Realistic or Modern Vampire For Lives [GetThree x Lenaara]

[GetThree]

‘Flectere si nequeo superos, acheronta movebo.’
If I cannot bend heaven’s will, I shall move hell.​

A hand reached out into his field of vision and slammed the book shut. Adrian blinked and looked up questioningly at the culprit, namely Astrid, his younger sister. She gave him just as wordless a reply, seemingly determined to keep up her silent streak, jerking her head at the car window. The sharp increase in number of fancy cars decorating the street from minutes ago told him they were nearing the Avenia Hotel, their destination of the night.

“You can just tell me we’re almost there, you know?” Adrian drawled as he placed his book away. Astrid completely ignored him.

“Come on, Mi’er,” he provoked lightly, knowing well how she disliked that nickname. Well, it was more so their grand aunt who gave it to her that she hated but still. Unfortunately, even that failed to rouse any response from the stubborn teen. He quirked a brow, swallowing his mirth at her behaviour lest it furthered her grudge against him.

She hadn’t been speaking to him since last week after his reveal of her secret boyfriend landed her in deep water. It had been an honest mistake on his part, a slip of the tongue, though she was convinced otherwise. If it were the first time she played this cold-shoulder card, perhaps, he might have been worried. Now, he was used to it. She’d give it up, eventually, then go right back to being the clingy brat he knew her as.

The car pulled into the driveway just a few seconds after, revealing familiar sights to him; the valet with a forced smile, the carpeted entrance, the glistening foyer. The hotel itself was foreign to him, however, just as this city was. Odd, he thought, that his parents would go out of their way to attend this particular event. They had been rather excited about meeting someone or other that was meant to show up here. A voice nagged inside him that something was off. It felt almost like they were being lured here. He ignored that ridiculous thought.

Stepping out, he could spot his parents speaking with some other couple a distance away. Letting Astrid hook her arm with his, purely by habit at this point, he headed to them. It didn’t matter why they were attending this gala. It would be like all the others, anyway.

+++

“Why is Lawson trying to kill you with his look?” Nathan asked him, laughter in his voice, hiding his lips with a wine glass. They were standing at the now isolated drinks table, having gotten through the initial greetings, observing the hall as he often liked to do.

“I slept with his sister,” Adrian replied, a smirk growing on his face as he watched Nathan sputter. Jessica Lawson was regarded as something like a queen in their circle of friends. That wasn’t why his friend was shocked, though. That had more to do with how the two of them agreed, since a long time ago, that she was just an extremely stuck-up bitch.

“Just kidding,” he admitted once he had sufficiently enjoyed his best friend’s overreaction. That earned him a punch on the arm and a glare that only made him grin wider. "I have standards,” he added, taking yet another sip of alcohol. He needed to be tipsy at least to stand the boring speeches coming up.

“He didn’t get the JTC scholarship?” Nathan asked, his tone one of realization, as if it only just occurred to him. Adrian nodded with a wry smile. He was excited, in truth, to start on the research program the prestigious scholarship offered. It had taken him a lot of effort to get it and he couldn’t care less if there were anyone mad about him managing that feat.

“Well, screw him,” his friend voiced out his thoughts for him. It wasn’t as if there was only one opening so, really, Lawson could go stuff it somewhere else. That guy had been against him for practically their whole lives. When they were kids, Adrian had started wearing contact lens to hide his eyes, one blue and the other a sinister looking russet brown, just because Lawson wouldn’t get off his back about how creepy they were.

“Speaking of standards and screwing,” Nathan continued, probably trying to lighten the slightly darkened mood, “have you seen the pianist?”

Adrian laughed, his gaze going to said musician sitting at the grand piano, not really expecting much. The people they hired in these events were usually either old or someone he already knew. The woman, however, turned out to be neither. White. That was the first word she brought in his mind. Blonde hair, porcelain skin and eyes a shade of brown so light that they could pass for yellow, she was a patch of white that stood out amidst the warm tones of the hall. He wondered why he hadn’t noticed her earlier.

“Weird,” he muttered. Not her, of course, she looked like a normal, if a little too pale, pretty woman. The feeling he got from her, though, was peculiar. On one hand, she was familiar, intimate even. On the other, she felt like a threat.

“What? Dude, take off your contacts, she’s bomb,” Nathan claimed in mock offense to his whispered reply. Adrian hummed a vague response, finding himself barely able to tear his eyes from her. Just then, the signal for the start of the host’s address stole his attention.

“Let’s go,” he told Nathan as he began to walk in the direction of the front table where his family was seated. He couldn’t help glancing back once at the pianist. She finished a song and turned, so perfectly on time it seemed to be rehearsed, to catch his eyes. She threw a knowing smirk in his direction. He snapped out of his daze. The only thing that gesture from her could threaten was clearly his self-control, Adrian mused. He was thinking a lot of bizzare things today, for some reason, it was probably better if he stopped drinking. He put down the glass in hand.

 

[Lenaara]

The piano has always been an escape from the world. They insisted she learn to play an instrument. A harp had been her first choice, as impossible as it was to believe – her selection had been quite limited by the era. A harper who never took liking to plucking strings for hours on end, lulling the audience to sleep. A harper who wistfully hoped that it’d make her fall asleep, right there while playing. It had never happened of course.

Sentimentality played no part in her choice of the instrument. Neither did she care for the melodies or the composers. The reason was plain and simple, almost insulting to any pianist proud of their skill – the music was loud enough for her ears to tune out every other sound. The harp lost the battle by default.

Fingers danced along the keys, but the body remained still, only eyes moving along the music sheet spread at eye level. One song flowed into the next, alternating expertly between lively music to more sorrowful melodies to pieces that required only one hand to play, pressing on the same keys at evenly timed intervals. Each sound should have told a story, but it all remained the same in that regard, the pianist unable to express feelings that she hadn’t truly felt in a millennium.

But the pianist played and played, forgetting the music sheet once it had reached the end, and summoned pieces from memory. Classical and contemporary, by famous composers and ones of little repute, giving preference to no specific genre. And as the music drowned the crowd in the background, hours slipped away, leaving her in a trance broken only by a voice more melodic than any of the pieces she’d performed.

The note faltered, the melody changed abruptly. Without so realizing, she had attempted to mimic that voice with the piano. Was that not the point of the music instrument? To give life to melodies in a composer’s mind? But she was no composer. Instead she had created an abomination or a masterpiece, a combination of dozens of songs, and failed. Had it been anywhere close to that voice – only it stood out in the white noise of the audience – she wouldn’t have stopped so stiffly.

A rustle of soft applause accompanied Maria off the elevated stage. Her pace was unhurried, touched with a certain understated elegance. A smile ghosted over her lips, painted a too bright scarlet against her ivory skin.

“…We are pleased to see all of you here.” The host had no need for a microphone. His voice boomed across the expanse of the room, drew the attention of all those around. He turned, a glass of champagne in one hand and the other extended towards Maria. “Our family is honoured to be the host of so many esteemed guests.”

A set of steps carried Maria onto the stage to stand beside three others, immaculately dressed and all wearing smiles that failed to reach their eyes. They shared no resemblance, save for the obvious paleness that unified them. Lack of a pulse and several hundred years of being alive was a bonus.

The Westfalls. An American family in the business of tourism, with a successful chain of hotels across Europe and the United States of America. The expansion into the eastern countries had been effortless, if the hotel they were in now was any indication. The Avenia Hotel would not exist by tomorrow, instead replaced by the green and gold of Malachite Hotel & Spa.
The host lifted his champagne glass in a toast and Maria followed suit, as did the rest of the audience. “To new beginnings!”

