Chapter Five.
I ’m going to introduce you to the Vam’pirs. Skip this chapter if you wish, but it doesn’t hurt to know a little of the people of whom I talk about.
We lived in Kaltos semi-peacefully over the next few years. None of us left our designated home. Although most still saw their families regularly, we stuck together as a group.
As the old adage says, ‘There is safety in numbers.’ We’d made no others like us. Quite simply, our lack of knowledge prevented us from realising that was a possibility. Plus, we wouldn’t have wanted to bestow this on another innocent.
Vam’pirism is a cursed gift, but as I stated, now I have it, I won’t give it up. The others also began to feel the same—if they didn’t already feel like that. The wickedness of Vam’pirism was that we’d lost our lives to gain it, but the beauty was that we had forever to live.
Our home was richly furnished, and we spared nothing to get it as comfortable as we wanted. Granted, we didn’t eat or drink anymore, which saved us a great deal of waste. Instead, we traded for furnishings or for tools that we needed for work or for things for our families. Gradually we were able to treat them to more gifts as our needs had changed, obviously.
Our routine was set. At sundown every night, we would all rise from our sleep. We would close our coffins as they were intensely private to us. Everyone had their own, and we never shared or mixed them up. Each Vam’pir decorated it to their liking.
They lay far under the foundations of the villa and against four reinforced walls. The cellar sat ten feet underground. We had bolstered the walls with concrete three feet deep but had plated the walls with gold. Sunlight would glance off gold and warn us the underground chamber had been breached.
The only entrance was through a hatch ten feet above us. Instead of stairs, a rope dangled that allowed us to pull ourselves up effortlessly.
On our side were two heavy bolts only a Vam’pir could undo. You then ascended a tunnel leading to the family room’s trapdoor. This was also bolted on the inside. This guaranteed Vam’pir only entry and exit. Any betrayal would come from a Vam’pir. Not that we expected any, but you’d never be too certain.
After all, had not Maurick betrayed his best friends?
The cellar was quite large and spacious. Obviously, it had a high ceiling, and we had paved the floor with marble and the walls, as I have already mentioned, were gold. Curtan pursued engraving as a hobby, and he had carved representations of animals and birds.
Curtan also etched lifelike images of trees and plants. I was sure he didn’t mean to remind us of what we had lost, but the carvings did. Still, we appreciated the beauty of his work.
Inka painted the other walls. She had created a jungle mosaic on one, and tigers and leopards peered out from bushes. Monkeys swung from trees, and brightly coloured snakes curled around branches. It was so rich and vivid that you imagined the birds would fly away, and one of the tigers would pounce.
On the other wall, she had drawn great mountains of ice. Immense snowdrifts appeared poised to collapse upon us. Inka had painted the sun high in the sky, glinting off the snow and ice. A bright blue cloudless sky stretched overhead. On the left-hand side, two massive icebergs smashed together. In the far-right corner, a towering iceberg broke off and crashed into the sea. The sheer power of the artwork was awesome, and it drew you into the scenery.
Her scene made me shiver whenever I looked at it, and yet it compelled me to look. That scene was the first and last thing I saw on sleeping and awaking. But Inka had never seen the Icelands. She had painted this from her mind and from books she had seen.
And yes, Inka’s scenes also reminded us of our loss, but she’s my wife. I’m not criticising her.
Strangely enough, Inka and D’vid had designed the ceiling as the night. They spent two weeks gossiping in the corner, and then they threw us out one evening.
They had painted the entire ceiling in black and carefully carved a moon of white opal. For the stars, they used diamonds. Hundreds and thousands of them gleamed in the blackness of the sky. The Milky Way had been made using opals and tiny diamonds. They sparkled against the dark night, creating a spellbinding effect.
The constellation of Leo served as the centrepiece, and the surrounding stars precisely mirrored those visible in our sky. Leo was used because we lived in the age of Leo.
A trained astronomer would not have been able to find fault with their rendering of our night. Remember, I informed you that wealth had no meaning in our culture. Now, perhaps you will believe me.
