In celebration of my 25,000 words to my newest novel in a whopping six days, I've decided to share a few excerpts with you guys here on the Vine.
THIS STORY IS RATED M
The story is a vampire novel called Family of Blood, yet it has a twist, shown in the excerpts, that sets it apart from other vampire books. The story revolves around Arthur Cavendish, a newly turned vampire, and his blood brother, the one that turned him into a vampire: Alistair Serpentine, and a civil war among the vampire underground.
I'm only posting fragmented excerpts, so if you're confused about anything, let me know and I can clarify
Please enjoy these excerpts
and keep in mind it's still in the rough draft stage.
FAMILY OF BLOOD: Chapter One, A MAN OF REPUTE, sub chapter two:
Margot Pierre was a beautiful woman with the prettiest of faces. Her hair was dark and looked as though it were woven from silk. Her face alone could bring many a man to their knees. She had a great body, and she knew it. Several times a police officer would catch her patrolling the streets of the small neighborhood of Harz Village, Germany. Ironically enough, it was Margot who was often seen leaving the houses of the very same officers later that night with sufficient payment. She was a woman who knew how to use her looks to her advantage. On one particular night, Margot had received a customer who was a man of repute throughout Harz.
Alistair Serpentine was a doctor in Harz Village who made quite a sum of money, so much so that he had made the more money than anyone else in Harz Village the month prior, doing odds jobs as well as receiving large amounts of money in exchange for his services. (though in all fairness, in Harz Village it did not take much for any amount of money to be considered "quite a sum).Not only did he make more money than most men in the town, but he was also devilishly handsome. He had blonde hair that reached his neck, and his face was ruggedly handsome. He was a great man in stature, towering over all the women at six-foot-two. His long slender body was muscular from what could only be described as some sort of rigorous exercise, though many had no idea where a doctor might exercise in such extremes. If a man such as Alistair Serpentine were to pick her out of a crowd, she simply couldn't say no.
Margot removed her stockings, gently sliding them off her legs. "I don't get it, Alistair." Margot called from a back room, "You pay me in advance, bring me back to your place, and now you don't want your money's worth?"
"Shut up, whore," Alistair called back to her from his armchair, which was placed beside his bed, "You'll do whatever I pay you to do. You women want your equality around here, well madam, you picked a wonderful profession to pursue it."
Margot rushed into Alistair's bedroom, dressed only panties. Her brow furrowed at Alistair's comment, and she said to him, "I have a name, you know."
"A name that is of little concern to me," dismissed Alistair with a wave of his hand, and he did not bother to look at her. "I paid for your services, not your name."
Margot gave a sigh of defeat, and mumbled "Fair enough." and then she spoke a little louder, "If you don't want sex, then what is it you want?"
At this, Alistair rose from his seat and turned to face Margot. Step by step he inched his way toward her. "I want something greater," he said, "Far greater."
Margot countered Alistair's gradual steps, slowly inching her way back. His smile set her off; made her uneasy. "What...what do you want?" she mumbled. Within an instant, her back landed against the wall, and still Alistair inched forward.
"What do I want?" Alistair parroted, "I want my money's worth." he said, and the next moment, he outstretched his jaw, revealing fangs two razor sharp fangs on his top and bottom rows of teeth. He lunged for Margot, who dove to the ground to avoid his onslaught. To her surprise, he had caught her forearm in an iron grip before she managed to hit the ground. "Relax," Alistair said, "Relax and be proud, Margot Pierre, for you're the cheapest meal I can get in this town." His hand moved from her forearm to her neck.
Margot tried to show as little emotion as possible, but now she could not repress a whimper. "Please!" she cried, "I don't want to die!"
"Neither do I," Alistair said in a level voice, "I haven't had a meal in little over a month, so you cannot imagine how hungry I am. It seems we've reached a stalemate. I can let you live, and I shall die, or I can kill you, and you shall die. The answer seems clear to me. Who is in control of this situation?"
Margot did not answer, but felt his icy cold hand relax and tighten its grip on her neck, and another whimper escaped her lips.
"Oh, please don't stop at a whimper," Alistair said, and with a thrust of his arm he threw Margot against the wall and in the few moments it took Margot to recover, Alistair was upon her. He smiled and licked his lips with pleasure. He crouched down to be at eye level with Margot, who did not dare move, and licked her neck slowly, relishing and savoring the shiver she gave him. "I want to hear you scream."
