Tyra wrinkles her nose in disgust, and I have to say that I agree. There are some paranormal beings who attend a different academy—Magical Hunters Academy. There, they’re trained to become paranormal hunters, slayers, or executioners, and they all work for HEX Unite, short for Hunters, Slayers, Executioners Unite.
Those who graduate from Blood Haven can go on to become whatever they want to be. We’ll have the means to live among the humans if we wish, to blend in and go undetected by the humans. Or, if we would rather, we can stay among the paranormal community and be freer.
Of course, there are sects of vampires here and there who do as they please, who will feast on humans in an area until they have to move on for fear of discovery. In theory, HEX Unite should go after them and find them all, but who knows how many slip through the cracks? There are dhampirs, half-breed vampires who become vampire hunters, and maybe they have the right of it, but honestly, for being a vampire, I am not violent. I’m just not. That’s saying something considering who my father is, but I just can’t. I can’t take a life, and I can’t hurt another. It’s not in me.
It’s probably why Father hates me so. Mother claims he doesn’t, that he does try, but how much love can a demon heart hold?
“What about you, Romelia? What will your future hold?” Tyra asks.
“I don’t know,” I proclaim, “but I am eager to find out.”
“And will that Constantine play a role?”
“I doubt it.”
“You haven’t even met him! And you told your mother you would consider him! Did the prim and proper Romelia tell a lie?” Tyra bursts into giggles.
I playfully scowl at her. “I didn’t lie. I’ll meet him if it happens, but I don’t think Mother always has my best interests in heart. Who knows? It might be Father who is pushing for that, and whatever he wants…”
"Well, regardless of Constantine, we will have fun." Tyra links our arms. "I'll make sure of it!"
Chapter 4
Julian
I enter the witch’s shop, and I can’t stop feeling a bit underwhelmed. I’m not altogether certain what I expected, but it looks like an ordinary enough shop, although there are vials and bottles lining shelves and in glass cases.
“How can I help you?” a witch calls from behind the counter.
“Can’t you read our minds and already have what we want prepared?” Mercy asks, marching up to the witch.
The witch eyes her and smirks. He has red hair and blue eyes that turn a bit redder as he stares at my friend. “I can read minds. Not all witches can, but I don’t make a habit of reading the minds of customers.”
“Why not?”
“I like to keep my customers happy, and most customers prefer privacy.”
“Oh, yes, I suppose that’s true. And you also might not like to hear all of the ladies’ thoughts on you.”
“And just what thoughts do you think I don’t want to hear? Because if they’re all thinking I’m handsome—”
“Oh,” Mercy says airily, “I don’t think that’s what they’ll be thinking.”
His face turns as red as his hair. “Is that so?” he asks, his tone far cooler now versus his easy-going, friendly tone previously.
I heave a sigh at her complicating matters like always, but Bermon, ever the peacemaker, strolls over.
“Please, don’t mind her,” Bermon says. “She’s probably grateful you aren’t reading her mind because she thinks you might be the hottest witch she’s ever met.”
The witch gives Mercy the once-over. “Is that so?”
Mercy opens her mouth, but the witch holds up a finger.
“Let me guess. I’m the only witch you’ve ever met.”
"I will say this much," Mercy says. "You're a quick learner." She winks and then crosses over to where I'm standing, near the front door of the shop. "I do like this one," she murmurs to me, jerking her head back toward the witch.
“Then why are you being so difficult?”
Mercy grins. “It’s in my nature, but please, tell me that’s not what you’re going to wear to the ball tonight.”
“What’s wrong with it?” I glance down at my black shirt, matching slacks, and dark boots.
“You’re dressed for a funeral, not for a party.”
“It might be my funeral,” I mutter.
“How can you say that?”
“The death of my social life at the very least.”
“Again, how can you say that?”
“If word spreads that we attended a vampire ball—”
“Word won’t spread. No one else will know, and the only other werewolf attending is the one you’re interested in, so what’s the harm?”
“I don’t know how you talk me into these things, and you hate vampires more than anyone I know. How are you possibly okay with this?”
“Because I’m going, and I can keep you in check. And if the vampires act up…” She winks.
“You want to unleash your wolf in the middle of a pack of vampires,” I say dryly. “I stand corrected. It’s going to be your funeral.”
“I’ll only unleash my wolf as a last resort, but I might have to flash my canines. You too. And Bermon.”
“Why on earth would we—”
“To pretend their fangs.”
“They’ll be able to tell,” I protest.
“That’s why we’re here, silly.” She beams at Bermon, who approaches holding three small vials. “Those the potions we need?”
“Yes.” Bermon hands us each one.
“And the price?” she asks, leaning to the side so she can look around Bermon to the witch.
“More than reasonable.”
“Is that so?” she murmurs. She eyes the witch, who is wiping the counter, ignoring us. Can he hear us from this distance? I don’t think witches have superior hearing like werewolves. Vampires share that trait as well, but I don’t think witches have luck in that department.
We leave the shop behind and make our way to Bermon’s car. It’s a sleek black little number, a Porsche Boxster. He hightails it, heading toward Blood Haven Academy.
