Damnit! He thought, feet skidding over the pavement of the back alley, the moonlight piercing the foggy night sky and catching the dusk. Pools of water splattered the ground, gashes carved into the bricks of the buildings that surrounded them in a cage, corridors of death and blood leading to the city around.
But the sounds of honking horns, screaming drivers, and clacking of boots were lost to the large man with dark hair, a widow’s peak parting the black locks. His dark shirt was torn, gashes painting his shoulders and crimson leaking down the ridges of his back and along his chest, making him feel sticky and hot. His pants were torn in the same fashion, the leather screaming as it stretched to cover his legs, stained and cracking with dried blood. Darkly colored eyes were unseeing as he sat on his haunches, trying to feel for the other standing across from him some yards away.
A sort of power radiated from his opponent, something he had never felt before… “You must be one of her creatures,” the man spoke; his voice calm and slightly irritated. His hair was dark with silver streaks, a gaunt, paled face illuminated by a stray beam of light from the moon. Amber eyes blazed into the giant in front of him, feral and gleaming, his skin almost transparent. He was tall but not as large as the monstrous man before him.
“Who are you?” The other hissed, trying to find a current way to beat the older man. He sounded older, perhaps at the mid-point of human life, voice uncaring and calm. How could he be so? When he – although larger and possibly smarter – was so uncertain.
The amber eyed man didn’t speak, merely stepped forward, the clack of boot and the ssshhhing of the blade he had sounding over the alley way. I have to move! The larger man narrowly missed the shining sword as he jumped, back-flipping in the air to land on his toes. His hair waved to the ground, dancing between them and he felt his legs shake at the speed the elder was exhibiting. Was he faster?
He gasped for breath, feeling blood trickle once more down his shoulders and splatter the ground with crimson droplets. Feeling whoozy he dropped to a knee, feeling for the other he noted that he’d barely moved.
“Do you wish to kill me?” He growled, hearing a shift of cloth as the other turned to face him. At first, it was a slight wheezing noise and he thought the other maybe choking but slowly it grew in volume, breaking into a full blown…Laugh. Anger boiled beneath his skin – a rarity – but he couldn’t help it. Was he so arrogant?
“I’m going to kill you,” the threat came out before he could stop the words. The laughter stopped instantly.
“I’m afraid my boy,” the amber eyed man growled, his boots clacking over the pavement again, “that will not be possible.”
“Oh?” The larger questioned; eye twitching when the other said ‘boy’. And in that moment, he launched off his heels and sent a fist into the metal of a heater, steam covering them both.
“Clever boy,” he heard a whisper next to his ear, causing him to lash out, the steam burning him. The air he breathed burned as blood gushed over his abdomen, searing up his chest and stomach.
The next few moments were a blur, hot air disappearing as he was pulled away and back into the cool night air. “Bastard!” Someone cursed next to his ear, a hand gripping the front of his shirt tightly.
“Who are you?!” Another person roared to his right, the voice was familiar, angry…But he was too far gone to care.
“Well,” hissed the enemy, “isn’t this shocking, there are more of you.”
“Yes, a lot more!” Same one, he heard more footsteps to his left.
“Oh please,” the older man drawled, “don’t flatter yourselves.”
“You bastard,” the voice was getting feral, deeper…More…Animal.
A shift of clothing here, across the alley, “oh dear…I’m late. I apologize but it seems I’m late to pick up my lady. Good night…” A flash of wind blasted his features, making him close his eyes to keep them from drying.
Wrath gasped and sat up, sweat coming over his brow as he ‘looked’ around with wide eyes. “He’s awake!” Wrath turned his head sharply to the sound of Rhage’s voice, the clatter of a chair sounding in his ears as the wooden frame behind the other tipped over from his sudden movement. Footsteps came and he had learned to identify all of them, Vicious, John, and Frenzy entered, their breathing heavy as if they’d run a marathon.
