A Violet Fire (Vampires in Avignon Book 1)

by Kelsey Quick

The sandy-silver bricks give way to black-coated steel and long, thick stain-glass windows that curve into the ceiling above. The colorful slabs of glass reveal the entire landscape of Isshar under the veil of night. Upon further inspection, I gather we are at the top of the castle in between the twin buttresses, and this bridge is taking us into the huge steel rendition of the pyramid of Cain—the one that had seemed so small from the ground. But now, being inside of it gives me a creepy feeling of vertigo; so high up that my heart rises into my throat every time I look down.

  My better judgment forces me to turn my sight to the horizon, where a hint of light is coming up over the faint outline of trees. Meaning, I had slept very little. Other than trying to pin down Zein’s specific feeding routine, there is almost no way to tell when he will do his summoning. Vampires can sleep, but they don’t need to, and since Zein is constantly busy with diplomatic and political affairs, he almost never indulges in that pastime, from what I’ve heard.

  We turn left as soon as we cross the steel bridge on the other side of the pyramid and into the hallway of the second tower. This one is much nicer than the other, with pathways made of white marble and lined with huge and immaculate paintings. As we ascend what seems like ages worth of stairs, my legs give. A heavy and dark vignette surrounds my vision, while all my muscles tighten, refusing to listen to me.

  “I-I’m sorry,” I mutter as I catch myself on the ivory railing.

  The soldier turns to me but says nothing.

  “I was fed upon earlier today, and now I can’t really-” I stop short when a black covered hand comes within inches of mine—outstretched and apparently offering help. The soldier remains silent even as I stare at him, dolt with confusion. What’s with vampires not being mean to me anymore? It’s like they all care that I’m only a snide comment away from hating them.

  “Thank you,” my voice catches as I take his hand. I guess it could be a her.

  “Not much farther,” he replies in a deep and stoic voice. Definitely a him.

  He leads me up the stairs, holding onto my arm as I struggle with the climb. A part of me can tell that this act is very awkward for him. He probably doesn’t know exactly what he is allowed to do to help me since he really shouldn’t be touching me at all, but I’m grateful for the chivalry.

  He allows me to rest a moment at the top of the stairwell in a corner, beside a stark yellow vase. Silence befalls our company once more and the guard stares at me; the crystalline eyes of the mask boring into my skull with intense interest—a bit unnerving to say the least. In the midst of the awkwardness, I twirl the length of my hair around my fingertips obsessively, over and over, before letting it fall to my collar bone. Refusing the soldier’s offered aid in the process, I stand.

  “We can go,” I insist beneath a layer of embarrassment, my vision finally clearing.

  He gives one curt nod before turning and exiting into the adjacent hallway. I follow close behind.

  The soldier was right. It takes only yards before we step in front of a large door, larger than the ones back at Zein’s castle, even. The soldier wraps one knuckle against the polished wood swiftly before stepping back and bowing, and I do the same. The door eventually breaks from its seal and creaks open.

  “My lord, I present to you the desired supply unit, Z29734,” the soldier says with a crisp and clear tone. An exhaling breath hitches in my lungs for a moment. So many times now I have been in his presence, and yet I still have this same reaction.

  “My lord,” I enunciate beautifully, trying to sound more feminine, to which inner-rebellious-me turns over with disgust. Since the soldier is here, I keep my focus on the ground.

  “That will be all,” Zein says to him before shifting his attention. “You. Get in.”

  He says it aggressively, and while usually it wouldn’t faze me since I know it’s all an act for the sake of secrecy, this time it does. Flashes of Savvy’s and my conversation gallop through my mind. Imagined pictures of Zein dismembering a faceless Duke Amaorin shoot through my brain. This beautiful creature is a killer who smiles while killing. Not at all gentle or kind. Maybe the rumors were actually true… about him being ruthless and cold. I had, at some point, forgotten about them throughout my stay with him. And when I think about my first night in his quarters—when he had threatened me and fed upon me for the first time—the memory seems foggy, as if it’s a dream that I am curious to remember while desperately trying to forget. I know all the bad things to more than likely be true of Zein, but…

  My eyes venture to his for a split second as I stand to walk in. In his calm and imperious pools, I see the comforting mansuetude and my qualms immediately dissipate.

