LETTERS
Victor stood and walked to the large window of the vast living room, pushing aside the royal-blue curtain that had shrouded the room in darkness—the way he liked it—and squinted against the sun’s bright rays.
Holding up a hand to block the light, he caught the glimpse of the gold band upon his finger. He stared at it for some time, the thought of Xavier Delacroix’s words resounding through his mind the longer he stared, “There is obviously more he is not telling me—us...”
Take your pick as to what it is, Victor thought dryly.
The Great Vampire was, and he knew it well, adept at the keeping of secrets. Indeed, if Victor hadn’t been the Vampire’s first, he could have had the blissful ignorance others held close to their hearts. But he knew. Dracula was, for lack of better word, a liar.
But what those lies were...
He turned from the window, shrouding the room in darkness once more, his gaze darkening over the room. He’d inhabited it for many years, shared blood in it, held grand conversations with other Vampires, the few Enchanters….
“My Lord,” a tall man with an overarching nose said from an open doorway.
Victor, lost in thought, had not smelled the man enter. How troublesome. He felt the metal clamps within his finger pulse painfully.
The man continued after a brief nod, “A letter has been received from a—” the man held the envelope up to his glassy eyes “—Count Dracul.”
Ignoring the pulse, he strode the length of the room in less than a second, the man blinking in the wind created, and with a careful hand, he pried the closed envelope from the wrinkled fingers with ease.
He said nothing to the man who bowed his leave with something of a sniff, and when he was gone, he eyed the envelope in exasperation.
Dracula’s secrets. The thought passed and died as quickly as it came, the seed of anger in his dead heart sending his blood to grow hot just for a moment, years of practice keeping it at bay. No. I needn’t subject myself. Xavier... Xavier will figure it out when it’s time.
With reluctant fingers, he tore open the envelope and unfolded the small paper inside. He eyed the neat calligraphy that dressed the letter, wishing what he was about to read was as nice as the writing he now saw:
Victor,
I will cut right to the chase, my friend. It appears the Etrian Elves wish to hold a meet with the Vampire World. Regarding what this means for our people remains to be seen. As of now, I see it in the best interest of our two breeds if we are to ever stop the Lycan hold on the human world. Seeing as how the human woman has yet to be obtained.
As you may be aware, the Elves despise the overgrown beasts as much as we do, I believe we should hear what they have to say. Naturally, I will need all remaining Members of the Order to return to the City as soon as possible. The Elves will arrive here in a few days’ time. Those involved should leave their homes on the surface and to tend to this important matter.
Victor, I have not notified the other Members of this meeting with the Elves. Only yourself. I leave it up you to tell them immediately. I have also arranged several carriages, if needed. Of course, you are free to ride horseback if you wish. Just get here as soon as you can.
Please send word in a letter before you leave.
Your Oldest Friend,
Count Dracul
P.S. – I have had newer rings made. I shall give them to you all upon arrival.
Victor read the letter again, this time finding the words “newer rings made.” He threw the paper down onto a nearby table in disgust, the pride—whatever there was of it—that came with being a Vampire diminishing all the more. Being dragged back to the City for the bloody Elves... No, no, Dracula had more up his sleeve than just that.
But what that was...
He sighed and rubbed his hands anxiously together. It never ends, he thought, staring at the curtain, shining as it was against the sun’s light. But wasn’t it my fault?
He’d retrieved Xavier Delacroix once the newly-made Vampire had been healed, turned, and admitted to fathering the Delacroix men. And he’d moved quickly to ensure the Great Vampire had all he desired in order. For he’d wanted yet another Vampire to rise up—yet another Dark Creature to take the place that many others had failed in taking.
And Victor had stepped in and helped Dracula secure these Vampires, watching them fail in the impossible (unknowable) pursuits the Great Vampire had desired for them. And he had been compelled, bidden, indeed, to move as Dracula wished.
He, tied to the Great Vampire more than most…
But it had not mattered, that connection, that tie. The more he moved to cover up the Great Vampire’s secrets, the less he knew of what the Great Vampire did. He was kept, maddeningly, out of the room whilst meetings went on—kept far away when strange Dark Creatures would arrive on Dracula’s doorstep, begging for help, or screaming in rage.