“What happened,” he demanded, swinging his legs over the side of the bed he’d been placed in. He stopped short though, stinging pain searing over his chest and shoulders. They were all around him a second later, stopping him.
“The wounds won’t close,” Vicious whispered, causing Wrath to touch his form. Bandages wrapped themselves tightly around him – his shoulders, chest, and legs. Wrath gulped, disbelief rendering him silent. “There is no way that man was human…”
“I think you got him a few times at least, he had a bruise and cut on his cheek,” Frenzy grumbled, Wrath shaking his head.
“It was…I couldn’t even…Touch him,” he was still in shock, hands flexing at his sides as he felt anger and a sort of fear fill him. No, fear shouldn’t be an emotion that filled him, but something itched beneath his skin.
“No,” came a voice from the doorway, “I don’t think he would allow that,” it was a female voice and instantly Wrath snarled, along with Rhage.
“You know something don’t you! You know who that was!” Rhage ran over to her, hands clenching and teeth grit, almost spitting at her really. Wrath remained silent, head down and wondering what to do; she had done this to them many times, withheld information and he was half-way considering letting Rhage take a crack at her if it meant some answers.
“That is not for you to know,” was the calm whisper of response but Wrath took the time to note that there was slight agitation there, “I simply came to say that it best to watch yourselves till further notice.” That was all? Wrath growled, a rumble coming from deep inside his chest, his face twisting in anger.
“That’s all?! That’s all?! Who the Hell was he, why won’t my wounds close, and more importantly, what was he?!” Questions spat themselves from his mouth as he rose, the others he felt, backing away and suddenly the pain that seared up and down his spine was lessened by the anger that flared through him. Rhage even fell silent, choosing to back away at the sight of the taller and older Wrath who was slowly approaching where he felt the Scribe was.
The moments ticked by like hours and for many of them she wouldn’t speak, till finally, “you will heal…But you will do so like a normal human. The marks will scar and often times I can tell you they will burn with unbridled pain…For that is the curse he has placed on you. I don’t know what ill will he has towards any of you…But I can say this, he will pay for it.” And with that, in a blinding flash for all but him, she was gone.
Wrath reached out as if to stop her but all he got in return was air, his fist clenching he felt the cold air of the room surround him as he moved back to where he thought the bed way. The silence deafened as he felt the wall, letting the brick slide under his palm till he got to his bed, sitting down on the edge of it he took deep breaths in. He’d never snapped like that…If he had he couldn’t – wouldn’t – remember it, the fury of a moment ago making him feel almost ill. Something coiled in his stomach and wound tight around his throat, rendering him – for the moment – as mute as John.
No one spoke, moved, or even really felt anything for those long cold moments. They even stopped breathing it seemed at times, self-doubt filling them, drowning them in sorrow as they thought. “You think there are others,” Vicious spoke – the first to do so – “like him?” The question was met with more silence till Wrath took in a deep breath, letting it out threw his nostrils.
“I don’t know…But if there are, I think we have bigger problems to worry about, than the Lessers…” It was the truth, and it was terrifying, that something somewhere was stronger and more powerful than them.
“What could he have wanted,” Rhage growled, “he just attacked you out of nowhere, no motive, no nothing!” Wrath heard a rustle of fabric from his side of the room as he moved to sit back down, the screech of the wooden chair over the stone ground giving way to a creek as he sat.
“Maybe it was just for sport,” Wrath whispered, regretting it because he heard Rhage spit on the floor from across the room. He could imagine the other’s face right now, nose crinkled, eyes shooting daggers, and mouth a thin line – reminiscent to his snarl.
“Why not help us fight the Lessers instead of hunting us off?” Vicious asked and Wrath shook his head.
“What’s the point? He was so indifferent when we fought…He probably doesn’t care about anything on this planet or even himself. I’m not saying he was suicidal but…Something about him just screamed darkness…Hate…Anger…Pain,” Wrath trailed off, losing ways to describe the vibe he had gotten from the older man. From the stillness that followed, he could guess that the feelings he had were exactly alike with those of his brothers.
