Heath stalked up the marble steps to the ostentatious mansion. The annual masquerade party was in full swing, the smell of blood permeating the air was intoxicating, and for a moment just outside the open doors Heath hesitated. Slowly closing his hands into fists and opening them again. It occurred to him that he could leave, and the idea was all too enticing.
Maybe coming here was a mistake.
“May I take your jacket, sir?” Heath looked at the servant and was glad for the red mask obscuring part of his face, it would make the night go smoother.
Though the servant wore a full faced decorated mask, through the eye holes Heath’s maroon eyes met blue ones staring back at him.
Human. Interesting.
“That’s quite alright, thank you.”
“Of course, Mr Cain. Mr Felix has been expecting you and would like a private audience as soon as you have mingled.”
“Would he now?” Heath asked, going to stand beside the servant leaning against the wall and pulling out a metal case of cigarettes.
He clicked his fingers lighting the cigarette between his teeth and took a drag, as he watched the boy from the corner of his eyes.
“What’s your name?” He asked, and the boy hesitated.
“Forgive me, Mr Cai –”
“You can call me Heath.”
“Of course. Forgive me, Heath, but with all due respect you’re a vampire… if I tell you my name- well, I’ve heard the stories.”
Heath let out a snort of laughter, looking at the boy plainly now.
“Smart boy.”
“In this line of work, I have to be.”
Heath smiled, taking a long drag then offering the cigarette to the boy.
“Do you smoke?”
“No sir.”
“Good lad. Smart lad,” Heath said genuinely, then cocked a brow. “Not smart enough to be as far as possible from a vamp party, though?”
The boy swallowed and looked away from Heath’s penetrating stare.
“What do you owe Felix?”
“Umm…”
“You don’t reek of any thrall,” Heath began, exhaling a lungful of smoke into the cool night air. “Which either means you’re in debt –”
The servant hesitated. “The party is in full swing inside, sir.”
“I’m aware,” Heath said easily, humour lacing his voice. “Full of loathful bloodsuckers like me who eat people like you. So, either- you’re one of Victor’s pets waiting to be turned, which I’m guessing not because you knew not to tell me your name… Or you owe him something. Feel free to correct me.”
The servant said nothing for a moment. Then faltered. A dip of the head. Then back to their rigid posture, head held high.
“Family?”
“How –”
“It’s always family that fucks you. Whether you like them or not,” Heath said, throwing the cigarette to the floor. Crushing it beneath his shoe. “You live a few centuries; you see the same mistakes. I’m not saying your family isn’t worth it. I’m just saying, there will be no thanks for your sacrifice. For the years you give up.”
“You say that as if you know from experience.”
Heath smiled again, winking at the servant. “Like I said, smart boy.”
With that Heath pushed off the wall, fixing his suit jacket and mask before turning to the servant, extending a hand.
“If all goes well, I hope I never see you again,” he said, and the boy looked as if he had just solved all his problems. Like his words had somehow lifted an invisible weight from his shoulders.
“I hope so too.”
Heath nodded, taking a deep breath before breaching the doors of the building.
*~*~*~*~*
“Ah, if it isn’t Chaos himself, hmm?” Heath turned and saw the familiar face of an elegant woman strutting towards him. Wicked grin painted in red, hair immaculate as always and delicate hands outstretched to greet him.
Heath took her hand and pressed a kiss to her knuckles. “Celeste, is it me or do you get more gorgeous with the centuries?”
“Oh darling, it’s not just you. I age like a fine wine.”
Heath chuckled, letting her lead him through the crowds of blood drunk vampires and love drunk fools who let the vampires tap them like maples.
“When did you get back?” she asked over her shoulder, her sultry tones carried like the word of God on a breeze, making music in his ears as they walked.
“I’m not back,” said Heath, eyes scanning the room for the reason he was here at all. “Just visiting Victor.”
Celeste laughed her beautiful laugh, both scathing and genuine at once.
“What’s so funny?” Heath asked, the Irish accent leaking out when he got defensive.
Celeste turned to Heath then, a manicured hand on his chest as she said with knowing eyes, “everyone knows what Just visiting for you means. No one can seem to get you out of that – oh what is it called again?”
“Ireland.”
“Just the same who seems to have captured your heart. Normally you have to be dragged away,” her eyes narrowed as she looked at his lips. “Just what could it be that’s piqued your interest this time?”
Heath smiled his dazzling smile at her and took her hand in his. “Can’t you just say it’s good to see me?”
“It’s good to see you,” a new voice said. Both Celeste and Heath looked to the left to see the host of tonight’s festivities.
Victor Felix stood to their left, a wine glass of blood in one hand, the familiar hint of a smirk on the corner of his quirked lip. He was dressed in a velvet navy suit, a purple cravat tucked into his wine waistcoat that matched his wine domino mask that had horns growing from the top. The devil himself.
“Felix!” Heath exclaimed, stepping out of Celeste’s arms and went to kiss each of Felix’s cheeks.
“Mio vecchio amico, it’s been too long.”
“Too long indeed.”
“We were just discussing his absence in favour of the Emerald Isle,” Celeste added walking towards the pair, her hand extended to Felix who took it and pressed a kiss to her now gloved knuckles.
“Celeste, gorgeous as always.”
Celeste just hummed, stepping back to be in line with Heath. Heath threw an easy arm around her waist keeping her close as he shot a megawatt smile at Felix.
“How have you been, Victor?” Heath asked, smile only half forced.
“I’ve been… busy,” Felix replied, looking between Celeste and Heath with golden eyes. “Where are my manners, dear boy, you don’t even have a drink! Waiter!”
A waiter appeared in less than a second, with a tray of wine glasses half full of blood. Heath took one, holding it at his side. Celeste took one too with a smile and a thank you, before taking a sip. Felix watched the exchange with calculating eyes, that same amused smile now shining in his eyes.
“I met your boy outside,” Heath said casually, and Felix looked towards him, daring him to continue. “Smart boy.”
“He is,” said Felix bringing the glass to his lips. He paused right before he took a sip, stare cutting through Heath’s and said, “reminds me of you way back when.”
“I was just about to say the same thing. Do you plan on turning him?”
Felix shrugged. “I don’t know yet. Perhaps. It’s always good to keep the sharp ones, Heath. Speaking of… I have a friend I’d like to introduce you to.”
“Do ya now?”
Felix let out a short breath of a laugh, as if there was a joke that Heath wasn’t privy to. “I do. He even asked for you by name.”
“What an honour.”
“You boys are so boring,” said Celeste, stepping out of Heath’s hold. She placed a hand on Heath’s cheek bringing him down into a short, sweet kiss and said, “come find me after you’re done doing business at a party.”
“Of course,” said Heath. Celeste looked back at Felix then.
“Don’t keep him too long,” she ordered, and Felix nodded. Then Celeste turned and disappeared into the crowd once again.
Heath looked to Felix who turned and walked into the crowd, expecting Heath to follow, so Heath did. Through winding crowds, occasionally stopping to greet someone, or someone stopping them to greet Heath and welcome him back.
“It’s good to be home, no?” Felix commented as he led him to the back of the ballroom out towards the gardens. Heath kept his head up, eyes forward.
“I’ve made my own home Felix. It was never here.”
“You wound me. After everything I’ve done for you,” Felix said with a pantomime pout.
