Black Dagger, Meet Seymour...(Part II)

The ride back to his home took several hours, leaving him passing in and out through the journey as Rhage drove. Every now and again he woke when they went over a speed bump or down a hill, so the churn of gravel as they pulled into the yard made him awaken. As he stepped out he was greeted to cool air and the familiar smell of home, something he had learned to miss while in his small stone prison. “I have to go tell the guys, I’ll see ya,” Rhage said, making Wrath nod as he slammed the door and started walking.

The gravel churned once more as he felt a furry body press into the front of his legs, smiling slightly he reached down and touched the warm coat of George. The dog barked happily, tail wagging – Wrath knew – as it bumped against his shin. He walked according to the dog, making his way inside to more scents that he knew all too well, from Beth’s lingering perfume to the burning fireplace…And something else. He couldn’t really distinguish the scent but it was both old and new…

Wrath turned his head to the sound of his wife laughing a few rooms in, walking quickly to the drawing room. When he entered her laughter stopped, even though he longed to hear it and wondered if he should have stayed outside the door to listen but didn’t dwell on it as she rushed over to him. “Are you alright?” She sounded bewildered and concerned, running her hands over his face and shoulders, down his chest, feeling him. He had lost weight and no doubt he knew there had to be bags of sleep deprivation below his eyes and he was probably pale even by vampire standards.

“I’m fine,” he tried to assure her but the words sounded half-hearted even to him.

“Is your husband ill, dear Beth?” A voice asked from the other side of the room, followed by the churn of leather as the owner stood and Wrath froze. The prickling sensation returned below his skin and he felt his fists clenched at his sides when the clipped tone filled his ears. Tempered and slightly bored his speech alone would have given him away…But there it was; the man who had tried to kill him – Seymour – was in his house…With his wife…

“He certainly looks it,” Beth whispered, “Would you leave us alone a moment Seymour?” She was asking him like she would a friend or a brother, not like the bastard, the monster he really was.

“Of course my dear,” and with those final words Wrath heard the clack of his boots over the wooden floors. As he passed him, their shoulders touched and goose bumps rose over his skin, pain searing over the wounds on his shoulders, and it took all his might, willpower, and Beth not to make him spin around and grab the monster walking right by him.

“What happened to you?” Beth pressed, hands resting on his chest and he clenched his jaw, feeling Seymour’s presence only two rooms over. The man absolutely radiated some sort of malevolence and it was almost nauseating for Wrath to stand in the same room with him but…Something was reserved about him, his full power seeming to be put on hold the whole time.

“I fought Lessers – too many,” he murmured, Seymour’s presence making his head spin slightly, making it hard for him to stand as it felt like white hot metal was being dragged over his shoulders and down the contours of his back, “I got weakened in the fight and they rubbed salt in my wounds. I’m still…” Wrath paused for breath, breathing deeply through his nose to regain himself, “I’m still in the process of healing.”

He felt Beth’s hands run up to his neck, feeling the tendons but he took her fingers away, feeling like they were prying into his very being and kissed her knuckles. He knew by now that she was smiling sadly and would want a more detailed story later but for now it seemed - she suspected nothing - he wanted to keep it that way. “I’m sorry, I’ll ask Seymour to come back in, I want you to meet him so much. He’s provided great company.” She said, and he could tell now that a slightly less distressing smile had filled her features as she walked past him and into the hall.

“Seymour,” she called and Wrath felt himself quake every time she spoke that deplorable name in her delicate voice, “Seymour.” Beth yelled again and this time the man appeared, Wrath’s body tensing as tremors overtook his arms, the hair on them standing on end as the scent filled his nostrils. He smelled of blood, a woodsy after scent reminding Wrath of cologne but the metallic scent was still there, overpowering the sweet spice of his usual odor.

But what really made Wrath ill was the fact that no matter how much keener his hearing had gotten as of late…Seymour’s footsteps could not be heard, it was like trying to listen to air really. Nothing happened, nothing came, everything was so disgustingly silent and Wrath knew in that moment…He was out of his league. This man – this thing, being, creature – whatever he was, was so powerful that he engulfed entire places in shadows, made fear where none was to be found, brought out the worst in people and Wrath felt his skin prickle violently when his hand touched his shoulder.

