An Exasperated Servant

Meanwhile, on the other side of the planet...

No doubt there are many difficult professions in the world. In the human world alone, Elijah had come across his face share of grueling, laborious positions that certainly took their toll on the poor soul working them.

Nothing, however, compared to the role of being a royal servant, especially not when said royal was a young, untamed, and entirely unpredictable vampire who'd just recently developed a taste for human blood.

Elijah drew in a breath, steadying himself as he glanced around the scene before him. Lucien couldn't have made himself more obvious if he'd tried.

Dead bodies littered the ground, spread across the alleyway, discarded with no regard. Sticky, still warm streaked across dark concrete. A muscle ticked in Elijah's jaw as the scent of fresh blood wafted towards him. The night air licked at his skin.

Grinding his teeth, Elijah glanced around again to make sure nobody had stumbled into this indecorous scene. Satisfied, he snapped his fingers, and in seconds, a thick, grey mist descended over the alleyway, slithering across the slick alleyway like a serpent. It approached the fallen bodies, covering them.

After a moment the mist vanished, and with it, any evidence of the atrocity that had transpired here. The bodies were removed, as well as every stain and speck of blood or grime. Elijah scanned the alley once more before he too vanished into the darkness of the night. The ground where he'd once stood quivered in his absence.

X-x-X

“Just as I believed you couldn't get any more foolish,” Elijah stepped over the corpse of some pretty little thing, and approached his young master. “You make certain to surpass all expectations.”

Lucien was sprawled out on a massive golden couch, which was so soaked with blood, one might've confused its original color for red with specks of gold. In Lucien's embrace were two young ladies, blood gushing out of two deep puncture wounds in their necks. One had a cracked grey locket around her neck, displaying a picture of her and a little girl. Her daughter. The resemblance was unmistakable.

The room was at the highest level of a skyscraper in the center of the city, decked with gold and marble walls, intricate artworks, and a massive balcony overlooking the city. The beauty of it had been defiled. Blood dribbled down the wall. The paintings and artworks had been replaced with the severed heads of several women, their lifeless eyes staring into Elijah's, cutting at him.

It'd been absolute chaos in the lobby when Elijah had arrived; dead bodies littered the ground, just as in the alley, but this time a message had been left using the blood of a dead receptionist. Disturb me, and you'll die, it read, both a warning and a promise.

“You're here,” Lucien regarded Elijah with clear dissatisfaction, raking bright crimson eyes over his servant. A stray golden curl fell over his eye, framing an impossibly beautiful face with long-lashed eyes and slender brows, as he shifted into another position. “You followed me to the human world.” His voice was a deep, velvety bass that resonated deeply in Elijah's chest, making his legs weak.

Astute observation. “How intuitive of you, sir,” Elijah said dryly. He flicked a glance to the women laid on Lucien's hairless chest. “Friends of yours, I assume?”

“Yes,” Lucien said with a small grin that bore rows of sparkling white teeth. “Unfortunately, I can't quite remember their names.” He chuckled to himself. “Truthfully I'm not sure we even exchanged the information. They were quite eager to come with me, after all.” Lucien's bright crimson eyes glimmered darkly, the wickedness within them making Elijah's throat surge with revulsion.

Elijah's eyes strayed to the women once more, at the locket hanging from her neck. He hadn't noticed it when he'd arrived, but they were dead. He'd assumed their slumped position was just another factor of the sick games Lucien was fond of playing with humans, but he'd already drained the life from them long ago. Yet he kept them with him…

Elijah shook his head, trying not to let his disgust show. “We must return to the Unending Night.”

Lucien scowled. “Go alone, old man. I'm more than satisfied as I am.” To prove this, or perhaps just to taunt Elijah, Lucien propped one of the women up, holding the corpse as if it were a doll. His eyes locked with Elijah's, majestic crimson against servile green, and slowly, he dipped a hand underneath the woman's skimpy shirt, retrieving one of her hefty breasts.