  ...but the tender time I spend with him alone is as real as the rest of it. Those moments must count for something in his existence, right? How he treats me is a clear indication that there is more to Zein than his militaristic prowess.

  Right?

  Once he shuts the door behind me and I conclude that no other visitors are present, I drop my posture and turn on a dime to study Zein with confidence. A part of me scours for some sort of flaw while my indulgent side analyzes every beautiful detail. He’s still wearing the pale undershirt and slacks from earlier, but they are untucked and loosened. Likewise, his silver hair—once handsomely pushed back—now falls as he drags his fingers along his scalp. The fair and blemish-less skin of his face, minus the scar, reflects the dull glow of the candles in the room. His clear-cut jaw and cheekbones deter the ambient light, casting shadows down the breadth of his neck to his clavicles. I trace back up to his eyes which are now focused on me.

  “Still weak?”

  His correct assumption confuses me until I drop my gaze to my shaking hands. “Oh… yes, but it’s normal. I’m okay,” I respond.

  He nods, closing the distance between us. Zein grabs me loosely by the waist and, teasing, he says, “Forgive me, but I couldn’t help but notice how much more satisfying your blood has become since the last time.”

  Although his jab was unsuspected, I manage to quickly come back. “Well, it’s hard not to be happier when surrounded by beautiful women all the time.”

  “Hmm, that’s not what I wanted to hear.”

  “Well, the truth hurts,” I laugh.

  “Indeed. So, then, how should I go about reclaiming your affection from these beautiful women?”

  “I’ll tell you something about human women. When they want something, it’s quite the chore to break their focus,” I explain. “I can’t help you there.”

  He scoffs. “What if I were to remove the distractions?”

  “The women?”

  Zein smiles at my lips, reminding me of Duke for a split second until he draws my jaw toward him. “I want you closer to me when we return to my castle. Down the hall perhaps, or even in an adjacent bedroom. But not in the seraglio.”

  “What?”

  “It’s clear that I am the reason for your change in blood quality. I’m not so dull, nor humble really, to consider any other possibility,” he boasts, eyeing me. “I meant what I said. When we return, I will have you moved to my sector. The servants will turn a blind eye, I assure you.”

  My heart pummels through my ribs as I try to process his reasoning. I wade through happiness, confusion, and uncertainty in mere seconds. I think about Savvy and Gemini. About the demi-vampire. About what this means.

  “But… but you can’t do that. It’s too risky.” I shake my head.

  He waves my statement away. “Let me determine the risk. Take it as a token of proof that you are not just a slave to me.”

  He lowers his head slightly, his eyes and ceremonial earrings catching the light brilliantly.

  “I don’t know,” I admit.

  Is that what I want? Or is it only a mere shadow of my desires?

  The proximity between us has somehow widened into a girth I haven’t felt since the first night I arrived at his castle. I stand teetering on an edge of curiosity, between that of an endless satiating i
tch yearning to be scratched and that of miserable and painful reality.

  Do I want to be closer to Zein? Or so far away that I no longer have to think about him, or any other vampire?

  As tears well from the constant and endless frustration, Zein’s sudden embrace breaks their dam. His arms tighten, one hand holding the back of my head—pressing me into his rigid chest—the other securing my hips to his body. Silence continues between us, but it is a reassuring kind. I let the tears fall, one, maybe two—wondering when all of the questions pounding through my skull will cease to prevent me from letting go, from trying to find happiness in the darkest of places.

  “You should know that it is what I want,” he whispers as he holds me. “But I will not make you do anything that you do not wish to do.”

  I crash at those words. There is freedom in them. When his eyes manage to find mine again, they cause my world to stop and shatter around me. Amidst the burning of past hauntings and regrets, Zein somehow makes me feel like my life can start all over.