He stared at the gold on his finger, the day the Great Vampire had given it to him sharp in his mind. It had been in Dracula’s office, just after a particularly tiring journey back from the Vampire City, Lane. He had revealed he was relinquishing the necklaces they’d worn before and replacing them with enchanted rings, a special magic imbued in them to still their bloodlust, allowed certain Vampires to walk in the sun. Of course, this had brought to mind the few Vampires, Dracula included, who could walk atop the surface as they pleased.
He had wondered, many a time, how they were able to do that without the enchanted jewelry, but he had never voiced this concern. He was quite sure to do so would draw unwanted attention upon himself. He already obeyed Dracula’s every word, and he had seen, far too many times, the cruelty with which the Vampire would move to ensure his commands were obeyed.
A light breeze blew up around the room with his thoughts, and with it, the letter landed lightly on the floor, bringing him to the here and now. He stared at it for a long moment before cursing silently, lifting it from the floor. He read it one more time, unable to shake the tremendous sensation the Great Vampire was dragging him into madness yet again, and he, whatever he’d felt, would do the only thing Dracula’s first could: Obey.
He swept from the room where the Vampire screamed his pain, grimacing as he closed the door behind himself.
The Unicorn blood was fresh, as always, but terrible in taste. Still, it did its job well. It would be a matter of time before the Vampire truly healed, indeed.
“M’Lord,” a young man said from down the hall, running up to him with a thin envelope in a sweaty hand, “a letter from Lord Vonderheide. Just arrived.” He drew level with the Vampire, doubling over once he’d stopped, his free hand upon his thigh, the envelope stretched out.
Damion took the envelope, trying his best to ignore the sweaty fingerprints all across it and recognized Victor’s handwriting. He offered a terse, “Thank you,” to the boy and took the letter before moving down the long hallway to his room.
He pushed open the two large doors and stepped into the bedroom, smiling at the red that covered the walls, the floor, and the vast bed in the center.
He strolled over to a small desk in a corner of the large room, letting the letter linger idly between his fingers, wondering what it could hold. With a wave of his free hand, the single candle atop the desk sparked to life. It shed light on the dark wood, the quill in its ink, and the fresh parchment.
He sat and flipped open the letter.
Damion,
Dracula requests the Order’s appearance in the Vampire World immediately. He stressed the importance of arriving there as fast as possible. Apparently, the Etrian Elves wish to speak with us, so you can see why our presence is requested. Such a matter is delicate.
I have sent letters to the others. We must meet tonight. We will meet in the City streets. Do not bring anyone else with you. Dracula has arranged for horses to carry us there. There will be no need for you to bring your ring, we are having new ones made and will be given them upon our arrival into the City.
I agree this is a rather troublesome request, but bear with it, Damion.
Secondary Lord of the Vampire Order,
Victor Vonderheide
Ah. Such short notice, he thought. He had no time to venture back to the Vampire City—it was a place he didn’t desire to travel to at any rate. But for the Elves? Absolutely not.
Damion folded the letter slowly, his fingers sliding across the edge. He eyed the small flame atop the candle, the cry of pain issuing through the walls. How on Earth am I to get more Unicorn blood to see Christian fully healed?
Another cry cut through the air and he started, staring seriously upon the blank parchment.
Damned Dracula, he thought, the candle’s flame sparking briefly in his anger. No prior notice, indeed, and we are just expected to pack up and come home when called? I am no dog.
But, as soon as he’d thought this, his furrowed brow broke in two and he almost laughed. Ah, yes, he was a dog. Dracula’s dog. As were they all. Except for Xavier...but he would not—nay, could not—bring himself to think on that Vampire, the damn calming control in his green gaze the night before...
No, he could not bring himself to think on Xavier, not at a time like this.
The woman. The image of the curious woman atop the ground, serene in all her ignorance, returned, and his brow furrowed deeper with thought.
There was interest in that prospect, yes.
He had returned home last night to find Lillith had seen to it the woman be placed right next door, that she still slept soundlessly... He’d marveled at her sheer beauty. But it was not until he’d bade Lillith leave of his home that he entered the room of the woman once more and stared in earnest upon her pleasant frame.
