The Wanting

Chapter One

London, England 1889

Detached eyes lit up a distinct red in the inky darkness. The shadowy figure lingered in the fog-enshrouded alleyway. With acute detail, the nocturnal creature knew every rough-patterned crack in the bricks of the building across the way.

A spider scurried along the uneven shelf of stone and mortar, its spindly legs making soft whispering sounds against the bricks that only the creature could hear.

It sensed the single-mindedness of the rat that scurried through a stagnate puddle nearby, smelled the filth and depravity of London, grown pungent in the stifling air. He grew bored listening to the errant, self-fulfilling thoughts of the humans nearby. She was what drew him here each night, nothing else.

The beast stiffened with sudden awareness. Its ears detected the steady breathing he knew to be hers, the innocent heartbeat. It heard the familiar pattern of light steps approaching, even detected an uneven heel on her left shoe that was more worn. Anticipation filled the creature. The latch on the door slid back.

A harsh intake of breath expelled in a rush of excitement. A low guttural growl escaped taut lips overwhelmed with the need to taste. The desire to give in to that instinct made the effort to remain in the shadows a test of the creature’s self control.

A young blonde woman walked out of the side-door of the theatre across the street, pulling a dark wool cloak tighter about her slender shoulders against the chill in the air. The creature sighed inaudibly, seeing the fine hairs on her ivory forearms bristle the many feet that separated them. He was able to see through the layers of her garments, knowing what perfection was hidden underneath. He traced the line of her long ivory neck, aching to taste her. He stiffened to see the twin puncture marks.

Dismay was evident in his darkening expression, and then despair. To see the proof he’d done the unthinkable left him shaken. He only had to sniff the air to smell the mark of his possession. She’d been branded, and by him. How it happened made his eyes brighten with barely-suppressed rage.

She was alone tonight, unlike before when he watched her, when the three chattering females accompanied her to the corner where the hackney waited. No coach waited for her tonight. She was vulnerable to what lingered in the night.

Her inquisitive mind was quiet; her inner thoughts at rest. He found her amusing, sometimes laughing out loud at her audacity, her keen wit. He was impressed with her intelligence; her calm acceptance of her limited existence in the world.

The girl was tired. It was nearly ten in the evening. She was the last of the employees to leave the theatre. An old man offered to see her home. She politely refused before taking her leave as he locked up behind her.

Her light steps faltered as she walked, her left shoe tripping her up. He watched as she bent to repair the damaged shoe, shoving the fabric back into the hole in its under sole. A sense of compassion filled the creature to know of her sad plight.

It sensed the inner despair in her thoughts, the hopelessness marked by the faint line of worry furrowing her smooth brow. She rarely dwelled on such self-defeating thoughts. Despite her limitations, she never ceased to have hope.

It stiffened to hear her innocent wonderings, to know she suffered from nightmares. She fought sleep these last few weeks since he began watching her. She was fearful of what lurked in her dreams. He stiffened to hear she was aware of a presence in the night.

Red eyes lit up with speculation to think she knew he was there while she slept. He hovered outside her second-floor window each night, never growing tired of watching her. Sometimes he did more than watch, going inside to sit at her bedside, seeing her chest rise and fall with every breath.

Her fresh clean scent met eager nostrils that quivered with an unquenchable hunger. The exquisite sensation of wanting her filled him once more. The essence of the girl was as intoxicating as any heady wine. Always he drank her in, greedily and wantonly.

It allowed the semblance of feelings to form for the human, knowing them to be ridiculous. It was forbidden for one like him, but he was unable to stop himself. It was unreasonable to develop any sort of attachment. It made the ritual of letting her go each night even more poignant and disturbing. How long it could control such an impulse was starting to wear.

The young woman stopped at the corner, her pale, lovely features reflecting weariness. She looked up and down the dark, deserted street. He smiled to hear her curse under her breath, a very un-ladylike expletive before squaring her slim shoulders. She began to walk in the direction of home, disappearing into the gloom.

He followed in a flurry of blinding movements, jumping up, darting over buildings and rooftops to keep pace, wary of the night and what was ahead.

Thieves lingered at the end of the street. They looked for some unwary soul to rob. The creature knew were she to continue on her way, she would run amok with the pair in minutes.