  Stinging hot tears once again threaten to burn the freshly formed crevices of my face. They brim and blur the beauty of Zein’s ashen eyes, forcing me to look away with embarrassment. With great strength I hold them on the edge, refusing to let them fall again until Zein aptly relieves me of the burden.

  His lips find mine and I sob, barely able to keep my mouth functional for his.

  As I quiet, he pulls away, brushing the wetted hair from my face. “So emotional, you humans. It is unnerving.”

  I chuckle at the face he makes.

  His hands drop to my hips and his mouth cuts to a curt frown.

  “What is it?” I ask.

  “You’re shaking. And tired.” He clears his throat and steps away. Motioning toward the bed, he says, “You should rest. I’ll send for another supply unit later.”

  “You want me to rest here?” I manage to ask through my torn state.

  “I would prefer it, actually,” he says, and heat floods my face.

  The cold and lush silk welcomes my palms as I sit on the bed. Delicate and comforting, it tempts me to sprawl out and fall into unconscious oblivion. Zein sits at his temporary desk of the castle, his face twisted into a more serious and thoughtful expression. The bookcases beyond him—that line every corner and every wall—gather my attention; the various colors, bindings, and penmanships of the gold-embossed bindings all blend together as my eyelids refuse to listen to me.

  ✽✽✽

  I jolt awake from a familiar nightmare into an unfamiliar reality—warmth and security. Before me is a thin off-white shirt clinging to broad and heavy shoulders. The lines of his chest are faint, but I can make them out well enough. We are on Zein’s bed in Amaorin’s castle. I must have fallen asleep. Zein’s fingers glide across my face, wiping away sweat and fallen hair from it.

  “You were dreaming,” he says. “What about?”

  The closeness of our bodies puts me on edge. We are both on our sides, facing each other, my head at his chest. Overall, however, it gives me a refreshing sense of security.

  “That night,” I reply.

  “The night I found you?”

  “No, the first night at Nightingale.”

  “...Ah.”

  We sit in silence for a few moments, heat radiates from my cheeks the angrier I get.

  He sighs. “We’ve talked about this. I would not have been able to bring you into Cain without filing you as a purpose for nourishment.”

  “Why couldn’t you?” I ask. “You’re one of the most powerful vampires in all of Cain. If anyone could, it would be you.”

  He laughs and it makes me angrier.

  “Tell me, what have your illegal readings taught you about purebloods?” he asks, catching me off guard. I forgot he knew about that.

  “That their blood isn’t so much pure, but their genes are from a lineage of power and unique capabilities,” I answer. “Only purebloods can rule in the councils.”

  “Yes. And purebloods are set on a gleaming pedestal of perfection by the Elders. As idols of a more perfect order, we must undergo greater scrutiny than others.”

  He focuses elsewhere in the room as he continues. “For example, if they discover a low life with an undocumented human, he would be incarcerated for a couple hundred years, maybe less. If he were a pureblood, however, the punishment would be far more severe. A pureblood who breaks the law is dangerous indeed, because he has both power over influence and power over life.”

  “What do you mean, power over life?” I ask.

  Zein’s unenthused expression deepens.

  “Our scarce genes are necessary for future generations, so we will never be sentenced to death. Perhaps sentenced to a life of solitary and constant surveillance, alongside constant reminders of our immortal purpose. But never death.”

  “Immortal purpose?”

  His eyes shift away as he stands.

  “Even I have ugly duties to fulfill,” he says, closing the conversation. “Ones that will outlast yours by hundreds of years.”

  A lingering weight remains, stretching my lungs thin. So that’s it, then? He’s going to claim that he couldn’t have spared me those years at Nightingale due to his helplessness in the matter?

  My stomach twists into knots as I call him out. “So you mean to tell me that a ruler of Cain can’t do as he pleases in a country where he signs to law anything he pleases? You mean to tell me that you, of all vampires, don’t have that freedom?”

  His tone sounds all but rid of patience. “In a world where survival relies on a greater power, all freedom can ever be is an insipid ideology. It is a fruitless word crafted for the weak.”

  I clench my jaw in thought as he evaluates. “I’m disappointed. I would think you, especially, would understand that by now.”