Her mouth, all at once, had drawn his attention. He admired its curt shape, its slightly curved frame, and it seemed she smiled while she slept. Yet the dirt upon her red dress, her cheek, her forehead, and the leaves and twigs caught in her long dark brown hair gave him the impression he stared upon a woodland Creature.
She was no normal human, this he could agree to with ease, for her blood was strong, and her frame tense, although she appeared to be in the deepest of sleeps.
All at once, he heard the whispers of excited voices; they danced through the thick walls and drew him out of his mind.
“Warn the master,” an elderly woman’s voice sounded somewhere farther down the hallway, one he recognized as the head maid’s. “The woman’s awake!”
He rose from the chair, Victor’s letter falling out of hand. The flame dispersed and darkness consumed the room once more. He moved to the silken red wallpaper just beside the desk and placed a hand upon it, not blinking as the wall disappeared. He stared down a long, narrow stone tunnel. Torches along the high walls sparked to life the longer he stared.
She’s awake, he thought, taking his first step into the narrow passage, she’s awake, but is she truly Dracula’s relative?
The torches’ light threw great relief over the stone passage; it stretched further onwards, Damion not slowing in his steps. The stone wall resolute where the passage ended, drawing close. He waved a hand as he approached and it disappeared as well, and in its place, the familiar room showed itself.
He stopped just near the entrance, for he heard voices on the other side, and he tempered his urgent desire to see this woman as he listened.
“D’you need anything, Miss?” a young woman said.
“Nothing, no,” a quiet, shaky voice answered, and this voice caused Damion’s eyes to widen at its sheer sweetness. “I just wish to know...where I am.” “Oh, well... The Master has been called...he shall arrive shortly. If you’ll excuse me, Miss...”
He heard the woman step from the room but he did nothing until he heard the large door close.
She remained atop the large bed, the canopy curtains drawn to their tall posts, her pleasant face still pointed at the door the woman had left through. It allowed him more time to eye her now-clean frame, the white gown she wore, and he realized the maids must have cleaned and changed her during the morning.
He stepped farther into the room, waving a few fingers, the secret passage returning to wall immediately. “You must be flustered,” he said, “waking up in a strange place.”
Her head whipped around and he was rather surprised her neck did not snap from the movement.
The gasp left her lips, her brown-green eyes widening, her stare one of bewilderment. She drew the white sheets to her chest, hiding the white dressing gown from view. “I-I... Who on Earth are you?” she whispered, breathless. “Where did you come from?”
He stepped further into the room, suddenly aware he could not smell her fear, although her eyes were wide her chest heaving with apprehension. It was at this that he grazed the golden ring on his finger. Perhaps the bloody rings were doing their job after all.
“I am Damion Nicodemeus,” he said, “you are in my home.”
Her gaze softened at his words, but her hands were still tense as they gripped the sheets. “Damion...Nico—?”
“It hardly matters,” he said, desiring to save the woman the difficulty of pronouncing his last name. “What is more important, surely, is yours, Miss...”
“Stone,” she said. “Alexandria Stone.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“Alexandria Stone. My name,” she said a bit louder.
“Alexandria Stone. How...pretty.” He placed a hand around a tall post at the foot of the bed. “Can you remember anything before waking up here, Miss Stone?”
Alexandria’s expression turned to one of concern. “I don’t understand.”
“Please try.”
“I’d like to know why I’m here…and where here is. I don’t even know who you are.” She is different from most humans, Damion noted, casting away the hint of anger that danced in his gut with her ability to ignore his command. How interesting. “Then you remember nothing of last night?”
She stared at him curiously. “Last night? I... What happened last night?”
He hesitated, curious as to whether or not he should tell her that he had saved her life from a Lycan. He watched her alarmed countenance for moments more before deciding she need not be bothered with such information. And, at any rate, if she could not remember, then it was possible she wasn’t Dracula’s relative...
And suddenly, she pulled back the heavy covers to reveal long, slender legs.
Ring or no, Damion was very aware such a sight would send his blood to burn with the desire to taste her blood, but still, no such smell canvassed his nose.
Distracted by the fact that he could not smell her blood at all, not even a slight trace of it, he did not realize that she had stood and turned to him.
“Well, my Lord, I will thank you for allowing me to stay here for the night, but really, I believe I’m well enough to be on my—”
He moved in one swift step and caught her before she’d truly fallen. He swung her back on the bed, waiting for the urge to feed to fly through his blood, but it never did come.