And icy throb enveloped the place where long, powerful fingers gripped him, his whole arm going numb, the feeling flowering up his neck as he felt Seymour lean in closer, “are you…Feeling alright?” He could almost hear the grin curling the monster’s features as he turned his head to where he thought Seymour’s might be; nodding solemnly as the elder man smirked. “Than by all means, sit, talk with Beth and me.”

Wrath stalked into the room, George leading him to a warm chair where he sat, gulping as he felt that beast’s presence move across the room. Beth came and sat beside him, right into the embrace of his left arm as Seymour sat across from them, making himself comfortable. “What is it you do for a living Wrath?” Seymour asked, and Wrath could feel him looking at his face, examining and peeling away his layers, finding his faults and using them against him with just a single stare.

“I help people,” Wrath stated simply, leaving it very vague and he could tell that Seymour was probably giving a faint smile at this point, his eyes probably gleaming in that dark way that was his own.

Seymour was indeed grinning, his amber eyes seeming to flicker in the golden-red light of the fireplace behind him, the shadows playing off the walls and he thought – rather maliciously – of the scare Beth would receive if she looked over her shoulder. His darkness curled on the wall of velvet behind, revealing more of him than he would like and he clucked his tongue lightly, as if in an easing gesture to the vampire king.

“Ah, I see,” he whispered faintly, “what a noble art,” and with that, Wrath felt fingers of pain work up and over his shoulders, infecting his system and making his arms tense and vibrate on the upholstery. “You must regale me with a story sometime,” Seymour grinned, the door in the foyer speaking loudly even in the Drawing Room, knock, knock, knock. The amber eyed man looked over his shoulder towards the door, chuckling, “it appears we have guests though…Fancy that.”

“It must be the others,” Beth said, standing and making her way out, Seymour following close behind her. Wrath was not able to hear him but just feeling that presence follow his wife made him stand and follow them out into the main room, where Beth opened the door to Rhage – who stepped in without a word, Vicious – following close behind, John who held Xheh, Marissa and Butch holding hands, also stepping inside without words.

Everyone came in, exchanging few words before Rhage turned and saw…Him. He was leaning against the stairwell, his amber eyes uninterestedly watching them and dark hair pulled back in a weak bow. Wrath was behind him, looking solemn and at the ground, fists clenched at his sides as Seymour smiled at them, “I didn’t know so many people lived in here, but, I’m sure you just forgot to mention it, dear Beth.”

Rhage stared, wide-eyed at him, his whole face falling in shock as Beth held up a hand, as if displaying the elder man. “Oh, everyone, this is Seymour, he comes from England for a visit,” she stated, unaware of Rhage’s face.

The whole air grew tense for the men in the room, their fists clenching and eyes widening on the grinning wolf at the base of their stairs. Their forms trembled, control slipping but they all stopped…Wrath’s face making them pause in their uncontrolled fury. His own features were contorted into a snarl, his eyes flashing with more anger than they thought was possible for him to contain…And it was directed at them.

If they moved against this visitor, they would be shot down by him in an instant, the reason among them…Standing around the elder gentleman and asking him who he was, his charming, sharp toothed grin blinking at them in a mocking fashion, daring them to move.

“Perhaps ladies,” Seymour spoke in a clipped tone, “we should relocate to the Drawing room?” He gestured and let them pass him, along with the men in the foyer, Wrath at the head and as he was about to follow a strong hand clapped down on his shoulder, causing him to turn slightly.

“I’m going to kill you,” a voice breathed in a hissing snarl next to his ear, “I don’t know what you’ve done to Beth, you bastard. But you’re going to pay for it.” He moved ahead of Seymour but was stopped when the elder man placed his own hand upon Rhage’s shoulder, stopping him dead and jerking roughly. Rhage was shocked when he was flung hard against the wall, his back smashing into it, his skin searing as Seymour roughly twisted the cloth of his shirt with his nails, digging the points into the muscle there.