A sudden spark of panic lit inside Elijah's chest. Look away. He urged himself. Damn it, look away. He couldn't. He couldn't tear his eyes away from the sight of her creamy, lively skin, coursing with blood. Oh, the blood. How delicious it must've been when she was alive. How delicious it still must be. Elijah felt stirring in his jaw, his fangs throbbing with desire.

They throbbed with the need to pierce. Her blood still sang softly to him, faint beneath pale flesh. Desire twisted with hunger until he no longer knew which one gnawed so fervently at him.

His eyes roamed over every inch of her skin, devouring the sight of her pale flesh, anticipation beating in his chest, a sensation stranger to him as days passed. Lucien slowly, provocatively, rid her of her clothing, beginning with the rest of her shirt, then her scant garments, and paused just as his fingers skimmed over her bare stomach, inching towards her pink lacy panties. Elijah couldn't help how his mind raced at what might lay underneath it. The scent, the allure…

“You want more, old man? I can see your mouth watering like an unfed dog.” Lucien asked knowingly. “So composed, so noble, yet you can't take your eyes off the naked flesh of a dead girl.” He mocked. “I wanted if you're imagining what she tastes like. Her body, her skin, her innocence.” His mouth slashed in a cruel line. “A true monster.”

Elijah swallowed. The word monster felt like acid. His mind reeled, and even as the effects began to wear off, and he regained control of his mind, his eyes couldn't help but wander down to the girl's body. He swallowed thickly, chasing back the surge of desire and temptation. “The use of compulsion on another vampire is strictly forbidden, Lucien.”

“We're not in the Unending Night, are we, Elijah?” Lucien sat up with a sigh, pushing the two girls aside. The corpses collapsed onto white marble, blood trickling from the necks. Her head rolled to Elijah's feet; what remained of her neck was a bloody stump of arteries and a shattered spine.

Elijah stepped over the head and followed Lucien into the kitchen, watching as Lucien poured himself a glass of a strange red liquid. He peered at it curiously, then at Lucien, prompting him to explain.

“Mortals call this concoction wine,” he mused, downing the glass at once. “Lacks in comparison to blood, of course, but it's not entirely terrible.”

Wine. Elijah slid that little bit of information aside for later. “Your parents are waiting for you,” he said, his voice urgent. “We need to return to the Unending Night.”

Lucien scoffed. “My parents”–he uttered the term as if it were poison– “have no need for me, and I for them. I was cast to this realm because of them, and I'm not yet finished with this world.”

“They wouldn't call you back if it wasn't—”

“Silence.” The room flickered, the lights sputtered off, and darkness draped the world.

Elijah's mouth clamped shut. Agony tore through the right side of his face. He crumpled to the ground, writhing, screeching. Hot, burning pain scorched the entirety of his body, as though his limbs were melting, his flesh burning. The acridic stench of charred flesh, his flesh, filled his nose. He felt as if he were tossed into the depths of a volcano.

Footsteps inched towards him. Elijah managed, with immense effort, to slant his neck up to see Lucien looming over him, crimson eyes dark and void of mercy. For a moment, just a split moment, Elijah was taken back centuries, to when he was child, before he lost his life and became a creature of Night, when his earthly mother would spook him into bed with stories of demons and monsters. He remembered the fear he felt then vividly, the erratic thumping of his own heart in a tempo he didn't recognize, like he was still feeling it, even now.

Realization dawned with a shudder that wracked Elijah's entire body. Staring up at Lucien, the pain receded into the back corner of his mind, replaced by a fear so primal, so overwhelming it filled Elijah's system. His throat constricted, tightened until airflow was completely blocked. His hands jerked and trembled as he clawed at his throat desperately for breath. He had forgotten that he didn't need to breathe.

“Pathetic,” Lucien spat, crimson eyes gleaming, the only source of light in the dim room. Elijah's own green reflected in them, a truth Elijah could not look away from, a world narrowed in crimson. “A creature of Lady Night, a servant of the Unending Night, clinging to the fears of a child.”

x-X-x

Elijah knew something was wrong before he even opened his eyes.