What a curious human, he thought, staring at her closed eyes, releasing his hands from underneath her, a slight breath leaving her lips.
No trace of blood, of anything at all reached his nose. What on Earth was this?
She stared at the young woman who seemed to float into the room, a silver tray with an envelope and a small cup atop it in her hands.
“Oh, miss, I figured you were still in bed. Although it isn’t becoming of a girl your age...”
Lillith smiled, brushing blonde tendrils of hair off a shoulder, her gaze upon the envelope the closer the woman drew. “A letter?”
“Yes, Miss Crane,” the woman said, striding up to the bed. She placed the tray at Lillith’s feet. “It came earlier this morning, but I figured you needed your sleep. Now that it’s nearing the afternoon, I decided I’d wake you with your tea.”
Licking her lips absently, she stared at the sand-colored liquid within the white porcelain cup, but could not bring herself to bring it to her lips. Could not, regretfully, drink what was not red.
“Miss Crane,” the woman said, “this dress for the day, hm?” She held out a ghastly sea-green day dress, its many skirts thickening its bottom.
Lillith could only smile her approval, what truth it held pointless, indeed: It no longer mattered. None of it truly mattered.
She swung her legs over the side of the bed, resolved to get on with the matters at hand, for as always, there were many. She allowed the maid to dress her quickly, the dark-green bodice drawn tight around her ribs, then she snatched up the envelope.
The woman approached with a smaller tray, atop which silver, gold, and diamond rings were laid. “Which would you prefer, Miss Crane?”
“None of them, Amy,” she said, staring at the tight cursive on the letter. She ignored the memory of her servant’s blood as it reached her, a finger preparing to slice open the envelope. Lord Damion...what could have happened?
Amy gave the gold ring a look that suggested she didn’t much like it. “Miss Crane, I’m sure you fancy that ring, but it is rather bland, and it doesn’t match your dress at all.” She picked up a ring encrusted with diamonds, waving it before Lillith’s eyes. “See this one? It would make you shine even more than you already do.”
“It may be harder to convince humans in your household of your need to wear this ring,” Dracula had said when he’d given it to her upon her coronation into the Vampire Order, “but I’m sure you can think of something, as resourceful as you are.”
The words set her mind with ease, and she squared her shoulders with the thought. “I’m afraid I won’t be parting with this band, Amy, none of the other rings will do.”
She watched with a slight smile as the human sighed and set the tray back upon the table. “Very well, miss.” She extended a hand to the cup. “Don’t forget to drink your tea. I’ll bring your breakfast up shortly.” And she swept from the room.
Lillith Crane ran a nail over the edge of the envelope once the door closed, her thoughts running to a suitor or some such, perhaps an invitation to yet another harrowing party, and she almost stopped herself from opening it. If I have to suffer through yet another night amongst walking blood banks... Her eyes widened as the letter fell open, the seal of Vonderheide Manor breaking apart as it did so.
She felt her blood run colder than normal.
No letter was received from Victor Vonderheide unless it was news straight from Dracula.
Dearest Lillith Elizabeth Crane,
The Elves...
She read, never once stopping, the short jutting script filling the page.
Once done, she sank down in the chair closest to her, her mind racing with a myriad of questions. And how was she to tell the man and woman appointed to her that she must up and leave them for who knew how long in order to hear about the damning Elves?
“Damn,” she whispered
Amy returned with a smile, a tray of food in front of her. Once she placed it on a small table opposite the bed, the woman set about preparing her food.
Lillith pulled the curtains closed and removed the golden ring from a finger with a slight wince, the surge of the woman’s blood rushed to her nose. She closed her eyes, as she knew she would see nothing but red now, and she allowed herself to think, something she would not have been able to do with the ring on.
“Miss Crane?” Amy said.
Good Lord, can I just get a minute to myself? Lillith thought darkly, irritation rising as Amy’s blood filled her nose. She knew the woman had turned to eye her, had an air of curiosity about her.
She opened her eyes, turning to watch the woman, the red veil of her sight blanketing the woman in blood. A short sigh of desire left her before she spoke. “Amy, I have been called.”
“C-Called, Miss?” she whispered.