Rhage was faced with two flaming golden eyes, they were narrowed into slits but slowly relaxed, Seymour’s face and grip loosening as he smiled at the vampire. Smiled! He released Rhage and walked down the hallway, leaving a very stunned and unhappy vampire in his wake as he made his way into the dimly lit drawing room, where everyone was already seated.

John held Xheh close, as if fearing she would slip away, Butch and Wrath doing the same to Marissa and Beth, while Vicious sat in a lone chair, eyes narrowing dangerously on the older man. “Why so sullen friends,” Seymour asked, clapping his hands together and amber eyes glinting in the fire light, “is this not a joyous time? I hear that Wrath has been away for a very long time…” He turned to the Vampire King, whose grip tightened on the upholstery of the couch as white hot pain shot up his torso and shoulders, the veins in his neck bulging.

Seymour sat near the fireplace, tempting more than one of the men into running towards him and shoving him into the flames. Rhage took a seat next to Vicious; both of their eyes planted firmly on their ‘guest’ who smiled at them kindly, but his eyes told a different story. “Tell me, dear ladies,” Seymour said, “have you ever been to Budapest?”

“I’ve seen pictures of it,” Marissa spoke, “I think it’s quiet beautiful.” She was looking at Seymour oddly, her eyes focused rather intently on him and he smiled at her, more like a malicious grin but it seemed that was as close as the elder gentleman got to kindness.

And that’s how it started, Seymour regaled them with a tale of his time there, the history he had learned, and the people he had met. But when Seymour described the country’s history he spoke as if he had been there, saying ‘we’ in some places and ‘I’ even, making some of the men raise their brows and Wrath was reminded that this man was not human. He was a monster.

The pain that the Vampire King felt was excruciating, like the beast speaking was clawing at his back, raking his sharp teeth into his neck and onto his shoulders, or slashing away bits of his skin like he had before with his sword. Every time Seymour would emphasize something the pain would surge, making Wrath black out sometimes or see things behind his lids that wasn’t really there.

But that was only half the anguish and Wrath felt himself coming under one of the other effects this fiend seemed to have at his disposal. Illusions…And it was during these little transactions that he was able to see the monster in all his glory…

Short #15: The Prison

“If you stand in the darkness too long it will eat you alive,” said the cat in a mischievous tone, echoing in the corridor of glass and mirror. Bounding to her in a single leap the singing voice spoke in upturned glee as she rounded another corner and stared at yet another icy pane. The walls all around were of glass and mirror, the glass letting one see through to the end but the mirrors telling lies of direction and place. The ice encrusted the stone of the floor and the lies all around, the world shaded in shadow and that eerie glowing blue.

“You would know wouldn’t you?” The dark haired girl asked, shooting a glare over her shoulder to the amber eyes, glimmering pools of disgust in the shadows, which swirled and spiraled in a dance to reach around in the mist that pooled the floor now.

“Don’t hate me because I’m right.” He hissed hatefully, even though his eyes never narrowed and his toothy smile had yet to wane, “I’m only making polite conversation,” he whispered, his breath sending the mist away before it returned.

Turning her gaze back to the pane before her; she stood for a moment and felt the cat creep up behind her. His shadowy body misty in the bleak blue light that filtered about. “Making haste does not but waste more time…” She said in a low monotone, her arms bear to the freezing temperature but she did not shiver and her pale face reflected the light around her as she lifted a hand to test her new path.

Nothing came as she pressed her hand to what she had assumed would be another pane and she stepped forward slowly. Thunk, thunk, thunk; heavy black boots came down on the floor, leaving the sound to rebound over the walls, who reflected all they saw. “You know the rules,” she grumbled and the cat hissed with his grown smile.

“I was there when they were made!” His tail of wispy black thrashed in irritation but soon melted back into a gentle rhythm. “Hurry or not, you won’t last long.” And with that he melted back to the cornered shadows, with big angry and appalled irises and that grin of filed teeth.