When we rose, we would drink first. Indeed, our appetite wouldn’t allow us to do anything else. The Vam’pirs with children would spend a few hours with them. When the kids or families left, we started work. The villa had become a series of workrooms.
A number of chambers had multiple uses, including bathing and living, yet the majority were workspaces. One of the rooms held a potter’s wheel and a kiln, for example. That remained Pal’s domain, and may the Creator help you if you entered uninvited.
Inka and D’vid shared a space for them to paint in. It was huge, and the walls and ceiling were glass to allow the maximum light to work with. After several arguments, they drew a big yellow line down the middle of the room, and Inka quite happily made a mess of her side.
D’vid, on the other hand, kept his scrupulously tidy. In his half, D’vid had a lute hanging on the wall, a reminder of the days when he would travel as a bard. Sometimes after we had finished work early, D’vid would fetch it and play it for us.
Inka still refused to part with her paintings. In fact, she clung harder to them than what she did before. She’d take her time getting details perfect; that is what Inka now had in abundance—time.
Inka’s obsession with detail intensified; she spent months perfecting shading. She would splash pigment everywhere and often didn’t bother to clean it up. Inka’s side of the studio was covered in bits of dried paint. Sometimes, while furiously painting, she would end up smothered—more paint on her than on the canvas.
A favourite memory of mine was one where she had her hair tied back with strands flying loose. Inka wore a sky-blue tunic and was barefoot. She had a smudge of green paint on her cheek, a smear on her forehead, and red and orange streaked through her hair. Inka had been painting a landscape, and she looked up from it and smiled.
In that moment, my heart melted, and I grinned in return, both of us secure in our love for each other. But now I’m getting sentimental and silly, and if D’vid was here, he would make me laugh these thoughts away.
D’vid was a total contrast to Inka. He embodied Mr Tidiness to the extreme. His paintbrushes, paints, pencils, and crayons all had a system. D’vid allotted a certain amount of time to each task, and no matter what, he kept to his timetable. He always ensured his brushes were washed and his pallets. Even D’vid’s paintings had a symmetry about them. For all of D’vid’s wanderings (which I’m sure had a lot to do with his bloody awful family), D’vid liked order.
Eduardo had his own small study. He had appointed himself as our observer and record keeper. Eduardo had once trained as a counsellor. Kaltos needed people to help others whose partner had died or suffered some other mental trauma. Eduardo admitted his services were rather superfluous concerning us. However, Eduardo would keep meticulous records. Unluckily, Eduardo had been the only registered therapist in our region. They needed to recruit a replacement, who fell short of Eduardo’s abilities.
My brother reported the daily complaints from those who didn’t like Eduardo’s replacement.
Taran informed Eduardo how people missed him, and that helped him soothed his wounded pride a bit at being so easily led into a trap. Seeing Eduardo at night boosted the confidence of some clients, which was uplifting for the quiet man. That meant his skills continued to be used.
Anyway, Eduardo was a good listener and was patient with the Vam’pirs. And boy, did he need it. A week never passed without one of us sounding off about this slight or insult, real or imagined. Eduardo kept records of all changes in our abilities. Eduardo also maintained a diary so that if something important or memorable happened, we would be able to look back and remember. Eduardo proved a dependable man, and I mean that with all sincerity.
“Jacques, I wait for the day for you to truly understand your worth,” was a comment he once made to me.
“Eduardo, I already do,” I retorted as I continued with my childish plan to pay Kait back for a trick.
Eduardo had grabbed my arm, and I looked at him. “Jacques. I don’t think you do. You hide behind a shallow personality, but you’re deeper than most realise.”
I’ll not forget his words. Eduardo had seen beneath the front I utilised and glimpsed the real me. How disconcerting that had been.
Mera had her own workshop in which she did her metal work. Before Mera’s change, she had been a Master at her job (the only person higher had been the Grandmaster). Mera loved welding and happily spent hours in her area working and drawing designs. She worked with most metals but preferred steel and iron, making pots and pans and other things that were practical.
But Mera liked to make pewter ornaments or what would be called today ‘contemporary works of art’. She showed a bit of unconventionality in her designs at times, but that only heightened their appeal.