Indecision made the creature gnash his teeth in fury. He would have to save her from the human predators if her progress wasn’t delayed in some way.

It detected the evil in the pair. He determined the amount of time to deal with them before she arrived at the next block. She hardly reacted to the rush of wind above her as he made the choice, hurling far ahead, obscured by darkness.

The girl shivered and held the cloak tighter about her shoulders, some sense of awareness making her look up at the last moment. The beast was already gone.

The men already killed the whore who lay sprawled within the alley. They made free with her favors and what little coin she earned that evening. They were hardly satisfied with it, arguing over splitting the ill-gotten gains.

Ye bloody sod! Six damned shillings is all we got! The bigger of the two fumed as he wiped his bloody knife on the dead slattern’s skirts. Ye think I’ll be sharin’ it wit ye? Well ye can forget about that!

Ye owe me half, Percy! It was me who saw her first!

Percy glared at his companion, sneering as he stood up in disgust. His dirty, homely features appeared sallow in the moonlight. His broken, yellowed teeth were revealed in a snarl. Ye had what ye deserve! Oi’ll be takin’ the coin!

While the pair argued over sharing the whore’s wages, neither saw the shadow overhead until it was too late. Percy was venting to Gus when he felt a rush of air at his back.

Gurgles and hisses were heard. Percy opened his mouth to scream but no sound emerged, cut off as his head lobbed to the ground to roll at the dead prostitute’s side, eyes moving reflexively within dead sockets. Blood spray soaked the man who stood in shock, watching as Percy’s body followed; tumbling at his feet with a distinctive thump.

Gus’s eyes widened as he saw the creature in the moonlight that decapitated his companion so efficiently with its elongated fangs. Whimpers of fear escaped the man as he backed away. He got no more than an inch and the creature flew at him. Gus was dead before he hit the ground, uttering not a sound as his throat was ripped open.

The beast fed quickly, draining the man of his life’s blood within seconds. It tasted the evil in the blood, the poor diet that sustained the man. It felt little remorse as it shoved the thief’s body into a corner, behind a pile of rubbish. Rising from the still corpse, it listened for the girl.

The beast fled up the side of the brick wall like a huge spider, hovering at the edge of the building to look down. Those light steps were getting closer. The girl continued on her way, unknowing of what she passed as she rounded the corner.

It watched her walk beneath him, releasing a sigh of relief. The pair would have raped and robbed the girl. Thinking of her with her throat cut like the harlot’s made his eyes glow red with rage.

The creature trailed her discreetly until she arrived at a rooming house blocks away. It knew she shared a flat there with three young actresses who worked at the theatre. It learned from her resentful thoughts the trio abandoned her tonight to seek their own entertainments, leaving her to walk home alone.

It felt pity for the human again, knowing she had no family. Raised as a foundling in an orphanage, she was unprepared for life’s harsher realities. She knew no kindness since leaving that safe haven six years prior.

There was a man in her thoughts. Her lingering on the man named Rodney Westfall caused the creature to fume in dismay. The beast raged within him to know she thought she loved this Rodney or Roddie, as he was known by all. The creature was jealous of the sweet smiles she reserved for the male actor. She was a seamstress at the run down theatre on Rampart Street. She stayed late tonight to finish sewing costumes needed for the next performance.

She couldn’t know the faithless Roddie saw one of her flat mates on the sly. His intentions in regard to women were hardly pure. The man only lusted for a pretty face and body, using her friend, who was far more eager to accommodate him. He plied the girl with false charm, intent on seducing her virtue away. He told her lies, easily managing to become worthy of the love she thought she felt. She didn’t see the ugliness beneath his handsome golden veneer, or the rage that she continued to elude him.

The beast realized the girl knew no better in her own naïve way, dismayed to feel the possessive urge to claim her. She was his! That thought disturbed him as he watched her enter the building.

No, she wasn’t his. She belonged to herself— not his at all. To take that from her was more of a sin than he was capable of. Part of his ritual was to let her go each night; to feel the loss that accompanied it. She was not of his world, could never look at him with anything but horror and disgust. She would see the monster that he was and shrink away, her beautiful luminous blue eyes filled with terror.

Better to leave her to her fate, he thought as he ran back the way he came like a flash of light. The creature slowed, sensing another presence like him. He sniffed the air, knowing who waited, and immediately relaxed. The other beast flew to his side and joined him on the rooftop overlooking the theatre.