Lillith watched as she took a quick seat atop the bed, the movement sending the scent of the woman’s blood toward her. A low snarl left her lips.
The woman covered her mouth.
“Yes,” she said. “One of my suitors is heading out of town and wishes for me to accompany him. He says the trip itself will take quite a few days. I shall need, clothes and food, of course. I trust you to prepare these things for me.”
“B-but the Lord and Lady, Miss Crane, do they know of this sudden trip?” she asked. Lillith could not know if the woman had heard the snarl or merely ignored it. “And when does this suitor plan to leave? Who is he?”
My, how I have such a quick tongue.
While it was true she had created such a tale in only a matter of minutes, she had forgotten how...inquiring the woman was. Yes, the smell of her blood had distracted Lillith from remembering she would need more than mere words to quell the woman’s questions.
“Miss Crane?” Amy said again, confusion and apprehension marring her plain features.
Lillith took a step toward her, keeping at bay the desire to move forward and take from her what was never hers to begin with. “Restraint, Lillith, is the key to mastering your urges,” the deep voice of Dracula reminded her. Yes, restraint. Restraint.
“Y-your eyes!” Amy stammered in horror.
Lillith licked her lips with the surge of the woman’s fear. “Yes.” She breathed, closing her eyes, the words of Dracula repeating within her head. “My eyes.”
“But what...how? They’re red!”
“Yes,” she said, stepping closer to her.
Amy seemed glued to the bedding. She gazed in fixed terror. “They’re red.”
As she moved, the letter fell from her fingers, her ring clanking against the floor, long forgotten—the smell of blood moved her so. “I did not want it to come to this, my dear. But I’m afraid you leave me no choice.” She stopped just before the blue sheets and lifted a hand to the woman’s face, though she could do no more before the voice said, “Control is worth more than the consequences we suffer for our actions.”
“W-what are you?” Amy asked, her voice shaking, recoiling at Lillith’s touch.
The cold startled her, Lillith knew, and she pulled away, taking deep breaths that did not need to be taken as she allowed the voice to tell her what must be done, to control...control...
She opened her eyes, vision normal, the woman clear now. The hunger still there, yet it did not control her senses so.
Turning her gaze to the ring and the letter on the floor, she moved for it, ignoring the woman’s flinch at her step. She slid the ring onto her finger, a cold sigh escaping her as the metal clamps found her skin, stifled her blood. And, yes, soon all extraordinary senses dimmed considerably, the rush she desired nowhere to be found.
She faced Amy, who had let a tear leave an eye, and said seriously, quite prepared for the consequence of this level of control, “I will tell you what I am. That you value your life long enough to keep quiet is, however, another story.”
He had received word of their late-night rendezvous to the Vampire City. There were two courses of action he could take. He could either ambush them as they gathered in the City, or he could strike them where it hurt, at their manors, leaving them with nothing to return to.
Cup of tea clasped in hand, he looked up to find her staring down at him.
“May I?” she asked, her frazzled hair swung over a shoulder.
He gestured for her to take a seat. “Why have you come?”
“I’m worried about you, Thomas. Truth be told, this fascination with Xavier and his friends isn’t healthy,” she said through red lips. She removed his hand from the cup of tea and brought it toward her.
As she took a drawn-out sip, he replied, “Healthy or not, they are a threat to us, and I shall not sit by while they go about their plans to destroy all we have built.”
She placed a slender hand on his arm. “Fine. Do what you must, but remember, when the dawn breaks, what you really are beneath all that fur and animalistic behavior.” She lifted a finger to his chin and gazed into his eyes before answering for him, “A man.”
He took her finger and kissed it. “Thank you, my love. But you must understand what the moon makes me.”
“It can’t be helped, can it?”
“No, it can’t.” He gazed out the café window as the sky grayed.
“Thomas?”
He could not help but notice how distant her voice sounded, although she sat right across from him. The only one that wanted to be next to him after seeing his true form, and for that, he loved her to no end.
“Do you want your tea?”
Thomas looked at it and frowned. “No, you can have it.”
She grabbed it with a hunger he recognized in the humans as base desire, and when she brought it to her lips, he thought of how delicious she must taste. And the thoughts flooded back to him.
No, she loves you, don’t ruin it.
With a small grin, he sat back and watched her. All right, I won’t.