The sun was bright– too bright– and the penthouse was empty. A gentle breeze rolled over his face. Groaning, Elijah sat up. His throat burned– like a tunnel coated in rust and broken glass.

His head still rang, flashes of the night before playing in his mind. Every time they did, the world spun a little, the mere memory of Lucien knocking Elijah slightly off his axis.

He groaned again. The action was **** on its own; like scraping sandpaper across raw flesh. His knees buckled as he tried to stand, and he swayed side to side like a leaf in the wind when he walked, but he was determined.

After a moment, where he stumbled on more dead bodies and severed limbs than he cared to count, Elijah slumped against the elevator door, his body giving out, exhaustion, stronger than any sensation he'd felt since his ****, pressing down on him, knocking him down.

“I wouldn't do that if I were you, Elijah.” A voice called out, drawing Elijah's attention to the kitchen. “Come.” The voice, distinctly feminine, invited. “I don't bite.”

Elijah took a breath, calling upon every ounce of strength his body could muster, as he carefully made his way limping toward the kitchen. He slipped a hand behind his back, gripping the fine dagger holstered in his pants. His head pounded, and a slick wetness over his eyes was blurring his vision.

His footsteps echoed like thunder in the silence. Reverberations boomed from all directions. He clutched tighter, feeling the life drain from his arm, inching closer to the kitchen. When he arrived, it was the speaker's bright, unforgettable golden irises that captivated him first. “Irine,” he gasped.

Irine turned to face him, her lips pursed, her dissatisfaction radiating off her, almost as powerful as her natural scent was. Within the Unending Night, no creature's scent was stronger, or more tantalizing, than that of a Venom. The motion drew Elijah to her lips, full and pink. Her light brown skin glimmered in the glow of earth's morning sun, and curly dark hair‐ dark as his own– brushed the top of her shoulders, framing a sharp jawline and long lashes. A black tattoo marked the column of her neck, intimately close to her throat, depicting the Duskborne sigil.

Elijah was stunned by her presence. “What are you doing here?” He asked, slowly so he wouldn't stammer.

Irine studied him, her strikingly beautiful features arranged into an unreadable expression. Then, an inkling of disapproval revealed itself. “You failed.” She said blankly.

Elijah frowned. “Depends on what you count as failure,” he hedged, refraining from uttering the sentiments at the edge of his tongue. She wouldn't have done better. No one, save Lord and Lady Duskborne themselves, would've done better.

Irine sighed, and said in a more cheery tone, “Well, your failures have been noted, and Lord Duskborne has sent others to retrieve his son.”

At the news, Elijah couldn't help the way his facial muscles twisted into a scowl, or that his fangs elongated in a threatening gesture. “I'm the only one bonded to Lucien. I'm the only one who knows where the hell he even is.”

Her mouth curled. She stared at his fangs, silent for a beat. “The Lord will make due with what he has.” She turned back towards the stove. The crinkle of the flames made Elijah reflexively step away. The right side of his face warmed considerably. “And I'm sure you know what your failure entails.”

The warning in her lively tone made Elijah's spine stiffen. He felt it again, a fraction of the terror Lucien had inflicted upon him last night. It was all he could do not to turn and flee like some frightened puppy. He **** his spin rigid, even as every inch of his body came alive at how the blaze shot up towards her, grazing and locking at her face. Her golden irises shone as proudly as the sun itself.

The imagery made his throat rumble with a deep growl. “Lucien would've added your head to the collection of the women he massacred last night.”

It was a mistake. He realized that after the words had already left his mouth. He gripped the dagger tighter for strength, bracing himself.

“Hmm,” Irine mumbled, too quiet, too serene. Her fingers worked smoothly across the stove, dropping two thick slabs of meat onto the sizzling pan. “Massacred, huh? Why, I'm almost disappointed you think so lowly of me.”