And scream Margot did. Her cry of terror rang through all of Harz Village as Alistair bore his teeth through her flesh, he tore through her veins and his feat began. Her scream carried on, but grew quieter and quieter as Alistair's feast continued. Slowly Margot withered away, until she was nothing but a dried up husk of her former self.
Alistair rose to his feet and entered the back room and reached for her purse. "I expect a full refund," he called back to Margot's corpse, and in the next second, he had extracted the money she had given him mere hours beforehand.
Alistair slept soundly that night, dreaming happy dreams.
Ironically, his first thought was 'am I dead?' Even he, with what little knowledge of vampires he possessed, knew the answer.
He was not dead, but nor was he alive. He walked and moved and spoke like a human, and yet he could not feel his own heartbeat, and he could not breathe, despite his best efforts.
Slowly, so as to take in his surroundings, he entered his home.
The sight was all too gruesome.
Scattered about the floor were bodies, all sucked dry. They resembled corpses, shriveled up things that made passing resemblance to something once human. Arthur could not identify which of the twenty-plus bodies he saw immediately after stepping through the door was his father.
He moved from one room to the next, and in each room, there was at least one body. Occasionally, he would spot a bit of fresh blood, and he would feel a tingling sensation at the sight of it. Almost like the sight of blood gave him a feeling of perverse pleasure. He longed to touch it. Each pool he saw enhanced his desires further, and yet he still fought the urge. He knew not what the urge called him to do; he knew only that he must fight it.
Arthur saved his father's room for last, but when the time came, he found himself staring at the door to his father's bedroom. For seven minutes he stood, staring into space while trying to muster up the courage to open the door. At last he gripped the handle and allowed it to open slowly.
The room was torn apart, and in some way, he was comforted by the fact that his father put up a fight. He scanned the room for his father, and found no trace of him immediately. He found shards of glass broken by the window sill. A chair torn to pieces. Arthur could only assume his father had tried to fashion a stake. Dried blood filled the room, and Arthur felt a sense of relief that none of it was fresh.
He turned round the bed to see his father. He sat in a sitting position, his back against the wall, and he stared into empty space. By the looks of it, Alistair had not consumed him. He had killed him slowly and painfully. He looked over the body and found several punctures in his father's flesh. Several bones stuck out from his body, and his face was covered in two inch lacerations.
Before Arthur could finish his inspection of the body, he felt a strange presence, like a cold chill down his spine. He knew at once what it was, almost as if by instinct.
Arthur heard Alistair's voice from behind him, his words hissed like a snake and made the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. "Don't worry, I may have drunk a fair amount of your blood, but I left juuust enough to keep you alive."
"Why didn't you just KILL ME?" Arthur roared, rising to face Alistair.
"You showed honor," Alistair said, his tone emotionless and flat. "Your father had none, which was why I didn't feast on him. I did not wish to taint my blood with something like that." Alistair said, indicating to Jonathan's body.
Before Arthur could process his thoughts, he was across the room and had thrown three blows at Alistair, none of which landed. The fourth was intercepted by Alistair, who seized Arthur's arm at the elbow and twisted it, sending him crashing to the ground.
"I wouldn't do that if I were you." Alistair cautioned. "It's only your first day as a vampire. I doubt you'd be skilled enough to fight one of seven centuries."
Arthur brought himself to his feet, muttering to Alistair "Don't speak to me that way about my father."
"I'll speak to you however I please." Alistair returned with a look that almost begged Arthur to attack him again, "You can believe what you want about your father, but I maintain his destiny was fate."
"You never answered my question," Arthur said, circling Alistair, surveying him. Alistair stood tall and proud, uncaring of what Arthur was doing. "Why didn't you just kill me?"
"I told you," Alistair said, "You showed honor. You showed me valor."
"TO HELL WITH HONOR! WHY DIDN'T YOU DO IT?"
"I met you, and I expected to hate you," Alistair said with a sigh, "But you proved me wrong. You're a thinker, Arthur. You're honest, and above all, you are unafraid to speak your mind. I’d hate to kill a man like you, and believe me, it was either kill you, or turn you into...well...this."
"And what is...this?"