The girl made another turn and almost hit a piece of glass that blocked the way, followed by a wheezy and dry laugh. “Wong way again my dear, don’t be fooled by the fool.”

“Why do you always smile?” The girl asked; her face a mask and her voice never wavering. Her stride stopped as she turned back to him, her sudden movement sending the mist at her ankles spiraling away. Caught off guard by her sudden question the cat grumbled in response and simply sent his tail swishing in a more erratic pattern.

“Why do you care?”

“I don’t,” she replied simply, folding her arms, “I’m just curious.” Both of them knew the saying that went with such a statement but neither spoke it for irony did little for them in this place.

“A curse,” a simple response for a simple question the cat supposed, trying to evade the obvious. The girl’s eyes became half lidded at his response and she nodded, unfolding her arms and starting to walk again. “You’re getting nowhere,” the cat spoke but the girl still did not stop in her stride and his irritation seemed to return. “Why don’t you just give up?”

“Why did you?” She asked and once again she stopped in the doorway to another hallway. The cat stopped behind her, rising on a dark cloud to be level with her.

“What are you talking about?” He snapped but there was a quiver in his voice as she once again turned to him.

“I’m not cold or tired, hungry or even scared here,” she whispered and the cat’s toothy grin seemed to almost grow but his eyes remained steady in their hatred. “I’ve been here before…But many of the foot prints in these hallways were not made by my boots and seem encrusted in the frost from long points of standing.”

The cat turned upside down by this point, his smile turning to a frown. “What’s your point?”

“I also noticed,” she continued as if he had never interrupted, “that your paws have touched these passage ways more than once…More than just you and I over these years have passed through this place.” The girl leaned in closer, “you said if I stood in the darkness long enough it would eat me alive…”

She stepped closer to him; pushing her finger through his shadowy body and feeling a sort of cold over take her limb. “You were cursed to stay here, cursed to live in total silence and to smile and bear your pain. Whatever did you do?”

His body turned once more to where his smile returned with his hateful eyes and he spoke, “they put me here because I stood up for them! Now I must walk the labyrinth and escape but I’ve been here so long and stared forever at the end…I got tired of it. There is the end right there,” he motioned to a pane reflected off a mirror that depicted a field of green, “but I can never reach it and I’ve stepped every hallway in here.”

“That’s easy,” the girl said, “this isn’t a labyrinth. It’s a prison. Your prison, a punishment for betraying them, and everything you once stood for. That ‘end’ is just a false hope so when you finally did figure it out you’d destroy yourself.”

The cat stared in horror, the realization finally coming to him. “You’ve brought people here in hopes of finding an ending but you’ve only withdrawn deeper into yourself. The darkness hasn’t eaten me because it’s the end for me. Not you.”

She stepped through him and he dropped to the floor, into the mist. Howling in anguish he ran down to the end of the hallway, the reflected glass cracking as he rammed his smile straight into it. The glass screamed in protest, the ice raining down in crystals as he sat there, dazed. “Perhaps I was wrong,” the cat stopped and jumped, spiraling and collapsing on the ground as he heard the resounding voice of his last ‘helper’, “don’t be fooled by the fool.”

The cat turned to look at the hallway and noted with shocked hope that…His paws were the first to touch the ground…

Short #14: Welcome

“What is your favorite color Mr. Barnes?” The man asked with a clip board in his hand and a pen in the other, the dark navy of the metal glinting in the pale azure coming from the gloomy sky outside.

The room was large, the back wall dedicated to bookshelves with floor to ceiling windows on the right one, and the left wall had a counter with a coffee machine on it. A dark mahogany desk sat in front of the bookshelves with office supplies neatly placed on its surface, while a leather wing back sat in front of it. A clock ticked above the door at the head of the room, simple and plain. The room itself was rather warm, unlike the blistering cold displayed past the panes of glass, depicting a bustling city of sky scrapers.

