Theophania of the Vrykolatios was keeper of the island and of all vampiric secrets. She lounged lazily in her high-backed chair, her legs and arms draped with the seductive allure of an ancient queen, her straight black hair flowing over her shoulders to her waist. She had a face that could lure men to their deaths, even without her vampiric powers. Often servants would crowd her, fanning her body with large palms. They would bring her mortals to eat upon like grapes. Theophania found herself above the hunt for food, not liking to waste the energy it took to capture her prey. Her place was acknowledged as the head of the circle though in truth it was the same. She lived an isolated existence, away from the influence of modern life, thriving on the old ways. Because of her isolation, she was respected and looked to preside over the gathering.
Her sister, Chara of the Vrykolakas tribe, was at her side. Both sisters were dark and beautiful, and although they were not twins, they could easily pass as such with little effort. Whereas Theophania dressed as an ancient, showing a large amount of her skin beneath her metal bodice, Chara was more contemporary in her tastes with a revealing dress of thin black and lips painted the color of blood. She’d often slick back her black hair, wearing large amounts of dark eye makeup. When she smiled, she exposed the tips of her fangs with the practiced ease of endless centuries.
Andrei of the Myertovjec was placed alongside Chara. His flirtatious eyes and lust for living, though he was dead, made him a charming companion but highly unreliable. He, too, had dark hair and a face so beautiful women ached to look at him. The Myertovjec’s appetite for sex was only to be outdone by their craving for drink. His kind often threw compulsive parties, feasting on whole families in a single night with the vigor of an all out orgy.
Ragnhild of the Drauger clan made his place at the left side of Theophania. He too had a taste for the old ways, missing the lusty lifestyle of the old Norseman. His weathered voice boomed when he spoke like the dictating lord over his manor. Long braids bound through his blonde hair at his temples and he was the only vampire with a beard. How he managed to keep it was a mystery to even the council. And Ragnhild, in his vanity over the trim whiskers, was not telling his secret.
Ragnhild was seated next to Vishnu of the Rakshasa. Vishnu carried herself as the Indian princess she had been. The richness of her clothing wrapped around her slender body in silken grace. Her temper was short and her patience constantly tried, much like the God she had been named for. Her arms were adorned with bracelets. The long locks of her black hair parted in the middle to spill about her shoulders to frame her wide almond-shaped eyes. Her gaze sought those around her with a keen, dark gray beauty.
Amon, leader of the Impudula, carefully beheld all those around him. When he sat, he had a tendency to lean towards Vishnu. They shared a common bond of blatant, unashamed self-indulgence. His black skin shone almost gold as he threw out the presence of a supreme being. It was only for the council that he left his homeland of Africa where he lived a quiet existence in a grand palace.
Pietro of the Llugut was the last of the seven. He had been chosen for the dark gift past the prime of his youth, which often gave his handsome features the appearance of knowledge and grace. His chair stood opposite Theophania, which was to his liking. He didn’t care for the immortal woman and his feelings were well acknowledged and returned. Pietro was the last of his line and refused to make more of his kind. He sat brooding in his silence, ignoring all but the torch as it caught his attention. As the leaders talked amongst themselves, Pietro listened intently to all their words, his ears perking up beneath his dark veil of permanently graying hair. His fingers curled, settling beneath his flat nose.
Completing the circle, between Andrei and Pietro, was Jirí’s appointed seat. It stayed empty.
"Ragnhild," Chara began. She looked at her sister, both of them exchanging secretive sulks. Ragnhild turned his Viking blue eyes to the women. Chara smiled a seductively sweet smile that made Andrei frown. "What have you heard from your knight?"
"He’s in the New World," Ragnhild answered gruffly. The leaders’ noses wrinkled in distaste. None of them found a liking for the Americas. It was too far to travel for too little reward. The Drauger’s voice rose as he spoke, divulging his information for all to hear, "I have been sent documents."
A stern quietness fell over the leaders as Ragnhild paused. He reached into his tunic shirt to pull out a tattered piece of paper from within.