I thought I might find you here. The creature chuckled at the dark look his companion flung him. Your preference precedes you, Darien. All you do is lure the others here. You cannot fault my curiosity. It isn’t like you to court a female, and a human one at that. I smell love in the air.

She is nothing to me. You’re mistaken, my friend.

His companion laughed once more, smiling in mockery, fangs elongated and exposed. You fool no one, Darien, least of all me. I have known you for centuries, have I not? Why do you put yourself through this? If you want the girl, take her. You draw the others here like moths to flame. Do you think any of them would hesitate as you do?

They won’t touch her, Cyran! Darien glared at his companion, his whole body going rigid; dark eyes glowing red in rage.

Cyran rolled his bright silver eyes in disgust. You wear your desire for the human on your sleeve, Darien. Take my advice, and claim her before one of our own does.

They wouldn’t dare! Darien glowered at the smirk that curved his companion’s full lips.

They wouldn’t be as honest as me about it, let us just say. Cyran chuckled at the rage that suffused Darien’s face in the darkness. I can’t help but be intrigued, Darien. It isn’t like you to lust for innocents such as her.

You won’t harm her, Cyran. I command you to leave her be, Darien warned again between clenched teeth, his eyes narrow and bright. Do not test me!

Harm isn’t what I had in mind. She’s very beautiful, Cyran mused with a playful shrug. No matter, when the others discover your interest…don’t say I didn’t warn you.

She is to be left alone, Darien growled, his fangs distending in anger.

If you don’t claim her, you can’t keep the others from her. They would enjoy it just to torment you. Is that what you want? We both know that is no existence for her. Isn’t it far kinder to leave her to fate? This is twice I’ve caught you protecting her. That actor earlier tonight had plans for her you did away with quite nicely. She should have died back there by the hands of those two ignorant ruffians. You interfere with her destiny once more, and for what?

Darien reflected Cyran’s words quietly. He knew them to be true. This was not the first time he saved the girl from the evil doers of her own world. He read Rodney Westfall’s mind the day before; learned he intended to compromise the girl if he managed to lure her alone. Frustrated by her cool reserve, the actor intended to force himself on her.

Darien mesmerized the girl in her sleep that night, told her to refuse the man’s dishonest advances. It pleased him she side-stepped the actor’s foul intentions. Westfall intended to share her with his friends and kill her when he finished with her.

Darien made sure Roddie would never harm another innocent. He took great pleasure in draining the man earlier that evening before he joined his actor companions at the corner pub. He left his body in an alley for the rats.

The others of his kind would enjoy taking the girl from him. They would learn of his interest in the human soon enough. Cyran honed in on it very quickly. Darien wasted time by debating the choices he would make this night. The longer he lingered in London; he put her in even greater danger.

You will say nothing of this to the others. I ask that you leave her alone as well, Cyran.

Cyran nodded and gazed down at the cobblestone street with an inscrutable expression. I give you my word, Darien. I won’t seek to…hurt her.

That isn’t what I asked you! You will stay away from her!

Cyran chuckled in delight at goading him to anger. Very well, I won’t seek to discover what has you so enthralled. She is not your normal type, Darien. I thought you veered towards busty brunettes, not demure blondes. To think you know someone, even after six centuries!

She is…special to me, Cyran. She draws me to her. I can’t explain it. I only thought to watch, to know her through her thoughts. I can’t seem to stop at that.

You’re a fool to admit it, my friend, Cyran snapped in anger suddenly, his silver eyes flaring. They would only use the girl to get to you. Be lucky I have no issue with the politicking in our midst. I only came here tonight to warn you. Natasha sent spies to London. If you care for the girl, you must abandon this place. Think of what your lovely stepmother would do if she discovered your feelings for her? Many Lowbloods are in the area. I only point out the obvious, my prince. She isn’t safe. Not anymore.

Darien came to his own conclusions of what Natasha would do, deciding Cyran was right. He must leave, tonight, before any tracked him here. They would tear her apart, just for the sheer enjoyment that it might bother him.

His kind was not known for their compassion towards man, or one another. The only thing that kept the fragile peace among them was a treaty all of his brethren waited to break with the slightest provocation.