Tobais and Kait occupied a very large and, might I add, messy room with Antonio. Tobais and Kait worked as wood smiths, and Antonio crafted toys. In this workshop, all three shared similar views. Chaos reigned with any semblance of tidiness shown the door. It was very dangerous to poke your nose in. When visiting, you usually ended up cleaning with a dustpan and brush in hand. Honestly, I swear they waited for one of us to intrude, as they never tidied themselves.
Their workshop, situated at the corridor’s end, again boasted large windows. As the moonlight streamed in, the dust particles floating about in the air were visible. It was full of them. How the three of them stood it, I wasn’t sure, but they did—and quite cheerfully.
Antonio would eat, sleep, and live in the workshop if he’d get away with it. Not terribly practical in daylight. This was his domain, his security blanket. Antonio was a very shy fellow who had hardly mixed with people throughout his life. Honestly, I doubt he missed going out.
Strange, really, considering his job. How much the Great Experiment affected him, I couldn’t be certain. Antonio remained a private man. Even with us, it took time to gain Antonio’s trust, and it was often Tobais, if anyone, he turned to.
Tobais, who always gave his love and support so readily.
Antonio, a slim man with a rangy build, owned light brown hair and blue eyes. His face was long, with a regal nose and high cheekbones. A jagged scar ran from the corner of his right eye across his cheek and down to the tip of his mouth. No one quite knew how he had got this, but rumours claimed Antonio had fought a duel over a girl when he was younger.
Since no woman claimed responsibility, nobody truly believed this.
Though frowned upon, duels remained lawful. And in all honesty, I can’t see Antonio ever feeling that passionate about someone or something.
One thing helped keep the rumour alive, and that was the fact Antonio said he kept the scar as a matter of honour. He could easily have had the blemish removed, but he didn’t. Antonio basically kept himself to himself and stayed out of other people’s business.
Pal’s room adjoined theirs. Again, though quite small, it had floor-to-ceiling windows to allow maximum moonlight. He had candles on all available surfaces, which gave the area a romantic medieval atmosphere. Pal was a potter, which I have already told you, and had all necessary equipment, kiln, wheel, etcetera.
Pal wasn’t nowhere near the best at what he did, but he put heart and soul into his work. He tended to stick to the more practical side of things: plates, urns, and jugs. He never decorated them, preferring simple lines and ideas.
Unusual for such a complex man.
And yet, for all the churning of emotions underneath, he loved simplicity. I wonder where he went wrong with Mera! Mera, the lady who was the epitome of a woman’s mysteriousness.
Pari never had a room to himself. He was a chocolatier, and, along with Ricardus, they shared a large kitchen. Pari would create sweets, exotic ones at that, and Ricardus would make special and difficult meals. These would be put in the fridge to be delivered during the day. Usually my father or someone else we would trust would pick these up.
Sometimes, there was nothing we required, so the meals would be used to gain credit. Whenever we desired an item, we would request it without the need to consider the cost. Ricardus often did catering for parties or similar events. Initially, only family members hired him; however, his food was popular, and orders began flooding in. Good thing, too, as Ricardus was the best chef in all of Kaltos, in my personal opinion.
Pari’s sweets, along with many of his other concoctions, were always sought after. This sometimes led to jealousy between the two men, especially when Ricardus had nothing to do. He was twice Pari’s age and often thought he could tell the younger man what to do.
Eduardo split them up a couple of times when things hit boiling point. And after they nearly came to blows, we suggested that another kitchen be built. Both then decided that we were interfering and ignored us. They refused the suggestion on the grounds of saying they’d argue over who got the area with its new equipment.
Peace filled the kitchen except during someone’s creative bursts, which were near enough once a week. In the end, we adapted to the persistent banging and crashing emanating from the back of the villa. Once, though, their creativity overwhelmed them…
After a series of yelling and cursing, we found them both slumped in opposite corners, crying with laughter. Flour, gravy, and the Creator alone knows what else coated them. But they’d finally learned to respect each other.
The whole of the left wing of the Coven belonged to Curtan and Raymone, who were weavers; Suzan, who was a dyer; and Ana, a tailor. We designed the building to ensure ample space for them and any apprentices. Ana had taken on Diana, as Diana had been a meat farmer. Ana was very patient with her apprentice, and they got on well as they were both the same age, which incidentally was twenty-seven.