“So what do we do?” Rhage finally said; cutting the air with his voice as Wrath shook his head.
“I don’t know,” the honesty in his voice scared him and it must have done the same for the other’s, he was the strongest, largest…He was their King and yet he had no idea how to protect them from whoever or whatever that man was.
“We should get you home,” Vicious finally spoke, moving over to Wrath and tossing him a new shirt. It finally occurred to him that he would have to tell Beth…It wasn’t like she wasn’t going to notice that he was wearing bandages of all things. Wrath frowned deeply and shook his head, turning his head to where he expected V to be standing.
“Tell Beth I’m out of town or something…I don’t want her to see this.” He whispered and Rhage instantly stood up.
“What?!” Wrath slowly stood to this, pulling the shirt over his head, turning to face the other.
“I don’t want them to know yet…Not till we learn how to deal with this,” he nodded but felt the tension settle in on Vicious – who stood closest – and even felt John a little to his left stiffen. “Just tell her I’m away taking care of a Lesser problem,” he grumbled.
“And when you get back?” Rhage went on, “what are you going to tell her?”
“I wasn’t careful, got ambushed, and they threw salt on me,” Wrath shot back, his brow furrowing as he grew agitated with his brother’s tone. He could tell that none of them liked it and liked it a lot less that they were going to have to lie to Beth of all people. Normally, they shared everything but he felt something creep over his spine that something was about to go awry…He couldn’t let her get hurt and what if that man was tracking him? He couldn’t risk it.
“Get going,” he growled, listening to their footsteps as the slowly left the room, Rhage being the last to leave.
“I hope you know what you’re doing,” Rhage snarled as he slipped out, slamming the door behind himself. Wrath stood there, alone, before falling on his back into the bed as a wave of pain ran up and down his spine. Hissing, he curled his hands along the side of the bed, hearing the thread splitting as he tore the linens in between his knuckles. Everything felt like it was on fire, blades stabbing themselves between his shoulder blades and down his back, and like his head was being bludgeoned. After what felt like an eternity of excruciating pains, they resided and he was left panting, sweaty and tired in the bed.
“The marks will scar and often times I can tell you they will burn with unbridled pain…For that is the curse he has placed on you.” Wrath hissed when the cool air touched his skin, seeming to fuel the fire with pangs every now and again up and down his back.
“I will not let you win, you bastard!” Wrath roared to the unseen figure who had loomed over him in the alley, who had tried to take his life it seemed…The man with amber eyes.
Two Months Later…
Rhage opened up the door and proceeded inside, the light filtering through the stained glass a few feet higher on the wall in the shapes of ovals. Golden and white tiles wove themselves together in intricate patterns as the blue, red, and green of the glass above spanned the floor over them, making them shine in all new hues. Warm air touched his face, a powerful contrast compared to the icy city air outside and the smell of dust filled his nostrils as he closed the door behind him with a snap. The quiet rustle of paper sounded every now and again from some tables on the other side of the room as the clack of his boots sounded over the tiles.
Bookshelves spanned the entire large room, spiral staircases on either side leading up to the second floor where even more precious leather bound and paperback books resided. Looking around he grumbled, rubbing the back of his neck with his hand in shame at forgetting which book John had asked him to get. The whole incident had taken place a few hours ago when the young vampire – the mute kid – had run up to him with a piece of paper saying it would help them find out about the guy that attacked Wrath. Yeah, right.
Why did I even agree to this?! Rhage thought as he lazily paced the aisles in a grumpy sort of fit. When Rhage reached the other side of the library and still had not found the book he hissed through his teeth and hurried walked up the stairs, wondering if it was up there instead. Reaching the top, he looked around, his locks flying over his face as he turned his head to see pictures. No, the upstairs was some sort of gallery, paintings from the 17, 18, and 19th centuries all around.
