DEADLY TRAINING
Dropping the tray at his scream, the maid cast a look to the bed. His scream was haunting enough, but his teeth, they were the true reason for her fear. The two sharp fangs that sat in the front of his mouth were terrifying. She thought him to be an odd man, at first, but upon checking on him the day after Damion’s disappearance, she soon knew that he was absolutely strange. Whenever she had to enter the room to sweep the dust from the dressers, or make sure he drank that awful smelling liquid upon his bedside table, she was always struck with the nightmarish feeling that this man was inhuman. His cruel stare whenever she entered the room made her feel as though he desired nothing more than to attack her. The only time she welcomed it was when she was free to leave the room, and his piercing stare glued itself to her back.
Picking up the tray with shaking hands, she placed it on the small table next to his bed, careful not to glance at his face. She strolled to the large windows that hid the sun’s warmth with thick, gray curtains, lifting a hand to sweep back the curtains of the first window, when the loud voice boomed through the room. “Don’t touch them!”
Jumping at the sound, she released the curtain, and turned slowly to eye the man that now sat on the side of the bed, His black eyes gleamed in the shadow of the room. His long hair clung to his shoulders and arms and seemed to be drenched in what was possibly his sweat. His pale face was sharp, handsome, but all the same, disconcerting, and it was here she tried her hardest not to look as he spoke.
“The...sun irritates me. I am sorry to have frightened you. What is your name?”
Such simple words, but spoken with such a smooth tongue. Trying to find words to match such an eloquent voice, she whispered, “E-Emily, my Lord.”
He stretched an arm out to his side and cracked his fingers, causing her to wince with the sheer control he seemed to exude. And as she continued to stare at him in bewilderment, he spoke yet again: “Emily? What a pretty name. How long...have you worked for his Lordship, Damion?”
“Since I was old enough to walk. My mother is the Head Maid,” she whispered, very aware that she could not raise her voice any higher.
“Hm. You were born into the help, then. Interesting.” He stood at last, quite tall, his unbuttoned blouse wrinkled from lying in the bed all day, and a sleeve of the blouse was missing—it seemed to have been ripped off—and dried blood was splattered across it. He did not seem to mind this as he bent over, stretching his back by touching his toes.
Emily could not help but find his bloodstained shirt odd. “My Lord, your shirt, it’s...”
He cracked his neck while returning to a standing position. Taking notice of her words, he looked down at his open shirt and saw the blood, the hole where a sleeve once remained. Slipping out of it, he threw it onto the bed and moved toward the large dresser against the wall. He looked around the drawer for a clean shirt and spoke into the bundle of clothes. “Where is Damion?”
“L-Lord Damion is away. He has told no one where he has gone,” she said, her cheeks burning red as she gazed upon him.
Christian paused upon hearing this, but pulled out a fresh, tan blouse and slipped it on. As he buttoned it, he said, “I take it he has not told you when he will be back?”
“He hasn’t.”
“Of course,” he whispered. Where on Earth could he have gone? And so suddenly?
“I-I should leave you I have bothered you long enough. Please, excuse me,” she said. And with a steadying breath, she began to walk through the small pathway between the bed and the dresser, keeping her head down as she moved.
He stilled when she swept behind him, her scent drifting to his nose. All thoughts of Damion, of the mysterious woman, left his mind immediately. He was very aware how thirsty he had been for human blood. Yes, as helpful as Unicorn blood was, he decided, there was nothing like human to quell a Vampire’s hunger.
He turned to her, placing a hand upon her shoulder before she could step past the end board of the large bed. The gasp that escaped her lips at his touch sent his blood soaring. He had known she was scared of him, but it hardly mattered whilst he recovered from his injuries in his bed. But now that he was free—and healed he could take advantage of her fear.
“Emily, wait,” he said, suppressing a small smile as best he could as she turned to eye him, confusion and apprehension shining in her brown eyes.
“Yes,” she heaved, “my Lord?”
He let a sigh escape his chest. He eyed her naked shoulders, smelling in earnest now the blood that filled her veins: sweet, destroying, vital—he had to have her. “You have been assigned to me, correct?” he asked her, trying to suppress the drive to step forward and sink his fangs into her tender neck.
