DESPERATION
Christian returned to his room for the second time that day. He had been called downstairs to meet with several Vampires who just happened to be passing Damion’s mansion when they had heard that Christian Delacroix was residing there. Luckily, no word of the Lycan’s attack reached their ears, and he was grateful for this little fact. The less he would have to hear that he was not as responsible as his brother, the absolute better. One could go mad being compared to their sibling for several decades.
A knock on the door beckoned his attention.
“Enter,” he said.
He heard the door creak open yet silence filled his ears for a brief moment. It was replaced with, “Sorry for the intrusion, my Lord.”
He cracked his neck, shaking the sweetness of the voice from his ears. Although he did this, the pain of the damned ring caused his hand to tense and he wished he could throw it off and be rid of it once and for all, yet he knew that couldn’t be so.
Turning to face her, he let a smile fall over his lips, however false it was. “Miss Stone.”
She curtsied, lifting the skirts of a royal-blue gown as she did so.
With her dip, he stared at the shining necklace that fell in between her breasts. His throat went dry, with thirst, desire...he wasn’t quite sure.
“I have been asked to attend a ball tonight,” she said, her brown-green eyes gazing upon him in what seemed blatant interest, “shall you...accompany me, my Lord?”
Christian tilted his head at her benign beauty. Her dark brown hair curled down her shoulders and back, pulling him to the structure of her heart-shaped face: It was hard to look away. “I shall,” he said at last, licking his lips, sending a tinge of red to touch to her cheeks.
Alexandria curtsied again and left the room, something like confusion lining her frame.
He stared at the door for a moment, not quite sure what just happened. She had asked to attend a ball? But who knew she was here? Something was wrong, he decided then, not at all realizing that the sight of her had sent his blood to burn in his veins until the ring broke in two upon his finger and fell with a pathetic clank to the floor.
“What on Earth?” he whispered, staring at his ring-less hand, mind racing with the rush of blood throughout his body: He barely had room to think about how this could have happened. His thoughts were occupied with the curious Alexandria Stone. The moment she’d entered the room, his mind went completely blank, the aching of the ring growing worse the longer he’d watched her.
Never before had a human woman caused such a reaction within him with the bloody ring on. What was wrong with him?
But who, indeed, was she? They had saved her, that much was certain, but why exactly, he could not say. It was the Lycans that propelled his actions that night, yet the thought of them laying harm to her maddened him. Why?
Shaking his head free of those thoughts, he bent and picked up the fragments of the ring, eyeing them in his palm. Never before had it broken—it was resilient. He’d had it for many years. Why did it break now? And with the sight of a mere woman?
But, more importantly, he snarled, feeling his tongue go dry for the taste of blood: How in the world was he to get through the evening?
“The missus is waiting in the carriage, my Lord,” a young man said, bowing before him.
He fixed his collar and slipped on the black suit jacket. “Thank you. I’ll be down shortly,” he said, watching the boy leave the room, closing the large door behind him.
His eyes turned: The room became doused in red, a sigh of relief escaping him. The pain of holding in the urge to tear the young man’s head off seared through him, maintaining his natural eye color was terribly painful as well.
He sighed. An evening of holding my breath every time a human passes, neck exposed, blood surging... With unsteady hands, he resumed fixing his collar, pausing only when the realization that he had no idea who was throwing this ball came to him. It could very well be a human, but in that case, he would have no idea who this human would be. He was not as outgoing as his brother and the other Vampires. The only people he knew were the maids and servants of his manor, as well as the maids and servants of Damion’s and Victor’s. In this case, the invitation to a grand ball must have come from a Vampire.
Perhaps it was not a Vampire who presented the invitation, he thought, releasing his collar, stepping up to the door. Perhaps Alexandria’s relatives were aware of her whereabouts and wished to see her again. If that was the case, tonight would be an evening filled with humans.
Closing his eyes, he let his mind dance to thoughts of human blood reaching his nose, freely, unguarded. He opened his eyes, reaching for the handle, mind set on the blood that would be there. He pushed down, the blood of those in the manor, present and unyielding, reaching his nose without abandon.
