TENACIOUS

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER ONE

Colours swam over the skin of the trio, as they frolicked through a boisterous sea of partygoers captured in an inebriated, inescapable frenzy. The Blackthorn children became enveloped in the mundane existence that they so rarely indulged in, letting their consciousness' submerge themselves almost to the point of dissolution. Collaborative waves formed around the siblings. It swept them up into the mass effortlessly, scooping them into formation. Their souls intertwined with the current, rhythmically interlaced with streams of outstretched limbs and oscillate heads. Above the churning whirlpool of people, dancing Nymphs in elaborate shades were contorting their bodies around poles leaving observers spellbound; a Siren and her backup singers that went by the name of The Sailors were appealing their need for intimacy by inviting the masses forward with no other tool but their voices. They were gentler and far more less manipulative than their ancestors. Multi-coloured strobe lights beamed down upon the heads of the sweat-clustered congregation. The centre of the dancefloor was like being caught in the rapids - bodies tangled together, astonishing hairdos clashing, mouths seeking a dance partner. Beneath their feet the floor pulsated. Beneath their feet the floor became alive.

A couple hours later, Elijah was wearily scanning the monstrous flock for his sister and quirked a sceptical brow. Instead of finding Darcy, he'd spied sight of a couple towards the outskirts of the multitude that put him in a nervous disposition. A mundane boy with green spiked hair had his glitter painted lips against those of a Hispanic girl. Eli raised his brow at the skimpy cyan velvet gown the girl sported; the couples hands were clasped to each other like an octopuses' suckers against prey. With a sheepish flick of Elijah's pointer finger, a blue spark erupted, and the boy pulled back to vomit over the girl. She stormed to cut in the front of the toilet queue, snarling, and bared her fangs at a group of hideously dressed mundane men that had begun cat-calling her. It took him a while to realize that the female was in fact a lab partner of his from two years ago in St Ivys. Stretch marks were littered across her thighs where the dress rode up and hair wrapped around her arms in a thick blanket; Elijah caught her eye for a time, and he offered up an encouraging smile to her. She didnt return it. He meant it or did until she blanked his kind attempts. Aelisha Santé was a self-proclaimed goddess, and to most she had merely any flaws. One was that she possessed a horrendously poisonous tongue. Another was her fierce temper – no matter who you were, she would inflict her anger on you if you were in her path. Though possibly the worst was that she and her family were Lycanthropes. Everybody favoured the Night Children: whether they be Werewolves, Vampires, Nagas, Gorgons or anything in the region of Demons. They ruled the flipside of mundane society and took care of any issues caused by any paranormal being. People like Elijah though, the Draoi, were a despised race. The social hierarchy placed Warlocks like the Blackthorn children penultimate to the bottom tear of importance, even in life threatening circumstances.

"Love, love, love. What is it good for?" Announced a broad shouldered, rugged man, as he strode back from the bar. There were three drinks in his vast hands. One for himself, one for Elijah and one for their elder sister who was still nowhere to be seen. His brother, Cohen, handed him a glass so he could calm his jitters and the uncomfortable looking boy accepted it gratefully.

The brawnier of the two leant back against the black wall; his dark hair was so full of product that it hadn't changed from the original styled mess since the night had begun. His attire, however, had gradually become less and less. It originally was a white sleeveless turtle neck covered by a black leather jacket that had an array of silver studs around the collar, and matching bottoms. Now Cohen had disguarded everything but the pants. They clung to his fascinatingly long legs, with sweat acting as glue, like a second skin. "Absolutely nothing."

Elijah blinked twice. He put the first down to the bourbon rippling in the glass. Even though he despised drinking, as the twilight unravelled it had become less and less hard to resist. Through the bottom of the glass he could spy his pale blue jeans that he had rolled up at the hem from being too long; Eli wore a black and coffee striped baggy top, so it swallowed his sick-seeming body. His hands were hidden beneath the sleeves and the fabric wrapped around to create mittens and his small feet were in a pair of mustard coloured trainers: the laces always had to be double knotted. The next he put to glancing back up at his brother. Cohen was rubbing the nape of his neck in distress, and ploughed two hands through his mop of hair, so that it now tumbled over his pear tinted eyes.