Chapter 6
CHRISTOPHER SEPHTIS
R eading was a form of escapism that didn’t require travel nor structure. Outside the bounds of continuous studies, it was the break I longed for during gathering days, the only liberty I could afford under the shackles of my existence. A dream that warranted no sleep and didn’t feed the belief that drove our mother to her death: optimism.
Walnut bookshelves enveloped the first and second floor of the library, each possessing endless reams of aged, bounded literature, touched by perished family members we held no relation to outside of name; waded through by eyes that could no longer recount the words embedded in faded pages.
After our mother’s death, my brothers no longer explored the library, which I silently deemed my sanctuary. No one was to enter unless allowed through my permission. Each of us possessed one within this manor—a refuge outside our chambers and common spaces. When a space didn’t reserve the leisure I craved, I went to the other.
There were moments, though, where dusk and dawn strenuously muddled into each other, where neither my chamber nor the library could offer me solace. The more I required this form of escape, the least it appealed to me.
I settled into the grand chair before my antique, deep cherry desk, the wood glistening underneath the low lighting above. A force tugged my gaze onto the spiral staircase nestled in a shadowed corner, the dark metal railings pausing beneath the high ceiling. To the naked eye, it was supposed to be a route that led nowhere, that possessed nothing. But beyond the concealed access door rested the spirit of our mother, the one I’d known before the light in her eyes diminished.
That Man had led her to her demise with each child. Unlike humans, full term vampires came to be in twenty-seven weeks; however, recovery was fourteen weeks. Bearing vampires was known to be life-threatening and took a toll in all aspects—physically, mentally, spiritually, politically. It was the reason why our society bore polyamorous marriages, how every Regal Family had multiple heirs. That Man, on the other hand, only had our mother.
Sophia Sephtis was the first successful human-turned-vampire and had withstood more than any born-vampire in history.
In calculated accordance, after each birth, Ministry-sent attendants arrived to further the Sephtis lineage through artificial insemination. That Man had never visited the mansion or our mother after stepping into his role in the Ministry twenty-two years ago—as Premier a decade ago—and it was That Man who sealed away the faint remnants of our mother after she passed.
Dense regret tugged at my chest as fingers traced the frames that hung from my neck, resting against the key that granted me the little leverage in this cage. The very scripture that mother instructed me to risk my existence to keep. A piece never to be revisited unless life depended on it.
The History of Vampires.
A warning knock trembled against the library entrance and silent footsteps followed soon after, Sonia entering and swiftly bowing as the door closed behind her. Half-humans varied in harboring a strong footing, yet, in our Senior Guardian’s case, her footing was comparable to a vampire’s. Years under this manor played a role, however, her presence was one I’d always noted: she never held one.
Similar to Lorenzo.
I swallowed the thought away. “Anything to report?”
She slowly unraveled the device I’d given her and placed it on the desk. “I can note it’s a clicker not for human nor vampire ears to hear.” She didn’t concern herself with expanding her hanging statement.
“Then for who?”
Sonia was rather quiet, but never non-vocal when it came to matters I requested. She always had an answer to my questions. Never. . .silence.
“Is your answer classified information?” She nodded. “From the CEG, or you?”
She leveled her head, the large, broad shades mirroring my reflection. “Both, Christopher. I’ve said enough by revealing it to be a clicker.”
My name along her tongue held a thrum that revived the pain I had buried alongside our mother. But it was an unceasing reminder that pain didn’t die, it simply awakened when least expected, to twist and batter what little remained of my heart.
Yet, as her heartbeat remained steady in the tense, silent air, at the same pace every half-human bore, within the tight crevices of her words hid an emotion she had never exhibited before.
Fear.
“Would you disclose if I were to ask where you discovered this?”
“If you reveal how this pertains to you.”
“The CEG has?—”
“ They ,” I spat, “are not who I asked about.”
The tension between us grew palpable as she settled into the unbearable silence these walls harbored. “Balance will crumble and there will be no restoration.”
Another hanging statement, this more obscure than the last, yet this held a weight that I couldn’t decipher.
“You’re dismissed.”
Humans had many misconceptions of vampires, fed through fear-mongering folklore and baseless lies. Coffins were our place of rest only in death. Wooden stakes pierced through our skin but did nothing to destroy our existence. Religious implementations were a creative illusion to a science-based species. Garlic was an erroneous assumption. While human food was edible, it was deeply disgusting. Human food warranted death only when ingested in continuous large amounts.
