But this was day to day life onboard my flagship.
Yes, my days living upon the seas were a far cry from the life I once led in the stately home of Kinloch Kirk upon the Scottish coast, when the Queen of the Underworld was still alive and still keeping the peace. Now things were… different.
When Bryn demanded I leave Kinloch, I was at a loss as to what to do with my life. I had never been a man well-suited to inactivity, but I had become accustomed to just that once Bryn banished me from my home, my love and my daughter, Rowan. Just the thought of my little one made my heart feel as if it were in a vice.
Thus, I needed a project. And I found one.
I was, as far as anyone seemed able to ascertain (and as long as no one could locate Laucian), the last of the Master Vampires. Well, the last with any sort of claim to authority and power over a race that was now spread across the world. The vampire world was in as much chaotic disarray as were all the other supernatural factions following the disappearance of the last queen of the Underworld, which had led to the dissolution of the old alliances, and the fall of the Underworld itself.
Without the leadership that the Underworld had offered, vampires had reverted to their natural habits; to kill. I will not pretend myself to be any better than I am; I am a reformed killer. But that was then and this was now; the world had become a less violent place and draining humans on a whim was frowned upon. The benign influence of the Underworld had allowed vampires to be themselves, but with limits. The Underworld coalition allowed us to be part of something greater. Now on our own again, we were suddenly once again just killers, and it would only be a matter of time before we became public enemy number one, and the vampire hunters returned.
Someone had to take charge. And the last Master Vampire was the obvious choice.
It had not been easy, but I think it would have been considerably harder if the last queen of the Underworld, Jolie, had not done such a good job. Under her wise guidance, vampires had become more used to working together and being ‘subjects’ of someone. They now welcomed the return of an authority figure, even if what I offered was nothing like Queen Jolie’s rule.
The name I chose for our league was the Vampire Coalition; an independent vampire state. To stop prying mortals from asking questions, I placed my kingdom upon a cruise ship, perpetually sailing around the oceans of the world. It was to be a home for vampires, safe from the interference of any outsiders. Before I knew it, I had enough subjects to require another ship, and then another. Now a small fleet of three, by night you could watch vampires passing between the ships, dematerializing from my flagship the Carpathia and reappearing on the Apuseni or the Calimani. The ships were all named for mountain ranges in the old country—despite my age (six hundred years or thereabouts) I am not a traditionalist myself, but others appreciate this nod to the places where we came from.
The rules of the Coalition were simple:
- No killing of humans.
- No drinking of them without their permission, except in dire need and then not to excess.
- No turning humans into vampires without my personal permission.
Other than that, my subjects were free to do as they pleased, as long as they did not bother me in the process. Yes, I quite wanted to be left alone.
While my subjects were quick to agree to my terms, there was one subject raised—one that became quite an issue; what were they to do? As a species, vampires are long lived and filling such time can be problematic. That problem is increased when the entire population is confined to a handful of ships, and thus unable to terrorize those on the mainland.
It took me perhaps an hour of solid thinking to find the solution to this problem. And that solution was: to have fun. Yes, I believed Epicurus quite had it right when he said the point of life was pleasure. Hedonism thus became my new mantra.
And my fellow vampires were quite pleased to assent to my decree. The fleet of the Vampire Coalition thus became a hedonistic hotbed of sex and blood. It had not been my plan to create a never-ending party cruise, but I took the view that whatever kept my subjects from killing was for the best, and there were worse things to do with eternity than to spend it enjoying oneself.
To feed my subjects, there was a large population of humans onboard. Again, this had been something that initially concerned me, but there was an underground community of men and women who liked to be bitten by vampires and took pleasure in it. When I contacted this underground society, I was pleased to find they were quite well-organized and were happy to help. Periodically they would put word out to their members that we would be taking on new ‘crew’ at this port or that port and people actually signed up to be a living meal for the next few months. And in most cases, those living meals also became sexual meals as well. For all but myself.
This meant there was a regular turnover of humans for feeding, and between meals they made themselves at home and treated the trip as a holiday. Since they were onboard for such a long time, the humans inevitably became drawn into the orgiastic lifestyle—vampires slept with vampires, humans slept with humans, vampires slept with humans, vampires slept with humans and vampires, and some surprisingly complex intimate relationships evolved. In six centuries of life I thought I had seen everything; I had not come close.
This was the Vampire Coalition.
It was not exactly what I had set out to create, but it would do. It was not the Underworld. It did not have that moral purpose of peace between the races. But it kept the vampires happy and out of harm’s way. I was not certain if I was proud of it, but it had taken my mind off my own problems for a while, and running the coalition meant I limited my thoughts of Bryn to merely twenty three hours a day.
It could be worse.
###
“This feels a bit unfair,” pointed out Denise, as we squared up in one of the boxing rings in the gym upon the massive ship. “I mean; I’m a pretty mean kickboxer. I used to do Judo and Krav Maga. But you’re a vampire.”
“I will not come at you full strength,” I encouraged her.
Denise nodded uncertainly, though her face still held a touch of; would it not be more fun just to have sex?