The woman walked into view, a basket filled with fresh clothes tight in her hands. Her blood slid to his nose, and his red gaze fell upon her neck. She bent low, placing the basket just before the door, and when she lifted herself to open it, he spied the back of her neck. A surge of need rushed through him, and not being able to control himself, he opened the door with more force than he would have liked.
It slammed against the wall of his bedroom, leaving a crack where the edges of the door hit.
She jumped at the sound and turned to face the noise, and Christian smelled her fear, smelled as it subsided with her steadying heart.
“My Lord,” she whispered. “You scared me.”
“I’m...sorry.” He breathed deep, taking in more of her scent, taking his hand off the door, keeping his gaze upon the floor. He could not let her see his eyes. “I figured you could use a hand. Please, let me...” he said, stepping into the hallway, a rush of even more blood reaching his senses. He could not still the snarl that escaped his throat. He moved to her despite her curious stare, and, careful not to touch her, he reached past, turning the handle of the heavy door. It slid open with ease.
“Thank you, my Lord,” she said.
He knew she was flustered, he could smell it, now so terribly close...
He heard her heart rate increase and his own soared, pumping against his ribcage just as it had done in the absence of Alexandria Stone. He was careful not to look into her eyes, as he stepped away from her, her racing blood, and allowed her room to pick up the basket filled with Damion’s clothes. “You are very welcome,” he said, barely able to suppress his need, careful as ever not to show his fangs.
She continued to stare at him for several moments before bending to grasp at the basket at her feet.
He saw the back of her neck, quite bare, wisps of brown hair against her skin, the faint traces of sweat just there.
He seized his chance.
As she rose, he allowed his senses to guide him behind her, he allowed the smell of her blood to propel his hands to move to her lips, pressing them shut. “Do not scream,” he whispered in her ear.
No sound protruded past muffled lips, but he could feel the tremulous pulsing of her blood beneath her skin... How it drove him so...
His eyes flashed and Damion’s door swung open, and he thought the words: Enter the room.
She moved forward as he slowly removed his hand from her mouth, watching her shake, but step into the red room she did.
He followed her, only able to stare upon her back as she stopped walking, placing the basket on the floor before her feet as though her body was not her own.
And it wasn’t.
He waved a hand and the door closed behind him, his command stretching across her body: She stiffened as though a cold wind had blown through, striking her where she stood. He took a slow step forward, her blood filling his nose, sending his mind to empty, nothing but the taste of that sweet blood driving him toward her—
“Wh-What are you?” she breathed, her soft, shaking voice filling him with confusion.
He had not allowed her to speak.
“Never mind what I am,” he said, wondering how she had spoken. He stepped to her quicker still, watching her eyes widen, marvelous fear clear within them. She inhaled sharply, slow tears forming, and he stopped just before her, her blood pulsing, finding a home in his eager brain, the hand that lifted to touch her skin…
He could only vaguely register the stark apprehension on her face, when she opened her mouth and inhaled, and he blinked, regaining his mind, for he knew what would happen long before it did.
He moved behind her, pressing a hand to her lips, the scream dying before it had a chance to shake the air, and he, slipping a shaking hand around her waist, allowed her blood to propel him. He pressed his fangs against her neck, slowly breaking the skin, the gasp of pain leaving her beneath his hand.
His body not his own, he sucked, knowing nothing but the taste of her warm blood as it seeped past his lips, sliding down his throat with familiar ease, filling his veins with renewed power, greater control....
He released her before long and watched her slump to the floor, quite cold, very dead, and he wiped a trail of blood from his chin, scolding himself for his dangerously wild acts of desperation.
The rapping on the steel door caused his head to fly up, dark thoughts leaving him with the sound.
“You’ve a very special visitor, Descant. Make yourself presentable,” the voice mocked from the other side of the door.
“Although he is in these Chambers, Vampire, you will not address Dragor in that manner. He was indeed your superior officer before he was placed here. And as I remember it, you honored the very ground he stepped on,” a second, cool voice commanded.
He stood from his chair, recognizing the Vampire’s voice, and silently thanking him for defending his sullied honor, he wondered what Xavier Delacroix was doing in the Chambers of Waiting so soon. He had forced himself into thinking he had at least a week in the Chambers before Xavier was called.