She looked up into his eyes, a sort of dark cloud falling upon her own. “Assigned to you? Y-Yes, I have been.”
He lifted a finger to stroke the tendrils of her soft black hair, causing her to wince, his voice low as he said, “Oh? And it is just you that has been assigned to care for me? Because if you are the only one, my dear Emily, I assure you, the fruits of your labor will be enjoyed by the both of us.”
“My Lord,” she whispered, unable to look away from his gaze.
He lifted her chin. You are mine, he thought. You. Are. Mine.
“Please, call me Christian.”
She dived underneath the sheets again, the warmth of the day beaming through the open windows, warming her skin through the many layers of fabric.
It had been three days since she’d opened her eyes to find she was in the care of a wealthy man. Alexandria did not know what to make of it, but she decided to take in the comforts of being cared for by maids and servants at her every beck and call.
She was not used to such luxuries having come from a moderately wealthy home. She had had enough gold to her name to afford her a settled life, but nothing more. She rose out of the bed and stepped to the windows, looking out over the land as she had done many times before.
“‘Ello dear, it’s good to see that you’re up and about,” the soft, caring voice said from behind her.
She turned, taking in the friendly old woman dressed in a maid’s uniform. She carried a tray of tea and steaming oatmeal.
Alexandria smiled, the woman the only friendly face she knew here. “Hello, Mary. Is that for me?”
“Of course,” she said, moving to place the tray on a small table in the middle of the large room. “The Master wishes for you to be healthy upon his arrival, of course.”
Alexandria swept her dark brown hair away from her shoulders, swaying in her white chemise. “Who is he, exactly? I’ve never heard of him before,” she told the woman whose smile never seemed to fade.
“Oh,” Mary began, running her hands over her skirt, “he’s Damion Nicodemeus. His mother was Countess Nepenthe Nicodemeus. I can’t remember what they were wealthy from, but it’s definitely been passed on.”
“So his mother was a countess? Where is she now?”
Mary fished around the large closet. “Dead,” she said, as if explaining the weather. She returned to Alexandria with a light peach sundress laced with gold thread. “For you to wear around the house. This was his mother’s...as was this room.”
Alexandria took the dress from her with careful hands. “This was her room? And her clothes?” she asked, confused. “Why have I been placed here? Surely, there are many other rooms around the mansion for me to have rested—”
She began to undress Alexandria from her nightgown, shushing her with her next words, “His room is right next door. I assume that’s why he wanted you here, wanted you close to him, I suppose.” She stood while Alexandria examined the sundress she was about to adorn, and pointed to a door. “Leads to his room. He used to sneak in here and sleep with her when he was a lad.” Her features then darkened. “Terrible shame, her death. Poor woman didn’t even see it coming.”
Alexandria waited until the dress hung around her body before proceeding with her next set of questions. “What happened, if I may be so bold to ask?”
Mary’s pale-blue eyes admired the dress. “Lovely...” she whispered. Then she thought of the question. “That...was never revealed to us, my dear, but from what we witnessed of that night, it was terrible. Absolutely terrible. The amount of blood Damion and Darien returned home with—”
“Darien?”
Her lips pursed as her eyes danced with every notion of saying something she shouldn’t have. “Never mind that. It was a long time ago.” And she began to move away from Alexandria, still admiring her small frame and the dress that flowed around her body. “It fits you like a charm. You must walk about the mansion, my dear. Meet everyone. They’re dying to meet you, of course.”
“Y-Yes, of course,” Alexandria muttered, still wondering who in the world Darien was and why she was there... Why the image of piercing brown eyes would not leave the back of her eyelids.
With one last smile, Mary walked to the large doors and proceeded down the hall.
Alexandria stared after the old woman, wondering how long the woman had lived here, cleaning up after Damion Nicodemeus and his brother. Finally deciding it was none of her business, and that she was going to leave the moment Lord Damion showed his face again, she eyed her cup of tea, the steam billowing up from the small porcelain cup that sat atop its saucer. She moved for the cup, and just as her fingers rounded the handle, the sound reached her ears and she froze.
