incoherently. I had the impression she died that night when you were sent to go see her. But if Vampires claim to have seen her, I don’t see how that is so—”
“How many claim to have seen her?”
Dragor narrowed his blue eyes. “It would be at least ten since yesterday.”
“Ten?!” Xavier repeated, attempting to keep his voice low yet not at all succeeding.
“Ten, and it’s rather odd. I’ve meant to ask Dracula about it, but he’s been terribly busy as of late. He has a lot of meetings with the Council. And these bloody Elves all of a sudden. If you ask me, dragging you lot here just to speak with them was a waste of your time.”
“I couldn’t agree more,” Xavier said. He caught sight of Lillith, who stood inside the building lined with marble tiles, clearly at ill ease, a group of First Army Soldiers surrounding her. She caught his eye and gave him a look of desperation.
Xavier turned back to Dragor. “If you’ll excuse me, we must hurry and get to Dracula, can’t keep those damned Elves waiting.” He gave his friend a nod before heading into the building. As he did so, every Vampire in the great hall turned to stare at him. They had already gotten their fill of Victor, Damion, and Lillith, and now desired to eye the Lord of Vampires as best they could. It would, perhaps, be the only time they’d ever be able to eye him so closely again.
Silence followed as Xavier stepped toward Lillith, the Vampires that surrounded her stepping away quickly with his approach, their eyes glued to his cold expression. “Let’s hurry,” he said to Lillith, pulling her by the arm as he caught the glares of Victor and Damion, who broke out of their conversation, watching him in confusion.
Xavier jerked his head toward the door on the other side of the building where two paralyzed soldiers stood, waiting for his approach. Moving at his gesture, Victor and Damion followed behind them as they all moved toward two soldiers, their eyes wide with awe at Xavier.
“If you please,” Xavier hissed, his mind swimming with visions of Eleanor, the words Dragor relayed.
The soldiers scrambled for the door, bumping heads as they both looked for the handle, and after some useless fumbling and arguing about “who got the handle first,” they finally relented and one of them opened the door while mumbling a quick, “Welcome back, my Lords and Lady.”
Xavier pushed through the door first, his mind now burning with thoughts of Eleanor and the Vampires she was appearing to. Ten so far, ten Vampires so far, and what the hell was that supposed to mean for him?
He barely noticed the tall man walking toward him along the dark street, oblivious to the attention he seemed to be drawing from other Vampires nearby.
Behind him, several even taller men with pointed ears and piercing eyes glared at him as they approached.
He was only fully aware of this when the man in front spoke, his voice like ice covering his ears, “We’ve much to discuss, Delacroix, and as you can see,” he held out two sweeping arms, gesturing to the men behind him, “the Elves of Etria grow most impatient with your late arrival.”
A throaty laugh escaped him as he eyed the bright moon above. “Men,” he roared, “leave no stone unturned—leave no human alive!”
The large beasts howled their obedience and charged toward the mansion, breaking down the doors and snapping frightened horses in two.
Thomas smiled as Wengor ran past, a full-fledged beast in its purest form. With outstretched arms to the screams that filled the air, he laughed again. “Destroy it! Destroy it all! Those damn bloodsuckers will have nothing to return to!”
Mara watched her husband command the Lycans from afar, and although he held his human form, he was still terrifying to watch. His handsome face was distorted by the pleasure of death. He was a working force in the Lycan world, that much she knew. It was clear that he was known far and wide, for some of the beasts there weren’t even under his usual command, but they paid heed to his word all the same.
She remained seated within the black carriage, her hands continuously smoothing the slight wrinkles on her long gray skirt as the anticipation, the desire to be as he was, consumed her once more. She watched his eyes light up with terrible power, absolute joy as the screams from the mansion flew all around them, and all at once her thoughts returned to the very first time she glimpsed the Lycan known as Thomas Montague—and the man beneath.
Born into a world of privilege, Mara Locke knew nothing of Lycans, Vampires, or Dark Creatures—she was not even aware that any other “world” except her own existed. Until the very night her mother came to her bedroom door, speaking of a duke from a place called Holden who had come—and indeed, was at the very manor door—to speak to her about marriage.
