Thankfully, Lysander was true to his word. He’d kept a close watch on me and was already in pursuit of the escaping men. He quickly caught up to them and slammed one of them into a wall, knocking him out, and ran for the others. I followed close behind. In moments, we both overtook the two remaining men. Lysander took one for his kill and I gorged myself on the other.
We carried the bodies to the nearest dumpster and disposed of them, so as not to leave any evidence of our activities. As soon as I hoisted my victim into the bin, Lysander lit a match and threw it in. Thanks to a lot of debris, it quickly caught fire. I wondered if that would be enough to cover our tracks.
Before I could form the words, Lysander answered my unasked question. “It won’t cremate the bodies, but it should remove any traces of our involvement with their death. We must always hide our kills.”
I watched the dumpster ablaze with the victims of my first hunt.
Lysander pulled me close, his arms encircled my body. “I knew you could do this. You have a lot of strength inside of you.”
I leaned into him, still staring at the fire. “Thanks.”
“Let’s go,” said Lysander. “The night is calling.”
Chapter 8
PERHAPS IT WAS the alcohol content in my victim’s blood, or maybe just the relief that my first hunt was over. Whatever it was, my body hummed with energy. My senses awakened: lights seemed brighter, sounds were crisper, smells were more intense. Fresh blood coursed through my veins, and I felt the blissful lightheadedness of being drunk. I found myself dancing around as we made our way back towards the car.
“You have done well tonight,” Lysander praised as I twirled around him.
“What is this amazing feeling?”
“The energy of life.” He let out a small laugh as I stumbled, almost tripping over my feet. “You are drunk on pure energy.”
Lysander smiled at me as I floated around in my drunken state. There was no fear of discovery in my antics. Vegas was used to seeing drunks wander the streets, and my blood-drunk state would seem no different to any passersby.
Lysander didn’t attempt to hold or control me as we walked back through the casino to the elevators. The multitude of smells still enticed me, but my satiated state quieted the beast, making it easier to endure. By the time we reached the top of the parking garage, the lightheadedness had begun to dissipate.
I noticed a man standing next to Lysander’s SUV. Lysander must have noticed the strange man as well. His body stiffened and he held up a hand, motioning for us to slow our pace.
The man was well dressed, in a tailored, all-white suit. A black shirt peeked out from beneath his jacket, and two thick gold chains glistened at his neck. His outfit, though nice, appeared out of place on this side of town. Downtown was certainly not where the glitzy high rollers played.
A strange sensation overtook me. The hairs on the back of my neck prickled, and my skin flushed with goose bumps as we approached. I wondered if this was the sensation Lysander had spoken of before. I guessed the stranger must be one of us.
I scanned the stranger's face, looking for any sign of hostility, but it appeared blank of all visible emotions. The trademark blue-gray eyes confirmed my suspicion. He was a vampire.
Anxiety suddenly washed through me. I hadn’t planned on meeting another vampire this soon.
Did the screaming of my victims alert someone? Were we in trouble?
The stranger stood rigid like a statue, as if waiting for us to come closer. His long, slicked-back jet-black hair was neatly tied into a ponytail at the base of his neck. An abnormally long nose came to a point above his thin lips. I guessed he’d been turned in his early thirties. A few faint wrinkles crossed his large forehead, and there were tiny crow’s-feet at the edges of his eyes.
We came to a stop at the trunk of Lysander’s Jeep, leaving a comfortable gap between ourselves and the stranger. I turned my attention to Lysander. The angry look on his face told me he recognized this man and, more importantly, that he wasn’t happy to see him. That thought sent my anxiety level rising higher.
“Edmond…” Lysander said, nodding to the man standing at the head of his car.
“Ah, Lysander,” Edmond responded. “I haven’t seen you in quite some time.” He inclined his head to me. “And who is this pretty little thing you’re with?” His voice carried hints of a French accent. I felt his probing eyes surveying every inch of me.