An imprint of her lipstick was left on the rim of the glass. The drink was tasteless ash, swallowed down with a smile that betrayed nothing. Everyone started to clap, and so did she, tips of her fingers tapping against her wrist. When the glasses were set down and the chatter started anew, a different pianist went to play a dull melody to fill the non-existent silence.
Maria turned towards the host, a handsome man by all outward appearances in his mid-fourties with salt and pepper hair and eyes of whiskey. Jack was his name, or so the story went. She did not care enough to ask what his real name was.

“How precious.” She smiled, teeth flashing white. “The family is together again. How is Mother dearest doing?”

Jack’s smile faltered. Amateur. “Fine.” He stepped off the stage and put his glass onto the tray of a passing waiter. “You’d know, if you cared enough to fulfil your obligation to us.”

“Ah, but I am here, aren’t I?” She followed him, slipping her hand around his elbow. Her hold was tight and crushing strong. She made no indication that she used the least bit of effort to keep Jack still. “An obedient daughter to a big, loving family.”

Perhaps loving was a strong word. Jack maintained the easy-going façade, his jaw clenching only ever so slightly. “Only whenever the mood strikes.”

“You wound me,” Maria pressed a hand to her chest in feigned pain. “Fortunately for you, my mood hadn’t soured quite yet.”

A mirthless chuckle had Maria look over her shoulder. The woman there hadn’t bothered to try and hide her disrespect, hadn’t even bothered to pretend to be the loving younger cousin. Or was it sister? Maria could never keep up with the ever-expanding Westfall family tree.

“Is there a problem?” Jack had to smother a gasp when he forcefully turned with Maria.

“You are the problem,” the younger woman spat. She looked to be in her mid-twenties, with dark hair swept up in multiple braids. “You refuse to attend the events, ignore every order given, and then continue your spending habits as if the bank account is bottomless. Disrespectful, lazy—”

Maria cocked her head, eyes narrowing. “Disrespectful? I believe you’ve forgotten to put on your muzzle. Let me rectify that.” A flash of gold passed over her pupils, so quick it might have been the lights in the room. “You will shove that glass down your throat.”

Jack broke free in that moment and hurried to the woman who had picked up a glass from the nearby tray, opened her mouth and tilted her head back. Maria did not stay to see the aftermath. She turned on her feel and headed into the crowd. Behind her, the sound of shattered glass and gurgling was conveniently concealed by music.

Many of the guests had risen from their tables to mingle. Most were drawn to an older man at the side table, captivated by some lecture or another about stocks and investments in tourism. She went from one small group to the other, engaged in conversation no matter what the topic was. Such gatherings have always been pleasant for her, no matter the era. Still, her mind remained on someone else, her amber gaze drawn to the table where a voice continued to reach her ears in honeyed notes.

But when she came to that table, she became suddenly acutely aware of her appearance, demeanour and complete and utter lack of topic for a conversation starter. Her hand went unconsciously to her hair, styled into loose curls, then brushed down her side to straighten any phantom wrinkles in the shimmering fabric that couldn’t wrinkle by design. In that fleeting moment all her confidence was gone, replaced instead by something utterly foreign and uncomfortable – some flutter in her stomach, an unexplainable pull towards the owner of that captivating voice.

“Good evening,” she managed, effortlessly schooling her features into a smile. She forced herself to look at the older woman first, then the younger, sparing the boy – he was only a boy, a young man in his early twenties – only the briefest of glances. “My name is Maria Westfall. You have me at a disadvantage. I do not believe we’ve met yet.”

 

[GetThree]

The Everest family was made up of traders to whom connections were more important than anything else. The Wu Clan was old money with a network as great as their assets. When those two combined in the form of the marriage between his parents, naturally, there left nobody who was somebody that they didn’t know.

The Westfalls, therefore, were not unfamiliar faces to Adrian. He recognized them by their often ghost-like appearances and odd tendency to stare a touch too long at him. They were a bunch that he had been coming into contact with frequently lately, with his family currently staying for vacation in his childhood home and them coincidentally hanging around China trying to expand their business. Considering that, it was odd to him that he had never once seen the pianist, Maria, before.

She had made an unexpected entrance at their table, just as his father had left to speak to some Forex Trading expert, smiling with seemingly relaxed confidence as she introduced herself. Although she looked to be around his age, a couple years older at best, Maria Westfall handled herself with a grace that didn’t match her age.

Off, his mind whispered to him, she’s something off. That was a thought that came to him almost every time he met a Westfall and Adrian, usually, ignored it rather easily. Not this time. Something wrong, the voice instead insisted, buzzing in the back of his head, something bad. He fought off a frown.

“Mirabelle Everest,” his mother took the initiative to reply to Marian with her usual business smile, reaching out to shake the other woman’s delicate-looking hand. Gesturing to him and Astrid, she continued, “These are my children, Adrian and Astrid.”

“Pleasure to meet you,” he spoke up, letting his younger sister off with an awkward nod in greeting, following his mother’s example in shaking Maria’s hand.

“Lovely.” She looked at the two Everest siblings in turn, gaze lingering over the former for a touch longer before returning to Mirabelle. “The pleasure is mine.”

The handshake seemed like an afterthought, as brief as it was. Their hands had barely touched, hers strangely cold in the stuffy heat of the room. Maria clasped her hands together, as though to stop any more unwanted touching, and maintained a smile that was less business-like and more charming. A stark contrast to the tight-lipped hollowness of her family.

“You’re the one at the piano earlier, aren’t you? You’re very good,” Adrian encouraged the conversation, his eyes seemingly stuck to her yet with wariness still clinging to his manner.

Maria cast a flickering glance towards said instrument, where another musician sat forgotten. “Thank you. The piano is in a way,” she cocked her head in thought, “a hobby. I rarely play and when I do, it is during events like these. I haven’t had the chance to attend any in the past several years, however. This is me making up to my family for my absence. Are you enjoying yourselves so far?”

“Yes, quite,” his mother answered with that tone in her voice that Adrian recognized as a studying one and said nothing further. His sister only gave a short smile. They both glanced at him as if Conversation Maker was his job title. Which, to be fair, it often turned out to be when he was with the reserved women of his family.

Maria made no indication that she felt uncomfortable, though the conversation – or the lack of it – felt awkward. Mirabelle was either a woman of few words or wanted nothing more than to be left alone. Whatever the case, Maria’s smile hadn’t faltered, and her demeanor remained unchanged.

“It’s a nice event, of course, as always from your family,” he followed up with a warmer smile than before. She hadn’t been at the events so it made sense that he had never seen her before. Surely, he thought, there was nothing suspicious.

“What have you been doing, then, if not attending your family’s galas?” Adrian continued, his genuine tone softening the straightforward nature of his question. It was not usually in his nature to be curious about others. Maria, however, had a mystery to her that practically demanded curiosity.

“Studying, actually,” she answered Adrian, amber gaze flickering from his mother with a slight delay. “I’d been encouraged to attend a university to further my knowledge of tourism and hospitality. Family business, you understand. Switzerland has been welcoming but after graduation I took a year away from hotels and official events to travel. To find myself, if you will. It’s been enlightening, but then my father,” her smile turned playful for a fraction of a moment, a barely perceptible change, “thought it was time I return.”

A server passed by with a tray of champagne glasses and paused just long enough to wordlessly offer the group at the table the drinks. Maria picked a glass at random but did not drink from it. She had her other hand resting leisurely on top of the backrest of the nearest chair. A manicured nail scratched absently against the silk thread of the plush cushion.