“That boy. Outside, the human –”
Felix stopped, stepping in front of Heath, a cruel glint in his eyes. “Let me guess. You’re going to beg me not to turn him.”
Heath shrugged. “Yeah.”
“And what would you do for me?”
“Nothing. I just wanted to stop you from making the same mistake twice.”
Felix hummed, starting to walk again to the balcony overlooking the garden. When they got to the edge, Heath leaned his forearms over the rail looking out over the green expanse below. The garden was his favourite part of Felix’s mansion. It was the one place that was peaceful. When he was human, it was his brief reprieve from Felix and his orders, out in nature with the animals and the insects, the smell of the flowers calmed him. With his vampire senses, everything was too much, and the garden became too bright, too beautiful, too smelly.
“You wouldn’t like a little brother?”
“He wouldn’t like an older one more like,” said Heath taking a sip of the blood. Tastebuds tingling with iron. It was fresh. Heath hadn’t drunk fresh blood in so long.
Felix put his back to the railing looking at Heath from the corner of his eye. “I did miss you, you know,” he said quietly. “Even if you didn’t miss me.”
“Who is this person that wants to meet me? Have you been telling stories about me again?” Heath asked without missing a beat.
Felix cleared his throat, taking a sip of his drink looking back into the ballroom. “His name is Wolfe. Ah, and here he comes.”
Heath turned as Felix stepped away, going to greet Wolfe. He was tall. That was the first thing that struck Heath, that he was tall, taller than Felix. But where Felix was slim, Wolfe was broad. He was muscled to the point of being ripped under his white collared shirt and waist coat. A half smile was on his lips, stubble lined his strong square jaw that went up into his hair line where shoulder length purposefully messy hair lay perfect.
He also wasn’t wearing a mask, Heath noted, eyes narrowing slightly. A loose tie hung around his neck untied, a mask in one hand and his drink in the other.
“Felix,” his voice rumbled smooth. “It’s been too long, mate.”
English accent. Northern. That’s about as much as Heath could discern before Felix led the hulking stranger over.
His eyes were a piercing, opaque grey colour that sent Heath’s mind reeling. He listened for a heartbeat but heard none and when Wolfe outstretched his hand Heath took it robotically and felt no warmth. No pulse of blood. Yet his eyes were grey.
“You must be Cain, Felix’s boy, yes?”
“I’m Heath,” said Heath. Not friendly and not unfriendly. “You’re English.”
“Very astute. You’re Irish.”
“For the weather I am.”
Wolfe let out a booming hearty laugh, hand tightening around Heath’s with mirth. He cupped his other hand around Heath’s and pulled him in close for a hug. Wolfe swamped Heath’s frame, his strength unnatural even for a vampire and for the first time in a long time… Heath was scared.
“Good, good. The weather is shit in our parts, innit?”
“Never any sun to contend with,” Heath laughed, but at the joke or the fact that Wolfe finally released him he didn’t know.
Wolfe’s face levelled into a happy neutral expression. The same expression he walked up to them with. “Sorry about the mask, I didn’t want to greet you without you knowing what I look like.”
Heath glanced at Felix and nearly hated himself for it. Looking to Felix for a command. An order. A silent question. Does he need to take his off too? Heath decided against it because he could, because he was his own man. He didn’t need Felix to tell him what to do anymore.
“Felix told me you’re young. What is it? A couple decades?”
Heath opened his mouth, but it was Felix who answered. “He’s 149.”
Heath shot Felix a look, but Felix just smiled back like a proud father.
“Barely out of your fledgling days!” Wolfe laughed.
“Or maybe you’re just ancient,” Heath said twisting his lips into a smile. He could do this. Don’t show any fear. Play it up. It’s fine.
Wolfe laughed again, some ancient knowing settling into his eyes as he said, “maybe.”
Heath couldn’t hold the stare long, glancing at Felix beside Wolfe instead. “Felix said you wanted to chat with me?”
“Yes. I do. If you wouldn’t mind.”
“Not at all, what about?”
Wolfe fixed Heath with a pinning stare, his grey eyes enthralling Heath just a little bit to keep his attention and for a moment Heath felt his feeble humanity humming in the back of his mind. That primal fear of predator watching prey. The same look Felix set on him when he decided he didn’t want Heath to leave him.
“The immortal hunter.”
Those three words hammered through Heath’s skull, and if his heart still beat, he’s sure it would’ve beat faster at Wolfe’s confident words issued through a cool, casual tone that demanded Heath’s attention with those cold grey eyes.
Heath looked at Felix, mouth open, looking like an idiot and Felix tilted his head – a smile on his lips watching Heath squirm before stepping closer to Heath, and Heath could have preened at the familiarity of his sire so close even after he broke the bond.
“Felix told me you had history with it,” Wolfe continued, his voice a low rumbling drawl, smooth as gravel and gentle like a lion just before it was about to prance. Wolfe tilted his head regarding Heath with inquisitive eyes. “And with the old blood. The ancient blood, of course, that’s what enticed Felix to you in the first place I’m guessing.”
Wolfe glanced at Felix then. “I can still smell it on him, even after he’s turned- what was it, 140 years or so? That ancient blood is always tricky. Especially for a fledgling.”
“I’m not a fledgling anymore.”
“Not to you, perhaps,” said Wolfe eyes going back to Heath. “But when you live as long as Felix and me, a century is nothing but a blink of an eye.”
“So, what do you want with the immortal hunter?”
“Isn’t it obvious, dear boy?”
Heath’s hand tightened harder on his glass. “Obviously not.”
Wolfe hummed, bringing the glass to his lips, and swallowing a gulp of blood. Then he smiled showing his teeth and the blood staining his lips and canines nearly made Heath sick.
Wolfe looked at Felix. “I forgot how impetuous the youth of yesterday can be.”
Felix shrugged, “it can be fun to get them in line.”
“You have the patience of a saint, Felix,” then his eyes slid back to Heath, void of the humour it had been full of before. “I, however, do not.”
Wolfe took a step towards Heath and Heath took one back, his lower back pressing into the rail trapping him, with Felix on his left caging him in.
He felt so small. So weak, so human.
“We should chat, Cain. After everyone is gone, perhaps? Are you staying with Felix while you’re here?”
“No,” Heath said at the same time Felix said, “Yes.”
Wolfe grinned, a big hand clamping down hard on Heath’s shoulder. The grip turned bruising, but Heath didn’t wince. He didn’t flinch. He kept Wolfe’s cruel stare, even when Wolfe’s claws penetrated flesh and cut through his shoulder.
“I like you, Cain,” Wolfe said, withdrawing his hand. He put his mask on finally, and it felt like Heath could finally breathe again.
Wolfe looked at Felix then, “I’ll stay here too if you have a room.”
“Of course,” said Felix his eyes on Heath again. “Don’t disappear on us now, Heath.”
Heath said nothing as he pushed passed Felix, his mind swimming as he stalked back into the ballroom, downing the glass of blood before looking for Celeste. He needed to calm down and she was the only one who could soothe his nerves right now.
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
✓ Live Streaming✓ Interactive Chat✓ Private Shows✓ HD Quality✓ Free Actions
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
Heath stalked up the marble steps to the ostentatious mansion. The annual masquerade party was in full swing, the smell of blood permeating the air was intoxicating, and for a moment just outside the open doors Heath hesitated. Slowly closing his hands into fists and opening them again.
Maybe coming here was a mistake.