Elijah didn't dare to make a sound, not wanting to aggravate her anymore than he might have already.

“Twenty people, Elijah,” she said. “Twenty women. Your one job is to make sure things like this don't happen.” She drew in a breath. The room seemed to stand still. “And at that you fail. Failure, as you know, is a punishable offense.”

Irine didn't turn. She didn't look away from her pan and the meat sizzling on it, but Elijah felt as though she'd aimed the full brunt of her devastating, withering gaze upon him. His skin crawled, the sensation of being watched, scrutinized, overwhelming. He looked up slowly, and found a hovering golden eyes peering down at him. He nearly lost his footing.

Opting to ignore the eye, Elijah tried to change the subject. “I am bonded to Lucien. I can find him quicker than anyone else Lord Duskborne sends can. Let us go find–”

“Us?” Irine cut him off with a sharp, disbelieving cackle. “By Lady Night herself, Elijah, you are a moronic vampire. Any creature from any of the four realms on earth, without say-so, is a problem. A moody pureblood, however, is a catastrophe.”

She turned back to him, her flowing red dress dragging behind her, accentuating her exquisite physique. Her firm gaze rooted him to the ground. “Leave it for the Lord.” She raised a hand, and Elijah suddenly realized he was staring down the sharp end of a knife. Irine tilted her head, smiling sweetly. “Understand?”

Elijah stared at her hands, her long, slender fingers, unmarred and unblemished, the porcelain skin. He recognized the single silver ring on the middle finger of her right hand immediately. She'd become one of the Lord's concubine.

In another circumstance, perhaps where there wasn't a knife aimed at his neck, Elijah would've laughed at the turn of events. Of all the opportunistic and ambitious women in Lord Duskborne's court, most of which were hell-bent on doing everything possible to get into the Lord's bed, he would've never expected Irine to be one of them.

Though now he suspected that was a miscalculation on his part. Irine was brimming with ambition; she'd just hidden it better than most. How she'd gotten into bed with the Lord, though, a notorious recluse who was said to have only engaged in matters of pleasure to bore an heir to further his legacy, was a mystery.

Inwardly, Elijah's thoughts spiraled. Outwardly, he kept his face completely even. “For the Lord,” he agreed, lowering his head in a conciliatory gesture.

Irine narrowed her eyes, staring at him for a long moment as if trying to read him. Outside the arched balcony window, dark, angry clouds had encroached the skies. Thunder boomed overhead, heralding rain that began to patter against the windows. Lightning cracked above like a whip.

Elijah shut his eyes, focused in on himself; immediately the world went silent, cracks halted, rain paused before landing. He reached out towards a rope of coursing golden light. One end of the rope attached to a strange, grotesque machine, in the likeness of Elijah's own heart. The rope stretched too far to see what the other end was connected to, but Elijah knew it had to do with Lucien. This was their sirebond, after all, the physical, mental, and emotional connection between a vampire and its sire.

Elijah swallowed, his fingers hovering just short of grazing the rope. In the five decades Elijah had been reborn, roaming the world as a creature of Night, eternally bound to his sire, he'd never felt fear like he did last night. It still lingered, the terror sharper than anything he'd ever experienced, so visceral it made his skin feel sodden with rot and decay. His fingers crushed into fists.

“Lucien,” Elijah whispered, the name tender as an embrace coming off his tongue. The lake shivered as he knelt, ripples spreading outward in perfect rings, his features distorting and twisting. He sank a hand into him. The ripples fanned outwards, farther, as if his touch were a plague. He sniffed; the smell of Lucien still lingered on him.

Grinding his teeth, Elijah yanked his hand out of the water and stood. The decision was foolish, perhaps, but without the Lady of The Lake's assistance, it was his only shot of finding Lucien. He let out a breath, wrapped his hands tightly around the shimmering golden rope, and shut his eyes tight. He felt the world beneath him quake almost instantly, then the immersion of descent filled him.