Moonlight Dance: A Vampire's Tale

Chapter 1

  The maid placed the platter, heaped with a large portion of roasted pork leg, onto the dining table. The leg had barely been seared on the outside, the juices within still mingling with thick blood. Normally, such half-raw fare would be a favorite of the Advance Vampires. Even after enduring their weaning period and gaining control over their thirst for blood, they occasionally craved that taste of raw vitality. Yet tonight, the pervasive scent of blood in the dining hall seemed to do nothing for the master of the estate.

  As darkness fell upon Cazarburgh, a terrifying silence engulfed the town. Its streets were eerily empty, lit only by sparse, flickering lamps, while bats occasionally screeched through the sky, their shrill cries cutting the air and sending chills down the spines of any traveler daring to pass through. Of course, no one in their right mind would choose this remote town, tucked beneath the Kingdom of Mego, as a destination. The journey through the Blood Mist Forest encircling Cazarburgh was no trifling matter.

  The maid stood to the side, waiting for the lord and lady of the manor to dine, in case they had any requests. Serving while the master ate was a noble custom, one nearly forgotten in the annals of House Glory's past. For nearly a century, the remnants of this once-proud house had clung desperately to their old ways, preserving what little grace and dignity they could, wistfully recalling the privileges long since lost. Tonight, though, as the master reached for his utensils, the tremor in his hand betrayed the abandonment of both grace and dignity.

  "Aya..." His voice quivered, much like the knife and fork in his hands.

  "I'm here, my lord," the maid responded softly.

  "What's the meaning of this pork leg?" His voice wavered dangerously.

  The dining hall was disturbingly still. Across from him sat Lady Lesadita Glory, her utensils untouched, her eyes fixed on her husband as she swallowed nervously—the sound unnervingly clear in the silence.

  "The skin was roasted, my lord," Aya answered, her own nervousness growing.

  "Only the skin?" The master's gaze slowly shifted from the pork to the maid. "And this blood?" His fork pierced the hardened skin of the meat, causing a fresh stream of blood to ooze onto the platter. "Why is there so much blood?" His voice rose from its trembling depths to a high-pitched fury, and with a violent motion, he yanked the fork from the meat and flung it into the corner of the hall. "What the hell is with all this blood?!"

  "Stark Glory," Lady Lesadita Glory bravely interjected, offering the terrified maid a moment to catch her breath. "Tonight is our daughter's birthday. As is customary for special occasions, Aya prepared a half-raw, blood-soaked meal. It is tradition, husband. It is... the custom of House Glory."

  "Tradition? Custom?" Stark Glory sneered at his wife. "Oh, you know those words well, Lesadita. Then perhaps you can tell me why, for all your knowledge of tradition and custom, our daughter has chosen to break the laws that have governed vampires for over two thousand years, hmm?"

  Lesadita Glory straightened, her posture now as rigid as her expression. From her modest, dignified attire to her poised dining etiquette, she was every bit the lady of grace. "Today is our daughter's birthday," she repeated, the large garnet earrings at her earlobes reflecting the flickering light from the chandelier above. "Tonight, she comes of age. Let's finish our meal, shall we?"

  As expected, Aya knew that when her lady chose appeasement, Stark Glory's rage would only grow. "Don't deflect, Lesadita," Stark pressed relentlessly. "Answer my question."

  Lesadita's response was to firmly pick up her knife and fork, cutting into the surface of the pork leg. "Perhaps you should be asking," she said, a touch of anger creeping into her tone, "why our daughter, on the night of her birthday, cannot sit here with us."