Birthright

The sound of booted feet echoed throughout the paved hallway. Torchlight flickered on the walls above, casting gentle light that touched the shadows of a tall frame. The flames licked across his form gently, casting dark shadows on the contours of his face. A hard expression dominated such planes, making them appear harsh in the dim light. He stepped with purpose, knowing to whose chamber he was to go. Winter chill had seeped into the cold stones of the castle, but it mattered very little to the being moving amongst the halls tonight.

The figure’s echoing steps stopped. He had arrived plainly at his destination and fingers touched across the wooden door’s handle, pushing it inward. The locks clicked and admitted him to the chamber, stooping so that his frame would fit through the opening. The dark eyes of the creature surveyed the bedroom where medics and nurses stood. One of the servants stepped forward from the shadows, appearing disheveled and near irritation. Automatically, a name was conjured to his mind – Johnathon. It whispered through his lips and the servant’s lips grinned broadly before he nodded, and the expression returned to one of stoicism. “A girl, Lord Dmitri.”

The dark eyes light with relief, welling over. Immediately, he whispered back so as not to disturb the hush of the room, “And my lady?”

Again, that servant grinned. It was, indeed, a joyous occasion. “Lady Delilah has been moved to a separate chamber while she undergoes the change in privacy. Her birth left her quite weary, but if all goes well then she shall see the babe soon. But you, my Lord, are more than welcome to visit with the child. There,” he pointed. “In the corner with a nurse.”

The lord could not help the smile that spread to his lips. Here was the child – the continuation of his line and the next to be the Dragomir’s head. It was her birthright. She would make all of the necessary decisions and he the preparations. Stepping toward the nurse and the babe nestled tightly in her arms, Dmitri could not help the slight tremor of trepidation that flowed through his limbs.

At his approach, the nurse glanced up almost frantically as if the man before her had given her quite the fright. She was, as all servants of the House, human. They provided fresh blood to the darker creatures, willingly, in hopes that they too would become immortal. Such requests were hardly granted, but it was not something impossible.

Instinctively, Dmitri held out his arms to receive the warm bundle from the nurse. Gently, carefully, her frail arms deposited the blanketed child in his capable hands. Almost immediately, he cradled the child against his chest and gazed upon her face for the first time. She was a small babe, with gentle scraps of hair floating about a tiny porcelain face. The warmth of the small creature within his arms was startling and her weight? Well, she was light as a feather, delicate. Instinct told him just how easily he could crush the child he was holding, but something far more soothing whispered to his mind about protection. He would protect the babe until the end of his existence came to him.

The curve of her small, cherubic cheeks made him smile somewhat. The golden of her hair was indeed that of her mother’s. The cold of his finger touched across the small cheek, fond of her already. From his lips, he whispered the name, “Andromeda,” gifting such a thing to her. It was strong, Grecian as he was. He had dubbed her “ruler of men”. Such things would be true in the future and he would live as long, he hoped, to find out. Leaning, the Lord laid a small kiss against his daughter’s cheek. It was soft against his lips, gentle, and it again reminded him of how very delicate she was. Almost reluctant, Dmitri returned her to the hands of the nurse and moved toward the door of the second chamber – there his wife stayed, struggling through the changes of vampirism. At the very least, he would be by her side until she woke.

His tall frame moved, ghost-like, toward the door. He was floating, drifting in a sea of his own thoughts even as the door opened and candlelight flickered against the doorway. In the middle of a large bed of down and feathers, the sheets pulled to her chin, lay his beautiful Delilah. She seemed to be sleeping peacefully now and so he shifted forward, toward the bed and the woman lying upon it. His weight sunk the mattress and he dragged his form into the bed with her, but froze entirely when he breathed in her scent. The scent of jasmine and lilac was smothered instead by the pungent scent of death, flowered all over his beautiful maiden. Horror and pain struck, wielding a double-edged sword and thrusting it toward his heart. A cry was stifled in his throat… She had not been strong enough to complete the transition from mortal to vampire.

Tears poured from the dark molasses of his irises, dotted across the marble of her cheek. The droplets were tinged red, raining blood upon her flesh. He squeezed her cold, lifeless body to his, the smell of true death pervading his nostrils. “Delilah,” he whispered, fingertips pressing into the dead skin. “My beautiful Delilah…” Choked tears, sobs, wracked his body as he huddled inward and spent what little time he had left with a woman he had loved throughout life and then even death. Dmitri vowed to lie there all the night, not saying a thing to any of the servants. It did not matter to them. They were human. They would mourn, and their pain would fade. But his pain was eternal.

