When Vlad woke, he was in his coffin.
Mina was pressed up against his right side and Lucy against his left.
Both women were warm.
Inviting.
If he moved slightly, he could bite into Mina's throat easily. With one tear of his fangs, he could be drinking her gushing blood.
He could even see the veins throbbing under her skin.
Begging.
Begging for him to bite.
Just.
One single…
Bite…
He hissed, shaking himself loose and scrambling out of the coffin. His fingers curled into claws as the two women let out startled yelps.
"What are you two up to?" He growled.
"What do you mean?" Mina asked sleepily. "We were cold!"
"There's no blankets," Lucy confirmed.
He stared at them.
"For blankets, you want to die?"
"What are you talking about?" Mina snapped back.
"I'm a vampire!"
"We know that much…"
"And I was training hard last night. I used up all my blood energy."
"So?"
He looked at her like she was stupid. "What do you think I need now more than anything?"
Mina looked to Lucy, who was nibbling on her lower lip. "I don't know. A cuddle?"
He blinked at her.
Then walked out.
"Wait!" Lucy cried. "Vlad! Your clothes!"
At the base of the mountain, the Patriarch of the Dragonbound sat on the step of his wagon and peered up towards the peak. Old Janko's eyes were glistening as they reflected the moonlight.
"Did we do right?"
Baba, leaning on a staff, grunted. "Coming back, you mean?"
"Yes. It will be hard for the young ones to adapt, I think."
"Hardship will be good for them."
"Haven't we endured enough these past years?"
Baba barked a laugh. "You think this has been hard? Janko, your brains are getting old if you think this. No. The road is a heavenly path of freedom and peace compared to this place. War will come to the Dragonbound. Blood and death is what we shall endure."
"That's what I feared," he sighed.
"The clan has become soft and weak, Janko. You know this in your heart. The Masters will make us strong again. You will see."
"But many of us will die, Baba."
"We die here or out there at the hands of those who despise the Court," she shrugged. "Does it matter where we die? I think the how of it is more important."
He nodded slowly.
"You have the right of it," he said at last.
She rapped the top of his head with her knuckles. "I'm the clan's Cunning Woman, you fool. Of course I am right!"
Galosh sat alone.
He was sitting on one of the last remaining piles of rubble around the castle. The rest of the stone had been neatly stacked outside where Vlad had told them to put it. Waiting for someone with skills to use it to rebuild the walls and towers.
None of that was Galosh's concern.
His attention was completely on his hand.
On the web of veins which snaked between the bones.
They looked blue beneath his pale white skin. But he knew if he cut into it, the blood would be red. It was one of those mysteries of the body.
In his other hand, he held a small spherical rock he'd picked up.
He weighed it in his palm thoughtfully as he considered everything he knew about being a fledgling for the Court.
He'd come here as part of an agreement between his family and Count Bela. One of his family would always be here with the Court. When he died, the Court would approach his family again and another young man would be sent here to be Turned.
It was the way of things.
It had been this way for a thousand years or more.
And in truth, he had no regrets about it.
Here, he had found brothers he could rely on. Friendships he could believe in. And limitless strength he could acquire if he worked hard.
And he did work hard.
Every day he practices the forms Vlad had given him. He tried his best to perform them perfectly. He wasn't ever able to please Vlad, though.
But nothing would, he felt.
During the early hours of morning, he'd been sparring with Bally. The sneaky little bastard had managed to smash his stick down across Galosh's forearm. He'd even reinforced the stick in his hand with a thin layer of blood energy.
Not enough to compare to Vlad, but enough to impress some of the other fledglings who had yet to manifest their power in this way.
The blow had hurt.
Cursing, Galosh had rounded on the smaller fledgling and proceeded to do to Bally what Vlad had done to him so many times.
Basically, he thrashed the small fledgling until he couldn't move.
It was only after this that Galosh realised something strange had happened.
His forearm hadn't broken.
It should have.
The reinforced stick had the strength of a steel bar. It should have smashed his bone.
Yet, here he was.
Unharmed.
There wasn't even a bruise.
Carefully, he placed his hand on the stone beside his leg. Splayed his fingers.
Lifted the rock.
And brought it down with a determined hiss.
He anticipated the pain.
But sucked a breath in shock as the impact bounced off his hand easily.
There had been pain. Sharp and deep.
But his bones…
He lifted the hand and formed a tight fist.
They were fine.
"What is this?"
"Galosh?" Metto, who Galosh liked as a friend, was there. "Everything okay?"
"Hey!" He felt a brief rush of excitement. "Come here. I want to show you something."
"What?"
"Put your hand here. On the stone."
'Why?"
"Come on! Just do it!"
"Hmm."
Metto placed his hand on the stone and Galosh snatched him by the wrist and grinned. "Watch this!"
He brought the rock down.
And Metto shrieked as the bones in his hand splintered and shattered, leaving it a bloody mess.
"What the Hell-?" Galosh frowned in confusion.
Metto's eyes leaked long tears as he howled loudly; "Why would you do that? Galosh…?"
"I didn't mean it! Metto, I didn't mean…"
But Metto was already running away, desperate to find Elder Amir. "Bastard! You can go to Hell!"
Galosh stayed where he was, stunned and confused.
He stared down at his hand and the rock. "What kind of crazy bullshit is this?"
Elder Amir watched as Vlad slipped through the library's maze of shelves. The fledgling was moving stealthily, but it was clear he was not good at it.
Yet, something about the way he moved reminded the elder of Elder Miklos' technique of walking through shadows. His posture was very similar.
It was almost like the boy was used to walking through shadows but for some reason could no longer do so.
Without revealing himself, Elder Amir shifted his attention to the window.
He kept Vlad's movements in his periphery of vision.
Elder Miklos had said he thought Vlad could sense his attention and Elder Amir didn't want to risk being noticed.
Not when the boy was going to such effort.
It would be a shame to ruin whatever strange plan the boy was trying to execute.
At first, Elder Amir had thought Vlad was stuffing books into a storage ring he was wearing.
But, to his surprise, it seemed he was doing the opposite.
He was scattering books here and there.
Depositing them, Elder Amir thought with wry humour.
Does he think this is a bank?
After a few minutes, Vlad looked around. There was a moment when Elder Amir thought he'd been discovered. But he closed his eyes and shrank his awareness so he couldn't feel anything of the world outside his own heart.
If the boy came over, he would think the elder was doing more internal training.
He waited a little longer than necessary and when he opened his eyes, the boy was nowhere to be seen.
He'd scampered off like a rat.
The elder shuffled through the shelves until he came upon a volume he knew had not been there before. The cover looked old. And, like the others, had been damaged by water and fire.
He opened it carefully, but the pages weren't quite as brittle as they should be.
They were also still slightly damp.
"Tch." He clicked his tongue. The boy would need some training if he hoped to fool anyone with this nonsense.
He was about to throw it away but froze.
The book was no ordinary book. It was a volume dedicated to exercises which could greatly increase a vampire's ability to Drain Life. Elder Amir knew something of the technique, and he knew Count Bela was good with it, too.
But this… This was incredible!
He flipped to the internal cover and read it twice. The Crimson Harvest Technique.
"This…"
Scurrying like a rat himself. Elder Amir hurried to find the count. The elders would need to close the library and scour it for all the volumes the little bastard had left behind.
The brat was so troublesome!
Still.
He couldn't hide his grin as he raced towards his friend's office. One thought kept ticking through his brain, though.
Where did the little rat find such precious cheese?