"A vampire," Alistair answered, Arthur tried to speak, but Alistair cut him off before he had the chance to utter a word, "Now before you start asking questions about what a vampire is—please do me a favor and keep your mouth shut. You'll discover this on your own. You have eternity ahead of you, brother. Sure, there are myths like garlic and sunlight. Some are true, some aren't. You should be able to stay alive if you listen to your instincts, Arthur. Listen to your subconscious thoughts, your body's reaction to your situation. Follow them, and you'll know what you can transcend, and what you can never do."
"Brother?" asked Arthur, "Why did you call me 'brother'?"
A sly, ever-knowing smile spread across Alistair's lips. "Did I really forget to mention?" Alistair asked, taking on a tone of sarcasm, "Silly me—since I turned you into a vampire, we are, in fact, blood brothers. We're related now, you and I."
"Uh huh," said Arthur, "Now what is that supposed to mean? Does this mean I have to be some sort of sidekick to you? Does this mean I can't hurt you or kill you?"
"Quite the contrary," Alistair rebuked, "You can kill me any time you like."
"Something tells me there's a catch," Arthur said through a clenched jaw.
"There is, my brother, there is." Alistair stopped for a moment to laugh at Arthur's twitch before he stopped himself from attacking, "Yes, you can kill me, but if you do, there will be consequences...grave consequences brought on by creatures more powerful than even I."
Arthur paused for a moment before he spoke again, and asked skeptically, "What kind of consequences would that be?"
"I think I should leave you two alone and Alistair said no more, but gave him a salute, and in the blink of an eye he was gone.
"Alistair?" Arthur called to him, "ALISTAIR?"
Arthur moved over to his father's corpse, and took his hand. He felt no warmth from either of them, nor did he feel cold. There was no sense of touch in his father's hand. "I'm sorry," Arthur whispered to his father, and choked on a few tears, "I'm sorry I did this to you. I'm sorry..." his voice trailed off, and he let go of his father's hand. For a moment he stared into his father's unseeing, unblinking eyes, but then turned away.
"I have become a monster."
FAMILY OF BLOOD: Chapter Two, THE BLESSING OF A CURSE, sub chapter one:
It would be three months before anyone would ever hear of what would later be dubbed "THE CAVENDISH MASSACRE". Three months passed. Three months of solitude for Arthur Cavendish. Three months alone, with nobody to talk to. Three months of watching the bodies of his victims wither away. Those three months served as his first glimpse into hell.
After three months of sending letters to the Cavendish household without an expected response, police Chief William Hook decided to set off for the house to check in with Cavendish. It was mid-December and he had been feeling nervous about his fate when none of his letters had returned. Hook was a friend to the Cavendish family for several years. As such, the lack of communication disturbed him.
He approached the Cavendish household in the dead of night on horseback. He dismounted swiftly and felt the midnight air gently caressing his skin, giving him goose bumps. He shivered involuntarily and tied his horse up before approaching the doorway. It was strangely rotted, and the black paint was chipped in several places. Nevertheless, he extended his cane and knocked thrice upon the door. "Jonathan, my friend?" he called into the house, "I do not mean to disturb you at such a late hour, but I have traveled for a week to see you." Hook said.
He was met only by silence.
"Jonathan..." he called out with morbid curiosity, and he knocked thrice more.
Go away, a voice hissed. It had an acidic tone to it, and did not resemble anything human. I'm warning you now, the voice continued, leave me be.
Upon hearing the voice, Hook stumbled back in shock and lost his footing on the stairs. His back pounded against the solid ground below him and he let out a moan.
Frantically, he looked around, but saw nothing human in his line of sight. No figure off in the distance, indeed he saw nothing. "A clever prank," Hook grumbled to himself, and he picked himself up from the ground and tried the handle. Unlocked, he stepped inside.
The Cavendish house was surprisingly empty. "Jonathan," Hook hollered again, "It's your old friend, William Hook." Hook squinted his eyes to try to see past the darkness and began to fumble around, feeling familiar pieces of furniture to navigate. At last he came across a menorah. After sifting through his pockets for a few minutes, he managed to light it, and he used it to light the way.
As he continued through the house, his curiosity turned to apprehension, and apprehension to fear, as he found more and more piles of dust. The farther into the house he went, the less scattered they were, and the more piled up they became, and within an hour, he had reached Cavendish's dining hall.