She stood straight, replaying the sound in her mind. She couldn’t place it; it was like nothing she’d ever heard before. Sighing, for the sound did not resurface, she moved for the tea once more, and then another sound, much louder now, hit her ears and she almost dropped it in surprise.
Something is going on here, she decided. She turned from the tray and looked around. She thought of mice knocking something over in another room, but then she realized a house this grand and this well cared for wouldn’t have mice. Her curiosity piqued, she forgot about her tea and moved for the doors, determined to see what was making this odd noise.
She blinked the strange brown gaze returned to her mind’s eye and she pressed it back into the recesses of the fear she now felt.
It took a bit of effort on her part to get a door open, but she managed and slipped through. She looked around at the large hallway. It stretched for miles to the left of her, the right ending in an abrupt wall, only one set of doors next to her own. She heard a low sound then, and her attention was brought to the room directly across from hers.
She moved out, her bare feet touching the cold marble floor, toward these doors, her heart increasing in its speed as the curiosity, the fear grew.
Raising a slightly shaking hand, she reached for a door’s handle, thousands of questions running through her mind.
Another low growl sounded through the doors. It sounded harsh, strange, as if an animal rested beyond them. She wondered what could be on the other side, her hand finally clasping the cold, golden handle. She pressed down, the door sliding open with surprisingly little effort.
Christian looked down at the young maid, her hair flying out around her head like a black puddle, joining with the dark blood that now seeped from her stomach.
He wiped off the blade of the small dagger, letting the napkin settle at her body growling for a third time. He could not allow her to be turned, it was against the rules, but now, as he stared at her and the increasing puddle that seemed determined to claim his feet within it, he knew not what to do with her next.
There were many maids up and about, and he could not afford to draw attention to himself by having a dead woman in the middle of his room. He knew he was running out of time. Surely, a maid or two had begun to wonder where their dear Emily had gone….
Christian froze as he heard the door creak, and his eyes darted to them: One was opening. Barely having time to think, he darted for the closet, swinging the doors shut right as the head of an incredibly gorgeous woman inched through the crack of the large door.
Christian watched the mysterious woman look around the room, her eyes venturing to the body on the floor. He snarled as she let out a raucous scream.
“Now tell me again, as clear as you can: What happened?” he asked, looking down at her through thin spectacles.
Alexandria clutched the hem of her sundress; her knuckles white as her hands shook violently. She choked back tears, preparing herself to try to address him again.
“I heard a sound,” she gasped, “it was...like a body hitting the ground...heavy. I-I got up to see wh-what it could’ve been.” She rubbed her eyes. “When I opened the door and looked around the room, I saw her there—” Her voice broke off as more tears began to fall.
Patting her back, Mary cast a look to the authorities that very much said Alexandria would not able to answer any more of their questions.
Nodding, the officer turned to the other maids present. “Who else is a guest in this home?”
A young maid with a trembling voice said, “Th-there is another man here staying with L-Lord Damion.”
“And where is he currently?”
The maids offered each other solemn looks.
Mary spoke up when the officer appeared ready to ask yet another question. “We do not know. As far as I am aware, Emily was the one made to watch over Lord Delacroix. They did not leave that room.”
“Lord Delacroix? The Lord Delacroix? Xavier?”
She stepped away from Alexandria, who had finally stopped crying. “No, not Lord Xavier. Master Christian, his brother.”
“Really? You say he was in the room the whole morning? Never left it?”
“Never.”
Rubbing his chin, the officer’s unusual eyes seemed to glow. “Very well. I believe we are done here,” he said.
A deep voice sounded from a dark corner: “Leaving so soon, constable?”
The constable turned, as did every other person in the room.
Christian stepped forward into the light of the chandelier overhead, his black eyes watching the constable.
“My Lord,” he bowed, “are you aware there has been a murder in your room?”
Christian’s eyebrows arched high. “Really? Have you a suspect?”
“No, my Lord. But we have been told it was your room that the maid was found….”
“So naturally,” Christian said, walking closer to the table where Alexandria sat gaping up at him with large eyes, “you would suspect me to have killed her.”