A coy smile tugged on her lips and she cast a furtive lance in the direction of Jack Westfall. “But honestly?” She slipped into the chair, an elbow propped on the table as she leaned forward. “I jump at the opportunity to avoid these events. Call it rebellion.”

Adrian stared, gaze following her movements, his mind registering her unexpectedly honest words for a silent beat before a short laugh left him. “Have a lot of things to rebel against, do you?” His rhetorical question was accompanied with a hint of empathy. “Good on you, I’m too scared my mother to do it,” he continued in a conspiratorial whisper, finding himself copying his new acquaintance in leaning toward her, his mind’s paranoia forgotten in favor of intrigue.

 

[Lenaara]

Conspiratorial whispering had soon become impossible to keep up with a straight face. They laughed and joked, about strict parents and responsibilities, of humourless professors and too energetic peers. Mirabelle and Astrid excused themselves at the first opportunity, leaving Maria and Adrian alone. They were granted privacy that neither seemed to care much about or need.
There had been one too many instances of arms accidentally brushing against each other, tiny fleeting collisions spurred on by an invisible force that drew them together, that ignored the vast empty spaces they could have otherwise trod. And there, too, had been one too many instances not accidental – Maria’s leaning forward, legs crossed, her shin brushing against his; fingertips tracing a phantom whisper when they set down the champagne glasses.

The spell was broken by a voice carried across the room, meant for those whose hearing was much more sensitive than a human’s.

That’s him. Adrian Everest. Turn him and get it over with.

Years of practice kept Maria’s smile from faltering, her laugh from being cut too short by shock of realization. Now, she understood. The fascination with Adrian that had Maria seek him out in the crowd without so realizing, subconscious need to lean forward only to be closer to him, she’d shared it with the other vampires in the room.

Maria tore her gaze from him with significant effort and cast a flickering glance around the room, her oversensitive eyes drinking in information in moments. What she saw confirmed her suspicions. She could see the way Layla stole glances in Adrian’s direction, her lips hidden by a napkin specked with blood. Jack was with his back to them, but he was standing much closer to the table than Maria remembered. The vampires kept their distance not because Maria had gotten to him first. But because he was to be turned by her.

The persistent calls and demands that she show up and do her duty to the coven had an explanation and it – or he – was sitting right across from her. It changed nothing. She had no choice but to comply to the coven’s wishes, despite her long-ago decision never to turn anyone against their will. But with Adrian…with him she wanted to lose herself in instinct, in the flow of destiny, where choice did not matter. Maybe she was going crazy. Maybe he was the reason.

“It’s rather loud here, don’t you think?” Maria had her hand on top of Adrian’s knee, fingernail tracing invisible lines. “Would you like to go upstairs with me? I’d been given the penthouse. The view is magnificent.”

The elevator ride upstairs had been excruciatingly slow, made bearable by a kiss she could not stop herself from claiming. The moment the metal doors enclosed them in a square space of mirrors, their reflection their only company, Maria felt the world slow to a spot where only they existed.

She leaned against the metal rail, hands holding onto it for support she did not need. The digital dial above the doors was counting floors as the elevator sped upwards. She took one step in his direction, then another, hand raised to press against his chest to push him back until his back was against mirror. Her hand slid down the curve of his chest, fingers played in a careful caress, her gaze following its path. Warmth radiated from him in nauseating waves, the war-drums of his heart sending Maria’s mind into a trance she wasn’t sure she could break even if she tried.

The space between them compressed to a bare inch – no more than a few specs of dust, she thought – and try as she did, her gaze could not tear away from his eyes. One was hidden by a coloured contact; how interesting. She let her eyes drop to his lips and her own parted ever so slightly; each draft of air – oxygen circling idly in her lungs that had no need for it – more laboured than the last.
This close, she could feel Adrian’s heartbeat. A rapid rhythm hurried by the need that Maria with smugness knew was awakened by her. The sound, the pulsing sensation that she could feel beneath her fingertips as she ran her hand up Adrian’s chest towards his neck, drowned her in a need of her own. Just as primal but different, the insatiable urge to quell a desire that no mortal could ever experience.

It was a drug. More than plain thirst for blood. Far from the simple need to have another’s body pressed against your own. A feverish desire to feel the warmth stripped by immortality, to be consumed by it and remember what was lost to the passage of time. To be enveloped by the pulse of a frantic heartbeat and pretend, unwillingly, that it was your own. And end it all by drinking in the life of another, tasting both the memories and feelings of another, claiming them as your own greedily.

Once experienced it could never be forgotten, complicating the hunt in the most delicious way possible.

And as Adrian gave in to her touch, Maria breathed in the scent of his desire. It was ecstasy on its own. His hands felt feverish hot against her skin. Her face gravitated towards his, towards those lips, and when they collided all world seized to exist.

There was both anticipation and relief in the way he kissed her, in the way his hands explored her body, and she drank in the warmth of his skin greedily. Buttons of his shirt collar had quickly become undone and the bare expanse of Adrian’s neck tempted Maria to do more than merely press her lips to it in whispers of a kiss. She could feel the blood coursing beneath his skin as she left a trail of kisses up the curve between his shoulder and neck.

A sharp ding had them break apart long enough to reach the end of the hallway, to the door of the penthouse suite. Their hands found each other with ease, weaving into the spaces between fingers as if it was the most natural thing for them. Maria slipped a key-card out of the clutch she had almost forgotten in the elevator and swiped it into the lock. The door opened with a hiss, welcoming them into the dark expanse of the vast room lit by the lights of a night-time city.

Furniture was arranged to expose the centre, further enhancing the grand elegant emptiness of the penthouse suite. Adrian went to search for the bathroom, slipping his hand out of hers in a whisper of a caress and a promise of so much more. Left alone, Maria was a dark slim silhouette against the backdrop of floor to ceiling windows. She reached down, slipped the strap of the heel off one foot, then another, shoes clattering to the floor. The dress followed suit, gliding off her figure in a whisper of glimmering silk.

Against all odds, they had made it to the bed, nearly colliding with a low glass coffee table and a leather sofa in the process. Fluorescent lights of the billboards below coloured their skin in saturated hues, tinting Maria’s hair a brilliant white. Blankets lay somewhere on the floor, along with their clothes. The silence of the suite made their ragged breathing much louder, each breath and rise and fall of Adrian’s chest mirroring Maria’s.

In that moment, Maria felt no need to fall into the habit of faking mortality. Adrian shared it with her, through his touch and breath, through the feverish hot feel of his skin against hers that remained cold even then. A thin layer of perspiration across his chest gleamed in the far-away light, pointing to exertion and Maria watched the muscles ripple beneath flushed skin with a pang of envy. Her own was smooth porcelain, unblemished and immaculate, an impossible shade of ivory that should have been painted with a blush of warmth. It wasn’t, even as she drowned in a human’s touch.

Maria clutched Adrian’s shoulders and brought her hands to curl into his hair. His tresses shone silver in the light. She kept her thirst restrained, waiting for the perfect opportunity to give in, when his breathing was warm on her skin to give her a taste of what it meant to feel warmth once more.
And when such a time came, Maria looked into Adrian’s eyes – one blue, the other an almost chilling shade of dark brown – and her own flashed yellow. A muted glow over the pupil, melting into the amber of her irises.

“You will not resist,” she whispered the command and the sound of it was a vibration to mortal ears.

They were still for a moment longer and Maria tugged Adrian’s head to the side, exposing the length of his neck and brushed her lips over the bare skin. Her tongue circled his pulse in a more predatory manner than ever before. She fastened her mouth over it, drawing the artery closer to surface, and her fangs sharpened in response to his pulsing blood. When her fangs pierced skin, Adrian stiffened but did not resist as the command compelled him not to.