Their former king, his father, was now in his eternal sleep in a vault buried deep underground, a place where every one of their kind went eventually. It wasn’t death, but a voluntary hibernation of both mind and spirit. His father chose it, weary of life, after two millenniums of ruling them all. Darien’s coronation was a month hence.

They were Nocturnae, a rare, ancient breed of vampire. Their blood was pure, unlike those who fled underground to avoid exposure to the sun. The immortal Nocturnae could breed and withstand the light. For that reason, they ruled them all.

Vampires of all lesser blood lines, made from turning humans over the centuries, were called Lowbloods. They bowed to the Nocturnae, the ruling class elite, but they would gladly sever the yoke about their necks. Several uprisings were staged and foiled in the last few centuries. Great losses were felt on both sides of the wars.

Darien’s mother was given the final death at the hand of the Lowblood rebels in the last war. King Gereaux was devastated to lose Queen Aria near the end of the century-long feud. He organized his army and led the nobles himself. They hunted and massacred every den of vampires they came upon.

The Lowbloods surrendered when it became clear the Nocturnae would eradicate them. They were allowed to live by swearing oaths to never rise up against the royal house. Further sanctions forced them to pay higher taxes as penance for their insolence. To break that oath was to go to the open tower and await the sun.

Darien’s rule was precarious given the noble’s constant treachery. His stepmother’s undermining machinations were also a pressing concern. Natasha wouldn’t relent until her son gained a position she felt he merited for being the stepson of the former king of the Nocturnae.

Darien despised his stepbrother, Rhys, finding him vain and motivated by his own greed. Giving Rhys any power would prove disastrous.

Rhys believed humans were ignorant animals, food for their kind. He thought they should be treated as such. Darien recalled several rousing debates Rhys had with his father years ago on the subject.

King Gereaux barely tolerated his stepson. He only pretended to listen on those rare occasions he was cornered by Rhys within the palace. He regarded Rhys as any parent would; seeing his youthful misspeaking for immaturity. He couldn’t have been more wrong.

Darien learned his stepbrother was involved in human blood trafficking. He kept farms of humans he bred and sold for profit. Natasha thought it an amusing hobby. She looked away from his illicit activities. She covered for him, for what he did was against their laws.

Rhys would be dealt with harshly upon his return. To allow him to continue such practices would only further such beliefs within their sect. The rumblings within the council suggested his stepbrother’s ways were gaining in popularity.

Times were changing. Humans far outnumbered their kind. This worrying the Nocturnae did over the matter was making a problem where none ever existed. To make the humans an enemy was more than foolish. If Rhys’s farms were ever discovered, the humans would learn of them. Staying in the shadows was their only hope of survival.

The arrogance of his kindred thought they were superior to the humans, and perhaps they were. They had no right to decide the fate of all humanity, but the God the humans prayed to so fervently. It wasn’t for them to point out no such divine being existed to their knowledge. To tell the humans they were alone in this world was to give them no hope or meaning to live. The rules would change governing their civilized behavior. They would revert to beasts.

No, were it to come to a battle of wills, the humans would win. Darien knew it and tried to placate the Nocturnae to be grateful for their place in the world. Taking over wasn’t the answer; as his father before him always believed.

You would be best served to forget about her, my friend, Cyran advised with a grim expression on his handsome face, interrupting his turbulent thoughts. She is but a human, after all. Leave her to her mortal existence. Enjoy your reign. Embrace the power that is soon to be yours. I bid you adieu, Your Highness.

Darien watched as Cyran took his leave in a flash of light as he leapt into the air, leaving him to brood on the rooftop. He was right. Pining for the human got him nowhere. Wanting her kept him from making the decision he’d put off. He had more serious matters to think on than one pretty human girl.

He had to take a mate among the Nocturnae.

It was expected he marry. Try as Darien might to express an interest in any of them, none of the females offered from the various noble houses encouraged him. They were vapid creatures, beautiful to be sure, but empty and cold, leaving him unmoved. Choose he had to, but couldn’t, because of this one human girl who haunted him, in what could only be interpreted as …dreams.

His kind didn’t dream. That phase of sleep was reserved for humans. The Nocturnae fell into a death-like slumber dictated by their needs. Sometimes it was only a few moments, sometimes it lasted for days. It was ridiculous to contemplate he dreamt at all, but it was prevalent whenever he closed his eyes.

