Berlin, Germany – Twenty years ago.

A heavy rain descended on the streets of Berlin, a wet chill working its way into the marrow of those pedestrians unfortunate enough to be caught in the deluge. The slick streets reflected illuminated lampposts; cars speeding by displaced water with their windshield wipers swinging like a metronome keeping time with the rhythm of life. For several months, it seemed neither sun, nor moon, shone the same way it once had, but that could have been Karl Wagner’s perceptions conspiring against him.

Either that, or he had been working too hard lately.

Digging his hands into the pockets of his heavy, wool trench coat, Karl continued walking toward a large estate nestled deep in the heart of the city. His cheap, brown loafers splashed in puddles, soaking his feet while a sigh escaped his lips. It produced a billow of steam which mingled with the rain. As Karl lifted his eyes from the dirty sidewalk to the wrought iron gates protecting the largest vampire nest in Berlin, a frown tugged at the corners of his mouth. It might have only been months, but it felt like years since the world was the way he remembered it. He feared it would never be the same way again. Read the rest of this entry

Mitchell Livingston had been born during a time when the abacus still defined the technology of modern computing, in an era before cars and trains dotted the landscape of the country he was raised in. His short, black hair slicked back with a widow’s peak perched atop his forehead, he appeared to be the consummation of Count Dracula himself, sharp fangs slumbering in a sea of white. His dark, cunning eyes could cut through men with the simplest of scowls. Nobody liked to anger Mitch. The results often proved fatal.

The evening started as most did for him. After a shower and a fresh change of clothing, his fingers raked through the hair of the woman he kept as a pet. Her gaze met his expectantly – a pretty little blonde thing he picked up in Texas (fuck, but those women were feisty before they were broken) – and a sharp moan punctuated the prick of his fangs into her throat. Mitch only stole a few sips from her, but he knew the day was coming soon when he would have to end her. Her large, brown eyes indicated the lights were on, but the resident was vacating the building.

With a sigh, Mitch settled into his chair, noting how quickly it seemed those pets met their expiration date. The vampires of his bloodline – the Lamiae, according to the Supernatural Order – often supplemented kills with quick feeds and the keeping of pets. The problem being that feeding from a human too often eventually reduced them to a mindless zombie. Granted, he had held onto this one longer than her predecessor, but even the strongest of mortals could not avoid the inevitable. And Mitch had no desire to blood bond with her to keep her rational beyond a few additional feedings.

Other than that, things seemed to be quiet. Mitch reclined his leather office chair and oscillated from side to side on it, pivoting this way and that while his feet remained planted firm on the floor below. His eyes scanned across the pictures hanging on his study walls, seeing visual reminders of a long, accomplished life. A landscape of Britain reminded him of where he had been born and the painting of Austria served as a recollection of the first nest he oversaw. Prints of Romania, Hungary, and Germany each placed markers on one rung after the next up the political ladder. Mitch turned to face the large windows overlooking Portland, Oregon, seeing the lights of downtown from his posh penthouse. One step further, and he would be a king.

If the current one ever abdicated, that is. Read the rest of this entry

“The dog days are over,
The dog days are gone.
Can you hear the horses?
‘Cause here they come.”

- “Dog Days Are Over” by Florence + the Machine

The black, polished shoes produced a perfect squeak as they shuffled down the corridor, a single sound bouncing from one wall to the next in the empty thoroughfare. Where ordinarily, there would be scores of people walking this way and that, headed to the various departments of these hallowed halls, tonight was different. The body of people typically assembled were already in a meeting room, sweating over coffee and cigarettes and Mark Johansen was running late.

In their long history, the Supernatural Order had faced world-ending situations before. The splintering of bloodlines which formed the vampire faction they hunted in the first place almost provoked a giant cluster-fuck which ended life as they knew it from their very inception. That had been a millennium ago, roughly. Back when humanity still believed in magic. Sorcerers, witches, and warlocks dotted the landscape of the Dark Ages and one magician in particular drifted further into the darkness, looking for immortality. That was the first time vampires learned to wield magic themselves. The genesis of a war.

