by Sela Croft
Alban’s monster vampires feared little, but this one recognized a demon when he saw one. Superstition played no part in it. Death was one thing the soldier understood. He released me to face the greater presence. I gasped for air then teleported to a safer locale.
I left the soldier to fend for himself against the demon I’d summoned. I didn’t need to stay and watch. The odds were in favor of the demon, and I was certain the dark vampire was about to draw his last breath. I’d need to be more careful roaming the battlefields. I’d let that encounter be a reminder.
That scare justified an escape to the ocean to regain my composure. I went to a spot along the coast I’d been to before. The place wasn’t frequented by others, so I sat on a high cliff, gazing out at the water. I really should take more care to stay out of harm’s way.
Despite my powers, I had a major weakness: I could be killed. I wasn’t immortal as others were. It was true that it would difficult to take my life. I was capable of eluding attackers, but I wasn’t anxious to test my limits.
My inner peace wasn’t easily restored. A vision of the future filled my mind. I saw it, in all its glory—fear, blood, and death. Alban’s troops terrorized the realm, marching forth in their dark garb, their massive forms descending upon all that was good.
I watched events unfold, seeing Guardians mowed down and Dark Fighters cut from their horses. Yet each side raged on, willing to die for their cause. The sky above was cloudless, darkened with the horror. Loved ones were lost, the beauty around us destroyed, and all for what?
I only wished my vision had revealed the outcome. That was one thing that fate chose not to share, not with me or any other. It was the lazy way to depend upon destiny, to have faith that all would turn out well—but there was no guarantee.
Favorable outcomes occurred because they were made to happen. I remained undecided as to who would shift the odds in their favor and rise as the victor. Each fought for a goal deemed worthy of risking it all. I hoped for a habitable realm when it was over. I wished for the sanctity of my forest, and a new future to look forward to.
But as with the rest, if that was to be, I had to do what I could to ensure it. The vision had ended without resolution, and I remembered that I’d yet to visit Silvain. He’d proven to be elusive, away from the palace when I’d checked in, leaving upset and agony in his wake.
It was a wonder that I wished to see him at all. But he was the leader of the Dark Fighters, an opponent to be reckoned with, and a force not to be ignored. The cliffs at the shore hadn’t been the tranquil influence I’d sought. I doubted that any place would be until the war was over.
I found Silvain in residence this time. He was below, taking an opportunity to feed and replenish. I ignored the staff and went straight to the dungeon. The lower level was massive, composed of brick and stone. It was suited to serve as a prison, an apt description for the humans luckless enough to be blood slaves.
The guards fed below, as did Silvain and his troops when they were hungry. It was a busy place, although dark and dank. The only lighting was from sconces high on the walls.
Vampires, starved and crazed, ravaged the bodies of humans, drinking blood from their necks. The sounds of wet sucking assaulted my senses. And the hopeless looks of the humans made me turn away. I regretted going down to the feeding area.
It was a part of life, necessary for vampires to survive. I was glad that I didn’t require such sustenance. Food from the garden was more to my liking and didn’t torment another in the process. It wasn’t that I was morally opposed to it. But it was rather gross to witness.
The humans had been bred for the purpose and knew their place. A few moaned or gasped, but no one cried for help, knowing that there was none to be had. It was their lot in life to serve their vampire masters.
If I was disgusted by the vampires filling their veins, Silvain took it to another level. He was at the back, surrounded by humans at his mercy—whether they were willing or not. A woman was draped over a nearby table, having served him to her best capacity.
Silvain held a young boy in one hand, while he sucked at the neck of another. Blood dripped down the boy’s face. But the bloodsucker paid no heed to the one he drank from. He sucked violently, draining the child dry and tossing him limp to the floor.
It was of some comfort that I knew humans weren’t always treated so. There were more humane ways to feed, if such a concept could be considered. Silvain drew back from his next victim, with drops of blood at the corner of his mouth.