When Darien sought his sleep, hers was the voice he heard in his mind; the face he saw. The fantasies of her were a torment. They weren’t real. He was stunned when he woke up to recall the vivid dreams. He reminded himself what he was. It wasn’t possible.

That was what kept him coming back each night to watch her, listen to her thoughts, and come to know her. The unthinkable had happened. He shared it with no one, unsure of what it meant. The minute he set eyes upon this human girl, Darien was at a loss to control his reactions. He feared to admit it to any. They would see it as a weakness within him.

The fact he dreamt at all, and of her, would lead them to believe he was not in full control or that she influenced his mind, dictated his thoughts. He knew it wasn’t so. It was harmless. The Nocturnae would never see it as such. It would be construed as an attack upon them all.

It was an aberration within him, Darien realized in dismay, relieved to know she had no real power over him. He sought the ancient historians in private to find some meaning to it. They laughed outright at his hypothetical questions.

The old ones were vastly amused when he posed such queries to them. Impossible, they all said and shook their heads. No, their kind didn’t dream. The reason, he was told; was that the Nocturnae had no immortal soul. The soul within a human ruled their subconscious minds. The Nocturnae never experienced this absolute loss of control while they slept. He was proven to be the exception to their kind.

Darien knew the dreams were dangerous from the start, these persistent thoughts of her perpetuating them. Thankfully, none of his kind had the power to know what he was thinking, and for that, he was grateful.

Darien shuddered to recall hovering outside her window during the last episode where his control slipped in his rest. He told himself it didn’t happen; couldn’t have happened. The marks on her neck tonight mocked his inner denials.

Chapter Two

Darien’s eyes glowed with desire as he watched her sleep, listened to her deep even breathing. He hovered in the air outside, sliding up the window soundlessly to the second-floor flat.

Moonlight afforded him an adequate view of her as she slept. He flung away her blankets with a look. The blankets fell to the floor, revealing her small, lush frame in the moonlight filtering through the drapes.

He eased up her nightgown with his mind as he walked towards her. It slid over her skin in a whisper before it too, was tossed to the floor. He stared at the ivory perfection he exposed, mentally caressing her, making her moan in her sleep. Her body was perfectly formed and soft, lush and warm to the touch.

She was deeply asleep when he joined her on her bed. Darien removed his clothing with blinding speed. He lay down beside her, unable to help himself from exploring her to the fullest. He mesmerized her into accepting him there, staring into her wide blue eyes until she was within his power.

Her sighs and moans of unabashed delight as he teased her body with soft kisses and lingering touches made him grow hardened and aroused, his fangs extending with fierce desire.

He extended his power over the humans sleeping in the next rooms to keep them from hearing her ragged, low moans of desire and waking. They slept on, oblivious to his presence.

She clutched his long, raven hair to her breasts as he teased and suckled her nipples. She begged him to stop, and then to continue, breathlessly. Her nipples were rosy, rigid and throbbing when he drew away.

He drew back and sunk his blood teeth into her throat when he could no longer help himself, sighing in delight as he tasted her salty, warm sweetness running over his tongue, tasting her innocence, her purity.

Darien shook away the carnal images of what followed. He closed his eyes in despair. To know he did the unthinkable while sleep-walking shook him to no end. The signs were all there for centuries.

He recalled waking up on the floor a number of times in the palace when he was young and had no idea how he got there. It went on for hundreds of years, worsening when he fixated upon the girl. Somehow his sleeping-wanderings went unnoticed by his parents, the palace servants, and his own personal attendants.

The vague memory of his ravishment of the young woman stung with bitter denial. It was no fantasy he conjured out of lust. He came here tonight only to confirm what he already suspected.

Darien failed to tell Cyran the truth. He made the human girl his Halfling. His friend didn’t get close enough to detect his scent upon her. His blood took over hers now, his scent identifying him as her master to any and all.

Now he infected her. Soon, she would begin to hunger. He could control her with his thoughts, bring her to him; force her to endure whatever he wished, make her act as he would. He was her master. He owned her. The only release from this form of enslavement was death or to turn her Highblood, a term used to refer to a human turned with pure blood.