“May I take your jacket, sir?” Heath looked at the servant and was glad for the red mask obscuring part of his face, it would make the night go smoother.
Though the servant wore a full decorated mask, through the eye holes Heath’s maroon eyes met blue ones staring back at him.
Human. Interesting.
“That’s quite alright, thank you.”
“Of course, Mr Cain. Mr Felix has been expecting you, and would like a private audience as soon as you have mingled.”
“Would he now?” Heath asked, going to stand beside the servant leaning against the wall and pulling out a metal case of cigarettes.
He clicked his fingers lighting the cigarette between his teeth and took a drag, as he watched the boy from the corner of his eyes.
“What’s your name?” He asked, and the boy hesitated.
“Forgive me, Mr Cai-“
“You can call me Heath.”
“Of course. Forgive me, Heath, but with all due respect you’re a vampire… if I tell you my name- well, I’ve heard the stories.”
Heath let out a snort of laughter, looking at the boy plainly now.
“Smart boy.”
“In this line of work, I have to be.”
Heath smiled, taking a long drag then offering the cigarette to the boy.
“Do you smoke?”
“No sir?”
“Good lad. Smart lad,” Heath said genuinely, then cocked a brow. “Not smart enough to be as far as possible from a vamp party, though?”
The boy swallowed and looked away from Heath’s penetrating stare.
“What do you owe Felix?”
“Umm…”
“You don’t reek of any thrall,” Heath began, exhaling a lungful of smoke into the cool night air. “Which either means you’re in debt-“
The servant hesitated. “The party is in full swing inside, sir.”
“I’m aware,” Heath said easily. “Full of loathful bloodsuckers like me who eat people like you. So, either- you’re one of Victor’s pets waiting to be turned, which I’m guessing not because you knew not to tell me your name… Or, you owe him something. Feel free to correct me.”
The servant said nothing for a moment. Then faltered. A dip of the head. Then back to their rigid posture, head held high.
“Family?”
“How-?”
“It’s always family that fucks you. Whether you like them or not,” Heath said, throwing the cigarette to the floor. Crushing it beneath his shoe. “You live a few centuries, you see the same mistakes. I’m not saying your family isn’t worth it. I’m just saying, there will be no thanks for your sacrifice. For the years you give up.”
“You say that as if you know from experience.”
Heath smiled again, winking at the servant. “Like I said, smart boy.”
With that Heath pushed off the wall, fixing his suit jacket and mask before turning to the servant, extending a hand.
“If all goes well, I hope I never see you again,” he said and the boy looked as if he had just solved all his problems. Like his words had somehow lifted an invisible weight from his shoulders.
“I hope so too.”
Heath nodded, taking a deep breath before breaching the doors of the building.
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
“Ah, if it isn’t Chaos himself, hmm?” Heath turned and saw the familiar face of an elegant woman strutting towards him. Wicked grin painted in red, hair immaculate as always and hands outstretched to greet him.
Heath took her hand and pressed a kiss to her knuckles. “Celeste, is it me or do you get more gorgeous with the centuries?”
“Oh darling, it’s not just you. I age like a fine wine.”
Heath chuckled, letting her lead him through the crowds of blood drunk vampires and love drunk fools who let the vampires tap them like maples.
“When did you get back?” She asked over her shoulder, her sultry tones carried like the word of God on a breeze, making music in his ears as they walked.
“I’m not back,” said Heath, eyes scanning the room for the reason he was here at all. “Just visiting Victor.”
Celeste laughed her beautiful laugh, both scathing and genuine at once.
“What’s so funny?”
Celeste turned to Heath then, a manicured hand on his chest as she said with knowing eyes, “Everyone knows what Just visiting for you means. No one can seem to get you out of that- oh what is it?”
“Ireland.”
“Just the same who seems to have captured your heart. Normally you have to be dragged away,” her eyes narrowed as she looked at his lips. “Just what could it be that’s piqued your interest this time?”
Heath smiled his dazzling smile at her, and took her hand in his. “Can’t you just say it’s good to see me?”
“It’s good to see you,” a voice said and both Celeste and Heath looked to the left to see the host of tonight’s festivities.
Victor Felix stood to their left, a wine glass of blood in one hand, the familiar hint of a smirk on the corner of his quirked lip. He was dressed in a velvet navy suit, a purple cravat tucked into his wine waistcoat that matched his wine domino mask that had horns growing from the top.
“Felix!” Heath exclaimed stepping out of Celeste’s arms and went to kiss each of Felix’s cheeks.
“Mio vecchio amico, it’s been too long.”
“Too long indeed.”
“We were just discussing his absence in favour of the Emerald Isle,” Celeste added walking towards the pair, her hand extended to Felix who took it and pressed a kiss to her now gloved knuckles.
“Celeste, gorgeous as always.”
Celeste just hummed, stepping back to be in line with Heath. Heath threw an easy arm around her waist keeping her close as he shot a megawatt smile at Felix.
“How have you been, Victor?” Heath asked, smile only half forced.
“I’ve been… busy,” Felix replied, looking between Celeste and Heath with golden eyes. “Where are my manners, dear boy, you don’t even have a drink! Waiter!”
A waiter appeared in less than a second, with a tray of wine glasses half full of blood. Heath took one, holding it at his side. Celeste took one too with a smile and a thank you, before taking a sip. Felix watched the exchange with calculating eyes, that same amused smile now shining in his eyes.
“I met your boy outside,” Heath said casually, and Felix looked towards him, daring him to continue. “Smart boy.”
“He is,” said Felix bringing the glass to his lips. He paused right before he took a sip, stare cutting through Heath’s and said, “Reminds me of you way back when.”
“I was just about to say the same thing. Do you plan on turning him?”
Felix shrugged. “I don’t know yet. Perhaps. It’s always good to keep the sharp ones, Heath. Speaking of… I have a friend I’d like to introduce you to.”
“Do you now?”
Felix let out a short breath of a laugh, as if there was a joke that Heath wasn’t privy to. “I do. He even asked for you by name.”
“What an honour.”
“You boys are so boring,” said Celeste, stepping out of Heath’s hold. She placed a hand on Heath’s cheek bringing him down into a short sweet kiss and said, “Come find me after you’re done doing business at a party.”
“Of course,” said Heath. Celeste looked back at Felix then.
“Don’t keep him too long,” she ordered and Felix nodded. Then Celeste turned and disappeared into the crowd once again.
Heath looked to Felix who turned and walked into the crowd, expecting Heath to follow, so Heath did. Through winding crowds, occasionally stopping to greet someone, or someone stopping them to greet Heath and welcome him back.
“It’s good to be home, no?” Felix commented as he led him to the back of the ballroom out towards the gardens. Heath kept his head up, eyes forward.
“I’ve made my own home Felix. It was never here.”
“You wound me. After everything I’ve done for you,” Felix said with a pantomime pout.
“That boy. Outside, the human-“
Felix stopped, stepping in front of Heath, a cruel glint in his eyes.
“Let me guess. You’re going to beg me not to turn him.”
Heath shrugged. “Yeah.”
“And what would you do for me?”
“Nothing. I just wanted to stop you from making the same mistake twice.”
Felix hummed, starting to walk again to the balcony overlooking the garden. When they got there Heath leaned his forearms over the rail looking out over the green expanse below.
“You wouldn’t like a little brother?”
“He wouldn’t like an older one more like,” said Heath taking a sip of the blood. Tastebuds tingling. It was fresh. Heath hadn’t drank fresh blood in so long.