“Beg pardon?” Mathew Barnes asked, his emerald irises blinking rapidly as he watched his – he hoped – soon to be employer who had been asking him a range of questions. He combed a hand through his chestnut brown lock, the curls having started falling over his forehead and face. Mathew felt self-conscious of his semi-bad complexion again when the man turned his glinting blue eyes upon him, smiling in that soft way that made him ill.

His employer – the man sitting across from him in that leather wing-back chair – had sapphire eyes with a pale film over them, resembling that of a crow. His hair was blonde, coming to his shoulders in waves, while his fair face made Mathew feel even smaller. He was so beautiful that it was almost agonizing to even look at him let alone directly in the eye so every time he looked at Mathew the young man would shyly look at the ground. But there was something…Wrong with him. The perfect flawlessness wasn’t fake, it was so real that it was like a picture, too perfect in detail to seem real but it was…

“I just asked you what your favorite color was, there’s no harm in that.” He said, tilting his head, trying to get Mathew’s attention, smiling in that dazzling way. That voice! It was a siren, a temptation that was sewing discord threw Mathew’s mind. The man could probably ask him to jump off a building and he would do it!

“Blue,” he said, going back to fidgeting as the man nodded, still smiling.

“Blue it is,” he said, that pen tapping the surface of the clipboard. Mathew turned slightly to look at the clock on the wall, the rustle of fabric sounding as he turned to look.

“Is that clock – “

“Yes, it’s correct,” the man said without even looking up from his clip board. Mathew sat quietly, his grey woolen suit itching against the skin of his arm, so he fumbled with clammy hands, scratching the dead skin there. He thought – for a moment – he saw a look of disgust on the man’s face and stopped doing it immediately, choosing to just rub his palms together.

“Mathew, do you have any past job experience besides…This place that you can tell us? He asked, pausing briefly while he looked back up at the young man.

“You mean Burger King?” Mathew asked; brows furrowed as the man’s mouth twitched at the corner.

“Yes…That place.” Mathew shrugged, shaking his head and looking at the floor as those blue eyes looked at him again.

“Not…Really,” he said, hearing the quiet tap of a pen on paper. Not knowing what else to say the man flipped a page and chuckled.

“What is it?” Mathew asked, watching him as he let go of the page, putting his pen down on the desk.

“Nothing,” he said, looking almost…Happy. Mathew felt something cold grip his chest, his heart rate rising for no reason that he could see. He looked around, coughing slightly as the room’s temperature seemed to keep dropping, darkness pouring from nooks and crannies of the room.

“Tell me Mathew…What is your greatest fear,” his voice had dropped a few octaves, a dark husky undertone seeming to take over his throat.

“W – What?”

“Just, please, answer the question,” he said, smiling again and Mathew mumbled something. “Beg your pardon?”

“Well…I’ve never…I’ve always been kinda afraid of heights,” Mathew admitted, his employer tilting his head.

“Oh? That’s odd.”

“Are you not…Afraid of heights?” Mathew asked, crossing his arms and rubbing the itchy jacket against his skin. The room was freezing now and he swore he could see his breath coming in cloudy wisps before his face.

The man burst out laughing as if it were the most absurd thing he’d ever heard, a wheezing sound leaving him as he coughed, gasping as that sound left his mouth. His head fell down on the desk, blonde locks scattered about as he hiccupped and Mathew watched, his own breath becoming deep and fast as that sound made him want to cry. He wanted to run in fear and crawl into some small place and hide.

“Sir?! Sir!?” The man placed his hands on the desk, still sitting in his chair, and elbows in the air as Mathew heard a loud and horrible crack. The sound stopped, the body before him motionless Mathew stood up slowly and backed up till he hit the door. “Sir?” Slowly, the body moved, falling to the ground and Mathew heard a splashing sound as he did so.

“Someone…Anyone…Let me out!” He tried to scream but it came out as a whisper as he pushed his back against the door, sliding down it to shiver helplessly on the ground as the sound of something breaking sounded behind the desk. It came again, louder this time and kept going, crack, crack, snap, ssshhhh, and then it was silent. “Someone…Help me,” he whispered, his tears freezing before they hit the ground, eyes wide and bloodshot as he watched blood fan out around the room.