Dmitri’s emotions were deadened as he settled into the bed next to the body of Delilah for it was a body and not his beloved lying there. He could no longer deny such a thing. A wayward thought crossed his mind, one of ending his existence utterly – sacrificing himself, but there were more important things at hand like the newborn child in the next chamber, the child who would need to be trained. Thoughts of his daughter filling his mind, Dmitri allowed himself to sink into what oblivion the vampires were allowed. There were no dreams, no laughter, and no thought. It was a simple, all-encompassing darkness that brought the end of emotion, the end of pain. The sleep of the dead. His last thought as dawn forced such a thing on him pervaded through his consciousness…

Andromeda…

Time felt as if it were moving in eternity, over and over again. Time assaulted the day, dragging it on hour by hour until the path of the sun had passed the center of the sky and carried on until it reached the horizon. The light began to dwindle, die, as day passed and night flourished. Dusk dominated the sky with its fading blue and the moon shone brightly overhead, drifting just slightly from the tops of trees. The Dragomirs awoke, stirring from their sleeps as night took precedence over the world, casting her blanket of darkness.

Andromeda paced the layout of her office, nestled in the farthest corner of her rooms. It was a private place where only those who held invitations dwelled. The flowing material of her dress fanned out around her nimble form, sinking to the floor as gravity demanded. Clearly, the woman pacing the floor was awaiting something or – perhaps – someone. The bodice of her red velvet dress laced up, tracing across her frame gently while the skirt drifted in a million different directions, showcasing the bare skin of toned legs. She did not seem to notice the way guards posted at the door watched her every move, nor did she seem to care. That was their job, after all. Finally, a knock on the door interrupted her musing thoughts.

One of her maids entered, a girl she had fondly named Dontae. “Well, what news have you brought me today?” cooed the vampire, calm replacing the worried contours of her earlier expression. It was easy to switch from one expression to another without giving away her deepest thoughts or fears. The woman did this on a daily basis, conversing with all manner of beings. She especially hid her emotions when talking to the Council of Elders, her advisors, which happened to include her father.

“Your brother has sent word, m’lady. He cannot keep his usual appointment with you.” Dontae’s voice was soft, airy, and nearly high-pitched. It would grate on the ears at times, but Andromeda did not seem to mind in the least. Dontae was a respectable young woman with an amiable reputation, unlike some of her other maidens. Some of those were simple blood fiends, looking only to be changed and nothing more.

Andromeda kept her face schooled to perfection, smoothed. Her thoughts, however, were warring with each other. Why on this Earth would Aubrey not keep their usual dinner appointment? The two always ate together, spoke of the day, and other things. These things took her mind entirely off of the tasks of the day, settling squabbles amongst her family nobles or dealing with prisoners. It had been this way for centuries and the fact that he had simply canceled did not at all please the Lady Andromeda.

She kept this thought to herself and shrugged, resigned. “Very well, Dontae. Might you know why?”
The servant only smiled and said, softly, “Lord Aubrey is caring for an injured fawn he found on the castle’s edge today.” Her cheeks were flushed, tinted pink. It was clear that she favored Aubrey, in more ways than one.

“So a deer is more important than our usual meeting?” There was nothing cross or angry in the words. It was a simple question, nothing more.

Dontae smiled again, sheepish, though this time her eyes brightened. “Is that not an adequate excuse for m’lady?”

Andromeda allowed herself to appear slightly irritated by her maiden’s words, huffing softly. “Yes, it is more than adequate. Thank you, Dontae. Was there anything else?”

The girl nodded, pulling out a small letter. It was handwritten in an elegant script, honed from years of practice. Andromeda reached out, taking the letter from the girl’s hand silently. Her eyes wandered silently over the script placed there,

“Meet me in the Eastern Library.
- C.”

There, on Andromeda’s cherry lips, a small smile was placed. It curved the edges of her mouth. She allowed herself this simple pleasure and then gestured for Dontae to depart. As the door to her office closed, she gazed down at the handwriting, studying it silently. Oh, yes. She certainly did know the handwriting placed here so elegantly. With soft laughter, she moved from her office, locking the door behind her.