“Come along then.” I darted towards her and Denise backed off, scared by the speed with which I moved. “Fists up. Take a swing.”
After a few rather half-hearted attempts, she began to get into the swing of it, sparring with me as if I were a gym buddy and not a Master Vampire who had drunk her blood earlier and could snap her neck at any moment if I so chose.
“Alright, that is good. Now a little harder.”
“What do you mean?”
“Go for it. As if I were a real attacker.”
Again I rushed her, bluffing a punch, then landing a light one on her padded helmet, trying to goad her into action. Now she responded, throwing some pretty good kicks at me as I dodged from side to side.
“Quite good!” I cheered her on. “Go on! Do not hold back.”
She was the best I had found yet. What the odds against it? To find someone who looked so much like Bryn, whose voice had the same American accent and cadence, whose eyes had that rare sparkling blue, whose cleavage had that firm, familiar bounce. Someone who worked out hard and even knew how to fight one on one, who could throw a punch. What were the odds? In the last ten years I had found nineteen Bryns who had stayed on the ship for varying lengths of time as I drank their blood, sparred with them, and even spent a bit of leisure time chatting with them. Sometimes I tried to recreate specific moments Bryn and I had shared. It always ended the same way though; with the realization they were not Bryn. They had not been close enough.
But Denise? Denise was damn good.
I was actually having fun, adrenalin coursing through me as we fought in a way I had not for so long. I was laughing again, enjoying the company of a woman again. If only…
Deliberately, I moved a beat slow, dropping my guard as if by accident, leaving myself open for a knockout blow. Denise threw the punch, bu
t her fist stopped a hair’s breadth from my temple.
“Pow! Got you babe!”
Alas. She was not Bryn.
Bryn would not have pulled the punch. She would have kicked my arse and said I deserved it for making a mistake.
How could I have kidded myself even for a moment that Denise could be Bryn? She was not even trying to kill me!
Our eyes met, and I did not stop Denise as she flattened her body against me, her breasts crushed to my chest, standing on tip toes to kiss my mouth. I opened my mouth to meet her, kissing her back and tried to ignore the wrongness that rang alarm bells in my head. She was so beautiful, so sexy, so desirable, and I wanted her so very badly. Her body felt wonderful against me, and mine responded as it was biologically bound to at the feel of a warm and attractive young woman throwing herself at me.
“Please, Sinjin,” she whispered, almost desperately. “I need you so badly. I’ve wanted you for so long.” Her hand had slipped down between us to further ‘encourage’ me. “See? You want it as much as I do.”
Probably more. But wanting it had never been the problem.
Gently I pried her away from me. “You can disembark at the next port.”
Ten years.
Ten years since I had been with a woman.
Ten years since Bryn had told me to leave with loathing in her voice.
Ten years in which my only contact with my daughter was in letters she never answered.
Ten years since the breaking up of the Underworld.
Ten years since the whole world had seemed to go to hell.
Ten years since the disappearance of Queen Jolie.
Even now, ten years on, I could barely stand to think of the past. That was when it had all gone wrong. That was when Bryn’s love for me had turned to hate, because of the role she thought I played in the death of her sister.
FOUR
BRYN
“Rowan,” I called over my shoulder.
I stood over a boiling pot of frog toes with an egg pan in my hand. I tried not to slip on the scalding water that sloshed incessantly out of the pot.
Rowan was sitting at the table, tying up dried plants with twine.
“What is it, Mum?” She didn’t look up.
“The water is boiling.”
“Oh, hell.” She dropped her flowers—not flowers, some herb or other with lots of spindly little leaves—and ran into the kitchen to move the pot. The bubbles and foam went gently back down.
“Dare I ask why Mathilda’s got you broiling frog parts in my kitchen?” I asked in that mom voice I’d adopted about five years ago. I’d actually never thought it was possible—that I would sound so much like my sister had with Emma, but here I was—sounding every inch the mom. Mom tone and all.
“Not frog parts,” Rowan corrected me. “Frog toes.”
“Toes, then. Regardless, why are they in my kitchen?”
“It’s nothing fancy, just an elixir for luck.” She smiled broadly. “Mathilda said I was ready to learn this one.”
Mathilda was the oldest of the fae and she lived in a little cottage just beside the main house of Kinloch Kirk, where Rowan and I lived.
“Frog toes are lucky?” I asked.
“Yeah.”
Rowan tucked her long black braids behind her shoulders. She hopped over to the stove in two steps and looked directly down into the boiling pot.
“Want some eggs?” I asked.
“Sure.”
“How many?”
“Two.”
“Scrambled?”
“Scrambled.”
Not that I had the power to make the eggs do literally anything else. I wasn’t much of a cook. Never had been. I preferred the more… utilitarian arts such as defence training.
The doorbell chimed.
“Want me to get it, mum?” Rowan asked in her chipper voice with her thick Scottish accent.
“No, I’ll get it,” I answered quickly. “Here, take the eggs, and try not to let them stick. Don’t let your frog legs boil over either.”