Felix put his back to the railing looking at Heath from the corner of his eye. “I did miss you, you know,” he said quietly. “Even if you didn’t miss me.”
“Who is this person that wants to meet me? Have you been telling stories about me again?” Heath asked without missing a beat.
Felix cleared his throat, taking a sip of his drink looking back into the ballroom. “His name is Wolfe. Ah, and here he comes.”
Heath turned as Felix stepped away, going to greet Wolfe. He was tall. That was the first thing that struck Heath. He was tall, taller than Felix. But where Felix was slim, Wolfe was broad. He was muscled to the point of being ripped under his white collared shirt and waist coat. A half smile was on his lips, stubble lined his strong square jaw that went up into his hair line where shoulder length purposefully messy hair lay perfect.
He also wasn’t wearing a mask, Heath noted, eyes narrowing slightly. A loose tie hung around his neck untied, a mask in one hand and his drink in the other.
“Felix,” his voice rumbled smooth. “It’s been too long, mate.”
English accent. Northern. That’s about as much as Heath could discern before Felix led the hulking stranger over.
His eyes were piercing and an opaque grey colour that sent Heath’s mind reeling. He listened for a heartbeat, but heard none and when Wolfe outstretched his hand Heath took it robotically and felt no warmth. No pulse of blood. Yet his eyes were grey.
“You must be Cain, Felix’s boy yes?”
“I’m Heath,” said Heath. Not friendly and not unfriendly. “You’re English.”
“Very astute. You’re Irish.”
“For the weather I am.”
Wolfe let out a booming hearty laugh, hand tightening around Heath’s with mirth. He cupped his other hand around Heath’s and pulled him in close for a hug. Wolfe swamped Heath’s frame, his strength unnatural even for a vampire and for the first time in a long time… Heath was scared.
“Good, good. The weather is shit in our parts, innit?”
“Never any sun to contend with,” Heath laughed, but at the joke or the fact that Wolfe finally released him he didn’t know.
Wolfe’s face levelled into a happy neutral expression. The same expression he walked up to them with. “Sorry about the mask, I didn’t want to greet you without you knowing what I look like.”
Heath glanced at Felix and nearly hated himself for it. Looking to Felix for a command. An order. A silent question . Does he need to take his off too?
Heath decided against it because he could, because he was his own man. He didn’t need Felix to tell him what to do anymore.
“Felix told me you’re young. What is it? A couple decades?”
Heath opened his mouth, but it was Felix who answered.
“He’s 149.”
Heath shot Felix a look, but Felix just smiled back like a proud father.
“Barely out of your fledgling days!” Wolfe laughed.
“Or maybe you’re just ancient,” Heath said twisting his lips into a smile. He could do this. Don’t show any fear. Play it up. It’s fine.
Wolfe laughed again, something ancient knowing settling into his eyes as he said, “Maybe.”
Heath couldn’t hold the stare long, glancing at Felix beside Wolfe instead. “Felix said you wanted to chat with me?”
“Yes. I do. If you wouldn’t mind.”
“Not at all, what about?”
Wolfe fixed Heath with a pinning stare, his grey eyes enthralling Heath just a little bit to keep his attention and for a moment Heath felt his feeble humanity humming in the back of his mind. That primal fear of predator watching prey. The same look Felix set on him when he decided he didn’t want Heath to leave him.
“The immortal hunter.”
Those three words hammered through Heath’s skull, and if his heart still beat he’s sure it would’ve beat faster at Wolfe’s confident words issued through a cool, casual tone that demanded Heath’s attention with those cold grey eyes.
Heath looked at Felix, mouth open, looking like an idiot and Felix tilted his head - a smile on his lips at watching Heath squirm before stepping closer to Heath, and Heath could have preened at the familiarity of his sire so close even after he broke the bond.
“Felix told me you had history with it,” Wolfe continued, his voice a low rumbling drawl, smooth as gravel and gentle like a lion just before it was about to prance. Wolfe tilted his head regarding Heath with inquisitive eyes. “And with the old blood. The ancient blood, of course that’s what enticed Felix to you in the first place I’m guessing.”
Wolfe glanced at Felix then. “I can still smell it on him, even after he’s turned- what was it, 140 years or so? That ancient blood is always tricky. Especially for a fledgling.”
“I’m not a fledgling anymore.”
“Not to you, perhaps,” said Wolfe eyes going back to Heath. “But when you live as long as Felix and I, a century is nothing but a blink of and eye.”
“So what do you want with the immortal hunter?”
“Isn’t it obvious, dear boy?”
Heath’s hand tightened harder on his glass. “Obviously not.”
Wolfe hummed, bringing the glass to his lips and swallowing a gulp of blood. Then he smiled showing his teeth and the blood staining his lips and canines nearly made Heath sick.
Wolfe looked at Felix. “I forgot how impetuous the youth of yesterday can be.”
Felix shrugged, “It can be fun to get them in line.”
“You have the patience of a saint, Felix,” then his eyes slid back to Heath, void of the humour it had been full of before. “I however, do not.”
Wolfe took a step towards Heath and Heath took one back, his lower back pressing into the rail trapping him, with Felix on his left caging him in.
Heath felt so small.
“We should chat, Cain. After everyone is gone, perhaps? Are you staying with Felix while you’re here?”
“No,” Heath said at the same time Felix said, “Yes.”
Wolfe grinned, a big hand clamping down hard on Heath’s shoulder. The grip turned bruising but Heath didn’t wince. Didn’t flinch. He kept Wolfe’s cruel stare, even when Wolfe’s claws penetrated flesh and cut through his shoulder.
“I like you, Cain,” Wolfe said, withdrawing his hand. He put his mask on finally, and it felt like Heath could finally breathe again.
Wolfe looked at Felix then, “I’ll stay here too if you have a room.”
“Of course,” said Felix his eyes on Heath again. “Don’t disappear on us now, Heath.”
Heath said nothing as he pushed passed Felix, his mind swimming as he stalked back into the ballroom, downing the glass of blood before looking for Celeste. He needed to calm down and she was the only one who could soothe his nerves right now.
She wasn't sure how long they'd stayed like that, kneeling together in the garden. When she'd gone to peek out the door she found that Orthjolf and Vingalmo were still there, politely "offering" to escort her back to her wing of the castle.
Her room was...exactly as she remembered, even down to the cups sitting on a low table. Everything was covered in dust and cobwebs and Orthjolf had laughed as he'd slammed the door behind him -- then, there was the click of the lock turning.
Ralsten had obediently followed without a word, and when she looked to him he was in turn looking back at her expectantly.
Aimlessly she wandered the room for a moment, ignoring memories of better times; she finally brushed the dust off a chair and sat down next to the cold and lifeless fireplace. "Ralsten, come here."
The elf came over immediately. "Yes, Mistress?"
((Continued below cut))
She winced but waited until he'd settled at her heels, looking up at her. In all her years of being a vampire Serana hadn't made a thrall before -- there were always plenty to feed from at the castle and as she'd not been allowed to leave there had never been a chance to even consider creating a thrall of her own. There was no sign of Ralsten in his face or in his eyes - he was physically awake, yes, and moving around, but he seemed so empty.