"This is a document of Alan MacNaughton’s," he continued. "It was taken off of one of his men. It’s a work detail for one of his excursions."
Pietro’s head snapped up to study the page. The word ‘excursions’ had been said with supreme disdain. All other eyes were turned the same way.
"Would MacNaughton be so foolish as to write down his deeds?" Chara questioned aloud. Pietro nodded in agreement.
"He is overbold," Amon said quietly. "He would dare much."
"Excursions," Vishnu said with disgust, her tone mimicking Ragnhild’s. Amon glanced regally at her, sharing the sentiment but keeping quiet. Hissing between her teeth, she said, "I do not need to hear more. Order Tyr to kill him. Mortals are too tiresome."
"He’s a hard man to get to," Ragnhild said, not liking the interruption.
"If your Tyr is not up to the challenge of a mere mortal, then I’ll be happy to send Shiva. He will make MacNaughton suffer." Vishnu smiled at the prospect.
"I didn’t say he couldn’t do it. He will kill the man soon enough. But right now he is carrying out his orders to discover what he can of the dhampir Jaden MacNaughton." Ragnhild’s anger dissolved quickly at the look the sisters gave him. "It is too soon to act so impulsive. There is too much that needs to be learned first."
"And what of the rumors?" Pietro asked quietly.
All eyes turned to him in amazement. He hardly ever deemed to speak.
"What rumors?" Andrei asked, ready to steal some of Chara’s attention back to himself.
"That he has made the dhampir his indicium," Pietro replied quietly. "Mayhap he cannot be trusted."
"What are you implying--" Ragnhild began, rising to his feet in anger. He levitated over his chair. Blood swirled dangerously in his eyes, his fangs extending in caution, as his face contorted into a dark look of forewarning.
"Sh, Ragnhild," Theophania whispered. She waved her hand through the air. "No one is insulting the cleverness or strength of your tribe."
Ragnhild sat but directed a hard glare at Pietro. Pietro returned his look with one of his own before growing bored with the battle and turning away.
"Continue," Theophania instructed.
"I only wondered at the rumor," Pietro shrugged as if it were no big deal. The old Albanian again found renewed interest in the flames. He was done talking.
The attention on Pietro turned dismissive. Soon what he said was forgotten.
"The document," Ragnhild started anew, "describes that a woman is to be turned by an unnamed vampire working for MacNaughton. The new vampire is then taken, strapped down and left to the whims of MacNaughton’s patron. Ultimately the vampire is done to death. From what Tyr has gathered it seems sometimes the vampires are raped by the patrons, or by his men in front of the patrons. They can be cut, tortured--whatever has been paid for."
The leaders’ eyes became livid with volcanic rage. Ragnhild dropped the paper before him in the table. Standing, Theophania screeched, "Who dares defy our laws? Which vampire turns for such purposes? It matters not what has been done with a mortal woman. But once she is turned she is ours. I want the traitorous vampire brought here to face judgment."
"To help a blood being use our kind for sport!" Amon said in disgust.
"No one makes sport with our kind, but us," Vishnu added, with a stiff nod to Amon. None of them cared to mention that their kind had done worse to humans since the dawn of time. To them, it wasn’t the same thing. Humans were beneath them--like cattle grazing in the field, waiting to be slaughtered.
"This," Ragnhild said with a
glare at Vishnu, "is why I have not ordered Tyr to kill MacNaughton. I have ordered that he find out who is helping him. Then all parties will be brought here for us to feast upon. We will show these transgressors the true meaning of pain. Their last lesson on this earth with be--"
"--of anguish," Chara murmured, a sparkle in her deadly eyes. A slow breath slid from beneath her widely parted mouth. Slowly, her crimson lips curled into a smile. The remembrance of spilled blood entered lustfully into her eyes.
Pietro snorted. The others ignored him, nodding their approval. When the murmuring died down, Pietro questioned, "And the dhampir?"
"Bring her too," Andrei said to Ragnhild. "Let us judge her for ourselves."
Ragnhild nodded and it was agreed. Suddenly, all eyes turned to a cobwebbed hole high in the ceiling. All talk of Tyr ceased. Ragnhild pulled the paper from the table, slipping it back into his tunic.
