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L
ucan watched Aleksandar with a frown as the prince descended the stairs. Outside, the sound of a car engine coughing to life drew both their attentions. They watched through the windows in silence as the car sped away.
“My lord,” Lucan said. “She knows.”
“Yes,” Aleksandar replied absently. “She knows.”
“My lord—”
“Harm so much as a hair on her head, Lucan, and not even the Shadow Council will be able to protect you.”
Lucan stared at Aleksandar a moment, before a movement at the top of the stairs drew his attention. Stoyan stood, his hands in his pockets, looking down at Aleksandar, his expression sad.
Without another word, Aleksandar left the foyer, heading down into the basement, and down again to the subterranean prison.
“My lord,” Yulia greeted, her cruel smile making an appearance again. Aleksandar stood at the open door of the prison and watched her, his expression unreadable, but anger emanated from him in icy waves.
Yulia was starving. It was obvious. Her blonde hair had thinned, and her once-youthful cheeks had sunk in. She needed to feed. Then her beauty would be restored. She would not get the chance.
“Yulia Andropova,” Aleksandar said in his quiet manner. “You broke the Covenant.”
Yulia’s eyebrows rose. “This is about that little bitch, isn’t it?”
“She remembers, Yulia,” Aleksandar whispered. “Everything.”
Yulia opened her mouth to protest, then shut it again. She started laughing. The sound bounced around the prison, making the already unhinged sound seem insane.
“Then I have done you a favour, my lord,” Yulia said. “How long until you made a mistake? How long until it was you who broke the Covenant?”
Aleksandar did not answer her question. “Yulia Andropova, you are hereby sentenced to death by fire.”
“You don’t get it, do you?” Yulia shouted. “You spend your time regretting the gift you were given. You can’t see it for what it is, for what it has done.”
“And what has it done, Yulia?”
“It has made us gods, Aleksandar. We are gods. And you waste your time walking amongst the mortals as one of them. They are swine. Our food!”
Aleksandar reached for the panel that sat mounted on the wall beside the door. He pressed a button. Ultraviolet shields descended slowly over the windows, so that any observer could see into the prison, but the prisoner could not see out.
Yulia noticed, and her pitch rose in response to the fear she now felt. “We were kings and queens! We ruled over them! It is right they should fear us! We are everything they are not. We are stronger, faster, smarter; we are better!”
The shields locked into place. Aleksandar regarded Yulia with cold eyes.
“Some of us,” he replied. Stepping back, Aleksandar shut the prison door and slid the bolt across.
“My lord!” Yulia screamed, panic getting the better of her. “My lord! We could be great again!”
Aleksandar placed his hand on the switch that activated the sunlight-mimicking lamps that covered the ceiling of the prison cell.
“My lord!” Yulia shrieked. “We were lovers once!”
“We were,” Aleksandar whispered. “Once.” He flipped the switch.
Yulia’s pleas turned to screams of agony. Aleksandar watched from the window as she writhed, struggling ineffectively against her chains in a mindless desire to escape the burning light. Aleksandar was unmoved. He watched as her skin smoked, drying and cracking until it caught. The fire burned hot yellow, almost the same shade as the sun. Aleksandar watched Yulia’s flaming form writhe then, as ash began to fall, crumple. He left the lights on until the flames gutted out, losing the last of its fuel. He flipped the switch, turned, and left the prison, leaving behind a pile of ash that was once a proud member of House Svetoslav.
Stoyan met Aleksandar at the base of the stairs at the far end of Aleksandar’s full-sized underground terrarium. Aleksandar’s face was stony, a visage of emotionless control, but Stoyan had known Aleksandar since before he had been Embraced. He knew the storm that lay behind the uncaring mask. As Aleksandar silently passed him, Stoyan gripped his prince’s shoulder briefly. It was a small gesture, meaningless but for the strength of the bond between them.
They had been friends the moment Theodore had dragged Aleksandar’s limp frame back into their camp. One of the Tartar horde, Theodore, son of Bulgaria, was invading his own country. In that invasion, Theodore found Aleksandar bleeding from multiple knife wounds. Stoyan, like his prince, had seen something remarkable in that husky youth from the streets.
Theodore had loved Aleksandar. Anyone who had known Theodore even a little could see that. For the first time in Stoyan’s memory, the prince who had taken him in and given him the means to avenge his family had been at peace. For that reason alone, Stoyan owed Aleksandar his love and loyalty. And so he freely gave both. His trust in Aleksandar had never been shaken.
Even now, with another of his own House dead at Aleksandar’s hand, Stoyan understood and, more importantly, remained loyal.
“Thank you,” Aleksandar murmured before ascending the stairs.
Stoyan followed.
Alicia sat at her desk in the precinct, scowling at the computer screen as she worked. It had been three days since Alicia had discovered Aleksandar’s secret. She had remained silent about it and, though he desperately wanted to ask, Detective Brody kept his mouth firmly shut on the subject. That didn’t stop him glancing Alicia’s way often as she worked.
“If you keep doing that,” Alicia said darkly, not looking up from her work, “I will use my fist to empty your mouth of teeth.”
“Poetically put,” Brody said with a smirk. Then, “Sorry. I’m worried about you, that’s all.”
“I’ve survived my share of break-ups, Brody,” Alicia replied. She scowled as an image flashed across her screen.
“This is the guy,” she said. She turned her computer screen to show her partner.