The steel door slid open, and Dragor watched the two Vampires push it against the dark stone wall, his eyes meeting Xavier’s green ones.
He stood in the doorway, a small smile upon his face. “You must be surprised to see me.”
Dragor nodded.
“How are you feeling?” Xavier asked, stepping into the dungeon, the two Vampires pulling the door closed behind him.
A sigh left him and he rubbed a hand over his face, sure to feign a look of great apprehension. “I feel like I look. Tired. Worried.” His voice dropped as he whispered, “Scared.”
Xavier reached forward, placing his hands on his shoulders, guiding him gently down, back into the old wooden chair before kneeling at his side. “What do you fear?” he asked, green eyes shining with sympathy in the many torches’ light.
“I am no fool, Xavier,” he said, his voice raspy with little use. “I know what they are planning to do with me—what will happen. I messed up. I messed up fantastically.”
He felt the grip tighten on his shoulder before Xavier asked, “So you know you will be sentenced to death?”
“I’ve heard the guards talking. Damion is nearly awake, isn’t he? I already look terrible in Dracula’s eyes, don’t I? Sent here...waiting for the sun to claim me.”
“You will not die. Not here, not now... Dracula has ordered me to escort you out of the City.”
Truly. So soon? What was Dracula thinking? “What?” he whispered, only able to stare at him, wondering how much, if anything, Dracula may have let slip…
“He called me into the training room moments ago. This is what he requests of me.”
“So he believes me—you’ve convinced him that I’m innocent?” He kept his own voice low, the implication of something more beneath the words.
“No,” Xavier said, “I do not know his exact reasoning, but he fears your life is indeed in danger. As it stands Damion has more power—”
“But he’s lied to us all!”
“I know,” Xavier said. “Which is exactly why we must act, and quickly. Damion is healing as you have said. We cannot afford to waste any more time.”
Dragor did not move from his chair as Xavier rose to his feet, questions filling his mind, for why would the Great Vampire send him to the Chambers and not tell him what was truly going on?
Watching Xavier, he asked, “But how will this be done? The mansion is heavily guarded, not to mention the Clearance Committee’s rules, regulations. They would not allow you to let me leave.”
He saw the Vampire’s brow furrow in bemusement. “I’m not sure. We must think of something.”
Another knock on the steel door called their attention and Dragor tensed, not knowing who it could be on the other side, for he had only ever expected Xavier. “You’ve another visitor, my Lord.”
“What is the caller’s name?”
They heard low voices sharing words behind the door, and then the original Vampire to speak responded: “A Joseph Gail. King of Winfield.”
Dragor noticed Xavier mouthed the name, “Joseph Gail” as though he’d heard it before, but could not place where, when the steel door opened, the same two guards pushing it. They watched the tall Vampire who stood in the doorway, his long black hair lying against his shoulders, his gleaming green eyes searching the small dungeon with little care. He wore red robes that swayed around his black boots as he entered, the steel door closing with an echo behind him.
“Xavier Delacroix,” he said in acknowledgement, his voice deep, “Dragor Descant.”
“What brings you here, Mr. Gail?” Xavier asked, staring at the newcomer.
Joseph smiled. “It is in regards to Dracula, Lord Delacroix. I believe he has grown increasingly desperate, given certain circumstances that have emerged in the Dark World.”
Dragor narrowed his eyes at the Vampire.
“Explain yourself,” Xavier said.
Joseph moved a hand to the pocket of his gold and red vest and pulled out a note. Flipping the small paper open, he read it aloud, “And if Dracula were to carry Xavier Delacroix to the Council of Creatures, it can only mean that Dracula will soon meet his end.” He then handed the note to a soundless Xavier. “That was written by someone close to the Vampire City.”
Xavier looked down at the small paper in his hand. “Who wrote it?”
“For me to tell you that, I’m afraid it would betray a mighty sense of trust I have instilled in the Vampire who told me this. I’m sure you do understand, Xavier,” Joseph said.
Dragor fought the urge to rise to his feet, for this Joseph Gail knew far too much. He kept his seat as Xavier asked, “Why are you giving me this now?”