I cringed as his eyes moved up to meet mine, feeling a strange sensation, as if he were trying to read me, mentally sizing me up. I shrank back to avoid his stare, stepping closer to Lysander.
“Out here all by yourself, are you, Edmond? Kallisto let you off your leash?” Lysander taunted.
“I come on behalf of my mistress,” Edmond said, with an arrogant flick of his hand.
“Oh. She has you acting as her messenger boy now,” Lysander said, his lips curled into a sneer.
“No task is to menial when it comes to the Mistresses happiness. And I would do anything to make Mistress Kallisto happy,” Edmond retorted. “Perhaps that is why she favors me. She knows she can count on me to always be there at her side.”
“You are nothing more than a puppet, Edmond.”
Lysander’s scowling face was hard to ignore, yet Edmond showed no sign of fear.
I wondered, for a moment, who Kallisto was and if she was a type of vampire royalty. They both seemed to know her and the way Edmond talked made her seem like an important person in the vampire community. But Lysander had said he was a loner and didn’t live in a coven. What would he have to do with this Edmond and Kallisto?
Lysander’s growling words snapped me out of my thoughts. “Get to the point then, Edmond. To what do we owe this occasion?”
“Always straight to the point with you, isn’t it? And I was so looking forward to reminiscing with you. How long has it been? Do you miss us?” Edmond moved toward us, smiling wickedly at me.
I gulped and took a step backward.
“Shy, are we, ma chère?” Edmond spoke softly, inching closer. Again, I felt the eerie sensation of his eyes probing me. ”Might I at least have the pleasure of your name?”
“Get the hell away from me,” I snapped.
“Leave her out of this, Edmond, and get to the point of your visit,” barked Lysander.
Edmond’s lips curled at the corners. “I’m afraid I can’t do that.”
I shuddered. Damn it, I probably should have kept my mouth closed. My chest became tight. My heart raced, pounding like a drum roll.
Edmond took another small step closer, reaching a hand out to me. I flinched.
Lysander stepped in front of me, blocking Edmond’s path. He knocked away Edmond’s hand. “I said, leave her alone.”
“Jealous, are we, Lysander?” He sneered. “Don’t worry. I won’t steal her. I just wish to know her name.”
An odd silence halted their verbal tennis match. It piqued my curiosity. I chanced a look at Edmond. He stood firm in his place. He and Lysander stared at one another as if each was threatening the other to make a move, but no words were exchanged.
Lysander’s face was blocked from my view, but I saw the struggle in Edmond’s eyes. His lips quivered at the corners, but he did not move or speak. His hands twitched, fisting and rising to a defensive position, and then relaxing back to his side.
The odd silence and strange behavior confused me. Lysander’s body also seemed to tense and relax in front of me. I shrank behind him, waiting for something to happen. Tension ran thick in the air. I sensed a fight was about to start. Many moments went by silently before Lysander spoke again.
“Enough mind games, Edmond. Speak your purpose for being here or leave us,” Lysander demanded.
“Fine,” Edmond huffed. “It is precisely this enchanting little urchin you have recently turned that gives us cause to have this chat.” There was a definite note of disdain in his voice.
Me? What do I have to do with anything?
A chil
l ran down my spine. I wanted to get out of there. I needed to escape.
Lysander’s stance became more defensive. He continued to act as a wall between Edmond and me. “She is none of your—or anyone else’s—concern, Edmond.”
“That may be your opinion; however, there are those among us who do not look too kindly on bastard fledglings turned without permission, and, well, you know the law.…”
“Those laws do not pertain to me,” Lysander said with a snarl. “I am under no one’s rule.”
“That, too, is a matter of opinion, and it would be in your best interest and the interest of your…lady friend to sort this matter out with Kallisto.”
“I have nothing to discuss with you or Kallisto,” Lysander said. “I am through with this conversation. Leave my presence before I decide to send Kallisto a message of my own, using your corpse.”