When they fed from the thralls and cattle they had always cast the enthralling spell before biting -- it was well known that they wouldn't fight back while under someone's control but a creature in pain would still squirm and move even if they weren't fully aware of their situation and that made feeding a hassle at times. No one spell seemed to override another and for the most part thralls obeyed anyone giving them orders regardless; the spell seemed to bury them further (or so she thought) so they didn't feel the need to flinch and squirm...but was that true? WAS that the reason she'd been taught to always cast it before feeding off the cattle and thralls?
Would this wear off if she didn't?
She reached out to trail her fingers down Ralsten's cheek, then stroked his hair; his expression didn't change and he didn't look away - he sat and waited for her orders.
"Ralsten, I need you to do something for me."
"Yes?"
"Fight my control. Wake up. I don't want you obeying me, I want you back."
Ralsten stared into her face unblinking for several breaths; eventually his brow furrowed as his expression changed to one of confusion. "I'm sorry, Mistress. I don't understand."
She sighed heavily - she hadn't really expected that to work. "It's all right. Just...sit there, and let me think."
Ralsten nodded and settled on his heels as instructed. Serana leaned back in the chair and stared up to the dark, web-choked ceiling.
Her father was not a kind man; it may have seemed a mercy or a kindness for him to allow her to have Ralsten as her own, but she knew better - especially since he'd mentioned the Scroll she'd escaped with before. Ralsten was a concession only because he was also leverage: Harkon did not and had not cared about Serana's happiness in a very long time. This little charade of...of showing affection, or something...was only the start of what was going to be something unpleasant to bear.
She tried the door and found that yes, Orthjolf had definitely locked it behind him; there was nothing in the room she thought she could pick the lock with, and even if she'd found something she didn't know how to pick locks. Ralsten did...but, thralls weren't exactly precise or careful and she doubted he could manage it in his state.
They needed to find a way out of this room and then out of the castle...Ralsten wouldn't survive for very long if they didn't.
After her attempt at ordering him to fight failed, she tried the only other thing she'd seen work: when Dexion had been beaten to his senses and freed. She felt every blow keenly but Ralsten took them without complaint, only seeming confused at what he could have done to have earned her ire; he was bloodied and barely able to move when she stopped - she'd had to force herself to harm him in the first place, and seeing him in such a state...it burned in her heart. She'd bandaged him with strips torn from old gowns still hanging in a wardrobe, and had let him lay his head in her lap afterward to rest.
Her prediction that Ralsten was a pawn as much as she was was proven a few nights later when, instead of Rargal bringing in the pitiful amount of food being provided to the elf, it was Harkon himself who came.
"How do you find the company, child?"
Serana sat stiffly in a chair near a tiny slit of a window; as usual Ralsten sat on the floor at her feet, ever ready to tend to his mistress. "I find I miss the open skies."
"You'll be able to enjoy them soon enough." Harkon came in further, dragging a finger across the dust gathered on a book shelf. "I remember when this room was bright and vibrant."
"Then you don't remember it at all. I spent as little time here as possible."
He grunted. "Yes, yes... If memory serves, you spent entirely too much time with your mother, willingly ingesting the poison she fed you."
"She wasn't wrong," Serana said softly.
Harkon's gaze snapped to her, eyes flashing. "Tell me, my dear - where has my Scroll disappeared to?"
A pit of ice seemed to settle into her stomach. "I don't know."
"I find that hard to believe."
"If it's not here I don't know," she lied. "And I don't care."
"You should," he muttered. The lord closed his eyes and seemed to gather himself, and when he looked up again she had the distinct impression of a snake ready to strike. "What I do, I do for our kind. These mortals are beneath us, they-"
"You really don't see, do you?" Serana interrupted. "You can't be that blind."
"We are destined to rule, child. And I will see it done."
"You want to allow vampires to walk around without fearing the sun. You want to -- what, destroy the sun? Block it? Bring eternal night?" she went on in a rush. "How can you be so short sighted on what that truly means?"
"I see you took in more poison from your mother than I thought-"
"Why do you refuse to listen?" Serana interrupted again. "Don't you think that the whole of Skyrim, if not all of the world, would rise up to set things right again? You may hate mother but she's right -- there'd be wars, we'd be hunted. And even if we managed to overcome all of the fighting and bring things under our control, what then? No sun means the plants eventually die, no plants means the animals that eat them die. With no plants and no animals to feed to the thralls then OUR food dies. And then we'd die."
"What an endearing little nightmare you've dreamed up," Harkon snorted. "As dire as those your mother liked to screech about to any who would listen."
"What you want is nothing more than a dream - an impossible one," Serana snapped. "It's going to end in us being killed, either by mortals or by time."
"My patience and my mercy are not infinite, daughter," Harkon said into the silence that followed. He spun on a heel and began to walk to the door. "I expect my Scroll to find its way back into my hands...or, there will be consequences."
At the door he paused and turned to fix his gaze on Ralsten, still kneeling at her feet; he left then, the door closing and locking with a series of gentle clicks.
Serana felt the knot of ice that had settled into her stomach at the sight of her father spread out to the rest of her. She again looked to Ralsten.
Her questions earlier of, 'would this, COULD this, wear off' came to mind again, but then were overtaken by another, singular thought:
I don't have the time to find out.
Harkon clearly needed her to carry out this prophecy -- that was why her mother had sealed her away. Her father may not know HOW he needed her but it was enough that he wouldn't dare hurt her...but Ralsten...
She looked around the room; the tables, the chairs and wardrobes, the ancient four-post bed in the corner that hadn't been touched in centuries...everything was covered in a thick layer of dust, only disturbed in those places she'd restlessly paced.
The only thing in the entire room that had been free of dust, somehow, was the coffin that stood against the wall - the same wall that the fireplace was set into. She didn't believe for a moment that someone had come in to dust just the coffin without touching anything else, but much like her questions about the magic that enthralled Ralsten she didn't care nor did she have the time to explore it.
With a sinking feeling, she knew there was...really, only one solution to saving herself and Ralsten and, by extension, the rest of Skyrim.
"Follow me," she ordered gently. With the wood elf at her heels she moved over to her coffin; it was an elongated octagon of fine wood, padded and lined with a soft velvet. It was heavy - so much so that it didn't need to be attached to the wall to prevent it from tipping over but instead stood sturdily on its bottom edge. "Help me move this - we're going to lay it on the floor, flat."
With Ralsten's assistance they muscled the coffin away from the wall and turned it to lay it flat; once it was down and laid open, she stepped over to look up into Ralsten's eyes.
"...I know, from what Dexion said, that you're in there...able to see and hear me. I know. And...I want you to know, that we haven't a choice -- we haven't the time... We need to leave this place now, and--"
She stopped and swallowed hard; Ralsten still showed no signs of himself, giving her the same earnest, attentive look he'd worn since he'd "awakened" as a thrall.
"Sit down in the coffin, Ralsten."
He quickly moved to obey, and when he was seated she stepped in after him, settling in his lap and straddling his hips. Carefully she removed her armor and then the undershirt beneath it until she had just her undergarment on her top half; the dagger on her belt slid soundlessly from its sheath and she held it in a shaking grip then dug its tip into her shoulder and dragged it down toward her collarbone.
Thick, deep red blood began to slowly well up - vampires bled much more slowly than mortals did. She looked Ralsten in the eyes again for a final time, then reached up to clasp her hands behind his head and gently guide him down to the bleeding gash.
"Drink, until I say stop."