Giving an exasperated sigh of irritation he turned his head all around to see people, pacing around and paying great attention to each painting. Turning around to head back downstairs something caught his eye…At first, he thought it was nothing, just another old painting but casting his head back for even a brief second brought clarity. Quickly, he moved over to the canvas, standing right in front of it with wide eyes.
No…It – It couldn’t be! But there it was, on the wall right before him – staring – back at him were a pair of golden, amber eyes. They seemed to follow him as he tilted his head, scrutinizing him and making something prickle beneath his skin, crawl up his spine and infect him with the need to turn away. The foreign feeling was unwelcome and Rhage tried to shake it off but it wouldn’t leave, it lingered and poisoned him with the want to run, the absolute need to turn away from those dark and foreboding eyes.
His hand clenched at his side, his nails biting into the skin of his palm in an attempt to steady his own nerves. The man in the painting seemed to grin maliciously at his pain, at his naiveté in the field of his own emotions as that one that made his skin itch took hold and he turned his eyes away from those amber ones, choosing to study his adversary more intently. The amber-eyed man was tall, with black hair and silver rivulets running through it, his suit black in color with white gloves to match his paled skin.
The backdrop was of a grand room, the man sitting in a chair, the moon framed in the backdrop by two windows and a fire burning in a hearth. Something…Almost evil radiated from the very painting itself and Rhage wondered how the artist had managed to stay in the same room as the twisted character portrayed in it sat there with that grin.
“Wow,” someone said behind him, making him turn rapidly to face the voice’s master, “you must be one of the few people who can look at this painting without flinching.” It was a woman, mid-thirties probably with dark skin and a wide smile. She was rounded – kind of chunky really – with red lips and green irises; her voice was nice and slightly joking, mirrored by the lightness in her aura. With a light blue button up and down shirt and a navy blue skirt she looked the professional, along with her platinum gold name tag.
“Oh, I’m one of the guides here, my name is Mattie Ross,” she extended her hand and Rhage shook it, glad that the man in the paintings powerful presence waned in the face of the kinder woman. “I see you’ve taken an interest in Seymour here,” Mattie said, pointing to the sparing man in the picture.
“Seymour?” Rhage questioned and she nodded slowly, ruby lips pursed as she darted her emerald eyes from him back to the painting.
“Seymour was the Count of Ark, we aren’t sure what date the painting is from due to the fact that Seymour doesn’t show up much…But he has a very interesting back story.” Mattie went on, nodding some.
“What can you tell me about him?” Rhage whispered, as if someone would hear them and Mattie went on.
“I know a few tid bits and facts that I could tell you about but if you wanted the full run of the mill story, you would have to hear from one of the girls who comes to the library on occasion. She’s a high school student who knows a lot about him,” Mattie went on.
“Can you tell me what you know and when the girl comes in?” Rhage asked, trying not to sound too urgent, which seemed to work as Mattie nodded and pulled out a schedule.
“She comes in tomorrow at three to talk about him,” she said, “now…The brief history on our man Seymour here is that there are only four paintings of him in existence. Little is known about his personal life other than the fact that he had a wife named Lillian and she loved to paint…Which is probably the reason the four paintings even exist.” Mattie gave a short laugh, “it was said that he scared all the other artists away who came to make pictures of him. The only reason they wanted to do so though was because of his eyes, look at the color.”
“I noticed,” Rhage grumbled, “like looking into the eyes of a wolf…”
“Yeah, that’s why many people find it hard to look at the whole thing,” Mattie said, shaking her head and giving a shiver. “Makes me feel scared just looking at him; some people say that they literally want to run in fear when they see this thing, we’ve actually had people take one look at him and then leave the library.” Rhage nodded and Mattie went on, “there aren’t very many records of his wife either…You think him being a Count he would get around a lot but there are virtually no records. Some historians even wonder if he really existed.”
Mattie sighed and turned to him, “it’s been nice meeting you, if that’s all I can do you for then I’m going to go pick up my group.”