It was forbidden for the Nocturnae to turn humans. It was made into law as a means to keep their species pure. The Nocturnae realized their earlier mistakes too late. The blood was diluted these days, seen after those early Highbloods turned humans. The result of these disastrous efforts was seen in the night-walking Lowbloods they now waged war with.

These lesser vampires they battled were weak in the eyes of the Nocturnae, flawed genetically by their inability to walk in the sunlight. They were looked down upon by the upper class of Nocturnae for that reason. The Lowbloods were immortal but they hadn’t the strength of the Nocturnae, or their Highblood makers. The Nocturnae vampires had few weaknesses. The Lowbloods had many, as seen over the centuries.

They were killed by thrusting wooden stakes through their hearts or beheading. Fire was also used as a means to kill them. They could be contained by the use of silver. It weakened them, burning through their skin. The Nocturnae hadn’t the frailties of their Lowblooded kindred. Only by beheading them was a means to destroy them.

The Lowbloods must have studied them well over the centuries to find the means to kill them. Their leader Anwar was dead, but they fought on, the rebellion hardly quelled in the last century since he went to the final death. Anwar was now a martyr to the cause.

Lowbloods fought to govern themselves. They wanted to own and acquire their own territory. They wished to select their own leaders. They wanted to break away from the Nocturnae’s control. But more than anything, they desired to be treated with equality. The Nocturnae would have none of it. They listened to the Lowblood’s demands. One and all, the council agreed the Lowbloods were an inferior race, incapable of self-government, all except for the king and his only son.

Darien shared his father’s beliefs that uniting the Lowbloods was the only way to end the unrest. They had many private discussions over the years of its merits. Darien knew the nobles were against him in this. Should he override them, he could anticipate their treachery.

A private ballot decided the matter in closed council before Darien’s father went to his eternal rest. The majority all voted, casting stones into an iron casket in the middle of the table they sat around. A red stone signified refusal. A black stone meant acceptance. Only two black stones were counted out by his father’s advisor when it was done. The Lowbloods bid for self-government was denied.

This angered the progeny into an uprising that was felt in every noble house. A wave of death followed. Thousands of vampires died during the century-long battle, both Lowblood and Nocturnae alike.

The Nocturnae healed instantly if injured. They were of the flesh, but immune to pain and disease. They bled like humans if cut, but because of the connectivity within their tissue, they healed rapidly. Their internal organs functioned without need of oxygen. Their hearts were made up of living tissue that processed and pumped the blood that nourished them. Their lungs didn’t require the air that filled them, but filtered it. This gave them a more normal skin tone that was only slightly cooler than a human’s to the touch. They could eat food and drink, as a means to further human perception. The practice was sometimes necessary to fool their hosts. The Nocturnae would vomit up the undigested matter later, leaving none the wiser. They didn’t have the need to eliminate waste as humans did, for the blood they ingested was absorbed within them.

The Nocturnae were the first beings unleashed upon the world, contrary to all human beliefs. The fabled bible story of Adam and Eve was just a parody of the events that created the Nocturnae race.

They were created by a winged creature named Cyrus, a demon, who was distraught over the death of his only offspring. He created Loras, his son, from his right wing. He was so pleased with this child, he gave him a sister; the female creature he named Zara, giving up his remaining left wing so his son would have a companion.

Zara was jealous of the bond between Cyrus and Loras. She tempted her brother into the garden when Cyrus was away, initiating him to the pleasures of the flesh. Cyrus was furious when he became aware of his children’s illicit activities. They created a child. The first Nocturnae vampire was the product of that incestuous union. To punish the pair, Cyrus cursed them both and cast them out of the garden forever, banishing them to the earth.

It wasn’t all Cyrus cursed them with. Loras and Zara soon discovered the only thing they craved more than each other was blood. They survived on the blood of animals those first years they roamed the world.

Loras and Zara had hundreds of children, all females, save for one son, named Holiath. The lack of males within their species was believed to be a curse from Cyrus, determined his insolent children wouldn’t thrive.

Holiath was encouraged to breed with his many sisters to create their species, and so on, until enough males were born to form the first houses of the nobility. All were related by blood, all descendents of Loras and Zara. Holiath didn’t outlive his parents to rule the Nocturnae. He weakened and went to his rest before his ancient parents.