"Jirí’s report is of little importance," Vishnu murmured. "I don’t care about a club of London young ones. Let them kill themselves."
A figure fell down from the ceiling, landing neatly on his feet. He folded his hands elegantly in front of him, standing tall as if the descent took no effort. His long, wavy brown hair landed gently on his shoulders. Smiling politely, he respectfully met the eyes of the others gathered, nodding his head to all around.
"Jirí of the Moroi," Ragnhild’s weathered voice acknowledged. His old, blue eyes glowed slightly yellow from his handsome Nordic face. "Has Vladamir not risen from his rest to take his rightful place in the chair?"
"Nay, he has not. But his body is safe, buried deep," the new arrival allowed, as he had every meeting since his first.
When Jirí was seated at his chair, Theophania silently raised her delicate fingers. One of the four corner doors burst open revealing a line of eight beautiful, young women in white shrouds, each a human native of their respective vampire. The women walked dutifully to their designated master or mistress to stand by the sides of their chairs.
The leaders could smell the rare ethnic purity of the offering’s blood as it flowed in their veins. Their eyes were clouded with a fine mist. Their bodies glowed with warm brilliance. Pulling up their sleeves, the women held an arm out for the vampires to drink. And, as the leaders partook of their meals, all hid their thoughts, suspiciously wary of the motives of others.
Chapter Seven
Jotunheimen Mountain Range, Norway
"I’m going to butcher him." Jaden’s foot tapped in irritation. Her jaw tightened, worked and pulsated with all the pent up frustration four, long days could bring. Her eyes saw red. Her heart hammered the color until blood flooded her face, neck and body. Outrage poured out over her like a rockslide from the highest cliff on a mountain top. Only her rocks had nowhere to land, no ground to pummel and crack against with a satisfying burst of destruction. She was trapped with her anger, imprisoned with her outrage.
She remembered Rick drugging her sandwich and she remembered wanting to kill him for it as she collapsed on the floor. However, when she awoke, ready to strike out though her mind was hazy, her fists met with air not flesh and her eyes met with the solemn color of a gray-green stone prison. From her estimation, it had been at least four days since she awoke in the dark tomb. But who could tell how long she slept before then? Her dreams had been long and endless, but were impossible to keep time by. They could’ve lasted a night or a month.
She knew who had her. Tyr. He spoke with her through the thick iron door, pushing food beneath the little swing gate for her. As for the fare, it wasn’t very inventive--cold meats and cheeses, bread and fruit. More humiliating than that was the linen covered chamber pot he allowed her for her more personal needs. Each night he came, he offered to let her out if she would be willing to ‘behave’. She offered to smash his face into the back of his skull when he did. Needless to say, he left her alone with her anger--and oh how her anger did seethe!
Jaden could feel him outside her door. It was the only diversion her mind was afforded, aside from staring mindlessly at the dancing flicker of a candle flame and plotting her revenge. She had smashed the first candle given her, only too late realizing her mistake. The darkness surrounded her like a crypt. A straw mat lay on the hard floor as a bed. The stone wall and ceiling were constructed so thick that Jaden realized the sound proof walls were more than likely underground, as they weren’t bricked around, but hollowed out.
After careful examination, she discovered claw marks dug into the stone. No mortal could’ve made such a marking on the walls. The prison was originally constructed to keep a more dangerous breed within. It was made to hold vampires. Jaden smiled, longing to lock Tyr within these silent walls. But if her fantasy was ever going to be close to becoming a reality, she would have to bide her time and she would have to let her anger go. He could smell it too easily on her.
Standing, she went over to the door, greeting the oblong shape of her shadow as it crept before her. Glancing at the food door, she grimaced. Already, she knew it couldn’t be opened from the inside. She had bloodied her hands trying.
Turning her back to the iron door, Jaden kicked the metal in steady thumps with the back of her heel. She hated to admit that she was starting to waver. How men spent years in such isolated prisons, she had no idea. Four days and she was already loosing her mind. Her limbs longed to stretch out and her skin begged for the feel of the open night air.
