Chapter 119: 119
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Azrael laughs fiendishly at my remarks, knowing that despite my accusatory words, he was not the only one to be feasting on the blood of the Folk last night. carefully, he moves his hand to pat my shoulder, then seeing the look on my face thinks better of it, recoiling back into himself.
"Well, I like to have my fun. Besides, I could say the same about you, brother. How many nymphs was it you drained? Five? Ten?"
"Fifteen." I tell him, picking at my black nails absently, not bothering to catch the look of surprise that plays on his face. A faint quiver of jealousy runs through his heart, pulsing through him for a second before being replaced by a suffocating tranquillity. Of course, these feelings are not unknown to my brother. There have been many a day in the past where he has accompanied me hunting, each time playing the same as the last: boasting a scarlet prince and a white haired vampire who falls just short of his brothers achievements.
It would be a lie to say I don't realise such things make him insufferably jealous, but it would also be a lie to say that I could live without draining those fifteen nymphs. My body demands blood at a rate much greater than any other vampire, thus keeping myself sustained is a very taxing task indeed. I do not often kill incessantly for the sport. At least, not recently.
Fifteen nymphs, and still not enough, I think hungrily myself, reminded of the dryness in my throat with each stab of cold morning air. I smile at the memory of the wild pulsing of their hearts, dancing to each beat- a deadly waltz they could not hear. It is so awfully fun- to see the way they quiver in fear and delight. To have them so taken by me they would do anything I wished. Even as I ripped out their throats, as their hearts thrummed with despair, as the hope drained from their eyes, there was still a wonderful delight about it all. I find myself marvelling at the sheer simplicity of it.
My nature is like an irresistible beacon to the forest folk. They are attracted, dancing and swaying, like a moth to a flame- a very dangerous flame at that. They simply can't help themselves wondering, wanting, desiring, to reach out for that sparkling, pale emblem that dances through the shadows as though they were his ballroom and the world was his stage. It is a feeling so strong it overrides the base animal instincts, the fear, and makes it so very easy for me to simply take. And I certainly enjoy taking.
"I'm leaving," Azrael says at last, running a hand through his silvery locks. "Honestly I don't even know how you are still hungry. After fifteen? And you don't even have sex with them," He rolls his eyes at me comically, red iris' glowing, the pang of jealousy flashing through him once more. I remain stoically silent. Azrael knows just as well as I the extent of my appetite, but he isn't going to say it. That would make him weak.
I push back the tail end of my raven feathered cloak indifferently, brushing off the crumpled bits of leaves that have caught on its black wings.
"Try not to mess things up at the palace," I add, turning myself away slightly to bask in the faint trickles of light that claw their way out from above the trees. "I would rather not come home to hear the complaints of noble vampire men that you have seduced their wives into bed again."
Azrael sighs languorously, knowing he isn't going to get any more out of me.
"You won't. See you at the Palace." He turns away, gesturing back with an oddly amicable wave of his hand before his figure blurs amongst the whispering trees and tall shadows. He is gone.
Absently, I kick away a stone with the tip of my boot. It bounces for a few paces, before slowing to halt in a pile of leaves. Numbly, I stare at it, deliberating over my options. With Azrael gone, no longer burden by the pressing worry of keeping him in check, I have the morning all to myself.
Now, where to hunt? The angel clan's barrier is not far from this spot, I think that perhaps if I am lucky, I might stumble across an angel who has slipped just out the borders. True, the angels are becoming ever more cautious with their dwindling numbers, and my chances of finding an angel are glaringly thin. But an angel's blood is so incredibly delectable it would be hard not to pass up the chance even so.
I grin to myself, feeling a hideous rush run through me. The thought of fresh angel blood makes me quiver with ardent delight- what a delectable thought. It would certainly be a change from the nymph's blood- after a while it gets so incredibly boring. Decidedly, I start to pace forward, letting the cool wind ruffle the curls of my dark hair, pushing them past my studded pointed ears and whipping at my face. Freedom is a rare thing for a vampire Prince, much less a tyrant ruler, I shall make the most of it while I can.
I dart in and out of trees, through the deepening shadows and thorny blackberry bushes that snag harshly at my clothes. My mind races with thoughts of silky golden blood slipping down my throat in thick, honeyed streams; the feeling of it coating my fingers and running down my wrists. I shudder. How long has it been since I drained an angel? Ten years? Twenty? I find myself struggling to remember over the wicked glee that begins tearing at my insides like a dreadful inferno.
This shall be fun.