It didn’t pool like normal blood, instead it flowed around with a lulling hiss, like snakes were gliding around looking for food. The crimson vat moved around, spiraling in disarray and when it touched him it instantly returned to the desk, gone in a blink. Mathew shivered, curled up in the fetal position as an angry growl echoed around the room, the whole room vibrating from horror, the desk giving a cry of protest as something smashed onto its surface.

Mathew saw it…And was horrified by it. A large, coal colored hand with black talons was lying on the surface of the desk. Slowly, something rose from behind it, and all Mathew could do was watch, watch as that monster came into sight.

No words could describe what he saw; the walking monstrosity that made him wet himself. The beast’s face warped with disgust, as he walked over to the young man. “Welcome,” he hissed, stepping over to him, causing the young man’s heart to rattle against his ribs, “welcome to the afterlife.” And with that…His heart exploded.

Black Dagger, meet Seymour...

I've recently been reading up on a series called the Black Dagger Brotherhood and thought of a confrontion between the characters from the novel and Seymour, I don't normally do such a thing but this one is a special occasion, enjoy.

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 19^th 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…

The Fairy (part III)

“Not a very natural feeling for me,” the man in the chair whispered, rubbing the stubble on his chin, “that dull ache in the chest.” He sighed and leaned back against the wooden frame now supporting him, “shall I continue? It’s not as if you’re going anywhere and I feel like sharing the revelry of a good story,” sharp canines exposed themselves here as the man grinned.

The bound body on the ground did not move; a wheezing sound emitted only from their mouth as they breathed through their bloody cracked lips. The man’s grin faded quickly though and he stood, moving to the side of the room he picked up a dark cane, the metal of the pole dented in some areas, bloody itself from…Use. “Hmm…” The man spoke, running his fingers along it, all the way up to the shadowed head at the top.

“I think the next time we spoke…Was a week later.”

                                                        

A thunder came, a sound that resonated, clop, clop, clop, along with the heavy panting of a dark beast, mane moving in the wind as a flurry of dirt spiraled in the air after its quick departure, blazing by under hoof. A figure rode the steed, covered in black, bent slightly at the neck of the animal he was riding, silver and dark locks coiling in the wind which rushed by his pale face, amber eyes piercing the rays of sunlight that split the canopy above.

White clouds, grey at the edges, floated by in the sky, gloomy trees waving their long branches in the silence. The breath of beast and man flourished in front of their faces, gone the second it spun before them as they sped down the road.  The sun was barely peeking out, its golden face shrouded by the gloom that filtered through the air, marking fall.

The road kept going for another few moments, the rider finally pulling on the reins of his steed, whose hooves skid in the dirt, leaving a thick trail of overturned mud – moistened from the passing rain of the night.

The road kept going for another few moments, the rider finally pulling on the reins of his steed, whose hooves skid in the dirt, leaving a thick trail of overturned mud – moistened from the passing rain of the night. The man riding the horse looked around with steeled eyes, amber reflecting like a pool of frozen copper. Seymour. The dawn was bleak and that was the way he liked it, able to ride in frigid air before returning home but he paused here at the end of his journey.

Dismounting his steed in a rustle of fabric he threw the reins over the branches of a nearby tree, his boots smashing into the damp earth. Seymour removed his cloak, throwing it over his horse and resting his top hat there as well. He moved to the side of the road, stepping down from its side he found a small path worn into the land from past travel and he recalled more than once a time that he had trudged this trail. Every stride was careful, the mud making wet squishing sounds beneath his feet and he stopped when the silence of a draft drifted by, the trees shivering, causing a gentle clatter to wave through his ears.