Any truce she called would be temporary--as temporary as it took for her to walk out the door. Surely it wouldn’t be too hard to discover what part of the states she was in. They couldn’t have gotten too far out of New York.
"I’m going to kill him," she hissed under her breath, repeating the words like a mantra. As she felt him draw near, she stopped pounding.
"Argh," Tyr growled. A door slammed with a heavily muffled thud. It sounded like a trunk or coffin lid. She couldn’t be sure. Without a window, it was hard to tell if it was night or day. "What is it woman? For the sake of Odin! Stop that blasted noise!"
"Good morning," she called with as much sugary sweetness as she could muster. She pasted a false smile on her face so that her words would sound properly concerned and contrite. "Did I wake you?"
Jaden felt him falter outside the door. She could almost see the question in his ice blue eyes as he tried to discern what she was up to now. Hiding her laugh, she waited.
"What is it?" he asked at last.
"My, my," she said with a playfully scolding tsk. "Aren’t we the grumpy little vamp?"
"Are you … pouting?" His words were filled with the beguiling affects of a stupor.
Jaden’s grin widened. She had never thought sweetness would send this vampire off guard so much quicker than fighting. "I do have quite a lot to be upset about. I’m in jail. I have been kidnapped, wrongly accused--"
"Jaden--"
"--of a crime that remains unnamed and I am in need of a hot bath," she finished triumphantly. Wrinkling her nose at the all too pungent truth of her words, she mumbled, "badly."
"It’s not a jail," he said quietly, his tone belying the matter-of-fact statement of his words. Jaden didn’t have to strain to hear his low, pointed answer as it came in an aggravatingly reasonable tone. "It is more like a dungeon. And I did try to free you, but you refused to come out. As to the bath, I have been able to smell you for days. Only I figured that if you didn’t mind smelling that way, I shouldn’t mind it either."
Jaden’s expression fell with scathing insecurity only to be replaced by the more biddable sensation of her outrage. With sudden insight, she realized he was having fun at her expense. "Why, you--!"
"Tsk, tsk, now who is the grumpy one?" he taunted with even assurance.
"Just let me out," she growled. She gave the door a vicious kick. Snapping back her foot, she grabbed it, hopping as she tried to rub out the stinger. Jaden let loose a dark curse. Liking the feel of it on her tongue, she followed it with a few more, each growing in intensity.
"Ah, I think you are fo
rgetting one thing," Tyr reminded her composedly through her tantrum. He smiled at her hushed venom. He had been trying to illicit her promise not to try and escape him--not that such a thing as escape would be possible. He would find her wherever she went. There was no evading him. Part of him hated the fact that he must force her cooperation in such away. But no, the council’s orders had been clear and Jaden MacNaughton hadn’t given him much of a choice or much help.
Tyr wondered if he kept her in there too long. He just wanted her to cool her temper--a task that took a lot longer than he first imagined. Sometimes he forgot that a week was much longer to a human than to a vampire. Shrugging off his guilt, he leaned his head to the door and shut his eyes.
He could feel her moving within. He could always feel her. She surrounded him, haunted him in his dreams. No matter what he did, she was inside of him, stirring emotions and desire where he preferred there to be silence.
"Tyr?" A long moment passed before her voice trailed from within. The word was soft, almost heartbreakingly abandoned. He held silent against the door, knowing she couldn’t hear him. He felt her quiver. He felt her heart fall.
What? He thought wearily, allowing her to detect his word within her mind.
"Let me out," she paused. He could hear her breathing become staggered. He felt her hand lay next to his forehead on the door and he jolted back as if it was direct sunlight. Under her pants came a soft, "please."
"I must have your pledge that you’ll behave," he said. "I won’t have my time done in--"
"I promise," Jaden said, forcing the words to be formed. Her anger faded by small degrees. She still hated him, but she was beginning to hate the encroaching stone walls more. She definitely didn’t want to hear his lecture on wasting a vampire’s time. In fact, the concept was an oxymoron. All a vampire had was time.
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