Blood of Mine || Jaemin

Chapter Two: Light a Flame

It's three in the morning and this party wasn't dying any time soon.

A deeply sorrowed man with raven locks leans against a white marble pillar, as if wishing it would swallow him whole. Arms crossed against his broad chest and an antsy hand coming up to tug at his tie. Narrow eyes scanned the entire ballroom, watching as people he didn't know or could care less about swung around the gilded room, smiling underneath painted angels as if they weren't all sinners. Irony is the word, isn't it?

His white suit was a stark contrast compared to the rest of the attendees, who either wore dark red or black. He found it rather...unfashionable. But then again, it would be distasteful to outshine the main star of the event, right? Taeyong would have their heads if anyone dare show up the prince and rightful heir of the most deadly coven, Mors.

And yet here he is, the rightful heir of said most deadly coven, dreading this God-awful party and wanting to get the hell out of here.

He hated things like this. Matchmaking events that were disguised as parties or celebrations. This year it was in celebration of Jaemin's twenty-third birthday (and irregularly so, that is his real age. He's a rather young vampire, unlike all the rest of the decaying corpses dancing in this room). It would just be yet again another one of Taeyong's attempts to set him up with a qualified, 'perfectly bred' (Taeyong's words, not his) royal to secure his claim to the throne.

Not that there's anything to claim. The throne has been his since the day he was born and his father was murdered by the leader of the Nox Venatores. He was put in a position of leadership at the young age of fourteen, though they disguised it as Taeyong making the decisions until Jaemin was of age--just because it'd be easier for the city to believe an adult was making the decisions rather than a child.

The throne has always been his. Now he's just of age to play the part.

He wasn't sure where Taeyong had wandered off to. Probably fretting over the appetizers or drinks, but Jaemin knew that if he saw him moping in the corner he'd be furious--sometimes he liked to compare the older man to a crazy, flustered mother hen.

Yet, he couldn't hold a grudge against him. After all, Taeyong has only wanted the best for him after his father died.

His eyes scanned the crowd, ballgown dresses sweeping the floor and velvet black gloves holding champagne glasses, spilling all over the marble floors. It had to be well past three in the morning and yet the party was still in full swing.

Jaemin would rather sleep.

In the midst of the flock, a raven-haired man almost as dark as he met his gaze with a raised eyebrow. They didn't have to exchange words to understand each other. With just the flick of his brow, the raven-haired emerged from the crowd and joined his side with crossed arms, tilting his head to look at him with an amused smile.

"You're not dancing." He comments after a moment of silence.

Jaemin lips quirk slightly. "So observant."

The man sighed, full-heartedly and deep in his chest as if this thought was truly troubling, and leans against the same pillar as him; their shoulders touching. "Taeyong organized this whole event for you and you aren't dancing."

"That's right." Jaemin nods solemnly.

A small chuckle of disbelief passes his lips as he shakes his head. "Taeyong's going to be pissed."

"I know, Jeno. We have this conversation every year." He shrugs as if he really could care less.

They don't continue the conversation, or they don't get a chance to, because then a girl their age approaches them with a small, shy smile. Jaemin recognizes her--Karina. He's spent too many events with her to not remember her; they've always been shoved together one way or another. Jaemin's positive that this is Taeyong's idea of a perfect match and is no doubt behind this.