“No way,” Mercy says.
“What do you mean? We’re going to be late as it is,” Bermon says. “I would rather get there as soon as possible so we can leave earlier rather than later.”
“Spoilsport,” Mercy grumbles.
“You’re looking forward to this more than I am,” I point out.
She shrugs. “A party’s a party. There will be food and drink. It doesn’t take much to make me happy.”
“Or to make you angry,” Bermon murmurs.
“True.” Mercy laughs. “Just call me a firecracker. Anyhow, we can’t go yet. Julian needs to change.”
“My clothes are fine.”
“No, they aren’t.”
“Either we go now, or we don’t go.”
“You’re so difficult,” Mercy grumbles. “Fine! Let’s go.”
Bermon glances at the rearview mirror. “You’re wearing a black dress. He’s all in black. What’s wrong with that?”
“It’s different,” she says. “Trust me. Every woman, no matter if she’s a werewolf, vampire, human, or whatever, has at least one little black dress if not five.”
“And you have how many?” he asks.
“More like ten, but we aren’t worrying about me. Julian here needs to make an impression, and I’m worried.”
“You’re worried? Now?” I ask.
“The potions will work,” Bermon says. “The witch is confident that they’ll completely disguise us for three hours. Everyone who sees us will believe we’re vampires.”
“Yes, but that includes Bellanore,” Mercy interjects.
"Let's just get to the party," I suggest mildly. "Whatever happens there will have been meant to happen. I am not going to worry about this or that or anything at all."
“Good!” Bermon slaps a hand against the steering wheel. “That’s what I want! The happy-go-lucky Julian back!”
I�
��ve never been much of a happy-go-lucky kind of guy, but sure, for his sake, I’ll try.
It doesn't take us long to reach Blood Haven Academy. All manner of gothic castles dot the land, the acreage of the place impressive, but then again, vampires can travel great distances in the span of an eyeblink, so it's not too surprising how sprawled out the campus is. The sound of music, laughter, and cheers direct us to the party.
“We’re here,” Bermon says unnecessarily.
“Time to drink up,” I say.
Mercy clangs her potion against mine. “Bottom’s up!”
I let her drink first, and she swallows without complaint. Bermon does too, so I drink mine and grimace. It tastes like blood, or maybe that’s just mine over matter.
I blink and wait, but I don’t feel any different.
My gaze falls on Bermon and then Mercy. Both now sport the same red eyes all vampires have, and when they open their mouths, I spy fangs. Their skins have paled, and even their scents have been altered some.
“They’re working. Good. Three hours,” I say.
Mercy opens the door and immediately leaves us behind.
“You would think we came for her,” I tell Bermon as we climb out.
“In a way, I wouldn’t be surprised if we did.” He shrugs. “After you.”
We make our way toward the ball. The vampires are dressed up in fancy clothes, styles from all sorts of eras. As far as I know, the students here are, for the most part, the same age as those at Moonstone Academy—sixteen through eighteen.
“Do you see her anywhere?” Bermon asks.
“No.”
“Do you want to split up?”
“Yes.”
“Are you sure?” he asks.
I nod. “But try to keep more of an eye out for Mercy than for me.”
Bermon laughs. It’s so strange to see him with red eyes and fangs, and I plunge into the crowd.
Everywhere I look, I try to find Bellanore. It shouldn’t be too hard to find a raven-haired beauty with glowing green eyes. A few strands are white, and she looks so very exotic that she can hardly be missed in a crowd, but here she is, nowhere to be seen in a crowd.
Maybe she didn’t come. Everyone here is decidedly vampiric.
I’m beginning to think this is nothing more than a terrible, worthless, pointless mistake. I can’t even find Bermon or Mercy here. How much time has passed? I glance down at my watch as I turn around, and I promptly plow right into someone.
“Oh, I’m so sorry,” I say, reaching out to help the vampire to remain on her feet.
“You should be more careful,” she says with a wry smirk.
“I merely turned around, and you were on top of me,” I say.
“No, you turned around and immediately kept on walking because you assumed no one would be there.”
"Maybe if I assumed that, it's because no one was making any footsteps. You were walking too faster to be overheard." I tilt my head to the side. "Or were you running? Running away from someone, are you? Do you need to hide? Protection?"
She giggles. “Protection? Are you to protect me? How? By plowing into this mysterious possible man?”
“Yes, but I won’t catch him. I would let him fall.”
She laughs again, and the sound is magical, like bells. Her eyes are, of course, blood red, and her hair falls in gentle waves down her shoulders. It's partially tied back, but it drapes down, drawing attention to the silver necklace around her neck. The ruby in her necklace and her broach match her eyes, and I find that I cannot look away. All around us, the party continues. The noise, the laughter, the music, all of it fades away as if we are the only two people here. We don’t even have to talk loudly for the other to hear.
“Ah, are you running away from someone? Do you need help?” I ask, unwilling to look to see if some reprobate is heading in our direction.
She lifts her eyebrows. “What makes you think that I would need anyone’s help, let alone yours?”
“I just don’t want anyone to hurt you.”
“And why is that?”
