by Nathan Spain
“You were right, old friend,” Draven said with a smile, a hand on Damian’s shoulder.
“Was I really? You’d think at some point I would stop being surprised to hear that.”
“To be clear, I’m still not convinced that this gathering won’t turn out to be a waste of time. But you were right about me.”
“You can always count on me for a fresh perspective,” Damian said with a sly grin. “I’m overjoyed that I could help you change your mind. It’s easier said than done, you know.”
“You can’t take all the credit, unfortunately. It was that vampire hunter, the one you warned me about. There was a moment when I was fighting him where he threw a machete into my chest, and all I could think was –”
“My God, I just can’t bear to die without seeing my dear friend Damian again?”
Draven rolled his eyes. “No, you ass. I had literally just seen you. It was ‘I’ve done this before.’ Fighting, killing, feeding. I’ve lived so long, Damian, that everything gives me déjà vu now. You’ll understand how that feels too, eventually – the repetitive life of a vampire.”
Damian chuckled. “Not always the easiest life, no. Though not without its perks, not least of which is surviving a machete to the chest.”
“I think I’ve lost sight of those,” Draven admitted. “I’ve been living just to live, with no broader purpose or joy in it. So here I am. Whatever this is, at least it will be something different.”
“This,” Damian said, gesturing toward the lodge in front of them, “is opportunity. It might be glorious, and it might be a disaster, but whatever comes of it, you will have a role to play here. Of that I have no doubt. And in any event, there should at least be fewer machetes involved.”
Draven stared up at the edifice, as if steeling himself. “I suppose I have some old faces to greet.”
Damian squeezed his shoulder in encouragement. “You may not be able to make up for lost time, but there’s no time like the present for a fresh start.”
Draven glanced at him, wearing an expression that Damian had seldom seen on his face: nervousness. “Ariadne?”
“She’s inside.”
“Will she be pleased to see me?” There was an almost desperate tone to the question.
Damian considered for a moment. “I think so,” he said finally, then added with a note of warning, “but she may not immediately show it. You two have some things to work out.”
He put a supportive hand on Draven’s back as they strode up to the front entrance together. “Don’t worry, my friend. I’ll be there the whole time.”
CHAPTER NINE
Draven hesitated, his hand hovering in front of the door to Ariadne’s room. He glanced over his shoulder at Damian, who gave him an encouraging nod. Taking a deep breath to steady himself, Draven rapped his knuckles against the oak door.
The amount of time between the knock on a door and the moment where it swings open is really very small, especially in the context of a life that has spanned centuries. But to Draven, that moment seemed to last years.
Then the door opened, and she stood there before his eyes, a look of surprise on her delicate features. Her mouth hung open as whatever words she’d been preparing to utter caught in her throat and died there.
Draven found himself similarly incapable of speech. He merely stared at Ariadne, taking in the familiar features of a face he hadn’t seen in decades; she looked unchanged, of course, but somehow different, older in some unplaceable way.
Damian broke the silence. “I know, I was surprised, too.”
“Hello, Ariadne,” Draven managed to say, his tone level. “May I come in?”
She blinked, as though snapping out of a trance. “Yes. Yes, of course.”
She stepped back into the room as they entered, Damian gently closing the door behind them. It was a small but cozy, rustic room, in keeping with the lodge’s aesthetic. A purple rug was spread on the hardwood floor, leaving the bulk of the space taken up by a large bed with plum-colored pillows and sheets. A small assortment of lit candles on the table cast flickering shadows on the walls.
Ariadne remained standing, staring at Draven. She seemed to have regained her composure, because her expression was difficult to read; whatever emotions hid behind her eyes, she kept a tight lid on them.
Damian, hovering by the door, said to Ariadne, “I can give you two a moment alone if you’d like.”
“No,” Ariadne said quickly. “No, you can stay.”
Damian shrugged and leaned against the wall. Draven stood a respectful distance away, uncertain whether he should say something or let her speak first. Despite her physically smaller stature, Ariadne was by far the largest presence in the room.