LEAVE! cried the disembodied voice again, and this time Hook nearly had a heart attack, for the voice carried a rage and ferocity the likes of which he had never heard before.
What followed was silence. Ear-ringing, maddening silence. Hook stood still for a moment and scanned the area. It was strangely different from the rest of the house. The tables were neat and polished, and with the exception of the piles of dust, everything looked neat and orderly. Hook swallowed his fear and brought his courage forward in the form of a step forward.
The second Hook's foot touched the ground, the voice spoke again, this time softer, calmer. I can feel my goodness leaving me after every kill, it said, I tried to warn you, but you are now in my sight. Know this, William, if you continue your presence in this house, I will not be responsible for what comes next.
Hook took a second step to match his first, and was startled by the scampering of feet.
"Don't worry, it's just a mouse. You won't be able to hear me should I not wish to be heard." said the voice. This time William Hook heard it distinctly. Whoever was talking to him was in the room, and he had a body to match his voice. "You shouldn't have come here," the voice said, "I tried to warn you, but now that I can see you, I'm done with warnings. You should have listened to me.
Hook's heart beat like a war drum in his chest, pounding heavier and heavier with each passing second. He did not more, and scarcely breathed, for his fear had reached its peak. Hook heard another sound, this time from behind him. Footsteps, slowly moving toward him. He whirled around in a flash and shone the light in the direction of the footsteps. Hook saw a single foot before it retreated back into the darkness, letting out a bone-chilling hiss.
"You must know one thing," the voice said, "I was not responsible for the death of my father, Jonathan."
Hook felt an unseen force wrench the menorah from his hand, and it fell to the ground in tiny silver shards. "Who are you? Where are you?" Hook called into the darkness, and he turned around to search for the source of the force, but the darkness trapped him, limited him. The voice let out a mocking laugh.
"It's funny, isn't it?" the voice said, "Darkness. Many think of it as a trap. We can't see...it limits us...well, I can't speak for myself, but it limits mortals."
Hook barely had time to process the next turn of events. The owner of the voice had seized him by the throat and hoisted him high into the air, and with a crash, they broke through the ceiling, sending bits of wood crashing to the floor.
In the moonlight, hook could see another face clearly. It was that of Arthur Cavendish, who looked deathly pale. He wore a black fur coat that matched his hair color and dangled below his feet. His hand was cold. So much so that Hook feared he might freeze to from his very touch. Arthur smiled, exposing a blood-stained set of fangs. "You're my father's friend, aren't you?" he said
Hook had no words, but nodded his head frantically.
Arthur spoke no words for several minutes, but seemed to look him over, as if pondering what to do with him. At last he opened his mouth and moved for his neck. Hook made a brief, succinct scream, and Arthur froze. "No..." he said, "You're right."
Hook's brow furrowed. He had not said a word, but he managed to squeal the brief phrase, "Yes…..I am...aren't I?"
Arthur looked down to the dining hall below. "It's a great fall, is it not, William?" he pondered aloud.
"Don't kill me," Hook pleaded, and a rush of anxiety surged through him.
"Oh, I wouldn't do that, William," Arthur said with a click of his tongue, "You're far more of a use to me alive." he loosened his grip and Hook let out an involuntary whimper. "Don't worry," Arthur reassured Hook, "The fall won't kill you, but if I were you I'd leave this place as fast as I can before this thing here gets hungry. You don't want to kill the son of your friend, do you? Let somebody else take care of that."
Hook's eyes bulged when he came to the sudden realization. "Arthur?"
Hook plummeted back to the dining hall, and for three minutes, he lied there, moaning in pain, before finally mustering the strength to rise to his feet. He ran. William Hook ran through the Cavendish house and did not stop for anything. He untied his horse and rode off into the night. William Hook did not stop. He did not look back into the forest. He rode on until he had reached his home safely.
FAMILY OF BLOOD: Chapter Three, THE NEW WORLD, sub chapter four (this is what sets it apart from other vampire novels)
Arthur awoke at dawn, and stayed away from the hole in the roof he had made earlier. He sat by a table and rummaged through Joseph's things. He found nothing, yet kept sifting through his belongings. His anger built up, tension, and slowly but surely, his memories of the previous night returned.
He stood up abruptly and threw the bag across the tavern, shouting "DAMN ME!" he stood for several moment in anger, then his head felt heavy and he collapsed to the chair.