A delicious warmth spread through Maria as the blood spilled into her mouth and she drank it in greedily. The heat increased, taking her down with it, and she braced a hand on the headboard above Adrian’s shoulder for support. She drank deeper. Her whole universe narrowed, encompassing only the thumping of his heart, steady breathing, and the constant flow of blood connecting the
two of them in a way that transcended any other physical union.

Maria could feel the beating of Adrian’s heart as if it was her own. She felt deliriously warm and finally, her skin flushed, shedding the last layers of icy embrace of immortality. She felt alive.
She went past the threshold to pull away. He soon fell limp in her arms, growing colder by the second, his heartbeat slowing from a frantic pulse to a barely perceptible beat. Adrian fell back when Maria did let go of him, overwhelmed by the rush of sensations that came instantly, a sharp reminder that despite feeling human mere moments ago, she was not. Scent of cologne and sweat and lacquered wood permeated the air. Outside, the elevator mechanism scraped as it descended. Human voices were faint, barely perceptible, two floors below.
Blood ran down Adrian’s neck in thin rivulets from the incisions left behind by Maria’s fangs. He clung onto consciousness, watching Maria with half-lidded eyes. Pained effort kept his chest rising and falling in steady, slowed breathing. A sharp exhale parted Adrian’s lips when Maria leaned down, elbow jammed into the centre of his ribcage. She propped her chin on her hand, the other brought to his forehead to push back the wild tangle of dark tresses.

“Pity,” she said. “I really did like you.”

Like a puppeteer guiding a marionette, Maria pressed a thumb to Adrian’s chin and opened his mouth. In the same moment she had leaned back just enough to bring her wrist to her mouth. A sharp fang cut into the thin skin there and blood came pouring down, spilling into Adrian’s mouth, staining his pale lips red.

Whenever the cut started to close, Maria tore it open with a fingernail filed into a sharp almond-shaped point. She continued to tower above him, a hand to his abdomen, the other raised several inches above his mouth. A trail of red droplets marked the times when Maria had to reopen the cut. The nightmarish scene continued in silence coloured only by the stuttering, fading heartbeat of a dying man.

His first retching spam broke the tranquillity. Maria leaned forward then, wrist pressed hard to his mouth, and looked him in the eyes that she forced open with her free hand.

“You will drink. You will not reject it.”

Each command was followed by the yellow glow within Maria’s pupils. The trance was a weak one and it did not require her focus to burn the command into his mind. This soon after feeding, power coursed through her, inhuman strength and abilities capable of feats a mortal could only wish for. To Maria it was normal. The buzz of power was going to fade with the light.

And so he drank, and with each agonizing mouthful cold descended on Maria. She felt the stolen warmth leave her and Adrian was growing too cold. He was dying, and she was growing weak, unable to keep herself from leaning further into him. She had almost collapsed when the first episode of memories flashed before their eyes – when Maria fed, she shared his mortality; now, he was sharing the one she’d lost a millennium ago.

A set of events, splashes of colour and sound with jagged edges, seen through a broken glass of time.

A green meadow pockmarked with poppies and irises. A small boy running ahead, copper curls bouncing around his shoulders. He turned, beaming and laughing—

Flutter of skirts as the crowd turned in unison. They jumped in a dance dictated by a lively drummer. Tan hand pressed to her own, much smaller and delicate in size. He looked at her and smiled, irresistibly handsome with his hair pinned back. She was suddenly spun by him, going against the rules of the dance, but laughter died on her lips when she faced him again—

Green eyes instead of warm brown. Raven hair coiled around golden pins. A smile that turned her features timeless. That purple robe carried on it scent of bitter berries she used to pick in the forest when adults weren’t looking—

Maria hardened herself and returned to reality, blinking hard to dispel the remnants of old memories. Let Adrian see the remainder of that broken montage. She could never tell if those memories were her own or someone else’s, or imagined altogether, pieced from the stories she’d uncovered after a century’s absence from the known world. Three lone memories, snippets of events, that told her nothing she did not already know.

A growing saccharine aroma in the air had Maria lean against her forearm to cover her nose. A vampire’s blood lost the metallic tang and hers, the blood of an Elder, carried with it a near euphoric quality. The red liquid spilled out of Adrian’s mouth, his throat no longer bobbing up and down with each swallow. Maria pressed harder, felt his teeth on her skin.

“You will drink,” the command rang with demanding intensity. His eyes had gone glassy, his skin sallow and icy to the touch. But the command flashed across his irises and he obeyed, his abdomen clenching with effort to contain the liquid that his body wanted to refuse.

The stream dwindled to stuttering droplets and Maria fell onto the bed beside Adrian, empty. She lifted her wrist to her lips, the cut half-healed with beads of red glimmering in the light. She licked it clean, turned on her side, and spat on the floor. The taste of mouldering sugary syrup lingered on her tongue, made her frown in disgust.

Adrian remained motionless. Maria sat up and leaned toward him, to his neck where the blood had nearly dried, and licked it. Warmth lad left his skin, his blood empty of mortality she so craved, but so much more pleasant on the tongue than her own.

Soft breathing still rocked Adrian’s chest and the faintest of heartbeats stuttered in an irregular rhythm. He was alive, if only for a while more, and Maria failed to find in her even the slightest tinge of remorse. She cupped his face to turn his head so that he faced her, his eyes half-closed and empty of understanding.

Her fingers caressed his cheek. A loving gesture that did not match the bloody film of crusted blood at the corners of her mouth. Neither did it match the look of pure hunger in her eyes, a hunger befitting a predator, not a woman who a short while ago was trailing kisses on his skin.

Finally, she said, “Sleep,” and the command wavered into a suggestion that did not require the order of You will to work.

Maria watched Adrian close his eyes and drift into unconsciousness, where death would claim him and immortality would take root. She remained still for a while, unable to tear her gaze from watching the way his body relaxed. She couldn’t remember how it felt to be exhausted, to require sleep or close her eyes to be pulled into the land of dreams.

She rolled off the bed and made her way to the bathroom. There, the reflection that stared at Maria from the mirror was a blood-stained mess. Red was smeared down her skin, her lipstick gone. The curls of ivory had fallen limp, the front matte with crusted blood, and the remaining locks were pulled into different directions. The bloody forearm and the trail of droplets that could have belonged to Adrian on her, it all painted a ghost of a woman that stepped out of a nightmare.

Running shower water drowned out all sounds for the time Maria spent in the cubicle. The rising steam told her the water was hot though she felt nothing as she stood under the stream, vigorously rubbing at her hands to rid her fingernails of crusted blood. Every slow step out of the bathroom left behind a shallow puddle of water that Maria ignored. Her skin was clean, her hair sleeked back and her mouth bereft of the cold and gunky blood of a dying man.

A ring tone was buzzing somewhere in the room, muted by the pocket where the phone was hidden. Maria crouched down to pick it up on her way back to the bed. The number was saved under the name of Astrid, written beneath a photo of a girl Maria had seen at the gala. She stared at it for a breath before answering.
Before Maria could even utter a simple ‘Yes?’ the girl on the other end spoke: "This does not count as me talking to you,” she opened in her first breath, “but mom says to hurry the fuck up or the cars will leave without you.”

She settled beside Adrian and turned to look at him, brushing a hand through his hair. “Really? You wound me,” she said casually as if se was talking to a close friend instead of a stranger.
A short bout of silence as if the girl on the other side was confused or couldn’t really hear what was just said. Then, she continued speaking, ignoring the previous words. “You shouldn’t sleep around with random girls just because you’re stressed out,” Astrid mumbled with badly hidden concern, “who knows what kind of person they’d turn out to be?”
Maria raised a brow and smiled but did not answer.