“You came,” Ariadne acknowledged, folding her arms. “I’ll admit, I wasn’t expecting that.”
He raised an eyebrow. “But you hoped?”
She looked away, biting her lower lip. “I’m not sure what I was hoping. To be honest, what Dad told me made it sound like you didn’t want anything to do with us anymore.”
The note of doubt in her voice pierced Draven’s heart like a stake. “Do you really have so little faith in me?”
As soon as the question was past his lips, he knew it had been the wrong choice of words.
“Faith?” Ariadne’s eyes narrowed. “What have you done to earn my faith? You haven’t exactly been a reliable presence in my life.”
“Only because I was in exile,” he said, struggling to maintain a patient tone.
Ariadne hugged her arms tighter. “Don’t hide behind your exile, Draven. It was an excuse decades ago and it’s an even worse excuse now.”
“An excuse?” he repeated. “Excuse for what, exactly?”
Incredulity took over her face, her mouth opening slightly as she stared at him. “For leaving! You changed my life, and then you dropped out of it for thirty years.”
He frowned. Surely she realized that hadn’t been what he wanted. “You know I would have stayed if I could have.”
“Do I? Because I don’t remember you fighting very hard to stay with me.”
Draven heaved a sigh, more out of sadness than frustration. This wasn’t at all how he’d hoped this reunion would go. He chanced taking a step toward her. “Ariadne…I don’t know what to say. Do you want me to apologize for being exiled? For leaving you at the Manor? I do regret that those things happened, but they were the consequences of my choices, and the one thing I won’t do is apologize for saving your life. No matter what it cost.”
“Of course you won’t,” Ariadne said, staring up at him and shaking her head sadly. “I know you’re not sorry that you chose to save me. You just wish you hadn’t had to make that choice in the first place.”
He hesitated, reluctant to prod the nerve of truth she had exposed. She had cut straight to the heart of the matter, as sharp and insightful as ever, and he had not prepared a proper explanation.
“You should never have been in that position,” he said slowly. “Those hunters almost killed you because of me. I shouldn’t have interfered in your life at all. It was stupid and selfish. If it hadn’t been for me, you would have had a normal life, a normal human life like you were meant to have, but I took that away from you, and I –”
Ariadne cut him off. “I don’t regret it, though. If it hadn’t been for you, I’d be an old woman now.”
“And I would have slowly withered away in my bed and left my daughter without a remaining parent,” Damian added. “All things considered, I think I prefer this outcome. Besides, it’s not your fault the Sons caught wind of us. I was the one who messed up on my first hunt and let that man get away. You can’t blame yourself for that.”
“See?” Ariadne pressed, spreading her arms. “We don’t hold it against you, so why all the guilt? Is it the fact that you only turned me because I almost died? That you only turned my father because he was dying, and I begged you to save him?” She paused, dropping her arms along with her voice. “Answer me somethin
g – if you hadn’t been forced into it, would you have ever turned us? Would you have gotten tired of us and left one day anyways?”
Draven stared at her, aghast. His stomach felt twisted in a knot of shame. “It wasn’t like that.”
“Are you sure? Because sometimes…god, I know this sounds awful, but sometimes I can’t help but think that you didn’t want to turn me, that you didn’t fight your sentence because you never wanted to be responsible for me.”
Draven hesitated, searching for the right words to describe how he felt. “It wasn’t your fault. There was never anything wrong with you. But I had to accept the court’s punishment, and yes, maybe I felt like I deserved it, because…Ariadne, I completely overturned your life. In all my years, I had never turned anyone, not until you and Damian. I never meant for it to go so far and I…I don’t think I had the right to do that to you.”
“But I asked you to do it. Even before it was a matter of life and death, I wanted it.”
Draven shook his head. “Of course you did. That was the problem. What human wouldn’t jump at the chance for eternal life, never even considering what they’d be giving up? This is why humans and vampires don’t usually…mingle like we did. Why such entanglements are discouraged.”