A key was placed around her neck once again, where it remained, before she began moving down the hallway. Artificial light poured from the ceiling, lighting it easily. Though the modern times had arrived, their customs would always be the same. It did not matter the century, their dress rarely changed and Andromeda could not see herself adopting the fashions of this new age.

The sharp arcs of her heels made gentle noises against the marble tiles that surrounded, glinting beneath the artificial light. Glancing about with sharp, lilac eyes, Andromeda moved swiftly into a room and shut the doors behind her. Turning, cases of books as high as the ceiling were visible along with shelves stocked with centuries of history – her family’s history. In the center of the library’s tile was their family’s crest – the Ouroboros – the serpent who eats it own tail, decorated there. Her grandfather had designed the place to his specifications, thinking only of the coming generations.

With its books piled high, this particular library had always managed to take her breath away. It was lovely to look upon, to see the old tomes with wrinkled pages standing and stacked upon shelves. As her eyes traveled across the room, she sensed the presence of another nearby, the one who had called her to this meeting place. When turning, the first thing she noticed about the figure was the golden locks that tumbled across his shoulders and down his back. Rarely, and only rarely, did the men here cut the locks of their hair. It was a mark of status, of privilege to wear the hair long. Even Andromeda’s golden curls reached past her waist, to the curves of her thighs.

When the stranger lifted his face, Andromeda very easily recognized him. He had been called Caelan for many centuries now. Caelan, the Fair One. He was not, in fact, a part of the Dragomir line. Caelan was an outsider that her family had allowed in. He was one of the luck servants, those who got their deepest desires fulfilled. It was because of his beauty that he was changed into a vampire, for vanity only. It was no secret to anyone that Caelan had been attempting to court Andromeda for decades and each time she would turn him the cold shoulder, shun him entirely. She was not one for relationships. Was it not her father who told her that such relationships, whether mortal or immortal, cloud one’s judgment?

Upon seeing him, Andromeda would attempt to be polite, especially to a guest in her household, but she did not need to be. This even brought forth a smile, teased reluctantly from her mouth. It would be rather satisfying to see him fall, a weakling, before her. However, Caelan was attempting to be his usual charming self this night. Something that Andromeda was simply sick of. “Good evening, Lady Andromeda.” His smile told of things, more intimate things than he had earned. It sent a wave of disgust through her.

However, she smiled at him as if he were one of her favorite guards. It was so easy to be polite as custom demanded it. The dim lights of the library flickered gently above them, threatening to wink out at any second. “Caelan, the Fair, why have you honored me so with your presence?”

The soles of his shoes slid against the tiles of the library floor as he moved forward, his form dwarfing hers. He stepped up to her, so close, that she could feel the soft breath of his mouth against her neck. Such things absolutely unnerved her. His methods of courting were very, very outdated, but the vampire simple refused to take no for an answer. “I simply wanted to see you.” She did not need to see the smile on his lips to know it was there for it shone in his words.

Appearing agitated by his answer, the Lady Andromeda turned from his form and began stepping out of the library. The large granite doors slammed shut behind her. There were more important things to do here than to stay and listen to the trite, pointless whisperings of a suitor.

High above, the moon paraded through the sky like a ring leader, proud in her heaven. The stars became a part of her very own celestial circus act. Pegasus, the winged horse, danced across the dark backdrop, and clouds drifted like great white elephants. Yes, even Leo the Lion purred with a contented sound as he marched into the procession. The ground below was much less miraculous, an audience to the sky high revels, and what creatures dwelled here were simply shamed. Man even paused to gaze into the night, with eyes glittering and faces lifted as if to welcome the descent of their Gods. Even with that great sky overhead, something unsettling approached with wicked intent on the Earth.

Drifting in the sea of that black abyss was a strange being indeed. It was a young woman, running for her life amongst the dead trees. Her heart beat fast in her chest as fear swallowed her every thought, drowning her entire body in a wave of adrenaline. Steps quick, she rattled through the forest as autumn spilled around her. The oranges and browns of the falling leaves did not escape her tumultuous path, crunching underfoot as she moved. Nipping at the heels of her feet was… something. A predator seeking its prey. This predator rushed forward, urged toward the life springing from its grasp each moment.