Diana had a daughter, Maryn, aged eleven and a son, Stefan, five. They were both blue-eyed and had blond curly hair. Maryn had long legs that would make many women jealous over the years. Their father had left them at the Coven, refusing to have anything to do with them or their mother. This cut Diana deep, but she refused to talk to anyone about it. The failure belonged to her and not their father, in her belief.
Father took Maryn and Stefan in, and Diana was very grateful. An orphan herself, I believe Diana began to see my parents as the ones she had never had.
Indeed, her offspring called my parent’s grandmother and grandfather. I once overheard Father say once that these two adopted youngsters meant almost as much to him as Mihal. I’m pleased Maryn and Stefan had ‘human’ grandparents to love them.
All Vam’pir children were loved by everyone, including any grandbabies. (Some of us had older children who had their own infants.) They embodied the reason for our sacrifices. The chance for them to have their children when they desired. While they might not be our blood, but they were ours. They not only belonged to their parents but to all of us.
On hearing this from me, Diana was overcome with tears. She explained she didn’t think that she would ever have a family with brothers and sisters.
Admittedly, my throat became a bit tight, too.
Ana didn’t have children. Although she never said, we all knew that Ana regretted it. She was amazing with the Vam’pir’s children, and I know without doubt she would have been a wonderful mother. Ana doted especially on Cleo, Emil, and Pari’s girl and would call her an honorary niece. Indeed, Ana acted as an auntie to all Vam’pir kids.
Curtan was thirty-eight years old, and his son was twenty at the time of the experiment. It didn’t change the relationship between them at all. Anton adored his father, and Curtan doted him. Anton counted as one of the few mortals we trusted. He grew into a wise old man, always willing to listen to advice and give it out.
When the Reckoning arrived, Anton helped influence people to move. What is the Reckoning, you ask? Wait and find out.
Suzan and Raymone had become involved since the change. It had started when they began working together, and with glee, we watched the relationship grow. We encouraged them in different ways. When they announced their Joining, there was much celebration. Diana and Ami swelled with pride; they had orchestrated the matchmaking.
They had noticed what was happening and recruited the rest of us. Then, we had all conspired to leave them alone or to throw them together when possible. Suzan and Raymone finally realised their mutual attraction and decided to take action too. Luckily, there was a priest prepared to join them.
Raymone had taken on Nathan as an apprentice, and the youngster at the time idolised him. At just seventeen, he was the youngest among us when he changed, and he coped better than anyone else.
Reflecting, I question Nathan’s acceptance. Nathan had been far too immature. Everyone says the young are adaptable. Listen to me speaking, the old man.
Or is that the cynical tiredness talking? Who cares? Certainly not me anymore.
Back to Nathan.
Nathan had been due to start training as an apple farmer, but like Diana, that was no longer an option for him. Instead, he had decided to learn the cloth trade. Raymone was impressed with Nathan’s resilience and his quick mind and believed that to praise Nathan often was a good thing.
I think that it just swelled his ego.
Now, Nathan was what would be called today a Dark Angel.
Nathan was simply perfect and knew it. Women continued to flock to him, the change being an added challenge. (One that they all intended to beat but never did.) He was tanned with the deepest blue eyes that had a continual sparkle. Nathan had jet-black, shoulder-length hair. He often left it hanging loose, and the fairer sex longed to run their fingers through the silky mass. His mouth was full and generous and, as a young beauty said, very kissable .
Despite his beauty, Nathan possessed a darkness. None of us wished to admit it. Nathan was young, and the young do not have darkness in them.
Bullshit. I wonder if I recognised it because I have a dark side, too. But mine is of cruelty and temper tantrums. Truthfully, I can be very spiteful and sometimes act like a child. As I write this, I am shrugging my shoulders. Honestly, I know what I am and admit it. Can you do the same?
I might be your worst nightmare or your best friend, all-depending on the mood I am in. I’m not as bad as Satan, but I am no angel, either.