They had both been taken aback by the sudden proposal—for neither of them had ever heard of any Duke of Holden. They swept to the doors, arm in arm, and when they arrived in the main hall of the then-flourishing Locke estate, Mara was flustered to see a handsome man standing there, quite alone, his shirt undone by the third button, absolutely covered in sweat.
He reeked of dirt, something she’d found questionable even as she removed herself from her mother and stepped cautiously toward him.
He looked tired. And it was then she realized he was in the throes of death, for he was so faintly aware of their presence, it seemed, but when she pointed this out to him, he merely shook his handsome head, sending sweat through the air to land upon their well-to-do clothes.
This made a look of sheer incredulity sweep across dear Mrs. Locke’s face, but Mara was certainly intrigued. For what man—what duke, indeed—had arrived at her door at such a late hour? And to speak of marriage? Whatever state they appeared to be in?
Sweeping aside her mother’s horrified countenance, Mara allowed the man entrance into their home, guiding him, steadily, toward the sitting room where only the most important of guests were taken.
He had almost fallen into the cream sofa, paying no mind to the fact that he was releasing his sweat and dirt upon its once clean state—for they had just gotten it that very day.
Ignoring this, for she had hated the sofa, whatever her mother believed, Mara, instead stared intently at the man as she took her seat beside him on the couch, trying to discern what was wrong.
For it seemed a great many things were wrong with this duke.
He did not speak, and it was then that she wondered if he indeed had told her mother that he desired marriage—for it was a wonder he desired anything more than a good bath and bed.
“Duke,” she started, not sure what to say.
He’d lifted a dirty hand through the air as though asking her, nay, demanding her to cease her tongue. To which she blinked, bolstered. For how dare he arrive at her home, not saying a word, but merely breathing heavily as though he waited for death to greet him?
It was then that any outburst she could have dared let rise to her sharp tongue fell immediately back into the pit of her gut, for he did speak at last. “I...have come, Miss Locke, to ask for your hand in...marriage.”
His voice was so tired, so rasped with pain, but it was the sheer stench that caused Mara to rise from the seat and step away from him.
“Marriage?” she’d spat. “Excuse me, my Lord, but I don’t know you at all, yet you wish to speak of marriage?!”
“Aye,” he whispered, his deep brown eyes closing as he seemed to drift off into a deep sleep right there on the couch.
She’d let out a grunt of frustration and had stormed over to him, demanding he rise from his slumber—though she kept herself far from his breathing—pressing both hands into his chest as to rouse him. Yet it was not until she’d slapped him clear across his sweat-laden face that she’d felt how hot he was—and how strong he was. For he’d reached up with remarkable speed (she’d hardly seen it happen), and gripped her wrist with alarming strength, her gasp could hardly leave her throat before he’d risen from the chair and pushed her back against a wall.
Fear filled her veins. Besides the strength that kept her glued to the wall, the heat, the anger that radiated off him, was remarkable, tangible—deadly.
“My Lord!” she’d breathed in sheer terror.
“Forgive me, human,” he’d said, causing her heart to run cold with the word, “but I must take a wife for my own. I must prove to my father that I can love, that I am no monster.”
“What—?” she’d begun, but her throat clenched tight with the gaze of desperation on his face.
Who...no, what was he? For she’d seen then, in those eyes so deep and dark, that he’d held a terrible burden—one he desperately desired to rip from his being.
“What are you?” she breathed then, feeling her chest heave with fear, yes, but curiosity even more so.
He’d released her at that question, but he did not step from her, and he’d said, “I...I am not human—just please, say yes. Please be my wife. Our kind is known for forcing themselves on others, I wish... I wanted to give you the choice—the choice I never had.”
At the time, she’d hardly considered being slammed against a wall and forced into making a choice as profound as that freedom of will, but in time, with more questions and understanding, Mara Locke found herself falling hard for the man and Lycan known as Thomas Montague.
And it was the power he had shown that night, and the power he showed now, that made her wish to be as he...
“Excuse me, Duchess?” a strange voice whispered, lifting her from her memories.
Sweeping black hair that partly covered deep black eyes, the man that stared at her from the other side of the carriage window showed himself. He stared at her imploringly.