Laughter echoed through the limbs and boughs and branches, resounding in the woman’s ears like that of a long-forgotten nightmare. A small sound of terror escaped her lips as the sound of footsteps quickened behind her, echoing no matter how quickly she sped herself. In the darkness she stumbled through the forest, hoping to avoid branches that gnarled and twisted below her. Terror climbed its way up her throat and stifled the screams that would have otherwise poured from her. A dark shape materialized before her eyes, before she could chance to stop herself, and the momentum sent her flying into it. Strong arms caught her wrists, easily steeled against fragile weight.

It was then that a scream did give way, digging from her lips like a plea. That soft, dark laughter filled her ears again, but the creature’s lips before her did not move. She struggled, trying to force her way from the beast that held her in its clutches, but found that she could not escape. Instead, she glared defiantly up at her captor. His face was still in shadow, for it was indeed a man. The rigid shape of its body proved that, but the strength in his limbs told her that he was not human. He could not be. It was then that the creature smiled and jagged incisors revealed themselves, sharp and glinting beneath the pale moonlight. Another scream rose in her throat, but no sound flowed out of it. In one quick movement the being leaned forward and the fangs sank past the soft flesh of the woman’s throat, piercing the skin.

The heat and warmth of blood flowed into the predator’s mouth, nourishing his system. His skin lightened as her blood fell down his throat in great waves. In moments he had taken enough of it that she fell beneath his weight, having fainted. What held up her body now were two strong arms. The creature brought a small vial from around his neck and filled it with her blood, saving it in the pocket of dark trousers. With a thud, he released her and her body fell to the forest floor easily, dropping from his grasp. The sharp hunger gnawing at his entire form slated, the beast allowed a breath to fall from his lips. No blood stained his lips or his clothing, as he was particular. However, the bites upon his victim would alert those of the small town that she had been disposed of most viciously.

This did not seem to bother the predator. After all, human lives were near meaningless. The mortals sharing this Earth were in plentiful supply, their populace have gone from mere hundreds to millions. Their race spread across continents, contaminating the world like rats. His lips lifted in a sneer, disgusted by the thought, as he began to press forward, away from the body he had so casually disposed of. The woods were dark this hour, but he did not mind. He had eyes to see in the dark, sharper than a human’s. And suddenly the being paused in the forest, a thoughtful look upon handsome features. For one who would be watching could indeed tell of his facial features now – a sharp nose, soft locks of dark hair shorn short, the high cheekbones of a royal, wide jaw, and, lastly, the dark abyss of two eyes. Long ago, the pupil was swallowed by both irises.

Someone had whispered just now, a sweet sound that tumbled across his ears. The being’s head tilted to one side, knocking the curls of his dark hair askew. There it was again. Irial… Irial… The creature whispering said his name, softly as to beckon him forward. Such a sound was not familiar to him, the gentle tenor of another’s voice. Free me…

This brought curiosity to his mind. Those words free me stayed there like the plague, caught in his mind. Flashes of images came next from the unknown source digging its way into his mind, into the darkest recesses of his soul. Temptation flowed from the images, wrapping the demon in a shell.

A being with golden locks, the skin grayed from centuries of neglect, in chains.
Dull crimson eyes that held gentle pleas, suffocating in silence.
A flash of a woman, beautiful with lilac eyes standing at the edge of a cell. Worry paints her face.
A dark passageway, leading to a place even deeper than the dungeon, secreted away from life.

The images and thoughts suddenly pulled away, leaving Irial bereft for a few moments. He stood there, expression blank as his eyes scanned the heavens. With a shudder, he came into himself and felt his heart pounding in his chest like a ravenous beast. The woman’s face that had floated before his eyes had been his cousin, someone he had not seen in decades. In fact, childhood memories now assaulted his mind. Andromeda Dragomir – the head of the Dragomir family. He was tugged there, his body now facing the direction of the castle his ancestors now called him.

The whispers of a stranger repeated in his mind as foul temptation rose up and gripped him by the throat, calling him to the castle like the sweet words of a forlorn lover seeking attention. He would go and he would find the secrets his beloved cousin was keeping. That resolution in mind, Irial began pressing forward, leaving the trees and the dark of the woods behind. The name of the captured man flowed through his thoughts, as if it had always been there – Alastair…