However, Nathan had a definite dark side. He would be moody, slamming through the Coven and ignoring us for days. Nathan had just discovered the pleasures of women when he underwent the transformation, and at times, yearning showed in his gaze. He used his beauty and his charms to bed many. Nathan would sulk and frown beautifully, and this was excused as growing up. But I saw exactly what he was. A Dark Angel.
Like me.
With one redeeming feature. Nathan did idolise Raymone because the man had taken him under his wing and looked after him. Raymone flattered Nathan and, as I said, boosted his ego, which needed no bolstering at all.
If Nathan hadn’t been changed and had Vam’pirism as a reason for mood swings, just what his excuse would have been? When he killed, Nathan could be extremely nasty. Nathan would play with his intended victim, sometimes pretending to have mercy only to give them a lingering death. It was Nathan who drew first blood from a living person, and he never ever apologised.
How I love him. My very own Dark Angel.
I am telling you more of Nathan than anyone else, but Nathan truly belonged to me. We thought on the same wavelengths, enjoyed the same things, and had similar mannerisms. My heart aches to have his arms around me, his lips on mine, hear his soft, sensual voice.
I did not ‘hang’ with Nathan as it is so quaintly put today. We kept meeting through the years. We both grew colder and harder. Harder in our emotions as well as in our bodies. Hit me with a crowbar, and you would probably shatter it, not me. Nathan and I would often spend a decade together and then go our separate ways, only to meet up a century or two later.
We didn’t experience the need for constant proximity, as we were aware of being just a thought away.
Nathan is one of the most powerful Vam’pir’s alive. He’s out there; I sense him. But like Inka and me, we too had a big fight. I threw him across the Tower of London when it was newly built. Nathan might be one of the strongest alive, but I am the strongest.
There is nobody who can defeat me. There is no Vam’pir stronger than me. I have the blood of two Vam’pirs, although I suppose you could even say two and a half. My own and one and a half of two others, if that makes sense. I’ll explain that later. Sorry, I do keep throwing in these exasperating little titbits. It’s to tempt you to continue reading.
If I tease you enough, then you’ll remain engaged.
When it is time for bed, you will stay up late, snuggled in your quilt, your cup of hot chocolate growing steadily cold as you forget all about it. That noise at your bedroom window. Is it me, the Vam’pir Jacques, or is it the tree brushing against the glass? You’ll never know, will you?
But Nathan, one of my most favourite people in the world, kept gaining strength as he slept. Nathan gained when others didn’t. I think that, somehow, Nathan stole what should have been theirs. How, I wasn’t sure, but Nathan did. Or did he? I don’t know, perhaps I am talking silly now. How could he steal their strength?
Anyway, there are very few Vam’pirs who would be able to stop Nathan on a rampage.
I am one, and there are maybe three or four others, and I’m only speaking of stopping him, not killing him (although I do not want to). Nathan’s death would necessitate a significant effort. Nobody alive would bother wasting that energy. Nathan crosses the line, but he is not evil. Nathan is, like me, truly immortal. I could probably outlive time itself or even another Reckoning. Let the future come; I can do whatever I wish. Perhaps that makes me a God, or Satan might be more appropriate.
I laugh.
Maybe I am Satan?
I could give old Boney a run for his money.
Actually, please do not believe me, I need no more worthless worship. Hey, that rhymed, didn’t it? Worthless worship, I’ve never tried poetry, perhaps I should.
Second thoughts, I’m into none of that.
And to continue introducing the first born Vam’pirs…
◆◆◆
Next is Julius, who had a large study. He was a writer and certainly had the temperament to match. He was a quiet, studious man who paid attention to you. I mean, Julius really listened, something unusual by today’s standards. Julius is a tiny fellow, only five feet three inches tall, which differed in our society. He was what we called a dwarf, but it wasn’t meant to be degrading; it was a term for his height.
Julius wore large glasses usually perched on the end of his nose, and he would blink through them like an owl. His hair was a sandy brown colour, and his eyes a watery blue. He appeared a youthful-looking two hundred- and forty-six-year-old.
Just out of interest, Kaltons didn’t begin to show their age till they reached the five hundreds. Kaltons lived to be six hundred years old, some survived to their seventh century. Though Julius is a first born, he is the weakest. However, Julius could still beat any creature to a pulp that attacked.