The forest is unnaturally quiet around the borders of the angel clan, though that is not saying much to be honest. No one ever dares to come so close to the outside- or close to the inside, not unless they want to die, or are very, very stupid. Rather laughably, it is that very same stupidity which I am counting on to lure me out a meal today.
Skidding to a halt, I laugh a little to myself at the irony of it all. The angels used to be the most powerful rulers of Faey; now they just lock themselves behind an invisible wall of spells and flimsy silver fillings. Their councillors turned foul and corrupt years ago: I myself have seen first hand the extent of their wickedness- they even dare to cut off the wings of angels who have the nerve to associate with a vampire- a brave feat in and of itself. The last I heard, they were raising their orphaned angel Queen to be a puppet for their plans, however sick and grisly they may be. In that respect, one might almost feel sorry for them. This race used to be the most powerful and respectable race in all of Faey, now they have crumbled into little more than a fine dust.
I find myself staving off a wince. It's almost too pitiful to bear. Almost.
Where the wall lines of silver filings and wards begin, the land is barren, as though the lines themselves had devoid the earth of any of its life, plants fearing to cross its threshold, and animals all the more. There is a faint golden shimmer in the air which tells me of its presence, glistening like moonlight on a pond, beautiful, deadly. If there is one thing the angels are good at, it is keeping us out. Countless times in the past, my younger and more foolish self had made attempts to breach the barrier's confines, thinking that I might be the one to break it, and countless more times I had left empty handed, burnt, and covered in blackening bruises. Azrael had not been so lucky. For while I had never come across any of the border's inhabitants- at least none who were armed well enough to fight me, Azrael had happened upon one of the worst.
To the vampires, he is known as 'silver wings', but the angels know him by another name. Elris Ramedaius.
But that is a tale for another time.
Hesitantly, I kneel down beside the strips of iron scattered over the ground, tentatively reaching out my hand towards it, the metal beginning to glow angrily as I draw near. My skin burns up in a blistering heat. Quickly, I pull my hand back away.
"Stupid iron," I mutter to myself cradling the burnt tips of my fingers in one hand. It is a nuisance that the only metal to deter vampires is the one that is so begrudgingly common throughout Faey. Any of the folk who do heed my kind already make a good chunk of their weapons out of the stuff, and the angels themselves have stockpiled tons of iron scraps over the years. Sometimes, you can hear their forgers tirelessly working away if you stray too close to their barrier; so that if you listened very closely, you might strain to catch the faint ring of a hammer on metal, and the hiss of spluttering fires in ginormous forges. And even if you didn't, you would always see the smoke.
All at once, I become aware of the faintest heart beat. It doesn't take long to hear the rush of blood pumping through arteries, small and soft, just barely audible despite the quiet of the morning. It sounds... like a child. How delightful. I think to myself, crouching down into the shadows, drawing my cloak around me. Steadying myself, I wait there, hidden like a panther among the thickets of darkness, surveying the forest with the trained look of a hunter. The gentle beats are coming closer, thrumming in my ears like a steady waltz that lacks a third beat. I peer into the trees on the other side of the barrier, my eyes glowing, a sickening grin spreading across my face at the thought of fresh blood.
Children are always so delightfully easy to fool.
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Azrael laughs fiendishly at my remarks, knowing that despite my accusatory words, he was not the only one to be feasting on the blood of the Folk last night. carefully, he moves his hand to pat my shoulder, then seeing the look on my face thinks better of it, recoiling back into himself.
"Well, I like to have my fun. Besides, I could say the same about you, brother. How many nymphs was it you drained? Five? Ten?"
"Fifteen." I tell him, picking at my black nails absently, not bothering to catch the look of surprise that plays on his face. A faint quiver of jealousy runs through his heart, pulsing through him for a second before being replaced by a suffocating tranquillity. Of course, these feelings are not unknown to my brother. There have been many a day in the past where he has accompanied me hunting, each time playing the same as the last: boasting a scarlet prince and a white haired vampire who falls just short of his brothers achievements.
It would be a lie to say I don't realise such things make him insufferably jealous, but it would also be a lie to say that I could live without draining those fifteen nymphs. My body demands blood at a rate much greater than any other vampire, thus keeping myself sustained is a very taxing task indeed. I do not often kill incessantly for the sport. At least, not recently.
Fifteen nymphs, and still not enough, I think hungrily myself, reminded of the dryness in my throat with each stab of cold morning air. I smile at the memory of the wild pulsing of their hearts, dancing to each beat- a deadly waltz they could not hear. It is so awfully fun- to see the way they quiver in fear and delight. To have them so taken by me they would do anything I wished. Even as I ripped out their throats, as their hearts thrummed with despair, as the hope drained from their eyes, there was still a wonderful delight about it all. I find myself marvelling at the sheer simplicity of it.