He fed with gusto, as he grabbed another woman, yanked her hair back, and went for the vein at her neck. The young boys had likely been tasty but insufficient to satisfy his appetite. The woman paled and trembled in his grasp as he drank.
I stood back, unwilling to interrupt his meal. It would be wiser to wait upstairs, but it was too late for that. Silvain had seen me approach, although he ignored me in his frenzy to drink. Seemingly satisfied, he let the woman slip to the floor.
Then Silvain stood to face me. He was six feet tall and solidly built. His dark hair was shorn close to the head, and his copper eyes gleamed under the low light. He had a firm jaw and a handsome face, if one preferred savage good looks.
He was dressed in a leather tunic and pants, with a sword at his side, the image of a dark warrior. The bit of scruff on his jaw gave him a rugged look. His shoulders were broad, his biceps pumped from the exertion, and a drop of blood ran down to his chin.
Silvain swaggered over to me, then wiped away the blood with the back of his hand. “You dare to interrupt me at such a time?” His voice was deep, and as rough as the rest of him.
“What better time?” I said. “You have a habit of being away. I’m starting to feel that you don’t know how valuable I am.”
Silvain huffed. “Don’t flatter yourself.” He strode toward the stairs. “You can follow me, if you’re up to it.”
Such sarcasm. He didn’t scare me, but he was used to being in charge. That was fine; I only wanted information. When he took the stairs two at a time, I teleported to the top, unwilling to make the effort. Then I followed the dark leader to a meeting room on the main floor.
When I entered, Silvain turned to me. “What is it, witch? What do you want now?”
I shook my head. “You have a nasty way of welcoming guests.” I strolled to a sofa and sat down. “And for your information, I am not a witch.”
Silvain glared at me.
“Witches acquire power through study and learning, with their magic wholly dependent on their spells,” I said. “I, however, am a sorceress. I’m surprised you don’t know that sorcery is innate rather than studied. I create magic the way a poet creates poems…with inborn talent honed by practice.”
“Am I supposed to be impressed?” Silvain said, then paced the floor in front of a chair.
“You’ll find you have need of me,” I said. “But so far, you’ve been too shy to ask.” My dig at Silvain achieved its purpose: I had his attention.
Silvain’s eyes flared with hatred. “When I need you, witch, I’ll call for you.” He walked toward the door. “My thirst has been quenched and my troops are waiting. I could have done without the conversation.”
I smiled. Although Silvain was playing hard to get, I had no doubt that he’d call on me to help. If he hadn’t thought so, he would have barred me from the palace grounds. The fact that he allowed me to interrupt his feeding and harass him with insults assured me that he knew my worth.
I stuck around for a while, assessing conditions. The Dark Fighters were fit, and although they’d lost many soldiers in battles, there were many more at the ready. Silvain’s forces seemed to have grown since I’d last checked. That was something to know, and to watch. The dark leader would be ready when the ultimate battle came.
CHAPTER 41 - CALINA
I left Mirela with Draven and retreated to my greenhouse. The mention of the prophecy had stirred unwelcome thoughts. As I strolled down the aisles of greenery, I fingered the
leaves of plants and touched the soft petals of flowers.
Breathing in the fragrant air, I strove to renew my spirits. At the far side, I sat in my favorite chair to admire my indoor garden and have a few moments alone. The plants flourished, the flowers blooming in radiant colors. It was a serene setting, yet my mind was not at peace.
It was fine for Selene to acknowledge Mirela’s role in the kingdom and to quote the prophecy that foretold her arrival. But for the prediction that she will unite with a king beneath the ocean to come true, Draven would have to agree to his role in the monarchy.
My brother had refused his title as prince and rejected all that the monarchy stood for. I supported his refusal yet couldn’t envision any other man on the throne. He stood for change and a new, better way. Without that progressive view, doom seemed imminent.
It had been foretold that Mirela would unite with a god of wealth and immortality. Draven was wealthy, but by no means a god. And his immortality was threatened, though he fought against the siege. And since he’d found Mirela, many events had transpired to block destiny’s path.