Julius loved his library. His study overflowed with books and countless scrolls, ancient by our standards. He wasn’t a writer of stories, but he used to publish reports and works based on what the ancient texts contained. Julius held a position of high regard in his area of expertise.
As I said, he remained a quiet man, lacking a sense of humour. Julius tended to ramble about what he was reviewing at that moment. At first, it was quite interesting, but over time, I thought he was tedious and repetitive.
Julius would find the scrolls of our ancestors fascinating, but we deemed them boring and self-opinionated, and I don’t think he realised this. Julius was wrapped up completely in his own world of academia. He was a considerate and wonderful man, and I mean this from the bottom of my heart. I do still have one.
Julius, a rare gem, stood out among good men. I doubt Julius ever harboured malevolent intentions, thoughts, or ideas. Even after the change which he took in his stride, indeed it gave him something else on which to theorise about. Julius stayed the same. A basically simple man with a big heart.
Next is our tragic Julia. She shared a room with me and worked as a jewelsmith whenever she roused herself enough. Despite being one of the best in her field, Julia struggled to find the enthusiasm to work.
Kierran’s death had nearly destroyed her mind. It would be centuries before Julia’s spirit healed. If I took Julia to the workroom, she would sometimes do something, or she would just stare into space. We were heartbroken by her soul-crushing grief, and yet there was nothing anybody could do. Julia was way past our help, and even Eduardo gave up. He said she would heal herself in time.
We included Julia in conversation, but you would get a one-word answer in a monotone voice. I doubt anyone had realised how much she had loved Kierran till he died. Such matches rarely occur, a one-in-a-lifetime love.
Julia refused point blank to visit her family or Kierran’s. Their family members came weekly for two or three years, only to be denied entry. They would go peacefully, saying they would try again. They didn’t bother us or try to force their way in to see her, and they always apologised for the interruption. Finally, they stopped coming.
You couldn’t blame them. The entire situation was heart-breaking for them, too, and they never saw Julia once.
Each time a decision needed making, Julia sided with the majority. Even after working alongside her for many years, I can honestly say I never truly knew her, not at first anyway. Julia remained a closed, tragic figure, devoid of any emotion except guilt. Survivor’s guilt. Nothing mattered to Julia anymore. And Julia continuously accepted responsibility for Kierran’s death, although it turned out it was Kierran that pushed them into it.
Ami was an herbalist, and she had her own garden full of herbs that grew at night. Since most people preferred sleeping at night to working, these botanicals were in high demand. For Ami, in her predicament, the job suited her perfectly. Now, you would never expect Ami to be a gardener.
Ami was tall, six feet two inches, with long red hair. Hair the colour of rust. Ami had one of the most curvaceous figures that I have ever seen, with full breasts and a tiny waist. Her eyes were a sparkling green, and her nose had freckles splattered across it. Ami’s mouth, like Nathan’s, begged to be kissed.
Ami’s hair fell halfway down her back, and everything about her screamed sex. Even Nathan tried his luck, and she just laughed him off.
Yet, it is a fact that Ami never gave sex up. She loved the way men desperately attempted to please her. Ami was the woman that created the myth of the red-haired siren. For Ami, sex held the same significance as feeding, and she combined them in a merciless game.
Ami had a very wicked and evil streak running through her, and I admit to being slightly frightened of her. I would often go out of my way to avoid her. The world was Ami’s playground, and she cared less about other’s perceptions. She never bothered about contaminating other cultures, which we all did at least once.
Ami deliberately interfered in them. It was another means of amusing herself. She appeared confident, cocksure, and radiant. If she couldn’t have someone or something, she would smash it or them. Ami was full of rage at the Betrayal and directed it at others over the years. Ami represented the perfect killer, sophistication and evilness wrapped up in one slinky, sexy package. Only a fool would refuse her.
Li’zel was the opposite, tiny, dainty, and doll-like. She had curly black hair cut into a short bob and brown eyes. Li’zel had a little pert nose and a thin mouth and was no less wicked than Ami. In fact, I would say she was worse. Somewhere in Ami, compassion had been witnessed. (Not by myself but by others.) Li’zel had none.
