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I have never seen him, but I don’t need to. His blood signature is a goddamn beacon of a bitten vampire.
“Not just any bitten vampire, are you?” I croon as he grips my throat, but I already know he won’t be killing me anytime soon.
“Your worst nightmare,” the dastardly vampire throws out, crooking one side of his mouth into a too-familiar smirk. One I witnessed every night for a hundred damn years before he betrayed me and ripped out my heart. This is simply the smirk of his forerunner.
“So, Merikh’s unidentifiable sire became a bitten vampire. As common as his son,” I muse as he bashes my head against the stone, snarling an empty threat since he won’t destroy his own seed. “Oh, come now, Howle, why don’t we dispense with this unpleasantness? I may as well enjoy myself and allow my new pet to run a little further. If the prey comes too easily, it’s nosport.” I snicker, waiting for him to relent. “We may as well have a casual conversation...”
Merikh is but a shadow of his father. The same deeply hooded eyes, but his father’s are gray as smoke, and his hair is a lighter hue than my old pet’s. Much of Merikh’s beauty obviously stemmed from his mother. Not that I ever saw for myself since he held out as long as possible. By the time Merikh gave me her name, she was already dead.
The bitten vampire smirks and releases my throat before backing away and shoving his hands in the pockets of his long trench coat.
Well, Merikh,I invite the imprisoned vampire in my mind to witness the impending conversation.It seems your cocky evasiveness and broody pride don’t fall too far from the tree. Or your strange preference for trench coats.
Merikh snorts.
But I must admit, you were more unguarded with your mouth than your father.
“I suppose a conversation is long overdue.” Howle leans against the coffin while locking eyes with me.
“On the likely theory that you are aware he still exists on some level inside me,”—I begin with a beguiling smile and reveal my fangs, noticing his posture turns rigid— “would you care to address your whelp? Perhaps have a little reunion and share why you abandoned him and left him and his poor mother destitute and starving?”
When Howle remains in the same position with not so much as a muscle twitch, I continue, pacing while goading him, “Tell me, Howle, what drove you to forsake your own blood? Care to share with Merikh how your departure led him straight into my powerful clutches? Perhaps the truth is as chilling as the crypt where we stand.” I chuckle, sensing Merikh’s annoyance.
I’ll give the former God of Blood some credit. No retribution. No blood vengeance stirs within him. No burning anger or icy hatred. As if he swore off his father centuries ago, annihilated all thoughts of him from his consciousness, and rejected all claims to his blood.
Is that because you traded him for asuperiorfather figure, my dear pet?I taunt him.
Hardly,Merikh snorts again, rolling his eyes.If I’d desired a father figure, I would have asked Mayce. Or an obliging leech. Either would be better than your insufferable arrogance.
“Perhaps the truth is quite chilling, Malachor,” Howle continues, addressing me with a swarthy ego he doesn’t bother to hide. One that reeks of roguish charm and thievery. I would guess the bitten vampire guild of thieves, which would make sense, given Merikh’s life of crime. “At least chilling foryou.” He winks at me. “Best not to keep you in suspense. I’ve waited centuries to tell you, after all. You see, we never did get to speak the last time I saw you since you were sleeping quitedeeply.”
He stares lethal silver daggers at me, his grin conniving, his chin lofty. And for the first time since that fateful night, the blood wars in my system. His grin grows as my nostrils flare and my jaw clenches from the revelation. An instinctive response from an age-old history whenever anyone mentioned the secret origin of the bitten vampire race. No matter how many others I created, it could not stem the legend. I could never take credit for the bitten race. Instead, I made my own.
I spoke too soon, Merikh,I tell him while stroking my stony jaw, maintaining a casual stoicism while observing his sire.He is far more unguarded than you.
My spine tightens at the sound of Merikh’s dark chuckle.
I’d say centuries spent in the shadows right under your very nose while he created his own race qualifies as more thanguarded.Merikh shakes his head with a disbelieving laugh.Quite the legacy, isn’t it? Your power, stolen in the dead of night, giving rise to a force that even you can’t control. And one you so lamentably now inhabit.
Your mockery is misplaced, given your current conditions and my inhabiting this vessel,I remind him with a low, threatening growl, pacing in front of his blood wall.
Just like you said, Malachor,he says too nonchalantly.Might as well enjoy myself for a time. We know you won’t be killing me anytime soon. Probably neither of us. Besides, you should thank me for inhabitingmyvessel.
A pity you were not as skilled as your father when he stole my fangs and blood.
As opposed to clawing your heart from your chest and devouring it before your eyes?
The growl comes before I can retract it. Merikh’s smile beyond the wall of blood mirrors his father, and I straighten, posturing, and form my words, requiring a sharpening to the double-edged conversation.
Oh, I shall thank you, my dear pet,I inform Merikh and flex my eager fingers.Once this vessel is hilted deep in a different little vessel of scars and tattoos.
Shadows cross his eyes, and one violent tremor ripples through his body, but Merikh holds himself together quite well. Not a surprise. One reason I loved him as my pet was due to how much he internalized the pain. When others’ screams, cries, and pleas for mercy grew tiresome, I would retreat and quell my boredom with my favorite prize.
Turning back to the bitten vampire before me, I flex my fingers and mask my indignation behind a measured calculation. “Quite brazen to reveal yourself now. Tell me, what is your first name, Howle?”
He parts his lips into a crafty smile that reminds me of a beguiling fox. “You may not be a fae, Malachor, but I knowbetter than to give you my name. Simply call me Howle. And is it brazen or timely?” he quips, shifting onto his elbows while leaning against that coffin.
“True. I’d hardly believe you would have waited all these centuries only to reveal yourself now without some purpose.” I mention and wander aimlessly. Or perhaps not so aimlessly as a trace of my little dove’s blood scent curls in the air, luring me toward the crypt entrance. I’ll look forward to hunting her presently.