In the midst of war, Mirela had arrived and reunited with Draven. Yet much more had to take place for the prophecy to come to pass. The Dark Fighters might wipe us out before the Royal Army did. Yet I feared the royals most, because of the king.
Alban was our father, an unfortunate circumstance indeed. He’d wanted a son, so my birth had been met with rejection. As a newborn, I’d had my mother Odeya’s love. It wasn’t something I remembered, but I felt it in my heart. That affection had stuck with me, and I’d clung to it at the worst of times.
Draven hadn’t experienced a mother’s love, since our mother died in childbirth—leaving him to take his first breaths in his father’s arms. Like any father, Alban had been proud of his son.
The king had a son who would carry the torch for the monarchy, keep tradition, and continue the royal line. On the other hand, I was a girl, so more of a nuisance than a daughter deserving of love. Yet Alban had tolerated me for Draven’s sake.
At first, he’d spoiled Draven, bestowing upon him whatever he desired—including sisterly companionship. He’d ignored his son’s minor rebellions, stating that he’d grow out of them. Then, on Draven’s twenty-four birthday—my twenty-fifth—our father offered his wrist for us to drink his blood.
The two of us were no longer human children, but vampires with Alban’s ancient blood in our veins. The king foresaw an agreeable future with Draven as his heir. I’d believed that my father kept me around to mollify Draven, who would have refused all cooperation if I had I met with disaster at so young an age.
Even then, death’s minions worked Alban’s dark deeds. As a young girl, I watched humans abused and vampires tortured. It was the king’s way; he represented authority and squashed any defiance. I’d soon realized my father obtained pleasure from terrorizing and killing.
Alban’s anger toward humans had run deep. His goal had been to phase them out. He viewed the race as weak and frail. That such a worthless people would seek immortality had made him seethe with rage.
Humans had betrayed him, particularly Odeya. He’d railed against our mother for daring to die and leave him to raise his young. For all the days that I’d lived at the castle, he’d cursed her for that. She had been a sniveling human—even in life—and not worth remembering.
I once asked my father why he’d impregnated her at all. He’d raged at my insolence but spilled forth the most amazing reason. It wasn’t that he’d loved my mother, or even desired her. Humans were capable of having children with ease, whereas vampires had lengthy, dangerous pregnancies.
Alban had sought a human woman for her good looks—which she would pass on to his heirs—and for her ability to birth a baby. It was solely so he could avoid delay or inconvenience and have the son that he deserved.
In an effort to understand my father, I’d asked other questions. Once I’d been turned into my vampire form and required human blood for sustenance, I’d failed to see the wisdom of the plan to wipe out the human race.
Alban’s solution was to breed humans in Lumea, like he had with those he’d captured from the human realm. With a lack of emotion, he’d shared that it would be efficient to breed the race like livestock, so they would be blood slaves. That was all they were good for anyway.
The worst of it was that Alban had sought to pervert Draven. He’d been heartless and had no limits in training his son. He’d gone to any extent to achieve his aim of making Draven over in his image. It seemed that duress and torture were appropriate to toughen up the next heir to the throne. It had been heartbreaking to witness.
I’d watched Draven imitate the king and behave in ways that sickened me. Yet I loved my brother, and still did. I had a special connection with him. Sometimes, I’d known what was in his heart better than he had. As my brother matured, he’d grown more independent.
The youthful rebellion had irked Alban, so he’d increased the pressure. Only instead of buckling under duress, Draven had left and taken me with him. He still harbored darkness in his heart and regret over what he’d been. Yet he’d remained determined to turn away from the senseless brutality, so adopted a progressive view on how the kingdom should be ruled.
I shuddered at the memory of the last time I’d had the displeasure of being in Alban’s presence. Draven had warned me about what he intended. He’d kept me by his side, so that our father couldn’t prevent me from going.