"You judge yourself too harshly." a disembodied voice said. It was a woman's voice, and Arthur looked about the tavern, yet found not a soul, "You have merely done what every vampire does. The only reason you killed so many was because you had suppressed the urge for so long. How long has it been? Seven months? Embrace your vampirism, Arthur," said the woman's voice, "Embrace it and accept it."
"Why should I speak to a woman who refuses to show herself?" he asked with a snort, whisking away her words with a wave of his hand. Arthur had just completed the sentence when he saw across from himself was a beautiful, radiant woman with short red hair. She wore a white dress and smiled at him. "Better?"
"Who are you?" Arthur snapped.
"I am your mother," she said in a voice that was like honey, "I am the vampire before all vampires. I was the first, and I will be the last. I am the Queen of the Dead. Call me Juliet." she extended her hand across the table, and Arthur took it. Were he any other man, he would distrust this strange woman immediately, yet Alistair's words from seven months ago kick in. 'Follow your instincts.' Arthur had a gut feeling this woman had told no lies and that she meant him no harm. "Alistair has told me much about you, Mr. Cavendish."
"Has he now?" Arthur asked, "What has he said?"
"You have been one of us for seven months. According to him you are....promising."
Arthur's eyebrow shot up. "That's the last thing I'd have expected to hear."
"And yet he said it."
There was half a second of silence before Arthur spoke again. "Why are you here, Juliet?"
Juliet did not cease her smiling, but tilted her head to the side only slightly. Arthur shifted in his seat when he noticed the innocence on her face. "Have we finished exchanging pleasantries already?" she questioned. This time, her voice was bore a peculiar sweetness, yet Arthur sensed a farce to her tone. He found it not so much sweet, but shallow. Arthur shifted further and drummed his fingers on the table while pondering how to respond.
"I'd expect a visit from a Queen of vampires to be...important."
"Did I not also say I am your mother?" Juliet asked. Arthur did not respond, so she continued. The empty, hollow smile on Juliet's face vanished swiftly, and her voice was somber now, "You have upset the Web."
"The Web?" Arthur echoed, "What the hell is the Web?"
Without missing a beat, Juliet answered, "The Web is the unseen force--the tether that connects all of us. All vampires are bound by the Web--all of us connected. Last night I sensed something had upset the Web, and my search led me to you."
"What did I do?" Arthur asked.
Juliet responded with a simple word: "Joseph."
Arthur did not respond for several moments, and buried his face in his hand. "Christ." he muttered, to which Juliet let out a slight hiss, "What happened?"
"You are familiar with the term 'blood brother', I take it?"
"That is the source of the web. We are bound as brother and sister. You had killed Alistair's blood brother, and so part of the Web collapsed."
"Uh-huh," said Arthur, "What happens if this goes unchecked?"
"It's a chain reaction," said Juliet, "One of Joseph's blood brothers will come for you and kill you to avenge his death--there is honor in being a blood brother. You will learn this in time.. A vampire killing another vampire never ends well. Vengeance after vengeance will be had, and eventually it will boil down to blood brother against blood brother."
"What happens if a blood brother kills his kin?" Arthur asked.
At this, Juliet returned to an empty smile, and in a surprisingly uplifting voice, she said "The Web collapses and we all die."
Arthur grimaced as if he had eaten something sour, and asked "How do I fix it?"
"You must make peace with Joseph's blood brothers."
"I see," replied Arthur, "How do I do that? How many blood brothers does he have?"
"I know not," Juliet said, "He went off the radar several hundred years ago. Last I checked there were seven."
"Seven," Arthur said with a shrug, "Sounds doable. So how do I make peace with them?"
"That's up to you." Juliet said simply, and without another word, she disappeared in the blink of an eye.
Arthur sat in silence for a while, and clawed at the table. His mind raced through his options, sifting through them like grains of sand. In a moment, it hit him, the gravity of the situation he had created.
"The Web collapses and we all die..."
FAMILY OF BLOOD: Chapter Four, NINE YEARS LATER, sub chapter one:
Alistair ran inside his home moments before dawn hit and shut the door behind him just as the sun was rising. He crouched over and put his hands on his knees and for several minutes he waited for his wounds to heal. Slowly his bruises turned from purple to red to yellow and faded. His cuts scabbed up and sealed over, within minutes he was back to full strength.
