Affinity

Chapter 13 - Lexander

Lexander sat in the darkened basement of the coven home staring at the figure slumped in the chair on the other side of the room. The chair was solid and heavy, forged of iron and anchored to the stone floor by iron chains and magic. The vampire chained to it was still unconscious from Lexander's treatment of him the night before.

There was only one left. The other captive had perished during the first heated session immediately following the raid. Nicholas had been unhappy, but what was Lexander to do about it? He enjoyed his job, and he took it seriously. Nothing brought him greater pleasure than to see a vampire writhing in pain at his own hand. But he probably should have waited for nightfall. Perhaps the captive would have held up had it not been for the sunlight Lexander had let in through the heavy curtains. Or perhaps the vampire was naturally weak and would have died anyway. Whatever the case, the leech was dead, there was no way of ever knowing, and Lexander didn't particularly care either way.

His eyes flickered over the heap of ash and soiled clothes still on the chair adjacent to his remaining prisoner. Some smaller piles of ashes littered the floor around the chair and rested inside the empty manacles that once bit into vampire flesh. The neatness of it bothered Lexander. He lifted his hand and barely gave a twitch of his index finger before returning it to rest on the arm of the comfortable, upholstered chair he occupied in the corner of the room. In reply, the dust scattered and rose in a cloud that washed over the vampire who still lived. The layer of dust that settled on his head gave his short, matted locks the look of an ill-kept powdered wig until blood soaked up the ashes and turned them a damp, dark red.

In Lexander's other hand he held a small piece of reflective glass that he held in front of his face and peered into. From the waning sunlight that filtered through the crack in the heavy drapes, he saw one of his dark brown—almost black—eyes staring back at him. He adjusted the mirror to watch himself comb his fingers through his black hair to return a few wayward strands to their carefully arranged places. Then he glanced to the window and finally back to his prisoner.

It was the fourth night since the raid and nearly time for round five on this one, counting the angry session that first morning after the battle that had been cut short by the other leech's death. Though Nicholas grew restless with impatience, Lexander was glad this one, Samuel, was strong and stubborn. It was rare to have a plaything last this long, and the challenge of coming up with new and inventive effective torture methods gave him a secret thrill. Yes, he did enjoy his job.

The only thing that would make his job better would be if he could do it from the position of power he deserved in the ranks of the Celandine. Being on Nicholas's council—alongside Aaralyn D'Amour and Raj Kapoor, neither of whom Lexander had much tolerance for—was an insult. Nicholas was weak. He could only dream of the greatness that Lexander would be able to actually accomplish. If he could succeed in angling himself to be made coven leader, he would take the coven back to its rightful place as the ruthless war coven that it always had been. All vampires would again cower in fear at the mere whisper of it. But the trouble with that was the vampires the coven knelt to in servitude at the fortress, along with Nicholas and all the other witch allies of the fortress who seemed to see no issues with serving vampires. To serve vampires. He sneered at the thought. How ironic it was that the witches governed the vampire race only under the direction of other vampires. It was a perfect testament to the lack of morality in vampire nature.

Finally, the vampire coughed and stirred. His chains rattled, and the ashes of his nest mate that had settled on him made a small whisper of sound as they rained down on the floor.

"Not much longer, beastie," Lexander murmured aloud.

"Piss off," came Samuel's weak reply through cracked lips. He had been starved of blood save for the minimum required to revive him when he was rendered unconscious. His skin was sallow, his cheeks and eyes sunk in, and the dark purple circles under his eyes have him an altogether ghastly appearance.