Not that they ever told anybody but those in their employ about the other bloodline which existed, the older one the Order never tangled with except on very rare occasions. Or that there was much of a difference between the vampires humanity still denied existed in its blanket of blissful unawareness. Ignorance an intoxicant with the populace drunk on its spell, oh vampires had been around for more than the millennium the Supernatural Order existed, but they hid the truth like they hid every other truth from mortals who no longer believed in magic.

The time for ignorance had ended, though. The war had entered Phase Two. Read the rest of this entry

The night air possessed a pointed chill. I only knew this because I saw John before he slipped into Robin’s rental car, teeth chattering and arms huddled close to his body. Fresh snow had fallen on the mountains of Lake Tahoe some time the night prior and as a result, the wind carried the crisp bite of winter when it blew past. October in the mountains. I had not realized, when Victor and I chose the place we would be wed, that white-capped peaks would provide the backdrop to our outdoor ceremony.

It seemed almost magical.

I recall driving up to the resort, fresh from a five hour flight with Victor behind the steering wheel, leading us through winding paths toward our destination. As the snow appeared into view, I marveled over it, grinning at my soon-to-be-husband and making an offhanded comment about snow angels. The corner of his mouth curled upward. He countered with what precisely we would be doing on the ground if such a thing were to transpire.

Needless to say, the shiver running up my spine, then, had nothing to do with the temperature. Read the rest of this entry

I wake with a start, trembling and sitting up in bed instantaneously as though jolted with a thousand bolts of electricity all at once. My chest rising and falling, useless breaths which sit only to be expelled again, the air filling my lungs might not serve any purpose, but my senses almost demand it, needing to settle the rest of my shaky frame. I raise my hand only to realize I am sweating red droplets and turn to see the final imprint of my face on the pillow. Crimson streaks cover the pillowcase.

I blink a few times and fight the urge to draw my knees up to my chest.

Clenching my eyes shut, I attempt to remove the mental images from their unending loop within my thoughts, but blinking only brings them back in much more solid clarity. I see it happening all over again, the chilling music being played as imminent doom comes upon the one I recognized the moment the second part of the dream commenced. My eyes open and I sigh. Yes, the first part had been a warning. And yet, I continued to dream.

My hand coasts through the wet locks of brown pasted against the sides of my head. As I pull it away, I look at the fingers stained with red and glance at the man resting beside me, seeing him yet lost within the repose of slumber. I remember dancing with him, laughing with him until our laughter turned to clothing shed and found us spilled on the bed, sharing pleasure and then, sharing rest. We drifted to sleep far earlier than normal, both of us exhausted after being up the better part of the day making wedding plans.

The wedding. Saturday. I was going to have to face Robin and not tell him what I saw within my dream. A shiver ran up my spine from the base of my back to the tip and forced me out of bed before I succumbed to the urge to wake Victor. Not that I thought he would care, in fact, I knew his arms would be around me within seconds, clutching me against him to offer me comfort. I was not ready for comfort yet, though. First, I had to make sense of the maniac circus show I had just witnessed. Read the rest of this entry

Not too long ago, I was presented a wonderful gift by Victor and wished to share the story with you all. To read Victor’s initial recounting of the tale, click here.

***

I thought something seemed peculiar today, when I finally decided my skin might rebel against my body if I did not answer the pressing need for a shower. Not that the compulsion for a shower was in any way strange, but when it led me to kiss Victor’s shoulder and inform him I would return shortly, I could not help but to pick up on my lover’s demeanor and perk an eyebrow at it. Nothing alarming about his posture rang warning bells of caution within my mind. No, instead there was an aura I could not quite place a finger on emanating from him, leading me to wonder just what the devil might be circling through Victor’s mind.

I could have easily read it, but I made a promise to myself when he and I first became lovers that I would never abuse my powers in such a way. I preferred to hear his thoughts aloud; to listen to his voice inflection and immerse myself within the soothing warmth of the tenor of his speech. And I knew he needed the sanctuary of private ruminations as much as I did, to sort through things without the eavesdropping of his psychic paramour. Read the rest of this entry

In the background, the bathroom faucet was dripping.