Alistair looked about the room for anything uncanny. The past nine years had taken its toll on him. Life hadn't been easy, especially after he had grown weary on the fourth of May. For the past nine years May 5th, nineteen sixty four had been ever growing in infamy throughout the entirety of the vampire community. It was the first time in many of their memories that a vampire had killed another vampire. None of them knew what the onslaught of weakness that had lasted for several hours had meant, but when it was over, all of them soon knew the truth.
The Web had been broken.
Alistair, of course, was a prime target for the blood brothers of Joseph. After the fourth of May, Arthur had gone underground, lost without a trace, as if he had never existed, and so Joseph's kin settled for the next best thing: Arthur's maker.
Alistair had several companions, of course. Fellow kinsmen he could count on to aid him, but many, many more remained torn. The Web had grown extensive after its thousands of years of creation, and many opted out of the struggle, for it meant making enemies with their own kin. Alistair could not argue with this, for he wanted the Web broken just as much as they did.
After Joseph's kin had attacked him for the first time, scant days after the fourth of May, Alistair moved to a castle in the midst of France. He fed on the landlords and everyone in the castle, and there he would remain for nine years.
Alistair looked about his castle, scanning the entry room for any signs someone might have been there or that someone had raided his castle. He tried to catch a scent.
As luck would have it, he did. Immediately in front of him, standing at the top of a small staircase covered in red carpet was a man, his back turned to Alistair, and he stared at something on the mantelpiece. He wore an expensive suit with a clean-pressed overcoat and a top hat. His gloved fingers gently caressed a blood red gem, and at his feet was a man near-death.
"I know, I know," said the man, "I haven't quite mastered the whole invisibility trick quite yet."
"I know that scent." Alistair said, and his eyes lit up. "It's you, isn't it?"
Arthur turned around, revealing himself to Alistair, and he raised a wine glass filled with red liquid to Alistair "You were right, brother. You were always right," Arthur said, and a malicious grin found itself spreading across his face. "It's only been nine years, but blood has taken everything from me. I have so little empathy left, and soon it will be gone completely." Arthur drained the glass of its contents, savoring the salty taste of the blood, he smiled, exposing his blood-stained teeth, "All that matters is the blood now. That's all I need. That's the only way I can feel happy—content. Kill and wash the troubles away, kill and be free." Arthur kicked the man at his feet and the man stifled a moan. "Would you like some?" Arthur asked Alistair, and he indicated to the man on the floor, "He's only just alive. I hope you don't mind I borrowed your wine glass."
Alistair had not the words to respond, but nodded at Arthur's most gracious offer, and Arthur bent over the man and put his wrist to his mouth and sucked a mouthful of blood, released his hold, and spat it into the wine glass. Alistair made his way across the room and Arthur handed it to him, and he then licked the spilt blood off of the man's arm, and closed his eyes and sighed.
"You've changed," Alistair finally managed to speak.
Arthur looked up from his meal and said "I have, haven't I?" he said, "Oh, Alistair, if you only knew what I've been through."
Alistair let out a bestial growl, and in response Arthur drained his meal of his contents and rose to his feet. Upon reception of Arthur's questioning glance, he muttered "If only you knew what you've put me through."
"Put you through?" Arthur echoed, "What the hell is that supposed to mean?"
"Joseph's blood brothers have been on my track for nine years, Arthur!" said Alistair, "They've nearly killed me twice now!"
"He only has seven," Arthur returned, "God knows how many you have."
"Yes," Alistair growled, "I know he has seven. I'm one of them, but they've also branched out and turned other mortals into vampires, and since there's no direct connection linking me to them now that Joseph's gone, they've decided their vengeance will be complete if they kill me—since you abandoned me."
"I did nothing of the sort!" Arthur growled, "I've been running from them—fighting them the same nine years, Alistair. What would you have me do?"
"You could have come to me?"
"BULLSHIT!" Arthur thrust a gloved fist against the wall, leaving a large, gaping hole in his wake, "When I killed Joseph I had still retained some of my humanity. I never sought you out because I hated you. I hated everything you represented. You were what I never wanted to become, a remorseless killer who drank the blood of whoever got in his way and then left their bodies to rot in a ditch. I didn't want that. I rejected you as a kin, and I hated you!"
