Always Hate Me

19. The Father of Vampires

Frida walked into the Nest, Gomorrah's largest vampire hub outside of the barracks, and stared ahead of her at the manned recruitment desk.

'We'll be here when your heart stops beating,' one poster promised – advertising a vampire support network. The walls seemed to close in on Frida, draining of colour. Could she do this? She took a step toward the desk, her glaze sliding across to the vampires milling about the room. They were undead soldiers – eternally linked to their maker. And she was considering joining their ranks. 

She could perhaps accept loosing her humanity and her freedom – but that wasn't what was scaring her most. Even if Jordan, the Father of vampires, bit her – a successful transformation wasn't guaranteed. She saw the red forms – 'the acknowledgement of risk' form – that she would be asked to sign. She could die.

Her throat felt like it was closing and she hastily cleared it. The idea of dying scared her. The way to the desk was clear and she felt sick. Could she do this? Should she? Should she risk her life just to avoid being resettled?

Frida blinked and jolted back- her path suddenly blocked. She was faced with a torso garbed in vampire night armour. Not needing to protect them from the sun, night armour was lighter and more adapted to enhance a vampire's speed. This particular suit fitted snugly to the vampire's accented waist, the breastplate flat against a slender torso. The breastplate design was unique. It depicted a tree, the black roots illuminated by a feint pulsing light.

Frida's gaze rose. The mans shoulders were narrow and a stiff high collar protected his smooth throat.  His face and head were uncovered. Frida locked eyes with him and she stumbled back in surprise. Jordan, the Father of Vampires himself, looked down at her -his scarlet eyes unreadable.

"Salute," Frida managed. She took another step backwards in retreat.

"Stay still." Jordan commanded - his voice soft. Frida obediently rooted to the spot. He cocked his head to the side, assessing her.

"I've seen you before.

"Errr..." Frida couldn't think when, she'd never seen him up close in person.

"You were yelling at one of Lucjan's secretaries."

"Oh."

Frida glanced around them. They had the rooms avid attention. Of course they did. Jordan was their leader and also their maker – the vampires looked at him as if he were god. 

Jordan leant forward and sniffed the air around Frida. She stiffened her spine, fighting the urge to recoil. He lingered and a bead of sweat slowly rolled down Frida's neck.  Eventually, he straightened up and Frida exhaled the breath she'd been holding.

"Are you signing up?" He questioned.

"I..." Frida lowered her head. "I don't know," she admitted.

"Show me your ID card."

Obedient, she pulled the yellow card out of her pocket and handed it over. "Frida Aagard." He read out loud.

"Yes."

He returned the card to her.

"Follow me."

Bewildered and unsure, she obeyed - but she felt every eye in the room stare after her. Jordan walked fast, too fast for a human. She had to jog to keep up and as they navigated the corridors, Frida was aware how odd she must look. Like she was a stalker chasing after him, no doubt.