  I stand and brush off my robes, buying time for my mind to slow down enough to offer a semi-respectful response.

  “I’m human. The weakest of the weak,” I say, almost too proudly. “But even I know that if the powerless finds favor with the powerful, he isn’t really all that powerless.”

  “...I suppose,” he concedes and turns away. “Your rebellion knows no bounds, not even those of a pureblood.”

  I smirk with victory, though something tells me that I’m not actually victorious.

  “You should go. I can’t concentrate with the scent of your blood lingering,” he says.

  “I understand,” I reply as I move to the edge of the bed. But Zein moves to block my path. He reaches idly into his pocket and pulls out a familiar cord with a scrap metal piece at the end. I gasp.

  “I will not ask you why you had that knife the night Seriesa attacked you,” he says. “But this seemed of some importance.” He holds the trinket out to me.

  “I... don’t think I need it anymore.” I decide, tears once again brimming.

  Geez, what is wrong with me? “But thank you, anyway.”

  Zein shrugs before returning it to his pocket. As I try to maneuver around him, he grabs me by the arm and pulls me into him.

  “Before you leave…,” he suggests.

  chapter 19

  Zein kisses me along my lips, jaw, and neck while I wait for the escort back to the supply unit holdings. Over and over again his lips crossover mine, forcing me to sink deeper into feelings I never thought possible. How is it that I’ve ended up here? No closer to answers, and yet only inches away. Even if these delicate times between Zein and I are short-lived, could mere moments be worth losing lifetimes? Am I considering that possibility?

  A knock signals my imminent departure and Zein releases me to open the door.

  “My lord,” the soldier acknowledges with a bow as he comes into view. The deep voice tells me that he’s the same soldier from before.

  “Off with you both,” Zein says curtly.

  “Yes, my lord,” we say in unison. The door closing behind me and my idle shuffle into the now quiet hall leaves my high to dwindle back down to sour indifference. It was so n
ice staying in that room with him, sleeping on his bed, free of rules, free of limitations.

  The soldier commences the long trek toward the other tower where we came from. We pass through Night’s Way once again, with daylight now blasting through the windows full-force, though it is heavily deterred by dozens of loosed tapestry-like curtains; paintings depicting scenes of olden times. Each window has its own tapestry, each nicely dropped and secured in place. There has to be at least a hundred of them. Two hundred maybe.

  We reach the end of Night’s Way and we turn left out of it, then an upcoming right. Something is off, the scenery is different. The tapestries and stained-glass windows along the walls are unfamiliar. Different door segments, styles, and placements. The hairs of my arms stand on end. We had turned right when leaving the supply holdings earlier, so we should have gone straight ahead to get back.

  “Excuse me,” I speak up, and the soldier turns his head a little but keeps walking. “Are we still on route to the supply holdings?”

  His head turns back, and he keeps walking. Silence. No answer. My breath catches at the base of my throat and a surge of adrenaline floods my veins. Is he going rogue? Am I in danger? Is he... with Giomar?

  “I… I have a tag in my arm,” I state, my voice shaking. “If anything happens to me, the offender will be executed according to the nourishment laws. No matter the excuse.”

  Still silence.

  And now I’m certain something isn’t right, but I keep walking—logic triumphing over my paranoia. There’s no way that a vampire would try something here, in the castle that currently houses the five strongest leaders of Cain. It could qualify as its own method of suicide. But then my paranoia fights back—questioning why this soldier would operate any different from someone like Seriesa.

  He puts an end to my rampant thoughts when we stop at the end of a long, sectioned hallway that has several small and rickety doors along it.

  “Don’t be afraid,” he whispers without turning to me, although it’s too late for that.

  He opens the door in front of us, the knob and hinges creaking something awful. It swings open revealing a room full of janitorial and apothecary supplies stacked upon rusted metal storage bars. The walls seem older, somewhat damp and moldy. Same with the floor. All lit by a single narrow lantern from above, allowing me to spot vague details on labels, the dripping substance in the corner, and most importantly: the three familiar faces.