Alistair remained unphased by Arthur's verbal assault, and he crossed his arms and kept his face expressionless. "And now?" he asked, "What do you think of me now?"
"Now?" Arthur said, and he laughed, and again he turned his back to him. "Now I finally see it. We are creatures beyond good and evil, you and me. We were born--no--we were reborn with the need to kill our 'fellow man' to survive. I was mistaken in seeing this as a curse. I have been given a gift, and I should treat it as such. Whatever, or whoever created us--they did it with divine purpose. Death does not pick and choose who lives and who dies based on the weight of their sins and the quality of their character. Death does not give, it takes what it wants, leaving a scourge in its wake. Death is godless, and kills with no mercy...just like us. Just like death, we take what we want, damn all consequences to Hell, Alistair. What I didn't see nine years ago was that this does not make us evil, nor does it make us righteous. We are beyond simple blacks and whites--beyond good and evil. This is what I never understood. We are gods in our own right--immortal, taking and doing as we please, and anyone who stands in our way will be dealt with."
"You finally see it now," Alistair said, backing away, as if the magnitude of his words was encompassing the room itself, "And that's why you came back."
Arthur nodded, and in a fraction of a second, Arthur felt Alistair strike him across the jaw, which sent him crashing to the floor. "That, my brother, was for leaving. I waited nine years for that." Alistair said, and extended his hand and helped him to his feet. "Now that I've gotten that out of my system, please, tell me about the nine years you've been through." he led Alistair to his dining room and the two sat down.
"You're still going to help me?" Arthur asked.
"There is honor among blood brothers," Alistair said, "It's time you learned that."
FAMILY OF BLOOD: Chapter Five, DEATH, sub chapter two (I actually had to take a break I was so disturbed when I wrote this scene)
Arthur and Alistair ran through the night, sneaking through cover of darkness. The two ran at unnatural speeds. "Where are we going?" Arthur whispered to Alistair.
"Away," Alistair said, "It is not safe to continue to stay at that castle."
"And what of Jacob Gray, Alistair?"
"We will find him in time." All at once, Alistair came to a halt, his heels ground into the dirt, kicking up dust and he stopped. Arthur stopped four feet short of him and looked at him staring at the horizon.
"What is it?" he asked, "What's wrong?"
"The sun is rising," Alistair said, and he scanned the immediate area, "We must hide—quickly!"
"Do I detect a hint of fear?" Arthur jeered.
"NOW IS NOT THE TIME! WE MUST BE OFF!" roared Alistair, and in an instant he had seized Arthur by his collar and ran.
Instinctively, Arthur followed. Adrenalin surged through him, and he almost thought he could feel his heart beating. He smiled at the thought. The two struggled to outrun the sun's gaze. Needles stuck Arthur's side, yet he pushed harder.
They ran for what seemed like years, yet within minutes they were on the outskirts of the city. The two stood on the edge of a hilltop overlooking a small farm. It had a peaceful looked to it. In the center of the farm was a farmhouse, and to the far left was a barn and silo. Arthur put a hand to his ear and listened. He heard several distinct heartbeats. Two of them human, many bore the heavy drum-like beat of a cow, and a few more carried the heartbeat of horses.
Birds carried their song through the, which filled Arthur with a loathing he hadn't expected to feel. The whole scene before him. The peace—the tranquility of it all, the smell of fresh dew in the air. It was all so serene, so peaceful, as if God himself were blessing the area from the heavens above.
He had never hated anything so much in his life.
Alistair and Arthur looked to each other, then back to the barn.
"There may be people inside," Arthur cautioned.
"All the better," said Alistair, "More food for us."
"We can't just—.”
"We can do anything we want, but right now we haven't the time to discuss this," Alistair hissed, pointing towards the oncoming sun. Alistair made a mad dash for the farmhouse.
Arthur let out an involuntary hiss at the sight of the sun and followed Alistair to the farmhouse.
Alistair was six paces into the farmhouse when Arthur caught up with him, and the two heard a woman's voice. "Father," the woman said, "Father, is that you? I thought you went out hunting."
Arthur tried to speak, but Alistair silenced him with a wave of his hand. "Let her speak. These are her last moments."
"I didn't expect you home to early, Father," she said, "When you said you'd be hunting for a few days I expected you'd be out for a few days, not, well, three hours."