Recalling the incident made me weak. I leaned against the back of my chair and looked up at the glass ceiling of my greenhouse. Instead of seeing the starry sky and luminous moon, I saw only the incident, then relived it in vivid color and action.
Draven had boldly announced his intent. He’d stood before Alban’s ebony throne with me just behind him. I’d cringed at what the repercussions might be, yet my brother stood firm. I was well aware of Alban’s powers, and that they far exceeded those of any other vampire in the kingdom.
Alban’s ancient blood had imbued him with talents that normal vampires did not possess. Despite feeding regularly for perverse pleasure, the king had limited requirements. He could survive for years without feeding.
He had the speed and strength that the rest of us had. He also had the ability to transform into animals or other forms, which he had used effectively for deception. Whether he hadn’t taught us to do the same because we didn’t possess that potential—or whether he intended to keep his greatest powers for himself—I didn’t know.
Alban had perfected the talent of invisibility. I hadn’t witnessed any other able to become invisible, then to reappear at will. And he had a knack for taking everything his victims had to offer, as he had the power to drain vitality via blood loss. When he’d sucked either human or vampire dry, he absorbed their very essence and took their knowledge for his own.
His greatness could have been used for good, but Alban fancied himself a god. I’d begun to think of him as the god of death, and he’d lived up to his name at every turn. The day that Draven and I left had been no exception.
Even regarding his only son, Alban had wielded the threat of death. Draven had faced the king, no longer according him the honorable status of father. He made it clear that he intended to seek his own path.
Draven stated that he was no longer the prince and rejected his role as heir to the monarchy. He’d seen enough and would no longer be a part of it. Alban’s conceit had made him think that he could change matters. No one would walk out on the king, least of all his son.
When it became clear that Alban’s threats hadn’t persuaded Draven to stay, the king’s eyes lit up like the fires of hell. His skin glowed a stark white, in contrast to his blood-red stare, and his pure white hair crackled from the energy emanating from him.
Where pain and torture had failed to convince Draven to adhere to the old regime—and to bend to the will of the monarchy—Alban had resorted to a potent weapon he rarely used. He grasped the staff of his jewel-encrusted sc
epter then held it above his head.
I gasped when Alban had aimed the head of the scepter at Draven, knowing well its danger. To my horror, the weapon had emitted concussive blasts that struck with lightning speed. The king’s aim had been precise, as the blasts hit Draven in the chest.
I’d reached out and stared at my brother’s scorched clothing, certain that severe burns to his chest had resulted. I doubted that Alban had been aware of my presence, since he cared so little about me. But when I grabbed Draven’s arm, the king had glared at me, his red eyes like hot irons searing into my forehead.
Draven had swiftly turned, shoved me in front of him, then levitated out of the royal hall. Once on the ground, I put my arm around my brother, unsure how badly he’d been hurt, although his vampire nature would allow him to heal rapidly. Then I’d looked back, stunned by what I saw.
The king had already amassed a pile of human bodies, any servant within reach. I looked to see him bare his yellowed fangs then rip the throat out of another, with blood pouring out all over the king’s robes. With a ferocious roar, the king leapt from the throne and grabbed a vampire guard. Then he tore the man’s heart out of his chest and smashed it against the wall.
It was a bloodbath, so I hadn’t watched any longer. Leaving the stench of death behind us, Draven and I had teleported off the high peak to get as far away from the palace as possible. The scene had been confirmation of all I knew about the king. He would do anything to ensure his progeny were in power. And if blocked, death to all in his path would follow.
Ever since, the king had fought to force Draven to do his bidding. And the longer my brother refused, the more insane the king had become.
The memory had exhausted me, so I closed my eyes and made an effort to steady my breathing. It had been a nightmare to live through, and not much better to remember. The rift between father and son had ignited a war that had raged ever since.
It was a devastating thought that Alban wouldn’t cease his reign of terror until Draven acquiesced to his demands—or death consumed the kingdom like a scourge that couldn’t be stopped. The monster who’d spawned us would take back the life he’d given before he’d permit his son to walk away.