However, the few characteristics that withstood time were our heightened abilities, cold temperatures, and sensitivity to sun. Media portrayed us as beings who erupted into flames underneath the sun’s potent heat. But all we harbored was an allergic reaction if under daylight for too long, a sting that swelled our skin. Modern sunscreen prevented that; however, our susceptibility still remained during the day.
During the night, though, those chains didn’t trail along. They were utterly broken free.
A haloed ring of light parted the dark sea in the sky and obstructed the shadowed clouds. My surroundings reflected the same depth, but it made no difference to the vampiric eye. Trees and leaves sharpened against my gaze, the trail apparent as I followed it to the cave. Chilled wind crawled along my skin. There was no desire to shorten this walk as a new unease twisted my chest. It had begun the moment I saw Lorenzo at his post.
From my chamber, in the far distance from the outer gate, I had found him instantly, a force tugging me to him like a string. His expression hadn’t faltered, stone-still alike the rest of the outer guardians. Yet, the heat of his gaze met mine through tinted windows. He’d found me just like I did him and this realization seeped through my skin, burrowing deeper as I stepped into the cave’s opening and met him.
Whenever he looked at me, a part of me craved to be uncovered. Which piece could that be? I wasn’t sure.
Lorenzo brought forth a sleek motorbike, its dark polished exterior complementing his attire which molded to his body—one utterly similar to a guardian's uniform.
“You can’t wear that.”
He stopped before me with an arched brow. “And why’s that?”
“We’re going to Le Maudit. They’ll immediately recognize you as a guardian, and you hold no invitation for tonight.” It had been short notice, and without the proper time frame, it was near impossible to request one. Practically inconceivable to receive one for a guardian who had no history underneath our name.
“The vampire parlor? Mallory must fucking love that place.” He rolled his eyes. “I’m not changing.”
“Then you can wait outside,” I retorted. Truthfully, the best for Lorenzo would be to remain yards apart from Le Maudit. Tonight’s activities weren't keen on prying eyes without actions following suit, and if Lorenzo was to witness such a thing, it could result in him participating or attaining extraneous attention.
Irritation jabbed at my chest at the very thought of him accepting an invitation from copulating vampires.
“Pompous fucks.” He raised the cushioned seat and dragged a familiar trench coat, his arms swift to pull it around and on himself. While the leather obscured his bulky chest, it enhanced his stature, especially once he buttoned the front lapels. How could one appear larger in size and swallow his surroundings in a fraction?
“There. Quick fix, yeah?” A hard helmet met my abdomen, my hands quick to wrap around it. “Let’s go.”
Lorenzo placed his on and tightened the chin strap, the face shield hiding his eyes as he angled his face to me. I placed mine on with a slight daze, provoked by his harsh beauty obscuring my sight within the helmet. The uneasy sensation twisted into a flare of carnality, burning bone-deep once I settled behind him onto the soft seat. Large hands swathed around mine and forced me against his back as he wrapped my arms around his waist.
“Hold on tight,” he muffled through his helmet, “We don’t want any casualties under my guardian supervision. Ain’t that right, Christopher ?”
The intensity of my name on his tongue pierced my skin, the mocking tone one that carried enough weight to irk me. However, warmth alike the sun’s kiss flooded my system, followed by a churning feeling that heated my abdomen whenever literature spoke to me.
I wasn’t sure what was worse; the fact I liked it or knowing I shouldn’t?
“Imbecile.”
Laughter vibrated off him as the engine roared to life. He yanked us from the humid cave and into the cold night. Frigid wind stirred around us as he curved north onto the bypath behind the household, the mountains broadening the deeper he maneuvered through the snaking road, time slipping through our grasps until flat lands leveled. Sparse trees enclosed us as Lorenzo slowed the motorbike’s speed until he fully broke.
“Where are we?”
“A pit stop,” he remarked as he parked and we dismounted. We removed our helmets, a sharp grin decorating his expression yet no jest flaunted at the corners. “Stay here.”
Lorenzo motioned forward, trekking through grounds embellished with slanted and wedged headstones that meagerly hinted from the ankle-length grass. Unlike the cemetery at the household, where the fence and our mother’s mausoleum marked passed members of the Sephtis name, this one bore nothing. The grass bled into the exterior woodland.