The constable ran his eyes over Christian’s calm exterior. It was clear that he was the one who did it, for no one else in the mansion was a Vampire. “In other cases, my Lord. But for this, we are positive it was not you. How could it have been you when you were elsewhere this whole time?” Before anyone else could speak, he added, “And, of course, such publicity is surely not wanted. Lord Damion would return most unpleased to learn of this...scandal. May we just take care of the poor girl and be on with it?” His eyes seemed to glow as he eyed every person present in the room.
Christian smiled, glad that matters would be taken care of, indeed. “Yes, I believe it is safe to say you are correct, constable,” he said, reaching out to shake the man’s hand.
The constable extended his hand and Christian took it in his, his eyes drifting to the gold ring nestled on the man’s finger. His gaze then returned to the constable’s face, and he noticed the constable held a strange smile.
The voice sounded in his head as clear as day: “Be more careful, Christian, we cannot continue to cover for your poor choices in places to feed.”
Releasing his grip, Christian inclined his head slightly, as if to say the matter couldn’t be helped and stepped back.
The constable raised an eyebrow then shook his head in a noncommittal way before nodding his departure to all in the room. His eyes lingered on Christian’s before he and his men proceeded down the long hallway and through the large doors.
The remaining maids wiped at their faces, blotting the tears that fell. After a few moments of silence, they blinked and looked to one another with confused expressions.
Mary blinked as well and then waved a hand to the other maids who stood around dumbfounded. “Why are you all standing around? There’s a lot of work to be done before his Lordship returns! C’mon then!”
The other maids lifted their skirts in a hurry, running off in opposite directions of the mansion to tend to their duties.
Mary turned back to Alexandria, who hadn’t taken her eyes off Christian since he made his appearance. “Can I get anything for you, m’dear?”
“No, I’m fine. Thank you,” she responded quietly.
Mary smiled and patted Alexandria absentmindedly before taking off through a doorway, leaving the two completely alone.
Christian took notice of the human’s stare and turned to her. She did not withdraw her gaze. “Hello.”
“Hello...Lord Delacroix, is it?” she asked.
“It is,” he almost whispered. He watched her amazing eyes. How interesting they were. They seemed to meet his with almost the same amount of intensity—almost. “And who would you be?”
She stood from her chair and turned to him. “I am Alexandria Stone, my Lord,” she said, half-curtsying, half-bowing.
Christian stared at her, trying his best to decide who she could be, and then it came to him: She was the one he saw in the woods with the Lycan. Damion did save her, after all. How interesting things had become.
“Alexandria,” the name slithered off his tongue easily, “do you know why you are here?”
“I was told that I was saved by a Lord Damion Nicodemeus. I have come to understand this is his home?”
“Yes. Yes, it is.”
He looked down at his hands, noticing he held no ring on his finger, and yet he did not wish to bite her. Thinking this odd, he looked up at her again and noticed her eyes had narrowed. “Is something the matter?”
She said nothing, but stepped closer to him. He did not move, although everything in his mind screamed to get away.
She said, “Forgive me, but I believe I have seen you somewhere before.”
“Is that so?”
Alexandria seemed to be at work, shifting through her brain to think of where she had seen him. “I am almost positive we have met once before.”
Christian wondered whether he should probe her for information or let her be. He decided not to press the situation further, as he had to find the bloody ring Damion removed from his finger, or else he could not feign being human. “Excuse me, Miss Stone, but I must leave you, there is something I have left in my quarters.”
And he stepped past her, quite aware their arms brushed as he did so, and still he could not smell a trickle of blood from her. Never turning, he ascended the spiral stairs, feeling her eyes upon his back and he wondered who in the world Alexandria Stone was.
She twirled her many necklaces through her long fingers.
He said, “What if he does not return?”
“He will.”
Aciel placed a hand on Amentias’s shoulder. “You worry too much, my friend. Eleanor knows how to get what she wants. He will return. We have his wife.”
Amentias flexed his jaw. “But even so, did we have to turn her?”
“We did no such thing. If I remember correctly, Amentias, it was you who bit her. We had no choice but to allow the process to finish,” Eleanor said from her chair, still twirling her necklaces in her fingers.
“Even so, it was not a part of the plan. Are you not upset with me, Miss Black?” Amentias asked, confused.