The elf clumsily pressed his lips to the wound and began to suck. Serana felt sick to her stomach over what she was forcing on him, but strangely she felt nothing at all physically from him feeding.
Much like she'd never made a thrall before she'd also never created a spawn; she had no idea how much of her blood Ralsten would need to turn and so she let him drink for a long time, then softly told him to stop and sit up.
He did, his mouth and beard stained a dark red. Serana cleaned his face with her undershirt, then laid her hands to his shoulders and pressed him gently down into the coffin on his back.
"Stay here and rest, Ralsten. Don't move unless I tell you to."
"Yes, Mistress. I..."
She climbed off him and perched on the coffin's edge. "You what?"
"I feel...strange..." he whispered. His eyelids drooped closed and his breath hissed out in a slow, contented sigh.
Serana remained there, watching as he fell asleep. Her throat felt tight and once she was certain he was fully asleep she leaned down to press a kiss to his forehead.
A sudden hitch in what had been slow, steady breathing was what first alerted Serana to Ralsten awakening.
She hurried away from the window slit and over to the coffin; Ralsten's eyes were closed still but he was twitching as he lay there, beginning to stir. Gently Serana laid a hand on his chest and waited.
His eyes slid open - they glowed a soft gold not too different from her own. He sucked in a sharp breath and looked around, seemingly alarmed by the sight of the coffin's walls pressed in so closely to him.
"Ralsten-"
His hands shot up to grab the sides of the coffin, trying to pull himself upright; she grabbed him by the upper arm to help him sit up and kept hold of him as he looked around in confusion, his breathing ragged and rapid.
"Shh, Ralsten- it's all right. I'm here. Calm down."
"Serana..." he swallowed hard and looked to her; his eyes were wide open, fearful and confused. He went to try and crawl over the coffin's side and she pushed him back down.
"Sit a moment, and come to your senses. I know-"
"-what's- what's happened? What's happened to me? I- I'm so...hungry," he gasped, reaching up to dig fingers into the hair on either side of his head.
"Shh...calm down. Breathe." Serana reached up to carefully de-tangle his hands from his hair, then cupped his face and turned him to look at her. "Breathe."
Shaking he reached up to place his hands over her own; for some time they sat like that in silence, Ralsten visibly growing calmer until he closed his eyes, exhaled slowly, and then opened them again to look at her with a--
With a look that was decidedly "him" - he was awake, he was aware, and he had returned to her.
"Serana..." he whispered, squeezing her hands.
She let go and stood, holding his hands and helping him stand upright; he swayed a bit but then stood firm, gaze roaming around. After a pause he pressed a few fingers into his mouth, feeling the fangs that were now present.
"I...I'm so hungry," the elf said, looking at her. "What do we do now?"
"We need to get out of here and down into the castle proper. We'll find something for you there, and then we need to escape."
He nodded along at her words, but at the mention of escape he shook his head. "No. No, we - we have to still find your mother."
"It's too dangerous to go back to the garden-"
"We have to," Ralsten interrupted. He began to slowly move to the door. "We've no other ideas."
"My father knows we can get down there."
"If we move- if we can get there quickly enough before we're noticed missing...maybe...maybe we'll have a chance."
-----------------------------------------------
Their plan had to been to wait for day again; it took so long for Ralsten to find something serviceable enough to use to pick the lock that it was nearly midday by the time they were free and creeping along the castle's halls.
They thankfully met no one as they slipped down the stairs and found themselves skirting along the rail that overlooked the main hall.
"My father must not be expecting that we'd..."
Ralsten nodded silently but didn't reply. He was following closely behind her as she guided them down the stairs and into a room that smelled overwhelmingly of blood; there was a long table in the middle of the room with a mutilated corpse laid out atop it. There were cabinets and shelves lined with blades, bottles, and torture instruments, along with blood-stained kegs that leaked red fluid to the the discolored stone beneath it.
The hunger within Ralsten surged to the forefront of his mind; Serana took him by the hand and led him to one of the shelves where she grabbed a bottle that was...large, ornate. It was an exaggerated, tear-drop shape - more squat than tall - and made of a ruby-tinted glass with a patterned, spiked golden metal bonded to the glass. She pulled the cork free and wrapped his hands around it.
"Drink this. All of it."
He didn't need encouragement - Ralsten pressed the mouth of the bottle to his lips and began to hungrily gulp its contents. It was thick on his tongue, coating it, and was as sweet as nectar; he emptied the bottle quickly and swallowed several times after -- Serana watched him quietly, and nodded in approval when he was done.
"You'll feel better soon."
He carefully set the empty bottle back onto the shelf; as the blood coursed through him the hunger faded and, for the first time since Harkon had ambushed them in the gardens, he felt...normal. Like himself. Or as much as he COULD feel like himself, considering he was now a vampire.
Serana was moving about, stealing every blood potion that was in the room and shoving it into a sack she'd emptied potatoes out of. Most of the potion bottles were the smaller ones Ralsten had seen before (the ones that had been shattered when that dwemer trap had sent them into that pit) -- there were only six of the larger, ornate bottles. They clicked against one another in the sack; there weren't any packs or other means to carry the potions and Serana had no idea where Harkon may have tossed Ralsten's pack (and everything in it).
"We don't have the time to look around elsewhere," she'd whispered once she was done.
He nodded in agreement. "How do we get from here back to the garden?"
Serana hefted the bag over a shoulder and inched to the doorway, stopping and standing there silent and still, listening. "--follow me..."
Together they had dragged the more intact table and chairs in front of the door they'd come through, as well as the door they'd tried to sneak in through before; they would hardly do a thing if anyone tried to get in here but even a few seconds bought was better than another sudden ambush.
Any admiration for the beauty that remained was gone, for Ralsten; he was far more interested in finding what clues they could and then getting out of here as quickly as possible.
Serana was visibly nervous as they roamed about the garden together, neither willing to leave the relative safety of the other's side; Ralsten found his discarded helmet and the ruins of his breastplate - he couldn't wear the breastplate, not with the straps that held it to him all snapped apart, and he felt foolish thinking he could wear the helmet when he had nothing else on but a shirt, pants, and plain leather boots.
"Where did my boots go?" he'd wondered aloud. "And the rest of my armor?"
"My father made me order you to change clothing, remember?"
Ralsten didn't respond immediately; it was true that he'd been awake and aware inside his own mind the entire time but things still felt a little jumbled since he'd awakened as a vampire, almost like it was all out of sequence. "Probably...? It's a bit of a mess up here."
She smiled at him, though it was tinged with guilt and a hint of sadness. "You'll remember in time."
Eventually Serana left him to roam and went to walk around the large sundial in the middle of the garden.
"Something's wrong with this moondial, I just know it."
Ralsten came over to here from where he'd been poking about in a tangled patch of dead deathbell. "Moondial?"
She looked over her shoulder at him with a small smile. "Moondial. The previous owners of this castle had a sundial here, but that obviously didn't appeal to my mother. She persuaded an elven artisan to make some improvements. See the plates? They show the phases of Masser and Secunda now."
Ralsten glanced down as she gestured at the circular plates around the giant, pointed dial; some were made of polished white stone, the others were a polished stone that was a sort of dark gray-blue color. "Did it work?"
"That's the thing...what's the point of a moondial? I always wondered why she didn't just have the whole thing ripped out. But she loved it. I don't know. I guess it's like having a piece of art, if you're into that sort of thing."