The Vampire smiled again, dousing his fangs in the one orange light from a nearby torch. “My Lord, you are aware of the Creatures that have shown themselves recently. Naturally, you would be. Well, let us just say, and I believe we should keep this between ourselves—” he eyed Dragor “—that the Vampire who gave me this note knew that Dracula would pull you aside and tell you that you are to go to the Council with him, although these odd...appearances have just started...”
“So what?”
Joseph turned away from them, and it seemed he was taking notice of his surroundings for the first time, his expression that of disgust. “So it must mean that Dracula does not wish to...remain in office for much longer.” He turned to Xavier. “Has he mentioned taking you to see the Council?”
“He has not mentioned taking me to see the Council of Creatures—”
“Whatever it means,” he interrupted rudely, “I do think it is an interesting thing to look into. Wouldn’t you say so, Mister Descant?”
He blinked, not knowing what to think, for if it was true that Dracula had not talked to Xavier about the Council of Creatures, then the Great Vampire was far behind on his own plan. So what was really going on? “What?” he asked a bit too harshly, his patience with the noisy Vampire was quite near its end.
“I said it is an interesting thing to look into, Dracula taking Xavier to see the Council of Creatures,” Joseph said, voice loud, apparently taking the snappish retort to mean Dragor had not heard.
“He is?” Dragor blinked, feigning perfect confusion.
Xavier scowled. “He is doing no such thing. Mister Gail, you have overstayed your welcome. Dragor and I are very busy—”
“Busy?” Joseph laughed. “My Lord, the Vampire is in a bloody dungeon. He’s a prisoner in his own home. What in the world could you have to do with Cap, er, Mister Descant?”
He closed his eyes, opening them after a moment, figuring he had to force himself to ignore the Vampire’s mocking air as well. “Mister Gail,” his voice softer, less cold and commanding, “I am not sure how things work in...Winfield, Middle Country, but here, in the main Vampire City, it is rather rude to barge into Dracula’s mansion and talk of such nasty rumors. Added onto it, you have questioned me and insulted my dear friend. Now, Mr. Gail, I am sure you are King elsewhere, but here you are just another Vampire. I am not sure how you even gained entrance into the Chambers of Waiting, or how you knew where to find me, but it is clear you have overstayed your welcome. On what business do you come to the Vampire City? Was it only to tell me of a small rumor or is there more?”
“I am here in preparation for the ball, as are other Vampires from all over the World,” he said, the smug look no longer upon his face, “I’ve only just received the note, my Lord—the Vampire who gave it to me did not give me a name, he only told me to give it to you. I am doing as I was told.”
Xavier narrowed his eyes in skeptical disapproval. “You are a King, and yet you are listening to strange Vampires who give you pieces of parchment, telling you to hand them out freely?”
Joseph snarled. “This Vampire was no mere Vampire. I cannot explain it, but I had to listen to him. It is hard to explain—”
“You’d better start.”
His eyes seemed to dim in the light of the torch. “He told me,” he began, as though rather scared to speak the words, “about Dracula—about the Creatures appearing all across the woods here. He mentioned Dracula’s...need...to take you to the Council of Creatures. He mentioned that if he had said something about this to you, that the Great Vampire would soon meet his end. No longer King of the Vampires, King of all Creatures, as it were.
Xavier’s eyes turned red for a very brief second, his hair beginning to lift from his back and shoulders, a snarl escaping his lips. “I demand to know who told you this! What did he look like?”
The Vampire looked away and stared at the stone floor beneath his feet. When he began to speak once more, it was very slowly, as though his tongue was weighed down by the pressure Xavier exuded. “He never gave me a name—”
“His appearance?”
“He was tall, about my height. His face was long, his hair a mixture of silver and black, my Lord. His eyes black. I found even I could not stare into them.”
Xavier’s eyes drifted to Dragor’s and lingered there for the slightest of seconds.
Dragor saw that the Vampire knew not what to think.
When at last Xavier turned back to Joseph, it was to say, “Vampires are here from all over the world, correct, Mr. Gail? Well, I presume you shall track down this mysterious Vampire and bring him to Dracula. I am sure with a Vampire of your...standing...this will not be a challenge.”