“Don’t say it’s not like that because Nathan told me it was,” Astrid went on obliviously. “He even scolded me for making things worse for you but… you don’t really care, right? I didn’t mean to, I don’t know, make you worry.” Another pause. “Adrian?”

“Adrian is asleep right now,” Maria said. “I’m afraid I drained all his energy. Can I take a message?”
A small, flustered gasp sounded over the line. “Oh,” Astrid replied almost mindlessly. “Oh no, I’m so sorry,” she finally apologized after having seemingly regained her senses, “it’s fine, just tell him to come home safe.”

The call dropped, and Maria lifted the phone to look at the screen with a fading smile. Astrid’s picture remained there for a moment longer before the phone fell into idle mode and the screen turned black. When she set the device down, Adrian’s heart stuttered one last time, his chest still, empty of breath.

Glassy eyes that stare into the infinity. Skin sallow and pale, lifeless and wrong to the touch. Many ways to describe a corpse poetically but for all her years of being alive, Maria could never learn to see the peaceful beauty in the lifeless thing that was a human corpse. Sprawled on the bedsheets, naked and bloody, Adrian was far from the charming young man she met downstairs. Gone was the indescribable, otherworldly pull, and as Maria looked at him, she failed to summon even the faintest feeling of regret or remorse.

A corpse was a corpse, nothing more, nothing less. Difference was, she was the reanimated kind.

For all the lies she’s told him, the penthouse was truly hers and has been for several weeks. Tell-tale signs of her presence were all around, seen in the system she subconsciously used to arrange her surroundings. No item lay misplaced, no random piece of clothing left abandoned on the floor, sans the ones shed in an act of passion. Even the navy silk robe thrown over the back of a stainless steel, cushioned chair by the vanity somehow managed to look elegant, decorative.

An aroma of flowers placed in the vases around the suit was not strong enough to overpower the metallic note of blood that remained drifting in the air. Its presence followed Maria, stuck to her even after she’d scrubbed herself clean. She padded barefoot, still nude, to the bathroom and went to stand in front of the mirror, towel in hand and pressed to the ends of her hair and stared at the corners of her pale mouth that was clean but her mind insisted that it wasn’t. A blink and reflection in the mirror changed to a nightmarish visage – red spilling down her mouth and neck, coating it in a thick layer of fresh blood, glossy in the fluorescent lights. And, instead of recoiling in horror, Maria wanted it to be real. Wanted to feel its warmth on her skin and in her mouth—
She pressed her hands against the malachite countertop so hard that a tiny crack appeared along the wall, but she hadn’t noticed it. She breathed in a deep, shaky breath, and closed her eyes so tight they hurt. When they opened no blood could be seen over the towel and no phantom warmth spilled down her lips. The vision passed and left Maria feeling colder than ever before, empty of feeling, physical and not.

The thirst remained. It always did. But she felt control firmly in her grasp and knew with crystal clarity that for it to remain there, she had to feed again tonight. The turning process had drained her dry, the damage done to her body was too significant to be cured by a few mouthfuls of blood that normally would suffice. Still, she was shocked at how easily her mind slipped into instability.

Weeks of starvation had to have passed before she felt the first sign of change. Body first, then memories, one by one, brightest moments fading from existence. Visions and hallucinations were present throughout, some indistinguishable from reality. But it had never happened so fast before. She fed only the previous evening.

Maria felt a chill creep up her spine and her hand shook ever so slightly, a tremble barely noticeable to anyone but her. She clenched her hand, fingernails digging into her palm.

No use in wallowing in despair of the inevitable.

Like a child hiding away the evidence of their misdeed, Maria picked up the bloodied sheets and the discarded clothes and threw them into the hamper. Let others worry about the evidence. As far as she was concerned, her job was done. Maybe Layla was going to be useful enough to bring her a concierge to drink from. Doubtful.

Satisfied, she returned to her room and lost herself in routine that normally seemed enjoyable. A preparation for the hunt, intended to draw attention of others, to spark their desire. But as Maria stood before her closet, hand gliding over the fabric dresses and deep-cut blouses, she thought it all so very pointless. A costume for an act.

Maria’s fingers curled into the fabric of a red dress, its colour so deep it could be mistaken for black, and her brows knit in a frown. She really had become a cliché.

Once dressed, Maria planted herself before the vanity and brushed back her dry hair to pin it up but paused as her fingers briefly grazed a patch of uneven skin just beneath the hairline behind her left ear. She brought her hand there, tracing the ridges of the horizonal scar to the back of her ear, where a circle of smooth skin suggested a puncture wound long ago healed. One of the few scars on her body. The only other being a small line in the corner of her upper lips, so pale that it added asymmetry to her features when not hidden by lipstick.

A soft knock was Maria’s only indication that Layla was waiting. Lack of a heartbeat and worried breathing told her that the young vampire didn’t think more than a step ahead. As such, Maria greeted Layla with a disappointing eyeroll and an impatient wave in Adrian’s direction.

“Do what you have to with him,” she told Layla.

Which, apparently, Layla had absolutely no clue about. She went to kneel beside the bed, careful not to disturb the sheets or the corpse sprawled naked on them. Face twisted in a look of absolute mortification, Layla pressed the tips of her fingers to Adrian’s wrist, waiting.

“He is dead.” Maria’s voice startled Layla out of her shock. “Will be for some time, actually. I suggest you make yourself comfortable in the meantime.”

The click of heel marked Maria’s departure. She did not bother to dress for the gala downstairs, did not even consider returning to make one final appearance for the guests. Well…perhaps that wasn’t such a bad idea. Maria adjusted her course at the last second, following instead the buzzing chorus of voices punctuated by soft piano. The door to the event hall was opened for her by a caterer pushing a cart of drinks into the room. He smiled at her and Maria returned the gesture, tongue flicking over the front of her teeth self-consciously. Scaring one’s dinner with the remains of the appetizer was most inconvenient.

***

Perks of requiring no sleep? An entire twenty-four hours of being wide awake, feigning mortality.

Pretending to be human always did feel confining but Maria viewed the challenge as a form of entertainment, taking pleasure in the idea of fooling the detective living under the same roof as her. Old habits fell into place naturally – the need to breathe in useless air into her lugs at even intervals; disappearing into her room for at least eight hours, seemingly asleep from a night out; choking down human food in the morning and noon when guests happened to be in the kitchen and throwing out untouched meals when they were not. Food tasted like paper, bland and about as pleasant to eat as cardboard. Maria tormented herself for the sake of the elaborate lie she wasted too much effort in constructing.

The lie that was Maria’s hotel, gifted to her by a loving, caring and too rich family in a futile effort to ground their daughter to one location. But that was years ago, when the media was obsessed with the tragic death of some family and their missing son. Or was it murder, after all? Humans did love their drama and speculation twisted the truth into every direction. Following it was amusing for a time but as months turned to years, the media moved on to much more interesting news.

Namely the dozen and more missing person cases in the middle-east of China. Torn open bodies, missing limbs, drained of blood and ripped apart by an animal or some sick bastard. The pictures surfed the Internet, so far on forums of little popularity, commented on only by those who lived in the area or were interested in solving crimes that the police could not wrap their heads around. The popularity was inconvenient, to say the least. For one, it was not planned.

A detective checking into the hotel that for all outward appearances was just a glorified bed and breakfast in the middle of nowhere was odd at first. Maria suspected the man was there for more than to see the country side and get his fix of fresh air. And while he was a bundle of tension that entertained Maria with his failed attempts to hide his interest in her, she did not need a reminder to do her duty to the coven.