Nodding, Ralsten circled around to the other side of the moondial, his foot nudging one of the plates. The metal and stone depiction of the moon clanked and moved slightly. "Seems some of these are loose."
Serana peered around the dial at him. "--not just loose, some of them are gone. Look-" she pointed to a few spots on Ralsten's side that were missing the stone crests, and not because they were depicting a phase where the moons weren't visible.
"-why would some be gone? Would you father have tried to damage this?"
"Maybe..." she murmured. She stepped from the dial and looked around at the overgrown and mostly dead mess. "I wonder if those crests are anywhere out here, still. Look around - even in this mess they should stick out."
Ralsten nodded and went back to roaming the outer edge of the garden; now that he had an idea of what he was looking for he found one crest that was a crescent of white stone laying among a twisted mess of dead tall grasses -- he'd overlooked it before as the grass was white and so was the crest, but he waded in and pulled it free.
He carried it back to the dial, found the correct spot for it, and carefully laid it into the indentations in the stone where it belonged. "How many are missing?"
"--two more," came her answer.
It took him a bit but he found two more - both made of the darker stone, one representing a full moon and the other a half moon. When he'd returned both to their spots around the dial there was a deep rumble, then the dial began to ponderously spin on its base.
It spun halfway around, pointing its tip in the opposite direction, and then the stone around the dial began to shift and drop down -- a stairwell was formed minutes later, leading down in a tight spiral to something beneath the dial.
"Very clever, mother. Very clever," Serana murmured. She carefully made her way down the stairs and through the door at the very bottom. "I've never been in these tunnels before...but I'd bet they run right under the courtyard and into the tower ruins."
Ralsten stepped in through the door behind her; hanging beside the door was a metal hoop on a chain. He pulled on it and the dial above them spun around to reseal the entrance.
They looked to one another. "I've never even seen this part of the castle before. Be careful. I don't know what might be around," Serana said.
They began to head deeper into the castle ruins; countless hallways, rooms with tall ceiling, everything choked with dusts and webs, skeever and spiders and skeletons running rampant.
After a particular nasty run in with a sword-wielding skeleton along with a gargoyle that had sprung to life they stopped in a room with a row of wide benches, the walls lined with weapon racks and shelves with dusty, ancient potion bottles.
"Let me teach you something," Serana said as she tied off a bandage around Ralsten's bicep. "Give me your hand."
He placed his hand in hers and her fingers began to glow in that strange, almost bubbly way that he'd seen her do before. It seemed to tug at his strength and health, but not in a way that it drained it from him.
"Do you feel that?"
"I do. What is it?"
"Something that should help keep you alive. This is the spell..."
After poking around in all the abandoned, sometimes destroyed rooms, after wiping out who knew how many skeletons and gargoyles, and finding countless pull chains and hidden switches to open doors disguised as walls, as fireplaces, and as shelves, they'd arrived in a spacious study.
Underneath the vaulted ceilings was a two tiered place, shelves and tables along the walls full of books, dusty and rotting alchemical ingredients, and bones and bottles. Sunken in the center of the room was a ringed stone area but it had no drain or anything to otherwise indicate why it was designed that way or what its purpose was.
"Look at this place. This has to be it. I knew she was deep into necromancy... I mean, she taught me everything I know. But I had no idea she had a set up like this. Look at all of this." Serana moved to the center of the room, beside the strange ringed structure, and turned slowly in a circle taking everything in. "She must have spent years collecting these components. And what's this thing?" She looked down to the rings in the floor. "I'm not sure about this circle, but it's obviously...something."
Ralsten nodded in agreement and came in to stand beside her. "What exactly are we looking for?"
"My mother was meticulous about her research. If we can find her notes, there might be some hints in there about what she was doing and where she might have gone."
To his left were stairs that led to the upper area, and to this right a wide table and a small nook with books. He decided to check the little nook first. "Your mother maintained quite the laboratory."
Serana was heading for the stairs. "I had no idea that this laboratory even existed. She had an alchemy set up in her drawing room, but nothing that even comes close to what's here."
"What did she research?" he asked. He reached out to rub a thumb down the spine of a book, wiping away the dust and trying to read its title.
"Looking at what's here, it looks like she was trying to advance her necromancy."
Ralsten pulled a book free and opened it, looking for its title page when the spine proved too old and crumbling to be legible. "To what end?"
Serana was on the upper level now and her voice was distant and echoed in the large room. "I don't know. Certainly not longevity - kind of a waste of time for a vampire."
Slowly Ralsten went through the books on the shelf in the little reading nook; all of their covers were falling apart and some detached when he opened them to check the titles.
All, that is, except for a small red book he'd found tucked between two others, pushed back far enough between the books to either side that he didn't see it until he moved one of them and the bright red had caught his eye. He slid it free and opened it, leafing through the pages briefly before moving over to one of the benches near the bookshelves to sit down and actually thoroughly read through it.
"Any luck yet?" Serana's voice echoed down to him.
"--I think I found your mother's notes."
"You did?" She came hurrying down the stairs and over to him. "Let me see them."
He handed the book over and she sat down beside him. "I read a bit. What's this..."soul cairn" she mentions in there?"
She glanced up from the pages to him, brow furrowing. "I only know what she told me. She had a theory about soul gems. That the souls inside of them don't just vanish when they're used...she thought they ended up in the Soul Cairn."
"Why would she care where the souls went?"
She returned her attention to the pages again but kept talking. "The Soul Cairn is home to very powerful beings. Necromancers send them souls and receive powers of their own in return. My mother spent a lot of time trying to contact them directly, and to travel to the Soul Cairn herself."
Ralsten scratched his beard, grunting slightly at that and looking around at everything in the study. "...do you think she figured it out?"
Serana sighed, closing the book on a finger to keep her place and catching his gaze with her own. "That circle in the center of the room -- that definitely must be some type of portal." She ruffled the corners of the pages briefly, then went back to reading.
He remained beside her, occasionally stealing glances at the pages; after some time she stirred and turned her attention to the circular...portal...thing in the middle of the room.
"If I'm reading this right, there's a formula here that should give us safe passage into the Soul Cairn."
"And you're sure that's where she's gone?"
"I don't know where else to search," she replied after a pause.
"All right." Ralsten stood and moved out to stand in the middle of the room, looking at her from over a shoulder. "What do we need?"
"Let's see..." Serana stood and brought the journal with her, keeping it open to a certain page. "A handful of soul gem shards, some finely ground bone meal, a good bit of purified void salts... Oh. Damn it."
He blinked at her. "What? What's wrong?"
She held the book up toward him - a formula was written out but all he could see were diagrams he didn't understand and writing that was too tiny to read from where he stood. "We're also going to need a sample of her blood. Which...if we could get that we wouldn't even need to try this in the first place."
He hummed to himself, chewing on his lower lip. "--you share her blood. Would that work?"
"We'd better hope that's good enough. Mistakes with these kind of portals can be...gruesome. Anyway," she closed the book and let her gaze slowly roam over the dusty shelves. "Let's get started."
She again headed up to the top level while Ralsten began his search on the lower.
"Is there anything you can tell me about the Soul Cairn?" he called up to her as he sorted through a top shelf.
"It's a tiny sliver of Oblivion, the realm of the daedra. It's ruled by unseen being known as Ideal Masters."
"What are they?"
"No one really knows. As far as I've heard, no one's seen them and returned to Tamriel to tell about it."