Eleanor finally turned away from her necklaces. She looked at Amentias, her words cool, “Upset? Why in the world would I be upset? You have given Thomas to me, and as a gift, we have a new member for our little union. There is no reason for me to be upset. On the contrary, I believe this is cause for celebration.”
“Really?” Amentias said.
Aciel patted him on the shoulder. “You are too tense, my friend. We are not like the Vampires who uphold their ranks and titles to the nose. We are all equal here. We are here because we wish to be, not because we are forced.”
“Quite right.” Standing from her chair, her long hair flew out behind her. “Ah,” she said, spotting the two men who entered the small room next. “What news have you for me?”
They both kneeled, their dark robes puddling around them. The man with dark brown hair and a pointed nose spoke first. “We have secured the next phase, Miss Black. Shall we proceed?”
Eleanor stepped forward, stopping just in front of them. “No,” she said, looking down at them, “not yet. I wish to see how things turn out before we proceed.”
“Very well,” the other man said. His hair was an odd mix of black and silver, falling over his shoulders in a cascading flourish.
“Is that all?” Eleanor asked them.
The same man seemed to hesitate before he replied with, “No. It appears there has been a problem in the Vampire City.”
Eleanor’s face became one of curiosity. “What sort of problem, Specter?”
The man with dark brown hair said, “Our sources have told us that Damion Nicodemeus was badly injured in a confrontation with another Vampire.”
Eleanor’s eyes widened in surprise. “Who was it? Was it Xavier?”
“No. It appears to have been Dragor Descant.”
The voice came from behind her, “Dragor Descant attacked Damion Nicodemeus?”
Eleanor turned. “You know of Dragor?”
“Of course, I, myself, had the honor of facing him years ago,” Aciel said. “He is—was—the First Captain of the First Army. Why did he attack Damion?”
The man with cascading hair spoke up next, “We have gathered that Dragor never forgave Damion for an alleged attack during the Elves’ invasion of the City.”
“That was three years ago,” Eleanor almost laughed, “why do something about it now?”
Aciel, who stood next to Eleanor, told her, “Perhaps he was waiting for the perfect opportunity? The Vampires are there, are they not? And who better for Dragor to share his troubles with than his great friend, Xavier Delacroix?”
“Hm. I see your point. In any case, it’s absolutely absurd. At this rate, the Vampires will destroy themselves without my interference.”
Aciel’s narrow eyes danced in their sockets. “Are we going to allow them to do so?” Eleanor placed her necklaces about her throat. “Of course not. How can we obtain them if they wish to destroy themselves?” Waving a hand to the two men who still kneeled before her, she dismissed them, saying, “Specters, rise. I will call you when I am in need of you once more. Return to the Vampire City and gather more information.”
They both stood simultaneously, their long dark robes flying over the wooden floor. They bowed before her and turned to leave when she said, “Wait. Amentias...go with them.”
He folded his arms across his chest. “I am relatively new, Miss Black. I don’t think I can control this power for such an amount of time.”
She turned to him. “You will. You have proven yourself thus far. I believe you shall find that remaining a Vampire is far easier than maintaining a Lycan form.”
He hesitated.
Aciel said, “Eleanor, we have never witnessed Amentias’s Vampire form. Who is to say he can control it for an hour, a week, several months at best?”
Eleanor glared at him. “I am quite sure he can handle the Vampire form, Aciel. He was a Lycan before you met him, this I know.” Her eyes moved over Amentias’s face. “I suppose we shall have to run a few tests on him.”
Aciel looked at her in shock, his voice a whisper, “Tests? Eleanor, we haven’t had to have any tests since—”
“Since you?” Eleanor cut him off. “I am well aware. It is unfortunate that every so often there are the select few that cannot transform successfully at will.”
Aciel clenched his jaw, his eyes vicious. “I was the first one you met, Eleanor,” he spat, “of course I was not able to transform successfully. But those tests—those tests are obvious suicide.”
“Yet you agreed without further coercion. Explain how suicidal one would have to be to risk their life to join me?”
Amentias narrowed his eyes at Aciel. Placing his inquisitive stare back upon the beautiful woman beside him, he asked, “What tests?”