My nature is like an irresistible beacon to the forest folk. They are attracted, dancing and swaying, like a moth to a flame- a very dangerous flame at that. They simply can't help themselves wondering, wanting, desiring, to reach out for that sparkling, pale emblem that dances through the shadows as though they were his ballroom and the world was his stage. It is a feeling so strong it overrides the base animal instincts, the fear, and makes it so very easy for me to simply take. And I certainly enjoy taking.
"I'm leaving," Azrael says at last, running a hand through his silvery locks. "Honestly I don't even know how you are still hungry. After fifteen? And you don't even have sex with them," He rolls his eyes at me comically, red iris' glowing, the pang of jealousy flashing through him once more. I remain stoically silent. Azrael knows just as well as I the extent of my appetite, but he isn't going to say it. That would make him weak.
I push back the tail end of my raven feathered cloak indifferently, brushing off the crumpled bits of leaves that have caught on its black wings.
"Try not to mess things up at the palace," I add, turning myself away slightly to bask in the faint trickles of light that claw their way out from above the trees. "I would rather not come home to hear the complaints of noble vampire men that you have seduced their wives into bed again."
Azrael sighs languorously, knowing he isn't going to get any more out of me.
"You won't. See you at the Palace." He turns away, gesturing back with an oddly amicable wave of his hand before his figure blurs amongst the whispering trees and tall shadows. He is gone.
Absently, I kick away a stone with the tip of my boot. It bounces for a few paces, before slowing to halt in a pile of leaves. Numbly, I stare at it, deliberating over my options. With Azrael gone, no longer burden by the pressing worry of keeping him in check, I have the morning all to myself.
Now, where to hunt? The angel clan's barrier is not far from this spot, I think that perhaps if I am lucky, I might stumble across an angel who has slipped just out the borders. True, the angels are becoming ever more cautious with their dwindling numbers, and my chances of finding an angel are glaringly thin. But an angel's blood is so incredibly delectable it would be hard not to pass up the chance even so.
I grin to myself, feeling a hideous rush run through me. The thought of fresh angel blood makes me quiver with ardent delight- what a delectable thought. It would certainly be a change from the nymph's blood- after a while it gets so incredibly boring. Decidedly, I start to pace forward, letting the cool wind ruffle the curls of my dark hair, pushing them past my studded pointed ears and whipping at my face. Freedom is a rare thing for a vampire Prince, much less a tyrant ruler, I shall make the most of it while I can.
I dart in and out of trees, through the deepening shadows and thorny blackberry bushes that snag harshly at my clothes. My mind races with thoughts of silky golden blood slipping down my throat in thick, honeyed streams; the feeling of it coating my fingers and running down my wrists. I shudder. How long has it been since I drained an angel? Ten years? Twenty? I find myself struggling to remember over the wicked glee that begins tearing at my insides like a dreadful inferno.
This shall be fun.
The forest is unnaturally quiet around the borders of the angel clan, though that is not saying much to be honest. No one ever dares to come so close to the outside- or close to the inside, not unless they want to die, or are very, very stupid. Rather laughably, it is that very same stupidity which I am counting on to lure me out a meal today.
Skidding to a halt, I laugh a little to myself at the irony of it all. The angels used to be the most powerful rulers of Faey; now they just lock themselves behind an invisible wall of spells and flimsy silver fillings. Their councillors turned foul and corrupt years ago: I myself have seen first hand the extent of their wickedness- they even dare to cut off the wings of angels who have the nerve to associate with a vampire- a brave feat in and of itself. The last I heard, they were raising their orphaned angel Queen to be a puppet for their plans, however sick and grisly they may be. In that respect, one might almost feel sorry for them. This race used to be the most powerful and respectable race in all of Faey, now they have crumbled into little more than a fine dust.
I find myself staving off a wince. It's almost too pitiful to bear. Almost.
Where the wall lines of silver filings and wards begin, the land is barren, as though the lines themselves had devoid the earth of any of its life, plants fearing to cross its threshold, and animals all the more. There is a faint golden shimmer in the air which tells me of its presence, glistening like moonlight on a pond, beautiful, deadly. If there is one thing the angels are good at, it is keeping us out. Countless times in the past, my younger and more foolish self had made attempts to breach the barrier's confines, thinking that I might be the one to break it, and countless more times I had left empty handed, burnt, and covered in blackening bruises. Azrael had not been so lucky. For while I had never come across any of the border's inhabitants- at least none who were armed well enough to fight me, Azrael had happened upon one of the worst.