“Frog toes.” Rowan took the pan from me and flipped the eggs into the air. She caught them and everything. Then she gave me this big, cheeky smile. One that reminded me of her father. I felt my stomach drop.
“Show-off,” I said.
She smiled, perfectly smug, and I walked to the front door. I opened it and noticed the hinges weren’t creaking anymore. God bless Rowan for having domestic instincts. I certainly didn’t.
“Hullo!” A red, round, ruddy face beamed at me from outside the double doors.
“Hi, Seamus. How are you this morning?”
“Och, verra well indeed, ma’am.” Seamus said, his Scottish accent so thick, it was always a struggle to understand just exactly what he was saying. Sometimes I found myself just nodding with a smile, hoping he didn’t catch on that I had no idea what he was talking about.
“Glad to see the weather’s been kind to oos.”
Seamus always had a way of greeting the morning like an old friend rather than the convicted felon with a chainsaw everyone else thought it to be. The hazy mist of the early Scottish morning clung to his skin, giving him the dewy appearance of having just been for a jog.
“Today’s post for ye, Miss Bryn.” He rolled the R in my name so severely, it was almost a D sound. “Seems yer a popular address this week.” He reached into his saddle bag and handed me a cluster of envelopes, each a slightly different shade of white. Eggshell, cream, beige, chalk. The federal equivalent of a rainbow.
“Thanks, Seamus.”
“Yer most welcome,” he said, tipping his hat. “Cheers!” He spun on his heel and walked away, a happy, almost cartoonish jaunt in his step. Seamus was one of those people who left emotional glitter everywhere he went.
I stayed in the doorway for a moment, breathing in the morning. It was damp outside. Rain hung heavily on the air. From where I stood, I could see Seamus disappearing slowly down the winding path to the village, bouncing like a balloon. It was a quiet morning and I found myself standing in the doorway, admiring the heather from across the fields in front of Kinloch Kirk.
I was happy to be here. Even though so much had happened in the walls of this mansion house, I couldn’t imagine living anywhere else. Not when I could still feel my sister in the halls of Kinloch. The memories of her were so thick here, oftentimes I found myself reliving them, getting lost in the moments of the past.
It wasn’t so long ago that Kinloch Kirk had burned completely down. But we’d rebuilt it, just as we’d rebuilt the Underworld league of creatures, when my sister had still been queen. But that time was long since past and Kinloch Kirk was now the home to spirits of the past. Well, and Rowan and me.
I inhaled deeply and closed the door.
I walked back toward the kitchen, absently flipping through the stack of letters Seamus had brought. Most were bills. Electricity, water, cable, one of those rustic furniture catalogues, a letter from Sinjin Sinclair…
My hand froze.
I plucked the offending envelope from the pile by its pristine white edge. The envelope was a thick, silky kind of parchment, weighty and expensive, like everything else the vampire’s vanity ever compelled him to purchase. There was a red wax seal on the back—the letters SS. Blood red. Of course.
It was addressed to Rowan.
I stared at it for a long time. The room shrank away, like the walls were afraid I was going to do something violent.
Then I shoved it into my back pocket.
No. Absolutely fucking not. He doesn’t get to do this.
I could feel the tension headache starting already, a sharp pain above my eyebrow. I took a deep breath, a couple of them.
Just... don’t think about it. Burn the letter. Throw it away. Or throw it in with all the other letters he’s sent that have gone unopened and unread.
I wasn’t sure why I hadn’t just thrown all of them out. In the beginning, all the letters came addressed to me. And I threw them into a drawer in my
bedroom, never bothering to open any of them. After Sinjin got the hint, the letters started coming addressed to Rowan—that had been for the last five years or so. He sent one every couple of months. I wondered when he would give up—if he would give up.
I made it back to the kitchen, my heart still in my throat. Even after all of these years, just seeing his name still did this to me—still caused my breath to catch and my heart to race.
“What’s burning?” I asked.
“Nothing. Here.” Rowan walked over and handed me a plate of what I could generously refer to as “tastefully charred” eggs. I looked at them and nodded, pursing my lips.
“Good job, honey.”
“Thanks.”
Hmm, the cooking problem might be genetic.
I walked over to the island to get coffee. Sometimes enough caffeine—and by “enough”, I mean “potentially lethal doses”—could make the headache go away.
“What’s this?” asked Rowan.
She picked something up off the floor. A perfectly square envelope.
Sinjin’s letter.
God fucking dammit.
Rowan turned it over in her hands. She read the front. “Oh.”
She looked at me. This was the first letter she’d ever seen from him. Usually I was better about hiding them. “Mum, what is this?”
“It’s nothing you need to worry about,” I said. I wanted to walk over and take the letter away, but I didn’t. Maybe because doing so would only make her want to read it more.
I started pouring coffee.
“It’s from dad,” she said.
I managed not to wince. “I know, honey.”
“Should I open it?”
“I… uh… I don’t think so.”
“...Why not?”
“I just… I just don’t think it’s a good idea, okay?” I snapped. I swallowed, tried again. “It’s not important. Probably just a postcard or something.”
“Mum,” Rowan started, her voice taking on a ‘be real with me’ tone.
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