Hauntingly Starving

Prologue

It was the year 1421. 

Seven males stood before a council, their bodies bruised, chest clawed, and caked with crimson. The Council of Vampires stood before the seven leaders of the infamous Seven Were Clans. The Vampires, youthful and ethereal in appearance lowered the thick, black hoods of their cloaks, their eyes gleaming a menacing black as their lips tilted with an air of superiority. 

King Lucius stepped forward, his cloak billowing around his feet as he walked towards the podium, his eyes silently observing the nooses around the necks, and shackles made of silver around their feet and arms of the emotionless males. They were unable to escape. For once and for all, he and his kind would exterminate these foul beasts and show every supernatural clan that Vampires were the most worthy of being superior. 

"On this day forward," he stated, his voice coated with a thick Romanian accent, "we shall be known as the superior race, my fellow Blood Lines." 

"Da," agreed the other Vampires. 

Lucius pointed a svelte finger -his nail elongated and blackened- at the Werewolves. "These beasts shall perish and so shall the Seven Were Clans. I, King Lucius, shall make history on this magical night." He smirked. "Any final words, mongrels?" 

The Seven Clan leaders refused to show fear, they refused to talk, they refused to show any emotion. Werewolves were proud beings, their Blood Lines were the first to be formed within the supernatural community, thus they were renowned as The First Blood Line. Erik, the Leader of The First Clan, transformed. His face morphed into the beast and because of their bestial appearance, they were often referred to as troglodytes. The Leader of The Second transformed, his growls echoing through the gloomy shade of night. Every Leader morphed, their grunts low and fearless. 

As they tilted their heads back, they simultaneously released a frightening howl. Their flesh gave way to luxuriant hair. They were the true warriors, gifted with their abilities by The Father Lycan, Seraphiel, himself. The pale moon that hung in the dark backdrop of the night sky shone, secretly promising the Clan Leaders a peaceful journey to the afterlife. 

The Vampire King clapped his hands in a frenzy, his laughter demented and mocking. "Perfect performance, mongrels." He clapped louder. "Utterly splendid." 

Erik, The First, brought his amber eyes to Lucius, bearing teeth as sharp as a sword. 

"Years to come, a Werewolf Blood Line will avenge us, and your kingdom will crumble and burn, Lucius," his voice was threateningly calm. His words, however, was not that of a threat, but a promise - a prophecy. "On that day, I will finally find peace in the afterlife." 

Many snarls and hisses came from the Vampire Blood Lines. King Lucius swiftly held up a hand, indicating silence. The very thought of a mongrel destroying his empire was laughable, yet, he had to admit that the thought brought a fearful twist to his stomach. 

"How sure are you about that, beast?" Lucius spat. 

The First smirked, his fangs digging into his enlarged muzzle. That was all he did, that slight tilt of the lips had Lucius reeling within. 

How dare this mangy beast?  He thought, silently fuming. 

"Enjoy the afterlife, Erik, for I am off to slaughter every Werewolf Blood Line in existence," Lucius said, turning his back on the Seven Leaders. 

Erik's gaze widened. He instantly thought about his family : his beautiful wife and their little girl. His pack members and all of those wolves being brutally executed inhumanely. All of those Blood Lines. . . gone. 

"Burn them," Lucius ordered his followers and walked away, enjoying the soft whimpers that floated to his ears and the stench of burning fur and flesh that tickled his nose.