Lorenzo stopped in the midst of the growing fog, broad shoulders blanketing the single standing headstone as he lowered. Though his back was to me, I recognized the manner his hands gestured, how they carefully traced the rough sides of the singular protruding stone, the manner his jaw moved as if he spoke soft words.
Why was my chest suddenly tightening?
The sight was one I’d never expected to witness. Yet, as quickly as it appeared, it vanished when Lorenzo walked back. When he paused before me, I said, “We’re not to leave until you tell me why you brought me here.”
“Why? Is the little vampire scared of the dark?”
The desire to roll my eyes had never existed prior to this moment. “Although you are a guardian under the Sephtis household, outside the bounds of those grounds, that does not guarantee my safety under your observance.” My head tilted to further take in our surroundings. Fields spanned for miles, trees burying the decrepit buildings that stood by sheer chance underneath the cloak of night. “For you, to bring me to a setting never disclosed, where no living being resides, is anything but innocent.”
Although Lorenzo’s expression remained hardened, within the glint of his heavy gaze, an edge softened. His nostrils flared as he uttered, “As much as I’d love to tear you apart, Doll, I don’t think doing so in front of my mom would be satisfying.”
Realization struck me, a chill freezing over my flesh. “Then why would you bring me to such a place?”
“It’s on the way.” He shrugged his shoulders. “Decided to kill two birds with one stone, especially when I don’t get to see her often.”
He settled onto his bike and slipped his helmet into place. I remained standing close to the cemetery’s main entrance—if it could be considered so with its crumbling ruins on the ground. Lorenzo gripped the helmet I had used and motioned it to me without turning.
“Don’t make me regret my decision now.”
Truthfully, there was nothing to regret. While his mere shadow was irksome, something of this altitude was never to be twisted into egocentric retributions.
After a moment of shared silence that buzzed with tension, I took the space behind him, and once the helmet rested on my crown and my arms wrapped around his waist, Lorenzo veered onto the familiar route.
Le Maudit possessed no difference in its exterior nor interior, yet, after my last visit, I looked upon it in a different light. One that the envelope seemed to want to expose.
I pulled it from its place in my trousers, Lorenzo’s heat radiating onto my flesh as he shadowed behind me. “Are those coordinates?”
“Yes.” I had only unveiled its content last night, and after a quick study, the structure manifested like a puzzle piece. But something was missing. “Le Maudit matches the first row perfectly, but not the bottom one.”
45.630389228055996, -75.73509936682271
He plucked it out of my hand in a swift movement. “‘Cause it’s not a coordinate.”
“Then what?”
Lorenzo shrugged and looked at the entrance. “Only one way to find out.”
“Before we enter?—”
He broke away and stepped into a scene I had yet to warn him about. He froze at the sight of debauchery at the forefront. Once a month, outside the accustomed control patrons abided by, facades shed to challenge the lecherous capabilities of vampires. Consuming each corner with untamed orgies invoked as such, and by stepping through, patrons gifted fixed consent.
Bitter-sweet blood sloshed in goblets, deep red streaks decorating sharpened fangs and flesh. Moans coated in lustful symphonies drowned the air and blurred what constraint I thought I held on a tight leash.
As an overseer, I had expected this. Nights like these held no bounds to a hierarchy that plagued our kind, titles and status reduced to bodies with one desire. However, I hadn’t anticipated that very lust thrumming through my veins.
Had this been a mistake? Should I have stretched my patience one more night? But it was the only moment I could visit without risking crossing paths with Anabella. Though she partook on a typical night, this was beyond the ordinary. It was pure eroticism that had the might to muddle everything and nothing at once, to bury intuition and withdraw vampirism in its carnal form.
Lorenzo’s wide shoulders rolled back as he angled his face to mine. Anger flamed his gaze, but something more clouded his hardened expression. Before he could speak, my hand intertwined with his and tugged him upstairs where there would be the least activity. Those who visited tonight desired to be front and center—not hidden away in the shadows.
“Let’s get this over with. Quick.” The habitual rasp in his tone faltered, seized by an edge that hitched his breathing. Tension lined his muscles as we stepped toward the fourth level, his eyes stealing glances at our surroundings, as if. . .curious.
Impossible.
No difference marked the den of that night. If the coordinate was correct, then what did the last four digits pertain to?