“Tell me what I actually meant to you,” she said bluntly, taking a step closer and looking him in the eyes. “Tell me that you thought of me as more than just a novelty, an innocent companion to help occupy your long, lonely existence, until one day she became a burden.”
Draven wanted so badly to reach out and touch her, to cup her cheek in his hand and show her with a single gesture how wrong she was. But instead he tried to put all that emotion into his voice as he replied, “You were more than that, Ariadne. Much more.”
She inhaled, straightening, holding in her breath. “And what am I now?”
This time he hesitated, and in the momentary silence he became aware of a commotion in the hallway outside; he could hear footsteps and excited voices.
There was a knock at the door. Damian, nearest to the entrance, raised his eyebrows in curiosity and moved to answer it.
A harried-looking vampire in formal Wineblood attire stood on the threshold. “Lady Wineblood requests everyone’s immediate presence in the main hall,” she proclaimed. “Lord Brone and the Blackwings are arriving.”
She didn’t wait for them to respond but hurried onward to continue spreading the word. Damian turned back to face the room, glancing from Draven to Ariadne. “I suggest that we continue this conversation later, yes?”
“Oh, we will,” said Ariadne, looking pointedly at Draven as she pushed past him and headed for the door. “Count on it.”
CHAPTER TEN
The Blackwing delegation from the southern states had just entered when Draven, Damian and Ariadne caught up with the crowd in the main hall. They were a large gathering – excessively large, it seemed to Draven – and a surly-looking group to boot, all male and all of them tall and muscular, wearing grim and suspicious looks on their faces. Unlike the Nightcloaks with their uniform shrouds or the Winebloods with their fine, velvet clothing, the Blackwings didn’t appear to have dressed up for the occasion. Instead they wore street clothes, mostly faded jeans, ripped t-shirts and leather vests. Standing next to the other clans, they resembled bouncers at a trashy nightclub.
Draven watched, recalling the stories he had heard about Lord Brone. There were rumors that he had come into his current position through suspicious circumstances. The previous Lord Blackwing was not available for comment, having been killed in a vampire hunter ambush while on a hunt with Brone and a couple of his other close advisors – or so went the story told by those who had returned. Lord Brone’s infamous distrust of the underlings in his court was surely, then, only a matter of paranoia.
Lady Selene and Lord Thanatos stood side-by-side in welcome as Brone approached. The Blackwing leader was practically the opposite of Thanatos in appearance and behavior, a short, squat man in a suit and tie that looked a few decades out of sync with modern fashion. He had the air of a mob boss, or perhaps a sleazy car salesman with delusions of grandeur.
Draven found him tacky and distasteful. From the forced smiles on the faces of Selene and Thanatos, it would seem they agreed.
“My Lord and Lady,” Brone exclaimed as he approached, his mouth twisted up in a sickening smile. “How wonderful to see you.”
He gave them a deep bow. For a man of his physical stature, the gesture looked more than a little comical. Nonetheless, Selene gave him a polite, though more restrained bow in return, while Thanatos sufficed with a curt nod.
“Welcome, Lord Blackwing,” Selene said. “On behalf of Clans Wineblood and Nightcloak, we extend our sincerest greetings.”
Brone gave a dismissive wave of his hand. “No need for such stuffy formality, Selene. Please, call me Brone.”
Draven noticed Selene’s eye twitch, just slightly. “Whatever your Lordship prefers.”
“I must say,” Brone told her, “when your emissary arrived with your invitation, I thought for sure it was a joke. Either that or a trap of some kind. I very nearly decided to lock the messenger up and have the truth tortured out of him.” He laughed, a hearty chortle that no one else in the room shared. “But when I heard that Lord Thanatos and Lady Rosanna had also received invitations, well…no trap could be that ambitious! You must forgive my suspicious nature, my Lady. Fortunately, the only thing stronger is my curiosity.”