“Yes?” she asked him, assuming that he must have been a Lycan her husband had missed.
He opened the carriage door although he hadn’t asked, and lifted himself into it, sure to close the door behind him. “Forgive me, but I have always wanted to meet you. There has been talk throughout the packs of your beauty, but I have never believed... Your husband is a lucky man.”
She knew better than to blush—this was hardly the first time another commented on her beauty. “Thank you,” she said, eyes narrowing upon the man. “What is your name?”
“That is not important right now,” he said. “What is important is that you come with me, missus. Your husband is going to try to kill you tonight.” He cast a glance through the open window, causing Mara to do the same, despite whatever his words had done to her, and she saw Thomas begin to walk over to the carriage, his eyes still lined with fire, his face hardened with business, anger.
Was it at all possible the man’s words rang with truth?
She turned to eye the man beside her, confusion gripping her senses, and she managed to whisper, “What? Who are you?”
With no answer, he kicked the carriage door open and grabbed her arm. “You must come with me, Duchess. You are not safe here.”
“Who are you?!” she said again, attempting at once to have her arm back, yet his grip was far stronger, and he pulled her out of the carriage with one simple lurch, causing her to cry out in pain.
She stumbled along the ground as he pulled her, hearing the distant yell canvas her ears, causing her blood to boil with hope, for it could not be true that Thomas planned to kill her. Why would he?
“Hey! Hey! What are you doing?!”
And with these words the man stopped walking and dropped Mara’s arm, yet as she stared upon him she saw that he had no intention of letting her run back to her husband. Her mind dizzied with confusion. What was going on? She knew Thomas was getting closer. She could feel his heat, heightened by the number of Lycans that stormed the Vampire’s manor, the more he neared the carriage. And it was in that painful moment that she realized this man wanted Thomas to draw near.
He’s using me as bait, she realized in horror. But for what?
She stepped away from the man, back towards the carriage, back towards the large street where several Lycans lingered in full form. She ran once clear of the grass where the man remained, black eyes delirious, she ran toward Thomas, who was now running toward her, fear deep in his eyes.
“Mara!” he said, holding her tight once they reached each other, yet his eyes never left the strange man who remained on the grass within the long field that stretched on and on for miles. “What’s going on? Who is he?”
“I don’t know,” she breathed, fear gripping tight her heart even though she remained in his arms. Why would he say that? Why would that man say that Thomas wanted to kill me? Was it only to use me as bait? And if it was, for what? “He said... He said you were going to kill me tonight, Thomas.”
These words brought his gaze from the man abruptly and he stared deep into her gray eyes, his own marred with incredulity. “What?” he whispered. “He said what?”
“That you want to kill me. Then he grabbed me and told me he was going to take me to safety—”
He tore from her, her words lost in the thundering fire of the mansion behind her. She watched him sprint toward the man, the heat that radiated off his body something like fire –, for she could still feel it where she remained.
She watched in alarm as he reached the man at last and landed a smooth punch along his jaw, a punch the man received with some difficulty, for he stumbled backwards but soon recovered and threw his own punch toward Thomas.
And in the panic, the rage, the death all about them, Mara could not feel the man that stepped up behind her and wrapped a strong arm around her waist before throwing her up, over a shoulder. A scream of bewilderment left her lips, drowned entirely by the howls of Lycans, the snarls of beasts, the laughter of the man who held her.
She felt the man run across the cobblestone road, saw herself leaving the street, pass the carriage, and run straight past a full-grown Lycan fighting the strange man from before.
“Thomas,” she managed to breathe, her voice just above a strained whisper.
Yet it was with this whisper that the Lycan looked up mid-strike and faltered at once, the strange man upon the ground moving quickly with the beast’s hesitation, rising to his feet, a dark smile breaking his face in two.
As they ventured farther and farther away, Mara felt an impossible heaviness creep over her, a sweeping desire to sleep, and indeed, even the man’s footsteps upon the grass below them seemed to be a lullaby, a simple soft thud thud thud upon which to find soothing comfort...
But even as her eyes began to close, and the vision of Thomas and the strange man began to blur, she was sure she saw the man burst into a Lycan as her beloved husband shrank back into a man, sitting upon the grass, absolutely stunned.