And why had Sylvester entrusted me with this?
My relationship with him stood because of Anabella, however, we never sought each other like she and him. It wasn’t until the past year where we shared a word or two in commodity, and if this pertained to his disappearance, there was no substantial reasoning to justify it.
Thus, why me?
Lorenzo’s nostrils flared as he tipped his head upward. “I smell him.”
“What?”
He brought the sheet with the coordinates to his nose. His eyebrows met as he sneered in disgust and pushed it to me, an empty hurl escaping from his lips. “Fuck. It’s all over this. But in this room, too. He fucking reeks even when he’s not physically here.”
Lorenzo emitted heavy sniffs as he walked around with flared nostrils, a low growl vibrating off him. He paused before a painting along the wall that was familiar in brush strokes, the messiness similar to Sylvester’s writing.
“That’s his piece,” I mumbled with inquisition trailing in my tone.
“Makes sense.” Lorenzo reeled back, the lines of disgust between his eyebrows seemingly permanent. “He’s all over this.”
“How did you do that?” Regardless of a vampire's heightened senses, scents were the peskiest one of them all since they seeped together into a muddled mess. Vampires relied on recognizing presences as they were one of a kind, tailored perfectly to every being. Had half-humans possessed the ability to track one down through smell? Tristan nor Sonia had ever done so.
“What are you?”
Bronzed eyes burned with a fire that heated this room as they clashed onto mine. “Tonight’s not the night to test me more than you already have, Doll.” Though his voice hadn’t altered, a resounding thrum transcended.
I accepted the warning and moved forward, though my tongue ached to query.
“Why does this place have his art? I thought your kind didn’t like him.”
“Because he owns the establishment,” I whispered. “He made sure to never exhibit so. However, when his pieces slowly trickled in here and there, particularly in hidden corners, the answer was unveiled.” Truthfully, if it wasn’t for Anabella’s affirmation, it would have remained a suspicion. “The once renowned artist Sylvester Reynard-Mallory had a particular touch only he bore, one so grand that vampires and humans alike sought his work as if it was food for the hungry. Yet, one day, when it had all shifted, there was no explanation, and all who owned a piece disposed of them. To detect them here was bizarre—unless the very owner was placing them.”
No one, not even Anabella, knew what flickered his career to plummet or how he was reduced to nothing in our society. The speed of it all didn’t allow anyone to question—or process for that matter.
Lorenzo bent down as he studied the piece. “That fucker’s devious,” he grunted and pointed at the right-bottom corner. “This wasn’t a coordinate; it was his signature. His initials are coded.”
I leveled myself to take in what he indicated.
“One could be an ‘S,’ nine an ‘R,’ four an ‘M.’ But what’s five?”
The realization dawned on me, the picture sharpening as I glanced opposite of the signature to the left-bottom corner. “It’s the number of the piece. If this is four, then five must be?—”
Words ceased to exist on my tongue as my head turned to Lorenzo, our lips a breath away from meeting. His heat blanketed my body as our gazes met. Bronze exploded into the medallion yellow with viper-like slits from our first night.
The familiar vivid possessiveness entranced me, reeled me away from reality and to some other realm. Something that snapped my existence from its deprivation to its rightful place. One in which was born through Lorenzo.
Thoughts held no weight in my actions. I plummeted forward, impulse and lust rushing through my veins as I seized his lips. His captivating tongue charged the electricity that had consumed us the moment we stepped inside. Hesitancy didn’t occupy a chair at this table—it was fierce awareness.
Large arms swooped around and under me, my legs wrapping around his waist as he pressed his rigid groin into mine. A wall met my back, our lips never parting. Lorenzo assured me by deepening the kiss, teeth trailing along my lips as my fangs extended to its full potential.
More. I needed more .
A possessiveness escaped my touch as hands traveled up his shoulders and fisted around smooth leather, his tongue pursuing a trail from my cheek to my neck, down, down, down, until my collarbone grew exposed to his heat and?—
Shattering glass pierced through the air. Lorenzo suddenly pulled away and dragged me behind him, his broad back widening as he swiftly shielded me. Adjacent to us was a couple that stumbled through the hall to the staircase, taking every decorative piece with them in one form or another.
Heavy breaths filled the space between us.
“We shouldn’t be doing this,” he growled without turning back, his amplified voice brusque. “Whatever the fuck this is needs to stop.”