Edmond waved his hand at Lysander. “Save your childish threats for someone else.” He turned and walked away toward the elevators. “Consider this your one and only warning. You have thirty nights.”
Lysander turned to me. His eyes appeared hard and cold. “Get in the car.”
He inhaled slow, controlled breaths as he entered the car and started the engine. The scowl didn’t leave his mouth as he drove out of the parking garage. I wanted to start questioning him. I wanted to know what danger we were in, but the look on his face told me now would not be the best time.
Thankful to be leaving without a fight, my mind raced with questions.
What part did Kallisto play in all of this? Who was she? Why did Edmond accuse Lysander of breaking a law? What kind of trouble were we in? Was Lysander going to be able to settle this? What if Kallisto came after us?
“There is more for you to know about our kind,” he said, breaking the silence. “I told you there were other covens out there.”
“Yeah, it seems you left out quite a bit of information. What the hell was going on back there?”
“It wasn’t necessary to tell you everything about our kind just yet. You seemed to be having trouble handling the basics.” I heard the frustration in Lysander’s voice. “As I said before, there are quite a few covens out there. One in particular stands out from the rest. It’s the oldest known coven in existence, and Kallisto is the leader.”
I had a feeling he would say that.
“Kallisto is a very old, very powerful vampire,” Lysander said.
Great, just great. “Was she the first?” I asked.
Lysander shook his head. “No, I don’t think so. But she is the oldest vampire I know, and she feels she is the ruler over us all.”
“But if she isn’t the first, isn’t there someone above her?”
Lysander groaned. His fist tightened on the steering wheel. “Why are you so fixated on the first vampire?”
“I don’t know. I guess… well, that’s how it always goes in the stories.”
“This is not some fiction story,” he said with a hint of annoyance. “This is reality.”
Yeah, and reality was getting worse and worse every minute. “I’m trying to make sense of all of this.” I sighed and wrapped my arms around my stomach. “I’m scared, and this is all new to me.”
“I do not see why it is so important, but if you must know, no one knows who the first is. Kallisto has never claimed that title, but she is very old. She once told me of a legend that claims we were descended from the Keres.”
“The what?”
“You never studied mythology in school?” A note of impatience was evident in Lysander’s voice.
I shook my head. “Nope, I didn’t care much for that kind of stuff.” I never thought I would need it. It wasn’t like I expected to become a vampire when I grew up.
“Have you at least heard of the Greek gods?”
“You mean Zeus, Hades, Hera…”
“Yes, good. What about the Titans? Are you familiar with them?”
“Uh…no, not really.” I shook my head, feeling a little bit embarrassed at how little I knew.
“The Titans preceded the Olympian gods you’re familiar with. They were there at the beginning of creation and birthed, so to speak, the gods you know.”
“Okay, go on.”
“They were what we believe caused everything to come into being: Gaia, earth; Uranus, sky; Chronos, time; Nyx, night; and so forth. Each of the Titans had various children. Some of Nyx’s many children were the Keres: winged female blood-drinking creatures, with large claws and razor-sharp teeth.”
I shuddered, imagining such beasts. So we’re monsters.
Lysander didn’t seem to be bothered by his description or my reaction. He continued without missing a beat. “They were charged with finishing off wounded men in battle so their souls might cross over into the underworld.”
“Okay,” I said, holding up my hand to pause him. “So they were the original vampires?”
“No, they were godlike creatures to begin with. Vampires, such as we are, began as mortals. According to Kallisto’s telling of the legend, one of the Keres mated with a mortal, creating the first of our kind: half mortal, half god.”
I bit at my thumbnail as Lysander continued to rattle off more about the legend.
