𝙄𝙣 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙢𝙮𝙨𝙩𝙞𝙘𝙖𝙡 𝙝𝙚𝙖𝙧𝙩 𝙤𝙛 𝙉𝙚𝙬 𝙊𝙧𝙡𝙚𝙖𝙣𝙨, where secrets and shadows intertwine, four of the world's first-turned vampires arrive with vengeance burning in their veins.
𝙇𝙪𝙘𝙞𝙚𝙣 𝘾𝙖𝙨𝙩𝙡𝙚, pretends to fight for the gr...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
Lucien let the lifeless body slip from his grasp, wiping the blood from his lips with a pristine handkerchief. He turned his attention to Amelie, who was meticulously squeezing the last prescious drops from the blood bags he had provided. Her complexion remained pale, and fatigue lingered in her eyes, but a hint of her usual vitality was beginning to return.
"How are you feeling, love?" he asked, his concern hidden behind half hearted amusement as he observed her.
Amelie discared the empty blood bag onto the ever growing pile on the table, her actions mesaured and deliberate. She turned to face Lucien, her demeanor exuding a casual air that contradicted the intensity of her words.
"How do I feel? she echoes, a faint sardonic smile playing on her lips. "I feel as though I want to murder my brother."
Lucien let out a weary sigh and settled into the chair across the table from her. "As much as I, too, would relish in seeing Tristan suffer for all he has wrought, I must implore that you wait," he said, his voice steady. "We must work alongside him, for the time being."
Amelie bristled with annoyance, her eyes narrowing. "You cannot be serious, Lucien. After everything he has done? To you, to me, to Aurora?"
Lucien met her gaze with unwavering calm. "I am quite serious, Amelie. Our current circumstances require a strategic alliance. Tristan, for all his faults, possesses resources and information that are crucial to my objectives."
She crossed her arms, her frustration palpable. "What could he possibly have that you don't have the means to obtain?" Amelie uses a hand to gesture around Lucien's apartment. "You clearly have money now, you have never shied away from bragging about your refusal to use compulsion for material gains."
Lucien leaned forward, amusement dancing in his eyes, "And if memory serves me correctly, you, unlike me, have no problem using compulsion to get what you want."
☽
The bar buzzed with the low hum of conversation and clinking the of glasses. It was 1974, and amidst the dim lighting and swirling cigarette smoke, Amelie stepped inside. Her eyes, sharp and discerning scanned the room, landing on a young man sitting alone in a secluded booth. Hunger gnawed at her insides; she needed to feed.
With a graceful stride, Amelie made her way to the booth and slid into the seat across from the young man. She smiled warmly, but there was an unsettling intensity in her gaze. The man blinked, taken aback by her sudden presence.
"I-I'm sorry," he stammered, his voice tinged with nervousness. "I'm actually waiting from someone, this seat is taken."
Before he could continue Amelie lifted a slender finger to her lips, silencing him. "Hush," she whispered, locking eyes with him. The power of her compulsion took hold, the man found himself unable to speak, his confusion and fear growing with each passing second. Amelie's eyes flicked to his hand, noticing an ornate, golden, ring adorning his finger. "What a beautiful ring," she remarked, her voice smooth and compelling. "Give it to me."