Li’zel had clearly never heard of the word-no. Even before we began to hunt, Li’zel was ruthless. What she wanted, she got; simple as that. Although Li’zel was the only stonesmith among us, she demanded the largest room and got it.
None of us could be bothered to argue. Li’zel stood five foot eight inches tall of sheer power. Her temper far outstripped any of ours, and she pulled men like a magnet. She was also very cunning as she hid her true nature from them. They never understood what they were getting involved with.
There was an animal-like quality to Li’zel, not the sweet, cute deer, but a lioness in heat. Li’zel had never been told no, and her parents had given her everything she’d wanted. She thanked the Creator that she had been an only child. If Li’zel had ever had a brother or sister, she would have killed them.
Li’zel proved nasty, spoilt, rude, abrupt, and brilliant. Yet, she, too, could fall in love. And it was a passion unmatched by any other, and it was totally one-sided. Of all people, Julius is the one she fell in love with.
Once, Li’zel mentioned to Inka that in her one hundred years of life, she had never experienced such a sensation and desired to eliminate it.
I laughed silently as Li’zel set out to trap Julius.
Li’zel thought that if she bedded him, then the emotion would stop. How wrong she was. She was blatant and obvious one week, innocent and shy the next. However, Julius never noticed her attempts. Li’zel found herself utterly baffled.
How could this happen to her? Throughout her life, she had never experienced being ignored, yet this little pipsqueak seemed unaware of her existence. It proved hilarious. And in saying so, I show that I indeed do have my cruel side to laugh at her predicament.
Hysterically, Julius may not realise how Li’zel feels even now. Well, Julius, read this, and you know now; sorry, Li’zel, not.
“Julius, do you not wish to date?” I asked him once in earshot of Li’zel.
“Date, my boy?” he repeated absentmindedly.
“Yes. Take a woman for dinner,” I prodded.
“We don’t eat,” Julius replied, puzzled, and I shook my head and walked away. How could anyone argue with that?
Seti, too, shared my sense of humour, and often into the night, we would sit and discuss the aforementioned problem and laugh ourselves silly at Li’zel’s latest attempts.
Seti happened to be a winemaker, not a very famous or selective one, but he brewed some potent stuff, and his wines were popular. How he did his job late in the evening I can’t begin to comprehend, but somehow, he did. Seti was three hundred and seventy years old and a striking, white-haired, muscular man.
He had piercing, sharp blue eyes that seemed to see straight through to your soul. Seti could make anyone uncomfortable with a look, and often, it was hard to lie to him. Not that I’m saying we lied to each other, but did I wonder how he fell for Maurick’s betrayal about the Great Experiment. Despite his white hair, Seti wasn’t elderly. His skin was still smooth and unlined. Seti was also an intensely private but sociable man. He loved to mix with people, but nobody can say they knew him well. He made me feel a little awkward at times. As if I was overstepping the mark, and yet I did not make personal comments towards him or his life. Seti just had that aura about him.
To Seti, we appeared youthful; after all, he was among the eldest. Seti held humour and good moral conduct in high esteem and would completely ignore people who did not meet his expectations. Although I do admit, he did tend to make excuses for the Vam’pirs.
Seti believed we’d eventually learn what was acceptable behaviour and what wasn’t. He did not put himself on a pedal stool. He was a normal person who loved a joke just like the rest of us, but as I said, he had standards.
Seti did have a temper, though, but he didn’t lose it often. Only when he felt that the situation warranted it. Seti was a passive soul who hated confrontation but wasn’t afraid to face it. Bluntly put, he wasn’t someone to be challenged. We all regarded him with great affection and respect.
Now you know all the Vam’pirs. The twenty-four first born.
You don’t know much about them, just some bare facts. I’ve fleshed out a little history as I think this is necessary to understand us.
This was the first Coven; sadly, not the last. And truthfully, religion didn’t mean shit to us, not like it affected the later Covens, devil worship, and such nonsense.
Rubbish! Sheer ridiculousness idiocies of the modern vampire.