Rhage nodded in thanks, taking her hand when she offered it before she bustled over to a large group across the gallery. Looking back at the painting he glanced at those eyes…They seemed to bore into his, burning a hole to his very core and he turned away again, heading back down the stairs. The whole way out…He could have sworn he heard laughing in the back of his mind…
Rhage stepped inside the dark room, feeling around the wall to try and find his bearings. “Wrath,” He hissed into the gloom, “Wrath?!” There was no answer for a long moment before he heard a shift and then the squeak of protest the mattress gave. “What happened?”
“What is it?” He heard the other vampire growl, deep in the dark recesses of the room as he stood in the doorway.
“I called you twice to tell you that I got a lead!” Rhage growled back, listening for a moment he heard the clack of boots and felt Wrath right next to him less than a second later, slamming the door and shoving him deeper into the room.
“What the Hell Wrath?!” Rhage roared but was stopped when he was shoved against the wall, a hand against his throat, and he could feel Wrath’s face close to his because he could feel the other’s cold breath wash over his features. It shocked his system to where he froze, never had Wrath shoved him into a wall and gripped him like he was now, literally almost throttling him.
“What did you find out?” Wrath whispered harshly, as if he were afraid someone might here and Rhage felt his shock wash away just enough to grip the larger man’s arm.
“Just that are new friend is definitely not human, I saw a painting of him in the library that is at least two or three hundred years old.” Rhage choked out, feeling Wrath’s grip loosen considerably as he released him and he knew that the other was really on edge just by the sound of his voice. Wrath sounded horse, and his wrist had felt smaller, not as meaty as he remembered so he stayed calm…Wrath was not himself.
“What else?” Wrath asked, pacing around the room and Rhage knew that he better feed his curiosity.
“Just that his name is ‘Seymour’, he had a wife named Lillian and is barely seen throughout history but it was him…Those eyes…Once you see them, you never forget.” Rhage said, Wrath stopping in his pacing.
“Anything else?” Wrath whispered again and Rhage shook his head.
“Nope but someone is going to the gallery at the library tomorrow that knows a lot more on him, probably give us some more to go on,” Rhage said, “at three o’clock sharp the girl is coming in.”
“We need to be there then,” Wrath said and Rhage heard him move around the room, the shift of cloth as he pulled his shirt on and then the rustle of his leather jacket. He moved for the door and Rhage followed, when suddenly there was a loud thud and a hiss as Wrath fell on the ground.
“Wrath?!” Rhage yelled, feeling around for him and finding his hand which gripped his forearm and pulled him down to the ground. Despite having not fed in at least two months and being blind, Wrath still had the crushing power of an alligator’s bite, his grip grinding Rhage’s bones together to the point where he growled in pain. “What’s wrong with you?!” Rhage roared, his eyes adjusting enough to where he could see the twist of Wrath’s face in the dark at the sheer amount of pain that was going up and down his spine.
And just like that it was over, his grip slackening on Rhage’s wrist as he gasped for air, chest heaving in the darkness. “What just happened?” He snapped, rubbing his raw wrist as he sat there on his knees next to Wrath, “tell me!”
“The curse,” Wrath managed to hiss, body shaking in the aftermath of the excruciation he had endured.
“It hurts that much?” Rhage asked, wide-eyed as he stared at the outline of the fallen king.
“Yes,” the other gasped through grit teeth, lying there for a moment longer he gripped the wall, hoisting himself up fast enough that the world spun. Rhage stood quickly, gripping Wrath’s arm and pulling him to his feet with help from the wall as Wrath stood on shaky legs. “Not a word to the others,” Wrath said, “about any of this.”
Rhage nodded, realizing that such a weakness is not something that Wrath would ever want seen…By anyone. “You need to feed, we have to go back to your place, so you can tell Beth your bullshit story and she’ll let you drink.” Wrath nodded, letting Rhage guide him through the corridors and back into the light of the sinking sun…
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