 He resumed his walk once more, with more haste this time to the sound of a running brook. Seymour came to a small ravine, water running over the stones of a long spanning creek, trees lining it’s bank, bare to the world with no leaves, their grey, lifeless bodies stretching their branches to the sky. He listened to the running of the water, a feeling of serenity coming from this place but also…The undeniable sense of sorrow and loss. He touched the cool bark of the tree next to him, amber eyes scanning the path ahead warily. Finding nothing wrong he stepped away, treading along the bank, arms slack at his sides as he walked.

A feeling of déjà vu seemed to course through him now, eyes tracing the gloom ahead as his breath ran over his features, curling in front of his face and losing itself to the wind that came. The trees shimmered in the breeze once more, the occasional clack piercing the air as pebbles slid out of place beneath him. The chill that followed the breeze did not deter him…If anything; it solidified his resolve to see his destination.

Carefully he stepped from the water, onto the opposing wall of the ravine and made his way up the other side. Mud slushed once more under his feet but instead of worrying over his shoes he simply tightened his gloves and pushed some debris that hung from the trees above away. Dead branches hung down here, blocking passage through this place, their dead bone like fingers hanging down to block the way but Seymour merely snapped them, smashed them with a powerful fist. Seymour stopped when he was immersed in them, a few yards into the thicket he could just see the first bit of a clearing.

He turned his head, checking behind himself before turning his amber eyes back to the challenge ahead. He lifted his hand, touching his fingers to a dead branch that was as white as snow, breaking it he watched crimson rivulets run down his hand, a series of caws piercing the air as black birds split for the sky. Seymour turned his head to the sky, narrowing his amber eyes on the scavengers above he slowly returned his cruel irises to the branch, removing his hand from it he pushed past and into the clearing.

A hiss filled the air as he entered, his eyes scanning the forest floor for signs of life and found none. Leaves of gold, brown, and red scattered the floor, the trees above making a canopy with their dead limbs, blocking most of the light of the ashen sun above but every now and again a powerful beam of silver would touch the forest floor.

Seymour turned his eyes toward a dark colored archway, directly across from him, shaped like that of a door. Darkness spread beyond it, the edges rough and gashes painted into the doorway, looking like swirling runes. He crossed the clearing slowly, every step a soft crunch drifted through the air and as he neared the tunnel he could hear the subtle whistle of wind flowing through it. Seymour moved forward, his gaunt face solemn as he entered, cold embracing any who would dare follow him. But this was not the frigid cold of the season, no; it was the bitter taste of death and sorrow that followed him now.

The soft clack of his heel against the smooth freezing stone beneath his feet was like the beat of death, the drum of one’s heart struck as he stepped down. Golden light peeked from somewhere beyond and he continued, heedless of the sound of his steps, as the crackle of a flame filled his ear. The flame gave a snap as he removed it from the holder, a small ember landing at his feet, the golden red blinking in the lack of light, quickly crushed under his boot as he moved down the tunnel once more.

“Master, Master, are you alright?” The shivering voice of a maid asked, her eyes wide and hands folded in front of her but she seemed to be cringing. The study remained unchanged; the cackle of the fire in the hearth filling Seymour’s ear as he was pulled from his memories, beams of moonlight spanning the floor and over the room. His amber eyes narrowed as he raised them to meet the scared irises of the maid. She was a tiny thing, shorter than Lillian but a bit wider with brown hair he was sure and the biggest brown eyes he had ever seen.

“Who told you to come in and disturb me?” Seymour growled furiously, eyes hardening and the callous undertone of his voice was not lost either. The maid gulped, sweat peppering her brow as she turned her gaze quickly to the floor, eyes wide with fear as she heard him stand in a rustle of fabric and the screech of protest his chair gave over the wood floor. Seymour moved to her side slowly, stalking around her like a wolf would, his hands folded behind his back as he stopped behind her.

Seymour turned to where he was facing her back, his head coming down so he could rest his chin on her shoulder. “You’re shivering,” he observed in a husky voice, “are you ill?” The maid was shaking, hiccups almost wracking her and she could feel tears touch along the bottom lid of her eye.

“N – No Master,” she whispered in a raspy voice and Seymour’s face turned into a snarl.