Lady Selene gave him a gracious smile that failed to reach her eyes. “Fortunate for us all, truly. Your presence is most appreciated, Lord Brone. I think you will find that the matters to be discussed here are of as much importance to Clan Blackwing as they are to the rest of us.”
“Of course, of course. I expect we’ll reach new arrangements here that will be of great benefit to the Blackwings.”
“And to us all,” Selene said pointedly.
“And to us all,” he echoed. His smile somehow stretched to even wider proportions. “Now, if you don’t mind, Selene, my people have flown long and hard to get here. Not to impose upon your hospitality, but I must admit we’ve all worked up a powerful thirst.”
“Of course,” Selene said. “Anyone who needs refreshment may feel free to visit the dining hall. We have brought our finest blood brews, prepared specially for the occasion. Never let it be said that Clan Wineblood fails to live up to our name.”
“Ah,” said Brone, licking his lips. “I can almost taste it already. I’m sure a sampling of a Wineblood bottle will make all the miles traveled feel worth it. My Lady, my Lord.”
He bowed again and departed, allowing himself and several members of his entourage to be directed to the dining hall. The remaining Blackwings were ushered upstairs to the provided accommodations in their wing of the lodge.
As the crowd dispersed, Draven strode toward Selene and Thanatos. There was no point in putting off the reveal of his presence.
He halted in front of them, bowing stiffly. “My Lady.”
A smile appeared on Selene’s face at the sight of him, far more genuine than any she had used with Brone. “Draven! When did you arrive?”
“Not thirty minutes ago.”
“Well,” she exclaimed. “So Damian was able to sway you after all. I wasn’t sure it could be done.”
“Yours are not the first lips I’ve heard that sentiment from tonight, my Lady.”
She laughed, a high, light sound. “I’m sure that’s so. One day we’ll learn to stop being surprised by you.”
“My, my,” interjected Thanatos, his eyes sizing up Draven with a glint of curiosity. “Here’s a face I wasn’t expecting to see.”
As he took in Thanatos and the elegant cloak he wore, Draven felt suddenly conscious of his old, frayed clothing. “You remember me, your Lordship?” he said with another polite bow. “I’ve been…absent for a while.”
Thanatos inclined his head. “Of course I remember you, Draven. The story of your banishment reached even
as far as my own clan. One tries not to put undue stock in rumor, of course.”
Draven bit his tongue before he could ask what, exactly, the rumors going around had been. “Quite right to, your Lordship,” he said instead. “Gossip is often erroneous, or at least exaggerated.”
“Indeed,” Thanatos added with a smirk. “It is often difficult to parse truth from reputation, and yet all of us are burdened with the latter to some extent. I would be curious to have the record set straight on yours sometime.”
Draven kept his face impassive. “Your own reputation, Lord Thanatos, has definitely reached beyond your borders. Though of course, I try not to put too much stock in rumors.”
“It’s like I said,” replied Thanatos, just a trace of coldness entering his voice. “Reputation is the burden of a long and ambitious life.”
“In any event,” said Lady Selene, taking back the reins of the conversation, “it was a Wineblood matter, and one that has now been almost entirely resolved. To that end, Lord Thanatos, if you wouldn’t mind allowing me to speak with Draven in private?”
“Of course. Pleasure to see you again, Draven.” Thanatos bowed and stalked away, following the Blackwings toward the dining hall.
“My apologies,” Selene said as she watched him depart. “It bothers him when he encounters something about which he doesn’t already know everything there is to know.”
“With all due respect, my Lady,” Draven offered, “have you considered that he may just be using this gathering as an opportunity to gather intelligence on his rivals?”
Selene waved the suggestion away. “Of course. But don’t worry, I can handle such transparent attempts.”
Draven bowed. “Yes, my Lady.”
“You can stop bowing. I’ve been bowed to enough for one day. It’s getting tedious.”
“As you wish,” he said, resisting the automatic impulse to bow again.
“Has anyone offered you a drink since you arrived? You must be parched.”