"How can you be sure these exist? Maybe they're something disguised as something else."
He heard a tinkling - she must have been moving bottles around. "I've read stories. Stories about fools that managed to...communicate with them. You give the Ideal Masters souls, they give you powers to summon the undead. It's all very business-like. I'd doubt it'd be anything trying to hide what they are - daedra tend to be fairly direct about themselves after awhile. They want to be known and worshiped, or at least known and feared."
Ralsten nodded to himself and moved on to the next shelf. "--why do you say the necromancers are fools?"
"Because most of the stories are of the Ideal Masters duping the necromancers, who end up dead or...wishing they were dead."
Ralsten kept searching; he found what he assumed was the bonemeal in a large silver bowl on the same table as a collection of bones and skulls. He carried the bowl with him and headed toward the stairs to join Serana on the upper level, but on the way up the stairs noticed what could only be the soul gem shards sitting atop a short, squat cabinet. He grabbed them and met Serana at the top -- she had a silver bowl full of void salts, and she led the way over to a chalice that was perched on the balcony rail that overlooked the circular portal.
They put all of the ingredients into the chalice, then Serana carefully cut into the crook of her elbow and squeezed some blood in on top of it all.
The instant her blood dripped into the chalice the rings of the portal came alive -- they rotated and moved, splitting in half with some arranging themselves upward toward Serana and Ralsten in a sort of stairwell down, and the rest all sank downward into the floor as a purple vortex appeared.
"By the blood of my ancestors..." Serana whispered. "She actually did it...created a portal to the Soul Cairn. Incredible." She seemed to admire the swirling purple energies, then looked up to him. "I'm ready when you are."
Ralsten nodded; he wasn't quite so...eager to descend into the vortex. "What will you do if we do wind up finding your mother?"
"I've been asking myself the same thing since we came back to the castle... She was so sure of what we did to my father, I couldn't help but go along with her." She fell silent a moment, then in a much quieter tone, "I never thought of the cost."
He smiled kindly at her, hesitantly and gently resting a hand on her shoulder. "It sounds like everything she did, she did for your sake."
Serana smiled at the touch of his hand. "Possibly. I guess even a vampire mother is still a mother. She worried about me. About all of us. But she wanted to get me as far away from my father as possible before he really went over the edge."
Ralsten took a deep breath then took several steps down toward the portal. "--you know, in a way...it sounds like she was sort of selfish about it, though."
He heard her much lighter footsteps on the stones behind him. "She...wasn't. Not always. But I think you're right. She was practically smirking as we left home. Almost like she was proud of herself. Like...she didn't want to just stop my father, she wanted to stick it to him too."
"We won't know until we find her, I guess."
"Yes...yes, you're right. I'm sorry. I just didn't expect anyone to care how I felt about her. Thank you."
He turned to flash her a grin. "Are we ready?"
-------------------------------------
"I'd heard - read - stories about the Soul Cairn, but never thought I'd see it myself. So far it's...about what I imagined."
They'd emerged at the top of a stairwell made of stone rings, into a place that was dark, foreboding... The soil was like ash and was dotted with black brick ruins and tall, curved stone monoliths along with smaller ritual stones sunk into the dirt. Here and there were brilliant purple-white...pits, of some kind. They could hear a strange rushing noise if they drew close to any of them, and as they carefully walked through the desolate landscape they could see and hear the cries and moans of confused or regretful spirits that they could see walking about, or spot just out of the corner of their eyes before they vanished again.
"Look at this place...I can't imagine choosing to come here. My mother must have been terrified."
"Do you know anything else about here?"
"Just what my mother told me. I've also studied a bit on my own, but there's not much. When something is trapped in a soul gem, and then the energy is used for powering an enchantment, the remnants are sent here."
Ralsten stiffened - he was fairly adept at enchanting his own weapons and armor. He bought the gems from any wizard or shopkeep who happened to have them and had never wanted to know where they'd come from, and also hadn't given any thought to what happened when the gems were used. "ANY soul gem?"
"Well," Serana said after a moment. "I think it's specifically the black ones. I don't know if the Soul Cairn takes just any leftovers."
They walked along in silence for a time. "--do you think we're going to run into the Ideal Masters? Why are they collecting souls? And why would anyone want to deal with them?"
"I don't think anyone's ever met the Ideal Masters. I'm not sure anyone knows what they look like...they could be underground, flying above us...they might BE the ground. I have no idea. As for the souls, there's lots of theories. Some say they feed on them like I - we... - feed on blood. Others think they use them as payment to an even higher power...like a currency. A very strange currency. Whatever they're doing with them, they've been harvesting for millennia. No telling how many souls are trapped here."
"And necromancers?"
"Look around you. There are some extremely powerful undead here. Even a necromancer as seasoned as my mother would be willing to spend years trying to get access to them."
"Access...you mean, summoning them?"
She nodded. "Exactly. It's a lost art. Most necromancers just raise up whatever bodies are nearby. A simple trick, raelly. Child's play. But bringing something from the Soul Cairn gives you something much more powerful." Serana fell silent then, attention moving about as they walked along what looked most like a path through the foul place. "My mother wanted to keep the Scroll as far from my father as possible. I was sealed away with one...if she has a second, I can't imagine a better place to hide it than here."
The human leans away from the vampire's cold touch, curling their lip as they glare from the corner of their eye at the monster.
"Just drink up and get it over with," they spit, pressing into the rough brick of their cell.
The vampire scuttles closer, straddling the human's bound legs with sinuous, lifeless strength. "Oh my dear, I'm not the one who will be drinking today." They smile, baring narrow fangs that the human knows all too well.
The human squints suspiciously, their tired, drained mind struggling to keep up with the upset to the routine of their captivity. "What... what d'you mean?"
"I mean, I need a little plant to gift to my rival's garden," the vampire coos. "A little weed, who will take root in their flowerbeds and poison everything they've worked so hard to raise. And you, my dear, you spiteful, thorny little thing - you're almost perfect. All that's left is one final touch, to make you mine forever."
The vampire raises their own wrist to their mouth and pierces their skin in a neat row of punctures. Bright, dead blood wells up swift and eager, and the human presses harder against the wall behind them, shaking their head frantically. They're dying by degrees, down here, deprived of sun and sufficient food or water, beaten when they run their mouth to the monsters who descend from above to feed on them, but everything, every broken bone and hungry night and every drop of blood forcibly extracted from the bruised and torn flesh of their arms, their neck, their legs, all of it is preferable to becoming one of the monsters who have taken so much from them.
"I would rather die," they hiss, tipping their chin up, daring the vampire to sate their thirst in the hot anger pulsing up and down their throat, to drink and drink until their goal is lost to the basest instinct of their nature.
The vampire looks down at them, heat that will never again bring a glow to their own flesh smoldering in their gaze. "Careful what you wish for, darling," they say, a husk of anger roughening their tone.
Their hand, impossibly fast, impossibly strong, snaps out to pin the human by the throat, and long fingers squeeze. The human gags, their mouth opening helplessly as they strain for air, and the vampire presses their bleeding wrist to the human's lips, trickling poison into their body. The human jerks and spasms, struggling ineffectually under the vampire's relentless grasp as their vision blackens and dims. Just as they tip across the edge of passing out, the vampire releases their neck, only to plunge their fangs into well-worn scars under their ear and finally, finally slake their thirst for the last drop of blood in their pet's veins.
