Reborn (manxman)

Chapter 1: Prologue

I've had this story for awhile, just never published it. I hope you guys enjoy and feedback would be appreciated ^.^ This is my first, more mature story with a deeper plot to it. So I hope I did pretty well.

P.S: The story is rated PG-13 as of yet, but later on I will change it to R. It's gonna get pretty steamy up in here. ;) Muwhaha

Also, the picture to the side is of Jurian <3

~

The stale air was enough to put even a vampire on the edge of his seat. It was deadly suffocating which allowed the stench of rotting flesh to fill the vacinity. A vampires keen scence of smell only made the matter more touchy to all present. The gathering happened every generation, welcoming the new heir to the vampiric throne. Any normal vampire would kill to witness such an event. Literally. 

Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock.

Time passed easily, and the Neo-King had yet to make his long awaited appearance. Some of the elderly, more decorated vampires were beginning to fall asleep. Which was lucritive, because one knows vampires do not sleep. The other important fledglings simply bided their time by not caring. I, on the other hand, stood furthest away from the recently dug grave plot which was to be the center of attention in a matter of moments. 

I teased the golden watch on my arm pretending not to be bored, but in reality I couldn't be more so. I immediately noticed it was almost sun-up, which meant one thing for the heir: hurry up or we would all be dead, fried to a ghastly crisp. 

It was ironic considering we were already in a necropolis. It wouldn't really matter, I suppose, because in a couple of seconds we'd be swept away by the gentle wind, forced to spend the rest of eternity in a sewage system somewhere. There, we'd be recycled into the humans daily activities. The idea gave me cold chills, honestly. If I had to, I would leave the careless heir to rot forever in the plot his ancestors dug. I was not as loyal as one might think. Well, atleast not to this particular lord.

Everyone was growing more restless, but that all stopped the moment a hand popped out from the loose soil. It awakened most of the crowd to the point most of them gasped or jumped. All eyes were fixed on one place and one place only. To them, it was history in the making. To me, it was a scene from Night of the Living Dead.

The Elders got in position the moment a second hand was seen waving. I heard a couple grunts as I watched the soil transform into a mole hill, then a termite mound, and then our future King-to-be. He stood proud. Well, as proud as one can be after playing in the dirt with everyone and their brother being spectators. 

The first thing he did was brush off his black tux in which he had been burried. It was custom fit, of course, which only seemed to compliment his dark locks all the more. It made his "blue eyes pop," as most Americans would say. Besides the fact he had just climbed out of a perfectly dug cemetary plot in the dead of night surrounded by his brethren. That part, if I might say, will probably be left out of the history books for now. 

I, myself, will write my own encounter of such an event in the privacy of my own coffin. Not out of a newfound curiosity for the truth, but because it was the first time I had seen my ex-lover in over a century, and he couldn't have looked better.

~

The name of Jurian had been passed down from generation to generation in my family. It was followed by the last name of Viorea. The middle name was picked by the mother of the child purely out of respect since the newborn child had already taken two names of the father. In my case, my middle name being Lavras. The practice of naming was mostly in noble families, but it was originally adapted from the very first royal blood line.