“The Olympian gods and the Titans were at war. The Titans were imprisoned by Zeus in Tartarus, also known as the deepest part of the underworld. Nyx, being a Titan, was unable to keep constant watch over this new immortal creation. She was forced to return to Tartarus each morning and was only allowed out as the sun set. Nyx cursed this new immortal, preventing him from coming out into the daylight, hoping to keep him a secret. This new immortal adapted well to the night, but eventually became lonely and depressed, being the only one of his kind. Nyx took pity on him, allowing him to create a mate, and taught him the secret power of his immortal blood. And so our race began.”
I nodded to myself, trying to process all of this new information. “So we really are creatures of the night?”
“According to the legend, yes.” Lysander turned to face me. “But as I have said, no one has ever met this first vampire, so the validity of the story has yet to be proven. It remains legend, as do many of the other various theories on how our kind started.”
A combination of shock and awe hit me as I put all the pieces of the story together. “So, Kallisto is basically the oldest and strongest known vampire. She thinks she is the queen of all vampires. And she is mad at us?”
Lysander leaned his head to the side, one of his eyes squinted as he pursed his lips. “Mad is probably not the appropriate word to use here,” he said.
“What about Edmond? Is he just a messenger?”
Lysander’s brow furrowed. “He’s her mate.”
“Mate? Like her husband or something?”
“Yes,” He sighed. “We are almost to my home. I have some things to show you.”
Chapter 9
WE ARRIVED AT Lysander’s home just after midnight. He gestured for to me sit in the living room as he walked to the large wooden bookshelves. Wondering what other scary revelations he was about to tell me, I sank into the soft leather of the couch, watching as his fingers darted nimbly across the spines of ancient-looking tomes. Lysander’s wide eyes flitted back and forth as he skimmed the books.
“Kallisto and I have quite a history." His finger stopped on a dusty, brown leather spine. “Ah, yes, this is the one.”
He pulled the thick book from the shelf. It was old and weathered. The leather binding looked as if it would fall apart in his hands. He opened it and carefully presented it to me.
“Is this vampire history?” I wondered, looking at the yellowing pages. The book appeared to be a diary of some sort, written in languages I did not know.
“Some of it. Technically, this would be my history. I am not old enough to know what happened in the very beginning. This is an account of my life with Kallisto.”
I admired the book, turning the pages slowly, trying not to damage them.
“What language is this?
”
I scanned the text, noting the funny slashes and illegible scribbles, not finding any writing I understood until I flipped more than halfway to the end of the book.
“Each language you see represents the current language spoken when I wrote the entry. I wanted to preserve the history I was able to witness, so I documented everything I saw. It has been my life’s work to transcribe history. This book, however, is not an original. It is a copy, made by me before I left Kallisto and her coven.”
He left her. That might explain why she was sending messengers after him.
He let out a deep sigh. I caught a hint of sadness. It was as if the mention of Kallisto carried some painful memory.
“The original parchment and scrolls were left with her so many years ago, along with many of my other writings.”
I looked up at Lysander’s face. He looked lovingly on the book lying in my lap, as if it were his child. His eyes lit up as I turned the pages, revealing more writing and sketches that—I assumed—he had drawn. I felt a strange sensation of pride, like I was somehow channeling the feelings I saw as I looked up into Lysander’s eyes.
He let me flip through the book until I had seen everything on my own, then turned it back to the beginning, showing me a sketch of a beautiful grassy valley dotted with farms. The sketch was vividly detailed; each blade of grass was lovingly etched into the page. I could tell Lysander had put quite a bit of work into this tome.
“I was born in Amfissa, a valley city in ancient Greece,” he said, seating himself next to me on the couch.
“It was a beautiful, fertile land, but scarred by generation after generation of war with each of our neighbors and even Rome itself before the latter defeated us, eventually incorporating us into their republic.”
Wow, Rome and Greece. I didn’t realize Lysander was that old. I looked up at his youthful face. He has to be over two thousand years old if he came from ancient Greece.
He turned the book to the next page and pointed out a sketch of a temple filled with people in celebration.
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