The revelation of his detective status was followed by a rather unpleasant conversation with the coven, during which Maria reminded the insolent fools that she could rip their hearts out through their throats if they thought the situation amusing. A human spy as a backup plan in case she, an Elder, failed was insulting. The coven was quick to assure Maria that they were unaware of a human’s involvement, that it was a coincidence.

It was the same day as when details of the murders had been leaked to the public. The coven found that amusing. Maria had crushed her phone in her hand at hearing someone snicker in the background during the call.

She wished she could claim she was getting somewhere with the investigation. All the bodies had been found in rural areas. Men and women of all ages, seemingly chosen at random. The first had
been drained of blood, the latest ripped apart. Even after feeding, when her senses were the sharpest, Maria couldn’t catch a scent to follow. By the time she arrived to where the bodies had been found, the police had locked the area. The coroner was easy enough to put under a trance, but the bodies were stripped and autopsies performed. All Maria could smell was old blood and the medical examiner.

Today was no different, although the added pressure of an online press-conference certainly did not help. The view count under the video went up to a hundred, Maria one of them. She was in bed, laying on her stomach, laptop placed in front of her on top of a cushion, and tuned out the endless drone of Chinese to read the few comments posted below the video. Those written by middle-aged residents of the surrounding areas were easy enough to spot, unified in their mutual hatred for the incompetent law enforcement. Someone claimed a psychopath was on the loose, while another declared the entire thing was a hoax into scaring the ignorant populace. Maria typed in her own theory: ‘Maybe it’s a vampire.’ For the next hour replies, both serious and mocking, flooded her screen. She couldn’t stop laughing at the schooling she’d been given by a young teenager in eyeliner about ‘real’ vampires.

Maria closed the tab on the browser to switch to the window open to a popular conspiracy forum that had recently taken up interest in the China murders. One of the posts contained an image from a crime scene; at the heart of it laid the body of a hiker missing two of his limbs. Nobody had bothered to close his eyes. A crowd gathered in the background, herded back by yellow tape, their shell-shocked expressions blurred by the shaky hands of an equally shell-shocked photographer. One of the forum posters had enclosed a face in a red circle.

'Here's Morticia Addams again. What do you guys think?'

Upon reading the caption, Maria let out a chuckle. She really should change her appearance, having had worn the same long-bob hairstyle for years. Or, at least, stop stalking the crime scenes in a futile attempt to catch the scent of undead. Whatever.

A chime sounded, and the duvet buzzed as the phone left atop it lit up. A short message read ‘Be there at 7 tomorrow. My boys won’t bother you.’ against the soft orange and pink sunset wallpaper. Maria flipped on her back, phone brought before her eyes to thumb in a short and curt reply that the boys could use any of the tools stored in the garden shed.

The garden, Maria decided, was a work in progress. Outside, past the one-way mirror windows and a too-American style façade, the grounds were dug up in preparation for a renovation. The plan was to incorporate the traditional Chinese aesthetic and westernize it. So far, only the pond was done and that turned more of a large puddle than a fish-filled, emerald and tranquil body of water framed by stonework.

The rest of the house was ominously silent and dark, with curtains drawn to block the dying sunlight. The sole resident of the inn was out, thankfully, doing something more productive than keeping an eye on the strange foreigner women who appeared to have a chilling fascination with murder stories.

 

[GetThree]

glass dolls are only fragile until they break​

Slow. Slower. Slower. Gone. His heart was no longer beating. He was acutely aware of this fact. It failed to bother him. From the first drop of crimson that touched his tongue, the first - familiar - taste of iron that intruded his senses, his mind had removed itself from the distress of his body. The sharp sting that rang through him upon the first incision, the burn in his throat as he swallowed litre after litre of blood, the painful contractions of his muscles in desperate bid to survive, none of those things could distract him from the images that flashed across his mind’s eye.

- wasn’t what he wanted. He was strong but broken. He was powerful but empty. Hungry. Thirsty. So, so, so thirsty. He needed water. No. Not water. He gaze turned to the curious girl staring at him. He couldn’t. He must. This-

- a traitor. Of all people, her? The one he trusted most? The one he came closest to loving? Her? She dared? What a fool. She didn’t understand. She had no idea what she was doing. She was no longer sweet but still so damned naive. Fine. Let her kill him. He would be glad to die. He was-

Scene after scene of foreign places that felt like home poured into him. The visions, memories, were like calming drugs to the frenzied him. The voice, his voice, once so distant in the back of his head grew closer to him. Closer. Closer. Closer until it was his own.

Alive, he thought with something like exhaustion and surrender, again.

---

His eyes snapped open. He was drained, aching and cold. Threads of power and energy flowed through his veins that should have been odd to him but was instead a familiar nuisance. He felt completely miserable and, therefore, extremely irascible, so much so that even the shifting of air grinded at his raw nerves.

“Oh, Adrian, you’re awake?” A sharp voice pierced through his tired haze. He blinked. Who was Adrian? A pause. Oh, yes, him. He was Adrian.

Silently, he pulled himself up to a sitting position on the large bed. His body screamed in pain but he ignored it. He was used to it. Probably. Wait. Was he? He was. Why? Boxing lessons never hurt him this much. Well, he reasoned to himself, who cares?

“You shouldn’t push yourself,” the person in the room with him spoke again. He turned his gaze to her. Pale skin, sharp eyes, red lips. Just like the girl who turned him. Except, this woman wasn’t Maria. That one must have left. He was disappointed. Not angry. Not quite even so upset. He merely had the passing thought that it was too bad.

“How are you feeling?” His new companion asked him with concern lacing her voice. She felt nothing like Maria. So, he decided, he didn’t give a damn about her.

“You’re doing… better than I expected. I thought you’d be freaking out,” the woman continued in an easy tone that one might use toward a friend. It irked him. She had no respect. Not that he expected any better of a child. He frowned at those thoughts.

Was respect customary when addressing him? It was for her. Why? Who cares?

She wasn’t really a child, though. She was to him. Why? Who cares?

His brain was too muddled for the likes of logic. He was relying purely on his gut to operate and, right now, it was telling him to get out while he had the chance. He needed somewhere quiet to sort out all the images and emotions whirring in the tempest of his mind.

“I’m Layla,” the girl went on, oblivious to what he was thinking, a stiff smile painted on her face. “I’m here to guide you through,” she paused to make a vague flourish of her hands, “this.” He blinked at her as if he didn’t quite comprehend her words. A guide. After doing all that to him, against his will, they wanted to play the helping hand. What a hilarious bunch.

“I understand what-” Layla carried on her attempt at conversation only for it to fall on deaf ears. He moved himself, with some effort, to the edge of the bed. The girl frowned as she finally realized his intent to leave. She moved toward him, reaching out to push down on his shoulder, body blocking his path.

“Look, I know this is weird for you but you have to listen to me,” she insisted, trying for an intimidating, threatening tone that failed to hit him where she aimed. He stood up, regardless, the weight of her careful hand useless against him.

“Get out of my way,” he spoke, voice hoarse and raspy, sounding unlike himself. She glared at him with incredulous eyes, refusing to budge from where she stood too close, right in front of him. Her hand moved down from his shoulder to shove against his chest. For a split second, his mute frustration crossed the line into anger.

A split second was all it took. He didn’t even know what he was doing until he had done it. His arms moved on their own accord, driven by instinct, without a flicker of hesitation. He stared in shock at the scene he had created.