Brody scowled as he looked up at the surveillance footage of a man in a long tan trench coat, a grey fedora and large sunglasses. In between the first and middle fingers of his right hand he held a cigarette.
“Who the hell is that, Humphrey Bogart?” he asked. “You’re sure he’s the one following you?”
“No,” Alicia replied. “I’m not sure he’s following me, but he’s everywhere I am.”
“So he’s not even trying to hide it,” Brody mused. “Any idea why that might be?”
“No.”
Brody sat back, deep in thought.
“You think this has something to do with what Aleksandar said?” Alicia asked.
“I’m thinking maybe it does.”
“We should probably ask him,” Alicia said.
“I’ll ask him. You see if you can’t find out who that guy is.”
“I can handle talking to him, Brody.”
“I have no doubt, but why do it if you don’t have to?”
Alicia was about to answer something about pride when a very loud “What the fuck?” was issued from the next desk. Alicia looked over to find Strauss and Wade staring down at a stack of photographs and papers in Strauss’ hands.
“What is it?” Alicia asked, sauntering over to them.
“You know that missing PI with the three girlfriends?” Straus asked.
“Yeah?”
“Well, we found him.” Strauss handed Alicia the stack of photos. She took them and looked down.
“What the fuck?” she blurted out as she flipped through the images of the desiccated corpse in a dumpster. “He’s mummified!”
“Not quite,” Strauss said. “We just got word back from the coroner. The guy was drained dry. Like, dry. She found two puncture marks on the guy’s neck, along with some bruising and no other wounds. It would have to take some incredible suction power to get him this dry, and she doesn’t think the wounds were large enough to make that happen.”
“So... what are you saying?” Brody asked carefully.
“Cause of death, motive and means are a fucking mystery,” Strauss answered.
“Come on!” his partner said. He brought up his fingers to make a cross and hissed at it. “Vampires!”
Strauss rolled his eyes. “Wade, you’re an idiot.”
“Hey, this might have something to do with a couple of disappearances we’re investigating,” Alicia said. “Can you get me copies of this stuff? Like, now?”
“Sure,” Strauss said.
“Thanks,” Alicia replied, returning to her desk. “And let me know when you’ve got more on this guy, okay?”
“You investigating vampires too, Wilde?” Wade asked.
“You bet your ass,” Alicia said, offering a quick smile. “The city’s crawling with ‘em, don’t you know?”
Strauss scoffed. “I’ll have these to you in ten minutes.”
“I appreciate that, Strauss.”
Alicia and Brody returned to their desk.
“Risky,” Brody murmured.
“Not even a little bit,” Alicia answered. “They’ll never believe it. Not in a hundred years.”
As promised, Strauss delivered the photos and reports in approximately ten minutes. “Now I have to inform his various girlfriends. I’ll let you know when we get more.”
“Thanks,” Alicia said as she began sifting through the images and reports. She did not look up.
Aleksandar paced his room. Something felt wrong this evening. His hackles had been raised since sundown.
His trousers buzzed, vibrating rapidly. Blinking, Aleksandar withdrew his cell phone. Unknown number. He slid his finger across the screen and brought the device up to his ear.
“Hello,” he said.
“Good evening, my lord,” an unfamiliar masculine voice said on the other line. “It is getting chilly out, no? What this place needs is a good, hot fire.”
“Who is this?” Aleksandar asked, his voice calm despite the sudden flood of adrenaline.
“There. That’s better. Now things will start to heat up. You should look out the window. I’m sure you’d appreciate the view.”
Aleksandar walked slowly to the window and let his dark gaze sweep the city. He tensed as he took in the scene; a thick column of smoke from a house fire in an upper-middle-class neighbourhood of the city. He recognised the location of the fire immediately.
“That’s the thing about bloodlines,” the voice said. “Sometimes, despite our best intentions, they can vanish in a puff of smoke. Poof. Just like that.”
It was as if an icicle had been plunged into Aleksandar’s chest. For the first time in seven hundred years, he felt his extremities go numb. His breath had been taken from him and he could not get it back. The flash of shock came and went in an instant. Dropping the phone, Aleksandar turned and sprinted from his room.
Stoyan straightened as he heard the deep roar of a poorly throttled engine coming from the garage. Brendon, who had been doing his homework at the table with Stoyan for silent company and occasional help, turned towards the sound. His eyes followed as Stoyan moved to the window and drew back the curtain. Brendon watched the man’s shoulders bunch when the sound of squealing tires hit their ears.
In a flash, Stoyan was gone from the room, sprinting across the landing to Aleksandar’s room.
“My lord?” he asked as he entered the room. The room was empty save for Aleksandar’s cell phone on the carpet. Stoyan walked over and picked it up. The call was still active.
“Hello?” he said.
“You had better catch him, Stoyan. He’s going to do something you will all regret.”
Stoyan’s eyes lifted to the flare of bright orange against the twilight sky. A house fire. Dread and understanding flooded Stoyan in one great wave. He turned, finding Brendon at the door of Aleksandar’s room.
“Stay here,” Stoyan barked.
“What’s going on?” Brendon demanded.
“Stay here,” Stoyan said again, moving past Brendon.
Brendon watched as Stoyan sprinted down the hall. The sounds of a new set of squealing tires and a motorcycle engine made their way dimly into the room. Feeling suddenly very alone, Brendon rested his back against the doorframe and slid slowly to the ground. Something horrible was happening. He knew it.