The Van Helsing Incursion

THE OTHERS

Evelyn's deep green eyes were locked on the dancing fire ahead. She watched as the flames licked the logs, mingling with one another in an elaborate dance. This was a spectacle that never failed to leave her entranced.

Her kind had an aversion to an open flame, and some were driven into a blind panic at the sight of it. Those unlucky few were often discovered and destroyed by hunters. After all, a Victorian-era home in the winter with clear windows and no smoke coming from the chimneys was a dead giveaway.

Marc entered the room and paused long enough to get a feel for the situation. He then walked silently towards the corner bar and filled two glasses with cognac. His meticulous nature shone through his every action, which highlighted the stiff and regimented movements of this old soldier.

"Merci, mon cher," Evelyn said absentmindedly.

Marc did not respond. Instead, he took exactly fifteen steps to reach his chair and sat down. Evelyn had no need nor desire to count the steps. They never did, as long as it was routine.

Evelyn picked up her glass the moment Marc's hands left the surface. As the flames from the fire lit up her face, she knocked back the contents in one hit. The alcohol left her with a warm feeling in her stomach, and that was the most she would get. Their kind were immune to all intoxicating substances, a reality that had driven more than a few junkies crazy, cursed to seek out a high they would never find.

She giggled before slamming the glass against the table. She was well aware that Marc abhorred such unladylike behaviour. In her opinion, a couple of centuries spent living under his ideals of a lady was more than enough.

"I know," Evelyn said flatly.

Marc did not reply; he rarely did. Instead, he reached for his own glass and let the liquid moisten his lips. Unlike his partner, he could not partake. Attempting to do so would invariably leave a mess, an expansive mess of chewed food and curdled blood that haunted those unfortunate enough to witness.

"For a man who never puts out," Evelyn said lightly. "You sure have a thing for getting teased."

Evelyn turned to face her sire and smiled. This was her trademark smile, the one that hinted of all the pleasures she would deliver if he surrendered to her. As expected, he did not react, and that remained a constant in their relationship.

"You think she has a chance?" Evelyn asked to change the subject.

The memory of the exhausted Clara cuddled next to her was still vivid. Evelyn had experienced a great many women in similar situations, but this one struck her as particularly memorable. Namely, Clara was forbidden fruit, a woman who could literally set her aflame.

There was more to it than the thrill of flirting with fire. It also went beyond appearances. After all, beauty was only skin deep. Evelyn, of all people, knew this was the truth. Only a fool would look over her history and think she was anything but a monster.

"She's on your mind?" Marc asked and those words boomed throughout the room as though he were unaccustomed to speaking.

Evelyn's eyes widened. They had a bond that few mortals would ever know. Even then, such connections lasted at most a lifetime, whereas their bond had endured centuries. Marc rarely needed to speak at all, because they had insight into each other's soul.

"Are you feeling left out?" Evelyn giggled

"It's rare to see you so focused on someone else," Marc said bluntly, now with a voice appropriate for the venue.

"Oh, you wound me so," Evelyn said with a wink.

Evelyn knew better. Breaking the wall of silence between them was proof of it. Still, there were expectations to their exchanges, and this was one of them.