Layla’s head was on the floor. Her body was not. Blood spouted from her ruined neck like a fountain as her limbs spasmed. She fell to the ground, slowly, in horrifying fashion. Red seeped into the white carpet and toward his feet. She was dead.

He waited for the fear to seize him, for his heart to clench and skip beats, for his gut to twist in disgust. He waited and waited until he realized it was never coming. The initial surprise at his own actions instead changed into one more geared toward how much stronger he was than expected. He flexed his hands and tested the new power present in him. Maria must have been quite something, he mused and thought, again, it’s too bad. He was not horrified that he had so casually killed a person.

That fact, to the him out of that hellish place, to the him with a clear head, to the him who had come back to himself, was horrifying.

----

‘BREAKING NEWS: YALE STUDENTS MURDER FAMILY OF THREE’

‘CEO of WE Corporations found dead with family. Son marked as main suspect.’

‘Adrian Everest: Yet Another Addition To Cold-Blooded Killers We Never Saw Coming’

Bad things never came on their lonesome. He was a monster, an undead, one that craved blood like diabetics did sugar. His family was dead at the hands of people he considered friends and society believed him responsible. His life had been brought to ruins in the span of one careless night. It had torn him apart. Loss. Guilt. Rage. Despair like he had never known ripped him to shreds from the inside. He finally understood why some would rather die than live and suffer.

But those thoughts hadn’t lasted very long. They lost their intensity and slowly slipped away like what had become the norm for him. A dull fear ached in him that he might soon lose everything real about himself in this manner.

“He was smart, friendly and charismatic. He was kind to most people. He was very neat and dressed well. If you ask around, I’ll bet, he’d have had a violent streak somewhere in his teens. Go even farther back, you might find that he was unsociable as a child. He made up an immaculate image for himself among his peers while hiding his true nature. He’s a classic intelligent psychopath.”

The man in the phone screen spoke about him as if they had been close relatives instead of strangers. There were some dire accusations being made about him in there yet he felt no sting. The only reason he had recorded this unknown show and had been playing it on repeat was because he held some hope that it might remind him about himself or, at least, give him some insight. A hope that had been let down, unfortunately, the program was stupid and useless.

He was neither sadistic nor manipulative. He was a silent leader by nature and warm friend by nurture. There was nothing in him that pointed to him being inherently heartless. And, yet. Lately, he felt so little. It was as though pieces of his character had been melted away and replaced by something else. Something else that was wiser, colder, tougher, different.

There were times when he was unable to recall his sister’s name or found himself convinced he had a brother instead. He had dreams, long and excruciatingly detailed, showing him memories of other people as if he were them. When he woke up from those visions, sweating and panting, his name did not feel like his own. As each day passed, it seemed more certain, to him, that he would ultimately become someone else entirely.

That thought disturbed him. Luckily, he had more than enough of other things to occupy himself with to stay the oncoming depression. Running away from the authorities, for one.

It was only while he was being hunted down by them that he realized how incompetent the police actually were. Within a week of the murders of his family, they had left their Beijing mansion practically bare and open for him to sneak in. It was lucky for him that his father had been paranoid enough to split their money into multiple bank accounts under often fake personas. He took some of his clothes, some of the stored hidden cards in the drawer and dragged himself out before he could be tempted to look at the scene of the reportedly horrendous crime.

“So, what’s your name?” The girl in the seat beside him spoke up suddenly, in barely put-together Mandarin, providing a jarring interruption to his thoughts. He fought not to flinch as he blinked up at her. He should have gotten a private room after all.

“Liu Jun,” he obliged the younger, “and yours?”

“Xun Mi,” she replied, beaming up at him, seemingly enthused that he had responded. He froze. His throat squeezed itself and his insides did a painful twist. Xun Mi. He tried his best not to look as unnerved as he felt. Mi’er.

“Why will you go to Chengdu?” She tried, insistent on making conversation despite her obvious lack of proficiency in Mandarin. He saw a flash of his younger sister in her wide eyes and felt pain tear at his heart.

She was nothing like Astrid. This girl was plain in appearance, small in figure and sunny in the vibe she gave off. Astrid was a stunner in the image of their elegant mother and would never speak to a stranger of her own initiative. She was nothing like Astrid. But she made him miss her.

“For a trip, nothing much,” he answered. A beat of silence passed as she struggled to think of her next words. He pushed aside his internal war upon seeing her effort. He had not properly spoken with a human being in weeks. It was time he got over himself.

“Would you prefer if we spoke English, maybe?” He offered with a small smile of his own that widened when she heaved a sigh of great relief.

“Oh, thank god,” she laughed, “this is my first time travelling alone and it’s been driving me crazy.” He barely had to say much, in the end, she fuelled the conversation all on her own. She talked about her family waiting on the other end of this train ride. She talked about how pretty she thought his eyes were and how she couldn’t wait to go back to Canada because the Chinese language is hard to deal with and Chinese people even worse so.

He listened quietly to her speak and realized how starved of human interaction he was. For the first time in a long time, he felt like Adrian again. It felt good, familiar, normal. For a while.

Perhaps, that meant that “Adrian Everest” only existed in the presence of other people. Perhaps, that meant he really had made up a false personality to fit in. Perhaps, he had no idea who he was. He left the train with a renewed sense of purpose. He needed to find out who the person he was becoming was.

---

Ten years that felt like one had passed by him. He had settled in Macau, a land full of alcohol, gambling and, for some reason, Vampires. There were even whole clubs dedicated to his species here. Who would’ve thought?

He sat in one such club, in a secluded corner, with a cocktail untouched on the table in front of him. Alcohol did nothing for him anymore and the same went for all Vampires, it seemed. They had developed, therefore, a convoluted method of getting drunk through the blood intoxicated humans.

Adrian had long ago realized that he did not need to kill to feed. He still found it difficult to do it anyway. Vampires were monsters and, to him, deserving of death. Attacking humans, on the other hand, felt like crossing a line toward abandoning morality. After the traumatic events of a decade ago - his best friend was dying on the floor and he had done it. Oh God. Gods. Saints. Whoever was out there. Someone save him- he had no more nerve to even try feeding on human blood.

“Who’s that over there?” The whispers begun again. Of course. Every Vampire, to varying degree, seemed unable to help but notice him. It had been the same in lives before this. He had already figured out that he was, in fact, the people in his dreams. He had been surprised to know that some men, and women, he knew from history books were… well, him. He still had yet to figure which had come first, however, and how or whether the identity of his original life would link to the odd ways he differed from other young Vampires.

“That’s Liu Jun. You don’t know him ‘cause he only moved around here last year but he’s pretty big lately.” “Really? He feels young.” Adrian’s expression changed little as he tuned into the conversation all the way through the dancing crowd at the balcony overlooking his seat. Vampiric abilities were admittedly convenient.

“He is. I heard he’s like 10 years old counting from his family was… you know, offed.” “That’s a baby, right there. Hey, Kira, want to mess with him?” Say yes, he willed. His last prey was over a week ago and he was beginning to crave blood again. His thirst came easily for his age, he knew that, but that was just one of many ways that he was unlike others of his kind and he had come to terms with it.

“No, are you crazy? I just told you, he’s seriously big in this territory, man.” “Oh, come on.” “He feeds on us, okay? He’s a fucking cannibal. Don’t poke him.” “You do know I’m turning 100 soon? He’s a child.” Adrian’s lips twitched. That girl had no idea who was the child here.

“I’m not kidding. He has scary rumors about him and I’m not gonna test them. I’m not twisted like you.” “Okay, okay, chill. I won’t touch him.” Dammit. It seemed he was going without a meal tonight then. He let a soft sigh leave his lips and rose. He threw a glance to the duo of Vampires staring down at him and smiled. Kira flinched. It no longer disturbed him that it amused him.