Eleanor’s lips curled upward at the question. “Are you willing to put your life on the line to achieve complete control over the power given to you?”
He stared at her. “Yes,” he responded, almost amazed he never realized how beautiful she truly was.
“Good.” She turned away from him and eyed the two Specters who still stood in the doorway, and she told them, “Take your leave. He will not be joining you now.”
They bowed again and took off, closing the door behind them as they went.
Aciel looked away from Eleanor and Amentias in disgust.
Eleanor ignored him, walking to the other side of the small room, towards a wooden door with a rusted, golden knob. She reached out for it and turned, pushing the door open.
Amentias followed in her footsteps, walking to meet her in front of the door. From here, the darkness of the room beyond greeted him. He took a step back, overwhelmed by the cold and roughness of the wind that seemed to emanate from nowhere.
“In order to become a Vampire, you must die and be reborn by drinking another Vampire’s blood at the cusp of death’s hold. However,” she said, gazing into the dark room before her, “an Elite takes a different approach. You gain power by facing your fears. Do you understand, Amentias?”
He shook his head, his brow furrowed. “I am not sure.”
“Do not tell me you are unsure, Amentias. You have come this far. You have agreed to my tests. We shall follow through—do I make myself clear?”
He took a deep breath and glanced from the darkness back to the calm woman at his side. “Crystal,” he muttered, wondering what he’d gotten himself into, indeed.
“Step through,” she said, gesturing a hand toward the freezing room.
Amentias took another deep breath and stepped forward.
Eleanor stepped forward as well, disappearing into the cold.
Aciel closed his eyes when the door shut behind him. The pain of such a transformation returned to him, and along with this were the memories of what he’d endured. The crushing cold, the taunting, terribly unhelpful figures that had appeared, the strange voices screaming around him from everywhere, nowhere, the dark land that cast one into a state of perpetual terror. And he had joined those screams when the strongest of all figures had appeared before him, the completely black eyes, leathery gray skin, and large bat-like wings cutting an impressive figure against the strange dark.
This figure had wanted him to join him, yes, he had, but he had not been able—he had failed, unable to take the thing’s black-clawed hand. And it had reached for him, tearing at his throat, his scream the loudest in his ears, then—
The scream encased his mind and body, but it was not his scream, he realized. He turned to the wooden door from where the scream erupted and his heart felt like ice in his chest.
He could not move. He listened to the horrified calls of Amentias’s voice from behind the weathered door, unable to believe a mere page could create such horrors...
The death of a human soul into that of a feeder, a soulless, bloodthirsty Creature from which there was no return. But Eleanor had found a way. She had found a way to return to life after one had experienced death.
And Aciel hoped for the life of him that Amentias could survive such a horrible transition.
Xavier turned with the voice, the crowd of curious Vampires detouring around him within the long hallway. Armand Dragon stepped toward him, his long black hair swaying, his red robes swishing quickly around his black boots. “Xavier! Xavier Delacroix!”
“Goldchair? Is something the matter?” he asked when Armand reached him.
The sea of Vampires detoured around them.
Armand ignored their curious stares. “It’s Dracula. He wishes to speak with you. He says it’s of the highest priority.”
“What are we speaking here?”
“A level ten,” he said quietly.
Xavier pushed the rolls of parchments he held into Armand’s hands. “Take them to my office,” he said before heading for the place he knew Dracula would be.
He muttered several pardons as he squeezed through the crowded hallway, well aware the Vampires he pushed past stared up at him in sheer awe.
The more he walked, the more the large sea of Vampires began to thin. He stepped briskly, entering the darker corridors of the mansion. Small, and not made of marble or brick, they were pure stone, the amount of torchlight here scarce at best. Only a select few Vampires were allowed to walk the smaller corridors that stretched on for several miles before the intended destination was reached: Dracula’s training room.
Xavier knew the level ten priority message he was given would not lead him to find Dracula in his office. A level ten—the highest-level priority message Dracula could ever give—meant that Dracula would be in the only place he and his Vampires could be completely alone. The training room also served as a secret meeting place where Dracula and the Vampire Order, or the Chairs, could sit and discuss urgent business. And at times, if it was needed, other high-ranking Dark Creatures would be directed to the room in order to discuss certain matters with the King of all Creatures.