The House of Vahr was the first noble house formed, his father, Gereaux, named their king when they passed on.

A catalyst event changed the course of the world soon after. A giant rock from the sky crashed upon the earth, the chemical reaction causing land animals to go into the sea. Once winged creatures now roamed the earth. Many new creatures were created too, ones who drew the eye of the Nocturnae. They knew it was no coincidence mankind resembled them. And, the blood of mankind was always the sweetest.

Loras wrote of the creation of early man. Those early writings were now in the Nocturnae historian’s hands for interpretation, written by Loras with his own fingernail etched upon stone tablets in hieroglyphics.

The ancients believed the creation of humanity was the work of Cyrus to taunt them. When man began to flourish and profligate the planet, they all questioned whether Cyrus perfected his progeny. They often questioned whether they were the failure; the humans the success.

The true meaning of all of their existence was translated by the elders, who were never sure if it was Cyrus’s work or the mysterious divine being the humans believed created all the heavens and earth. One often wondered if it was just the chance collision with the rock from the sky.

Many humans were turned vampire by the Nocturnae back then. It was done as a means to further the Nocturnae race. They thought by mating with human females, they could produce more males of their kind. Their efforts proved disastrous.

What they created was a mockery, a hybrid being of both races, not human, but not Nocturnae either. The failed experiment was evident when it was realized the creatures couldn’t breed, or withstand the sun after being turned. After several failed attempts to breed with humans, it seemed more than obvious the Nocturnae were cursed.

These Highbloods they created, as they were called, never evolved, but stayed the same as when they were made; never changing in appearance or aging. Their hair and fingernails no longer grew. Their skin never regenerated and flaked. These creatures were no longer living tissue. They had smooth, granite-hard bodies that were pale and ice-cold to the touch. They no longer functioned as a human. They needed blood for sustenance. They healed, but more slowly, if injured. Eyes always appeared deadened and dark, only brightened when they took blood. They couldn’t reproduce, even among their own. They avoided exposure to the sun, for it would burn through the membranes of their body and annihilate them. Most took rest during the day, whether tired or not. This half-life they were cursed with made them resentful, unable to live life fully. This began a hatred for their Nocturnae fathers and mothers. The Highblood revolt began not long after.

Though just as strong as the Nocturnae, they would always be seen as inferior. The love for the sun, for normalcy and equality, burned brighter than the loyalty they had for their Nocturnae makers.

Darien knew the turmoil with the Lowbloods would never end until they were given equality. The rebel factions still operated within every territory, waiting for another opportunity to strike. The peace was coming to an end. Darien saw it and concluded a treaty had to be made with the Lowbloods to alleviate the threat of another senseless war.

These modern vampires were regarded much like the lower classes in the human race. They paid taxes to the royal house of the Nocturnae just to exist. These creatures used their powers to steal riches from the humans, only to give it to the Nocturnae. These ill-gotten gains were divided among all the noble houses. The revenue each house received was based on the census numbers of Lowbloods who resided in each territory. Darien knew this practice of taxation was unfair. He would get little support changing such laws.

The bulk of these Lowblood vampires lived within Draconian and Gregorian territories. To take away the two largest noble house’s annual incomes was to start a civil war among the Nocturnae.

Those high lords that ruled there, Rustav of Gregoria and Borac of Draconia, grew richer every century on such a practice. They would never agree to cease the taxation to improve relations with their Lowblood kindred.

As their future king, Darien had to tow a fine line with all the nobles. He played a dangerous game. This recent visit to London alerted every one of them he considered Lord Borac of Draconia as a future father-in-law. He knew his arrival here wouldn’t go unnoticed for long. They smelled him as soon as his feet touched the ground.

Nocturnae recognized one another by their smell. Each scent was unique to every vampire. There was no hiding his presence in London. The Nocturnae watched him from the minute he arrived.

He used his shielding ability to move about undetected at times when he wished for privacy. It was a rare gift he inherited from his mother. Few knew he had this ability to hide his scent from his own.

It was a useful aid in moving about without company. He relied upon their current confusion to lose them in the city, necessary when he sought the girl each night.

She was his whether he liked it or not. Darien was sickened to know he destroyed her, even unknowingly. What he did was irreversible. There was no going back. His blood coursed in her veins,