----
The news was left playing but he wasn’t paying attention. He was looking through the notes he had made. A scrapbook, of sorts, his returning memories arranged into what he hoped was chronological order. There were some that were so brief a flash of color that he couldn’t quite place them.

He had learnt something new due to his increase in frequency of fighting and draining other Vampires. The older his prey, the more memories that flooded into him along with their stale blood. Unfortunately, any Vampire older than 200 was practically impossible to find.

It was more difficult for him to sieve out relevant information from his limited flashes of memories than it was to find Wally in a gigantic crowd. A decade and he still had such limited understanding of himself. It frustrated him to no end. With a sigh, he turned to switch off the laptop so he could head out. Just then, a flash of white caught his eye.

- porcelain skin and eyes a shade of brown so light that they could pass for yellow, she was a patch of white that stood out amidst the warm tones -

- name is Maria Westfall. You have me at a disadvantage. I do not believe we’ve met -

- "You will drink,” the command rang with demanding intensity-

Adrian exhaled sharply. His hands trembled. Anger polluted by fear shot through him like electricity. The suffocating numbness that had been weighing him down was cut through. He laughed.

“Bodies found in rural area of Xi An.” The news title proclaimed, flashing through various photos with Maria in quite the handful of them, appearing as a random passerby though he guessed it wasn’t as random as it appeared. So did quite a few others, apparently, judging from posts online that he found related to the crime. An impulse to speak to her grew in him from then. It begun with researching the murder cases and, before he knew it, he was already looking into plane tickets to Xi An. Something told him this was going to be a hell of a ride.

----
For an inn under the Westfall name it was very… different from their usual fanciful preferences. The doubts that he had upon finding just how out in the middle of nowhere this place was were only increasing. He studied the farmlands around him with a skeptical eye.

Nonetheless, he still made his way into the small building. The sun’s death meant his loss of an escape route and that wasn’t something he wanted to let happen. He had to at least check out Maria’s apparent location today. His temporarily rented condo was in the city and her inn was practically half the province away.

He stepped through the door, footsteps light, with bated breath and found himself surrounded by darkness amidst drawn curtains. At least the inside looks something like a Vampire’s house, he thought with dry mirth.

The first floor was empty, as far as he could tell. There was nobody at the reception and he wondered if this place was supposed to even be open. Perhaps, Maria was not here after all. That would be quite the disappointing end to his day.

His eyes flickered to the staircase and he bit his lip. He was scared of Maria or, at least, the idea of her. He could admit that to himself. She was the one responsible for him being turned and that traumatic memories remained still one of his clearest ones. He looked away from the desolate stairs, resolving to look around the area first, when… footsteps. Light but confident strides heading in his direction from above. A scent, sweet, magnetic. Then, a familiar voice.

 

[Lenaara]

“Come upstairs, if you wish. I don’t bite.” A thoughtful pause followed by a soft chuckle. “Well. Not always.”

The tell-tale clicks of heel retreated from the staircase down the hallway, click-click-click, an unhurried step that bounced along the pale walls of the empty manor. Empty only in the most obvious sense, as despite the owner’s lack of a pulse and, some would argue, a soul, she had managed to occupy every space of the inn.

Maria filled it with her presence, traces of her seen in the smallest, most banal detail. The wooden flooring polished to a mirror’s shine, unmarred by dirt or dents normally left by dragged around furniture. The meticulous arrangement of items on display, the vases of fresh flowers and authentic abstract paintings. Perfect, pristine. But empty, lacking warmth, life, a soul. An odd little building that did not seem to belong in this province, let alone anywhere else in the world.

Lack of guests may have transformed the villa into an abandoned resemblance of a museum of decades past, but it was the diligent cleaning and the owner’s anal compulsion with order that stripped it of charm.

But charm wasn’t important, was it? The villa was but a convenient excuse. No point adding fresh flowers to every available surface when there would be no one to appreciate the sight, the smell, the charm.

Lamps in gilded sconces cast the dark chocolate panelling a deep burgundy. Maria traced a finger across one of the closed doors as she’d passed it, pace traced with an unhurried grace of someone who had all the time in the world. And she did, the thought of cancelling her dinner date forming in her mind as she crossed the hallway.

Last door on the right, at the very end of the long and narrow passage that could only be described as ominous in the late evening gloom. The entrance to Maria’s bedroom looked no more conspicuous than any other door she passed by. No conveniently placed coffin greeted her nor some devices of torture one would expect a millennia-old vampire to possess. A missed opportunity to intimidate, for sure.

She headed for the vanity of white wood and gold plate handles, intricate bottles of perfume and make up arranged by size and use as all things were in Maria’s bedroom. The lights were off and not a single beam of dying sunlight got past the heavy velvet curtains. As neither her guest nor she needed light to see Maria did not bother with pretence, only modesty. She shrugged on the silk blue robe, tied the sash loosely around her waist and went to sit on the edge of the chair by the vanity.

“I carry no preference for a type of guests,” Maria began in perfect albeit slightly accented Mandarin, “though ones with a heartbeat are always welcome. Those without are a different story.” Fingers smoothed the wrinkles in the silk over her knee. She kept her gaze pointed at the far wall, features relaxed in a way that suggested immense boredom. “If you’ve come here for a convenient dinner, I am afraid you will be disappointed.”

 

[GetThree]

Adrian followed closely behind her, tense and silent, his gaze tracing every step she took like an obsession. The cold and desolate inn made him feel uneasy. He had never been bothered by the existence, or the possibility of existence, of the supernatural. It was only as he walked through the dark and oddly soulless halls that he was reminded of all the horror movies he’d seen before. Perhaps, this was what people meant when they say a place felt haunted. The hotel was so bereft of any signs of life that his mind began to work desperately to churn out artificial presences to fill the void.

When she opened the door to her room and turned to face him, he almost flinched. It was unsettling to meet Maria again. The sight of her brought back the memories of everything she took away and revived emotions he thought he had already lost. It was exactly as he hoped. He had come here chasing for an assurance of his identity and there it stood in lacy lingerie. Yet, it was not comforting in the slightest.

“You don’t remember me?” Adrian demanded, a little irked at the idea. He had traveled all the way to this rustic inn upon the first hint of her presence here. Her nonchalance toward him gnawed at his heart. It was disappointing.

In fact, this whole thing was proving disappointing, so far. He didn’t know what he had been expecting but it wasn’t this. This simple room that felt so human, this empty house that was just a touch too clean, this woman that did not appear, at all, to be the antagonist he was looking to blame. He had wanted something that would give him some sort of purpose instead of blindly trying to reconstruct a forgotten life. He had wanted questions to appear in his head upon seeing her so he could search for an answer. But, nothing.

She was a vampire. He was a vampire. His family was still dead and he knew, even if he didn’t want to acknowledge it, that confronting her would be useless now. He found her a touch too late. He no longer had the appropriate passion and she had already forgotten the correct answers, if she ever knew them.

Well, the voice in his head reasoned, she can’t be faulted for her bad memory, really, she is pretty old. He could figure that much out. Her blood had given him strength beyond the norm from the get go — it was not difficult to imagine how strong she must be herself.

“I suppose not,” he answered himself with a frown. He tore his gaze away from her, finally, feeling that he had stared too intently for too long.

“You’re the one that turned me, you know, into your less prefered type of guest,” he added in a scathing tone, trying but failing not to glare. He had already decided not to provoke her as much as possible before he arrived but that went out the window the moment he saw her. The older, smarter part of him despaired at his stupidity.