To the vampires, he is known as 'silver wings', but the angels know him by another name. Elris Ramedaius.
But that is a tale for another time.
Hesitantly, I kneel down beside the strips of iron scattered over the ground, tentatively reaching out my hand towards it, the metal beginning to glow angrily as I draw near. My skin burns up in a blistering heat. Quickly, I pull my hand back away.
"Stupid iron," I mutter to myself cradling the burnt tips of my fingers in one hand. It is a nuisance that the only metal to deter vampires is the one that is so begrudgingly common throughout Faey. Any of the folk who do heed my kind already make a good chunk of their weapons out of the stuff, and the angels themselves have stockpiled tons of iron scraps over the years. Sometimes, you can hear their forgers tirelessly working away if you stray too close to their barrier; so that if you listened very closely, you might strain to catch the faint ring of a hammer on metal, and the hiss of spluttering fires in ginormous forges. And even if you didn't, you would always see the smoke.
All at once, I become aware of the faintest heart beat. It doesn't take long to hear the rush of blood pumping through arteries, small and soft, just barely audible despite the quiet of the morning. It sounds... like a child. How delightful. I think to myself, crouching down into the shadows, drawing my cloak around me. Steadying myself, I wait there, hidden like a panther among the thickets of darkness, surveying the forest with the trained look of a hunter. The gentle beats are coming closer, thrumming in my ears like a steady waltz that lacks a third beat. I peer into the trees on the other side of the barrier, my eyes glowing, a sickening grin spreading across my face at the thought of fresh blood.
Children are always so delightfully easy to fool.
Azrael laughs fiendishly at my remarks, knowing that despite my accusatory words, he was not the only one to be feasting on the blood of the Folk last night. carefully, he moves his hand to pat my shoulder, then seeing the look on my face thinks better of it, recoiling back into himself. "Well, I like to have my fun. Besides, I could say the same about you, brother. How many nymphs was it you drained? Five? Ten?" "Fifteen." I tell him, picking at my black nails absently, not bothering to catch the look of surprise that plays on his face. A faint quiver of jealousy runs through his heart, pulsing through him for a second before being replaced by a suffocating tranquillity. Of course, these feelings are not unknown to my brother. There have been many a day in the past where he has accompanied me hunting, each time playing the same as the last: boasting a scarlet prince and a white haired vampire who falls just short of his brothers achievements. It would be a lie to say I don't realise such things make him insufferably jealous, but it would also be a lie to say that I could live without draining those fifteen nymphs. My body demands blood at a rate much greater than any other vampire, thus keeping myself sustained is a very taxing task indeed. I do not often kill incessantly for the sport. At least, not recently. Fifteen nymphs, and still not enough, I think hungrily myself, reminded of the dryness in my throat with each stab of cold morning air. I smile at the memory of the wild pulsing of their hearts, dancing to each beat- a deadly waltz they could not hear. It is so awfully fun- to see the way they quiver in fear and delight. To have them so taken by me they would do anything I wished. Even as I ripped out their throats, as their hearts thrummed with despair, as the hope drained from their eyes, there was still a wonderful delight about it all. I find myself marvelling at the sheer simplicity of it. My nature is like an irresistible beacon to the forest folk. They are attracted, dancing and swaying, like a moth to a flame- a very dangerous flame at that. They simply can't help themselves wondering, wanting, desiring, to reach out for that sparkling, pale emblem that dances through the shadows as though they were his ballroom and the world was his stage. It is a feeling so strong it overrides the base animal instincts, the fear, and makes it so very easy for me to simply take. And I certainly enjoy taking. "I'm leaving," Azrael says at last, running a hand through his silvery locks. "Honestly I don't even know how you are still hungry. After fifteen? And you don't even have sex with them," He rolls his eyes at me comically, red iris' glowing, the pang of jealousy flashing through him once more. I remain stoically silent. Azrael knows just as well as I the extent of my appetite, but he isn't going to say it. That would make him weak.I push back the tail end of my raven feathered cloak indifferently, brushing off the crumpled bits of leaves that have caught on its black wings."Try not to mess things up at the palace," I add, turning myself away slightly to bask in the faint trickles of light that claw their way out from above the trees. "I would rather not come home to hear the complaints of noble vampire men that you have seduced their wives into bed again."Azrael sighs languorously, knowing he isn't going to get any more out of me. "You won't. See you at the Palace." He turns away, gesturing back with an oddly amicable wave of his hand before his figure blurs amongst the whispering trees and tall shadows. He is gone.Absently, I kick away a stone with the tip of my boot. It bounces for a few paces, before slowing to