The woman stepped out of a bedroom doorway to see the two. She looked about fourteen, and she was barely dressed and dripping with water. By the looks of it, Arthur surmised that she had just bathed. Upon seeing the two vampires the woman turned a ghostly pale on sight. Alistair, meanwhile, allowed a cruel smile to cross his lips at the sight of her. "A virgin," he said, inching towards her, "It's been a long time since I've tasted virgin blood."
"Alistair, NO!" Arthur said.
Alistair moved toward the girl, who let out a shrill scream. He caught her jaw and forced her to look at him. "Look at my eyes, girl." she struggled against his cold touch, "LOOK AT ME!" he said.
The girl let out a whimper which Alistair took delight over.
"Tell me, girl, what's your name?"
"M-M-Mar-Margaret." she said between sobs. Again she tried to look away, and Alistair pulled her even closer. Close enough that she could taste the death on his lips.
"Margaret," he said, "You are a beautiful girl, you know that?" Still she struggled. "Don't be shy, little girl, it will all be over in a moment."
"N-n-no." Margaret stuttered. Her voice was hardly above a whimper, and at last she struck the crook of Alistair's elbow. He released his grip and Margaret dashed to Arthur. Alistair swept the girl's feet out from under her with a swipe of his leg, and she fell into Arthur's arms. "Pleeeaaasee." she slurred, "Don't let him k-k-kill me. I don't want to die."
Arthur tried to speak, and he made several incoherent noises, but could not say a word.
Alistair heaved an angry sigh and started for the girl. "He won't help you, Margaret!" Alistair shouted, "He's just like me! You'll be receiving no assistance."
Arthur stared into Margaret's eyes. 'help me,' they pleaded, 'save me, please.'
Alistair caught her by her long black hair and pulled her close. He licked from her shoulder to her neck and then planted a light kiss on her neck, to which she shuddered. "Pleeeaaasseee." she begged, "Don't let him do this."
At last Arthur spoke up, "Alistair," he said, "Enough! You have been fed less than an hour ago. Leave her be. She won't speak of this to anyone," he turned to Margaret, "will you?"
Still Alistair did not release his grip. "Arthur, Arthur," he said, "You wish to save this girl? I thought you were above such minor trivialities." Margaret tried to speak, to which Alistair violently shook her. "SHUT UP," he shouted, "You'll speak when spoken to!" he again turned his attention to Arthur. "Was it not you that was telling me that we were above good and evil? We are gods, are we not? It matters not if I feed or kill her, yet if I feed, at last she's served her purposed to a superior being!"
"Alistair...enough!" Arthur growled.
"I guess nine years isn't enough to make you a true vampire, is it, my friend?" Alistair tugged on Margaret's hair, which sending sprawling back against a nearby table. Alistair was upon her momentarily, and forced her head against the table. "Don't worry," Alistair said to Margaret, "This will hurt, but not too much."
Arthur looked on as Alistair drove his fangs into the woman's neck. He saw her eyes...those pleading eyes fixated upon him as all the color was drained from her body and she began to shrivel up. All the while she stared at him with her eyes. Her pleading eyes.
'Help me...help me.'
FAMILY OF BLOOD: Chapter Six: PEACE, sub chapter one:
A week had passed since Alistair's breakdown, and he hadn't said a word since. He had simply apologized to Arthur, and sat huddled in a corner for the week.
After the week had passed, Arthur could bear it no longer. He approached Alistair and put a hand on his shoulder. He spoke only three words.
"I forgive you."
Alistair looked up at him, but said not a word. He smirked at Arthur, who extended his hand to help him up. The two shared a brief hug. Still neither spoke a word to the other. Arthur turned to the window and opened the curtain for a second to see night had fallen. Crickets’ chirruped continuously, and Arthur looked to Alistair and nodded. Alistair made his way for the door. He looked back to Arthur, who was lost in thought.
After a few seconds of staring into space, Arthur caught his look and held up a finger. He would need only a moment, and Alistair would not need to see what he was going to do.
Alistair flew off into the night, and Arthur turned to the table on which Margaret had been killed. His turned a long, pointed nail to the table and began to carve. Her father had not returned, and would likely not return for a while, and Arthur, remembering the fear in her eyes, carved two words into the table.
AND THERE YOU HAVE IT. THE PRIMEPOWER53 MASTERPOST.
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