“Stop that!” And she gulped, trying to swallow her cries as he pulled back, standing behind her he growled till she stopped but her shaking did not. “Go back to the kitchens,” he hissed harshly and she nodded, almost running from the room, not looking at him as he heard her start to sob as she closed the door. Seymour rolled his eyes and sighed loudly, going back to his chair and looking at what was before him…The letter.

He ran a hand through his hair, freeing it from the bow in the back, locks of black and silver falling to cup his face and fall over his forehead. Seymour grabbed the ribbon and threw it on his desk casually, jaw setting as he stared at his handwriting on the page.

Dear Lillian,

I am sorry to say but because I am so busy as of late I think it best we stop meeting. My time is precious and I’m afraid that I will be spending too much time out of the country for the next few months to even be of use through letters which will unfortunately be lost to me. I’m sorry to have to tell you this way but, again, I am rather busy.

~ Count Seymour of Arc

Seymour growled and tore it in his hands, sighing and frowning deeply at the thought of writing another letter. It had taken him so long to even get that one out. But he wanted to write it, he felt the indefinite need to explain it to her even though he had no real reason to. He had made no promise, no vow to stay and give any regard to her…But that was the coward’s way out. Seymour leaned back in his chair, knitting his fingers together over his stomach, and staring at the tattered remnants of the letter.

“Sir,” a small voice asked, the oak door at the head of the room gave a moan as it was opened and Seymour almost didn’t even hear her. “Something…Something just came in for you.” Her eyes were on the ground – one of the more experienced ones – taking her paces, eyes on the ground, and hand outstretched quickly to give him the letter when she neared.

“Thank you,” Seymour snapped, snatching the letter from her hand, no once of thankfulness in his voice. He ripped it open, without even seeing who it was from, and unfolded it with nimble fingers, boredom on his face. Eyes tracing the page his brow furrowed and he leaned forward his chair, suddenly holding the letter in both his hands.

“When was this written?” He snapped, the gravely tone in his voice making the girl shiver.

“It’s on the letter sir,” she said in that small voice that was hers and he seized it from his desk quickly, trying to see what he had so blindly dismissed. Turning his eyes from letter to envelope he ran a hand through his hair, standing and pacing around his desk. Seymour put his right index finger in his mouth and bit down, amber eyes wide.

“Why are you still here?!” He snapped, turning on the maid who almost whimpered.

“You – You have –“

“Dismissed,” Seymour roared, “get out!” And she scurried from the room like a frightened mouse, a clammy hand slipping on the door knob a few times before she jerked it open, and slammed the door behind herself. He didn’t even watch her go, throwing the letter and envelope down he ran to his desk and threw the books on the surface to the floor with a wave of his arm, papers splitting away and plummeting to the ground. The lamp split on the ground, the flame dying out quickly with a hiss, glass shattering and Seymour roared again in anger.

“Fools, desolate, monkey brained,” more words spewed from his mouth, lewd in a language not known to the world. More vulgar words left him as he lifted his desk over his head, the mahogany only able to creek in protest and then screech in pain as he threw it onto the balcony. The chair was thrown, smashing into the railing, the leather splitting, the whole thing broken in pieces as Seymour growled.

His dark and silver hair whirled over his features, covering his face in a veil as he raised his hand and covered one half of his face, bending over he stared at the ground, panting. The room was in shambles, the only thing unharmed were the bookshelves on the walls, the fireplace, and the carpet. Seymour turned on his heel, falling to his knees to stare into the eyes of the black wolf in the scene below, hands planted on either side of the wolf’s head.

“No…I will not let her become stained by the darkness there…Or anywhere. I will protect her,” he hissed, the dark promise spinning between him and the desolate irises that matched his. On all fours, there in that moment, he felt something press down on his shoulders and immediately he stood, snapping off the ground. “Don’t think to console me,” he spat to the room, the fire giving a snap, flames rumbling for a moment before calming,

Eyes darting from side to side he turned in an angry flare for the door, hair lashing across his face again as his boots thumped over the carpet, the door to the study slamming behind him loudly…