As he passed the last Vampire patrolling the small corridors, Xavier’s smile faded. He had an idea of what lay behind the door. Perhaps Dracula uncovered some sort of information about Eleanor. Perhaps Dragor would be freed. Or even, perhaps, they had found the human woman Dracula required to destroy the Lycans.
These thoughts and many others filled his mind, but when he grabbed the cold handle, they dispersed. He pushed open the door, greeted with blinding darkness. “Naturally,” he muttered to himself as he stepped forward into the room, allowing the door to shut behind him.
Torches that lined the large dark room sparked to life, creating an eerie glow throughout the stone dungeon. Xavier turned his attention to the small table that sat in the middle of the room and the Vampire who sat there, his chair facing the door, a dark look in his eyes. “Come forth, Mister Delacroix,” Dracula said.
Xavier moved for the table and when he was near, Dracula said, “You hurried here. I’m glad to see that a level-ten still claims your attention.”
“I don’t see why it wouldn’t,” Xavier began, “—what is the emergency?”
He stood, reaching Xavier’s level of sight. “Dragor is still in the Chambers of Waiting. While you were resting, he tried to escape. He was not successful. He is fine...for now. The First Army Officers that were standing guard at the Chambers of Waiting stopped him before he could get very far—”
“You placed his own officers in charge of watching him?!”
“Yes. I know how it must seem, but it is for the best. Would you rather I have placed any other Army in guard of the Chambers? Exactly. Now, I am thinking of having Dragor moved away, out of the City. I had a talk with few other Chamber Masters, and Dragor Descant’s attack on Damion does not sit well with them. At this rate, if questioned, Damion could very well keep his position in the Order and Dragor—”
“Will be sentenced to a day in the sunlight. Death,” Xavier finished.
“Exactly.”
“What am I here for?” he asked, not liking where this conversation was going in the least.
Dracula looked away from his eyes for a second before returning his gaze. “I am asking you... I am asking you to escort Dragor out of the Vampire City. He will go to Lane or Quiddle, or any other Vampire town across this world, but he must not stay here.”
“Dracula, do you understand what you are asking me to do?”
“Yes,” he said. “I am telling you to escort Dragor Descant out of this City by any means necessary. I have spoken with Civil, Richard, Warren, and Sarah. Warren and Richard are the only members who do not agree with Civil. Sarah—being the newest member to both the Clearance Committee and the Chamber Masters—does not know Civil well enough to know where his true intentions stand.”
“And have you mentioned this plan to Warren, Richard?”
“No. If I had, we would be having this discussion in my office with the two Vampires present,” Dracula responded. He must have seen the puzzled expression on Xavier’s face, for he said, “I do not trust those Vampires as much as I trust you, Xavier. I am telling you to do this because I know you will get it done without hesitation.”
“Dracula, to break the very rule you created—can you not just make your word final? Tell Civil and the other Masters that Dragor is not a criminal? You do believe he is not a criminal…?”
He sighed. “With all that has happened here, Xavier, it is clear either Dragor or Damion, or both Vampires, are clearly out of line. Damion is close to awakening, but Victor cannot be a witness. I sent him back to the surface with Lillith. Without a witness to the events that took place three years ago, Dragor is as good as dead.”
Bewilderment filled him. “Why send Victor to the surface if he is needed for the trial?”
“Lillith needs a place to reside. I’ve sent them back so they can work it out between themselves and Victor’s servants.”
“Surely there are more important things going on here, Victor is needed—”
Dracula eyed him darkly, sending him into silence at once. “Regardless of where Victor is needed, it remains that Dragor will leave this place. Now, can you do this for me?”
He stared at him for a few moments, not sure what thoughts lingered behind the Vampire’s brown eyes, but it was clear the Creature had ulterior motives. Trying his luck, he asked, “Why must Dragor leave?”
“Because he must. You will go to him now. I do think it is the right time for you to make your escape. As it stands, the halls are filled with Vampires from other towns and cities here in preparation for the Ball. If you leave now, I’m sure you will return in time to attend.”