halt in a pile of leaves. Numbly, I stare at it, deliberating over my options. With Azrael gone, no longer burden by the pressing worry of keeping him in check, I have the morning all to myself.Now, where to hunt? The angel clan's barrier is not far from this spot, I think that perhaps if I am lucky, I might stumble across an angel who has slipped just out the borders. True, the angels are becoming ever more cautious with their dwindling numbers, and my chances of finding an angel are glaringly thin. But an angel's blood is so incredibly delectable it would be hard not to pass up the chance even so. I grin to myself, feeling a hideous rush run through me. The thought of fresh angel blood makes me quiver with ardent delight- what a delectable thought. It would certainly be a change from the nymph's blood- after a while it gets so incredibly boring. Decidedly, I start to pace forward, letting the cool wind ruffle the curls of my dark hair, pushing them past my studded pointed ears and whipping at my face. Freedom is a rare thing for a vampire Prince, much less a tyrant ruler, I shall make the most of it while I can.I dart in and out of trees, through the deepening shadows and thorny blackberry bushes that snag harshly at my clothes. My mind races with thoughts of silky golden blood slipping down my throat in thick, honeyed streams; the feeling of it coating my fingers and running down my wrists. I shudder. How long has it been since I drained an angel? Ten years? Twenty? I find myself struggling to remember over the wicked glee that begins tearing at my insides like a dreadful inferno. This shall be fun.The forest is unnaturally quiet around the borders of the angel clan, though that is not saying much to be honest. No one ever dares to come so close to the outside- or close to the inside, not unless they want to die, or are very, very stupid. Rather laughably, it is that very same stupidity which I am counting on to lure me out a meal today.Skidding to a halt, I laugh a little to myself at the irony of it all. The angels used to be the most powerful rulers of Faey; now they just lock themselves behind an invisible wall of spells and flimsy silver fillings. Their councillors turned foul and corrupt years ago: I myself have seen first hand the extent of their wickedness- they even dare to cut off the wings of angels who have the nerve to associate with a vampire- a brave feat in and of itself. The last I heard, they were raising their orphaned angel Queen to be a puppet for their plans, however sick and grisly they may be. In that respect, one might almost feel sorry for them. This race used to be the most powerful and respectable race in all of Faey, now they have crumbled into little more than a fine dust.I find myself staving off a wince. It's almost too pitiful to bear. Almost.Where the wall lines of silver filings and wards begin, the land is barren, as though the lines themselves had devoid the earth of any of its life, plants fearing to cross its threshold, and animals all the more. There is a faint golden shimmer in the air which tells me of its presence, glistening like moonlight on a pond, beautiful, deadly. If there is one thing the angels are good at, it is keeping us out. Countless times in the past, my younger and more foolish self had made attempts to breach the barrier's confines, thinking that I might be the one to break it, and countless more times I had left empty handed, burnt, and covered in blackening bruises. Azrael had not been so lucky. For while I had never come across any of the border's inhabitants- at least none who were armed well enough to fight me, Azrael had happened upon one of the worst. To the vampires, he is known as 'silver wings', but the angels know him by another name. Elris Ramedaius.But that is a tale for another time.Hesitantly, I kneel down beside the strips of iron scattered over the ground, tentatively reaching out my hand towards it, the metal beginning to glow angrily as I draw near. My skin burns up in a blistering heat. Quickly, I pull my hand back away. "Stupid iron," I mutter to myself cradling the burnt tips of my fingers in one hand. It is a nuisance that the only metal to deter vampires is the one that is so begrudgingly common throughout Faey. Any of the folk who do heed my kind already make a good chunk of their weapons out of the stuff, and the angels themselves have stockpiled tons of iron scraps over the years. Sometimes, you can hear their forgers tirelessly working away if you stray too close to their barrier; so that if you listened very closely, you might strain to catch the faint ring of a hammer on metal, and the hiss of spluttering fires in ginormous forges. And even if you didn't, you would always see the smoke.All at once, I become aware of the faintest heart beat. It doesn't take long to hear the rush of blood pumping through arteries, small and soft, just barely audible despite the quiet of the morning. It sounds... like a child. How delightful. I think to myself, crouching down into the shadows, drawing my cloak around me. Steadying myself, I wait there, hidden like a panther among the thickets of darkness, surveying the forest with the trained look of a hunter. The gentle beats are coming closer, thrumming in my ears like a steady waltz that lacks a third beat. I peer into the trees on the other side of the barrier, my eyes glowing, a sickening grin spreading across my face at the thought of fresh blood. Children are always so delightfully easy to fool.