Joseph’s eyes became a misty blue for a fraction of a second before returning to their natural green. Dragor watched as he glared at Xavier, before turning to him, bowing low, a hand over his dead heart.
And all at once, Dragor knew that Joseph knew his place against Xavier’s, a small smile tearing his lips in two: Xavier truly was the right Vampire for the job, Dracula’s inane tests be damned.
“My Lord,” Joseph said before rising to his feet, nodding to them both. He moved to the door and pressed his knuckles against them.
The door swung open, and Joseph Gail stepped through the doorway. Dragor eyed Xavier’s back, not sure at all what Dracula was planning to do with the Vampire or who gave Joseph Gail the bloody note and why.
The door closed, bringing him to the present, and he rubbed his hands together. “You do not have to listen to him.”
Xavier turned. “But you would have me listen to Dracula?”
“Would you not?” he asked, standing. He had to get the Vampire to stay on Dracula’s side, no matter what. And it was here Dragor cursed Dracula for not telling Xavier at least what it was he intended to do for him, to give him a little piece of mind. But no, Dracula had wanted to wait for the right moment. The right moment, my arse, he’d thought time and time again. “Come now Xavier, that Vampire could have been lying. We’ve only just met him—who knows what or who he really is. But Dracula, there is a Vampire you have known your whole death. He has looked after you. He has watched over you, protected you. Do not let your judgment be clouded by a Vampire you have never met—”
“But I have met Joseph Gail once before. He was no King then, but we created a small friendship for as long as I was around him.” Dragor stared at him seriously, having never heard this story before. “It was a part of my training with Dracula, to go about the World and meet other Vampires, see that this City was not the only haven for Vampires to flock to when other Creatures were up in arms.
“I knew the Vampire had some royal standing, in both the Vampire World and the human one. It was his choice to pick which world he would rule. He was tormented by such a great burden for many nights. He would keep me up most mornings and tell me of his longing to rule over the humans. Have them under his control. But he knew he could not keep up such a charade, for how would he explain to the humans that he remained the same while most of their children had grown into full-fledged adults? Yes, I see now. He chose the path we all walk.”
Dragor was silent for a while, and then he said, “So he was like you, Xavier, able to withstand the sun?”
“No, he always bore the necklace—as it was back then—if he wanted to train with me in the light. He did most of his training at night. I believe he was rather envious of me, always seeing how exhausted I was from my day in the sun. Then he would get up and train with the moon as his guide. Our paths were very different: he, training to become a formidable King, defending his people, whatever they may be, against foes human or not. I was simply there because Dracula wished for me to be. I had no real reason for training, and I had no idea what I was training for, as Dracula would never tell me. It is only now, years later, that he tells me of my blood—even if it is not in great detail.”
Dragor massaged his neck. The Great Vampire had told Xavier of his blood? But not in great detail? How much did he know? “Xavier,” he started, trying to keep Xavier’s mind good on thoughts of Dracula, “he must’ve changed over the years. I mean, do you really recall meeting a Vampire with black and silver hair as Gail said?”
“No. I don’t, but in any case, I will get you out of the City, as Dracula has ordered me to.”
He nodded, glad the Vampire was finally talking sense. He watched Xavier move to the steel door and knock, sure to yell, “I am taking Dragor Descant to my quarters.”
As the doors opened, a small Vampire draped in the standard First Army uniform had the nerve to say, “Dracula has ordered no one to take Dragor Descant out of the Chamber.”
“He has given me different orders,” Xavier said.
He watched the First Army soldiers he used to command fall into confusion over whether to listen to the King of Vampires or the Lord of Vampires. It was several minutes, indeed, before one of them decided to let Xavier pass.
He turned to Dragor, and although he had accomplished the first part of his task, no smile graced his face. “Dragor,” he said.
Dragor blinked before assessing the situation at hand, a smile forming on his lips as it came to him. “Yes, my Lord?”
“We are leaving.”
And he let his smile deplete into the recesses of feigned sadness, before running a large hand over his eyes, his work not done, not in the least. It was only just beginning.
“Of course, my Lord.”