His brow furrowed in bewilderment. What was going on? “Your Ball is not held until the nearing of winter, Dracula.”
“Yes, but that does not mean my friends cannot come and linger to their dead hearts’ content. Dragor, Xavier.”
He stared at him, almost admiring the hardened, cold gaze he was given. He knew all at once that, whatever more was said, Dracula would not let him do anything more without seeing Dragor out of the City.
He bowed, though his mind still burned with thought. “I will go to Dragor, but what shall I tell the Committee?”
Dracula’s eyes narrowed. “Oh, I’m sure you’ll think of something.”
Amentias’s nails filled with dirt as he was dragged viciously across the ground. “Eleanor!” he cried, “help me!”
She stared at him, her eyes taunting and cruel, her boots caked with the dirt he sent flying in the air with his struggle. “Claim your thirst for the blood of the living,” she said, and it was as though she didn’t care what happened to him.
He screamed, the cold hand gracing his hair, spreading even more blood throughout his black locks. The touch like ice, burning against his scalp. His lungs freezing, he gasped for warm air only to be greeted with returning frost.
Through the drops of black blood that sprayed his face, he looked up at her. Beautiful, dangerous Eleanor Black. Was this what he agreed to do? Succumb to whatever this madness was for mere power? What if he did not return? What if he never returned to the way he was—who he was?
He gasped yet again, another gust of cold air entering his lungs, and he found her eyes, black with no feeling. It was then that he knew she was no longer human, no longer a Vampire, for even a Vampire’s eyes were not so terribly cold. Her eyes held no raging warmth of a Lycan. What was she?
When what felt like two burning hands pressed against his back, he searched her eyes rapidly, desperate for any sign of bloody life, finding none.
“Wh-Why?” he coughed, a gasp quickly leaving him, more cold air filling his lungs. The cold unbearable now.
She smiled.
He heard the growing howls of the dead. They pulled at him fiercely, drawing closer to the black puddle of blood. He continued to dig his nails into the ground, unsuccessfully stalling their attempts to pull him under. “What are you? Why have you done this to me?” he cried.
She walked alongside him as he slid against his will. Clapping her hands together, her hair swayed in the cold breeze. “I have done nothing. You agreed to my training. You have put yourself here. It seems you are not ready to face power, any amount of hesitation or fear will halt the process, Amentias. You must be confident, strong-willed. You must know you will return from where true power hides.” her voice softening, though her eyes did not.
His veined hands wrapped around a long, jagged rock. He pulled himself toward it, even as the hands pulled him harder in the opposite direction. “What is this?!”
She bent her knees to reach his level and grazed a finger underneath his chin, the warmth of her touch causing his skin to sizzle. He closed his eyes at her touch, no longer able to scream. Her voice was warm and caring, although he knew if he opened his eyes, he would find the exact opposite.
“This is the struggle of your courage to hold true power. You fight with the power; you deny its truth. However, if you simply let them take you under,” and her eyes danced to the black puddle behind him where more dead bodies broke the surface, “you will emerge a Vampire. The first step to true power.”
First step?!
She removed her finger from his chin and placed her palm on his bloody face. The warmth returned to his cheek and his eyes shot open with her touch.
The cold of the dead washed away, moving down his body. His heart beat faster, lungs springing to life with blissful warm air. Almost at once did he feel the cold arms and hands shrink from him, and without turning to look, he knew the dead had retreated into the black puddle of blood: The sound of bodies submerging reached his ears.
His grip on the jagged rock loosened and he fell to the ground. His breathing quickened, mind running wild with what she had done to get her power...what she had lost, and with one last glance to the woman that stood over him, his eyes widened.
She was no longer beautiful, her skin was leathery and black, her feet clawed with long black talons, her head long, chin pointed, eyes completely black, and the large, bat-like wings that had appeared upon her back spread wide, sending tufts of fur to fly toward his face.
He blinked, tufts of brown fur, Lycan, he vaguely guessed, catching in his mouth and eyes. He spit them out, the words he wished to scream getting lost in the high-pitched screech that left her large, many-fanged mouth, before he drifted off into a deep sleep, and all, miraculously, was lost to him.