I laugh. “I need a reason to not what you to get hurt. Should I want the opposite?”
“Not all vampires are known for caring,” she murmurs.
“Not all vampires are the same.”
“Is that right?” She tilts her head to the side. “I don’t think I’ve seen you here before.”
“I know I haven’t seen you before.” I hesitate. “Does that bother you? Does that make me untrustworthy? Do you feel the need to run away?”
“Hmm.” She taps a finger to her lips before those same lips curl into a breathtaking smile. “I do feel as if I should run away from you, but I also don’t feel like acting on that. Would you like to go for a walk?”
“I would like that very much.”
And somehow, someway, the tightness in my chest is beginning to ebb away. I have no idea who this lovely vampire is, and I might not know her name yet, but she is easy to talk to, and perhaps all I have been missing is a friend.
Or perhaps something more.
Chapter 5
Romelia
As soon as I arrived at the party, Tyra immediately ran off, which is fine.
But then I notice a vampire with slicked-back black hair heading toward me with rather determined purpose.
Tyra and I had been fashionably late, mostly because Tyra couldn’t settle on which dress to wear and tried on no less than five before opting to wear outfit number two. She thought it wouldn’t be an issue, that no one would notice our tardiness, but he has, whoever he is.
I tug on the arm of the nearest vampire I see. “Excuse me. Do you know who that is?”
The vampire looks over. “Oh, that’s Constantine Crowe! Do you know him?”
“No,” I say flatly.
“I would love to meet him,” she murmurs.
“Go for it.”
Her jaw drops. “Do you really think—”
“Go ahead.” I give her a light push in his direction, and then I’m off, and someone plows right into me.
A very handsome someone.
With shaggy brown hair that falls into his light red eyes.
Someone I’ve never met before.
And someone I just invited to walk with me.
We leave the party area behind, but the noise follows us as we pass over the cobblestone paths. The campus has a rather old-world feel to it, no doubt because the academy had been formed centuries upon centuries ago. Renovations have been made to keep the buildings mostly authentic, although we do have indoor plumbing and electricity and internet at least.
I glance over at him. We're walking fairly close to one another but not close enough that we might accidentally bump into each other again. When he caught me, steadied me, a jolt had run through me. I never experienced anything like that before, and my heart skipped a beat. All vampires, even the dead ones, have heartbeats. The dead vampires have it from the blood of their victims, but I am a living vampire, half-vampire and half-demon, so my heart beats much the same as a demon or a human. A heart palpitation isn't something I regularly experience, though.
"The moon is beautiful tonight, isn't it?" he asks, staring at me, however, instead of the glowing red orb in the sky.
"It is," I say, taking in his firm features, his solid jaw. He's perfectly clean-shaven, and I'm surprised I want to feel how soft his skin is, to brush away his hair.
I shake my head and continue walking. To be drawn toward one's appearance without knowing much at all about them doesn't speak much about myself.
“What’s wrong?” he asks, easily matching my pace that is much swifter than before.
“I don’t know who you are.”
“I don’t know you either, but I’m still willing to save you from any threat.”
“A vampire with a hero complex,” I jest, but he flinches. “You think yourself more the villain than a hero?”
“We all can be either at any one point in time,” he says.
“I suppose that is rather true, especially given what we are.” I hesitate. “I sometimes hate what I am.”
“You do? Why?”
I bite my lower lip.
“You don’t have to tell me,” he says softly. “I would understand if you want to keep something so personal to yourself, but we have never met before, and we might never see each other again. My opinion doesn’t matter, and talking may help.”
"It might hurt to voice it aloud, though," I murmur.
"Then, I will try to soothe your hurt."
I smile despite myself. “How do your fangs not have cavities? You are far too sweet.”
“I merely say what I mean.”
“Not everyone can claim that.”
“It’s not a claim when it’s the truth.” He shrugs. “The trick, though, is that I don’t always know what to mean, and that’s when I can babble on like an idiot, so don’t worry about telling me anything personal. I’m more than willing to share, but be warned. Your opinion of me may fall.”
I laugh. Some of my hair falls forward over my shoulder, and he lifts a hand before pausing.
“May I?” he whispers.
I nod, and he brushes my hair back before lowering his hand.
For a moment, we just stand there, staring at each other. The red moon gives him a reddish halo, and he looks perfectly handsome with the shine on his dark hair. My heart beats swifter, and I want to walk away, to not have such a tender moment with a stranger.
But I don’t run.
And I don’t back down either.
“Vampires are… We can be so evil at times, just by our very nature. We have to take in order to survive, and no, we don’t have to kill, and some select humans are willing to give blood, but… Not enough are willing, and yes, we can compel them. We can make it so they don’t feel pain and so they forget, but… I’m lucky. My parents have influence, and I can have blood whenever I wish without having to find a human to take from, but I hate it. I hate having to take. And my father…”
“Is he a vampire?”
“My mother is. He’s a demon.” I exhale slowly. “Not everyone knows that.”
“That changes nothing.”
I blink a few times. “You hardly know me at all—”
Blood Haven: Year One: A Mayhem of Magic World Story Page 3