Staring up at the ceiling, my arms enclosed around Victor with his somewhat slackened from sleep, I found myself unable to rest as a thousand thoughts ran past my mind, a veritable parade of concerns without any concrete origin. Such had been present ever since earlier today and yet I could not figure out for the life of me what could be causing the heavy thoughts I entertained.

Was it the blood bond? We knew that had to be it, in part. Blinking in wonder, I contemplated this strange, new phenomenon endemic in Victor’s bloodline which knitted my maestro and I together; this eternal seal which would link us until one of us departed from this mortal coil.

“… Even the gods or fates would find themselves facing two very powerful beings if they ever tried to separate us.”

“… I know you and I would slay the gods themselves just to be with one another.”

And neither of us had any plans of allowing the kiss of second death to brush its cold lips past ours any time soon. Read the rest of this entry

I remember Monica Alexander Dawes very well.

She had bright green eyes like mine, with dark hair flowing down past her shoulders and a blonde streak which framed one side of her face. This strange permeation of her supernatural gifts was something I always wondered about, even when I met her as an assassin. Even when I hated her. My, how much things changed. Within the span of a few months, I went from loathing the wiry, impish sorceress to falling headlong into love with her. In time, I found myself pining for my mortality, if just so we could be together as a typical man and woman. I traveled across four continents for her. I fought to the death to defend her. And in the end of it all, I woke lying in a scrap heap of rubble, possessing a pulse and breathing air once again.

We escaped from the Order we served to be away from its demands. I, a master seer. She, a gifted watcher. Commodities to an entity whose sole purpose was to hunt and slaughter that which I had been… vampires. We woke late one night, trapped in a hotel in Rome, with little more than the clothing on our backs and my sword by my side. Somehow we made it to Naples and, subsequently, to a small Catholic mission buried deep within Costa Rica. Read the rest of this entry

Part One | Part Two | Part Three | Part Four | Part Five | Part Six | Part Seven

***

Enjoy the Silence

The creeping sound of the inevitable is one I have learned to loathe and yet, something I have become accustomed to after fifty-five years on this mortal coil. Everything seems to have its own pulse and while a steady, healthy beat thumping in time with the rhythm of life lets us know the body around us is healthy, when the heart starts to fail, the results can be devastating.

“Words, like violence, break the silence…” Read the rest of this entry

Part One | Part Two | Part Three | Part Four | Part Five | Part Six | Part Seven

***

Forgive Me

As the night wore on, I found myself wondering about the knot forming in my stomach. One of the unfortunate side effects of being a seer is the uncanny ability to sense the strangest things. A wicked set of eyes upon me; the intent of evil beings when they mean harm or malice to others. Much of that has had to be tempered, as my own intentions toward a mortal can be less than noble, especially as of late. Embracing what I am has forced things to be as such, but it is a path I care little for retreating from as I find peace with my vampire nature at long last.

So, these whispers and chills have taken on a different form. Intuition, some call it. That heavy weight which deposits itself on my shoulders when I scent something in the air without a face or name. Once upon a time, I boasted of great power and wielded it with authority. I used to gather energy to my fingertips and use it to throw man and vampire alike around like rag dolls, but such had not been the case for years. At best, I became a petty magician after Monica’s death.

Things were different now, though. Ever since meeting Victor, my past had the habit of surfacing during my most private moments with my lover. Years ago, I swore never to speak of who or what I was to any depth and only violated this covenant with Robin and, in very limited instances, with Celeste. Now, though, I spent hours with Victor, exchanging stories over who we were to the deepest, most intimate parts of ourselves. I spoke names I had stricken from my lips. I shed tears I bottled years ago. I explored my abilities in more depth behind closed doors after demonstrating them to Victor.

I opened the doors wide and allowed somebody into the innermost recesses of myself. Read the rest of this entry