Valentine, without a doubt, dreaded the lecture he received from his mother, having to fight the urge to roll his eyes on several counts. Gregory and Cassandra had slunk off to the far end of the catacombs, the two siblings playing a game of chess amongst the cobwebs. Val had zoned out five minutes into the lecture, his blue and red orbs visibly going dull as he subconsciously fidgeted with the bracelets around his wrists.

Cassius had noticed his son's lack of attention and stood to his feet, his brows furrowing in rage. The head of the Blackwell family had, to put it simply, had enough of his son's unpredictable behaviour. Valentine had continuously put the noble family at risk, tarnishing the family name. Cassius had enough. The man had put too much work into his reputation for his erratic son to ruin. In Valentine's eyes, Cassius only cared for his reputation, his shady work, and power over the lesser vampire clans. It angered the boy to no extent, causing him to be unable to truly look his father in the eye when he spoke.

Freya stood alongside her husband, moving quickly to stop him before he made any motion towards their son. Unfortunately, Freya hadn't moved fast enough to stop her enraged mate. Cassandra and Gregory flinched violently at the loud noise that echoed through the crypt, the small echo of the infuriated slap followed by the sharp cry of the second heir. Cassius had, as per usual, allowed his son's brash behaviour to get into his head and he had lost slight control of his own body. The man's nails had lengthened into claws, marring four jagged and deep gashes into his child's face. Valentine's hand instantaneously flew to the fresh wound as his father's lips curled into a cruel smile.

"You will learn to respect my name, boy." Venom dripped from the father's voice, his stony grey eyes narrowing with each word he spoke. Cassius' eyes had taken on a subtle blue glow, the colour pulsing with his rage towards the boy. The boy in question had recoiled from his father, his thin frame shuddering slightly in fear as he slowly backed away, tears forming in his eyes. The teen scowled and blinked the salty liquid away and lowering his hand to observe the dark blood that appeared almost black against his skin, his lips curling away from the scowl and into a sneer.

"Funny, I never asked to be your son. That was your choice, you bloody bastard." Valentine's eyes had begun to glow brighter with each word that tumbled through his lips, his Russian accent thickening with his provoked anger. The ravenette's eyes seemed to bare straight through his father, and into the latter's soul. Well, if he had one anyway. Valentine resented his father for turning him against his will, therefore causing the boy to take on that noble surname and becoming a Blackwell. Valentine Charles Blackwell to be exact. With no indication from his father that he would continue the harsh behaviour, Valentine turned tail and flew away despite that agonizing sting from the gashes and the burns he had obtained.

Freya moved to grab her son's arm before being pulled back by her 'bloody bastard' of a husband. The blonde hair woman glared at her betrothed in seething fury. She needed not to speak towards the nobleman, he had known what she was to think the moment he had raised his hand. Yet it hadn't stopped him, he had been too high on his horse to think of the consequences.

Cassius took a deep breath and looked down at his youngest son and his only daughter, both of whom had silently retreated further into their cobweb infested corner, both children looking at their father with hints of fear showing in their eyes. Cassandra's emerald green eyes had darkened to a dull colour, the gem worthy-colour rimmed by the blood red of her death. Gregory was in a similar state, his chocolaty brown orbs dark with fear and glazed over. Cassius physically flinched at the expression in his children's eyes.

~~~~~

Valentine sighed as his feet hit the icy ground of the outer tombs, the stone crackling beneath his feet as he slowly padded away from his home. A hand ran through the short black locks, slightly tugging the thick strands with his annoyance as his fangs protruded under his lip and defined the lower row of teeth. The immortal boy, though in distress about the earlier interaction, held his composure as he made his way towards the old mountain castle. His blue eyes had been swamped in a red light, the inner dark circlet of navy being the only shade of the former, more humane colour. The male scowled as the smell of putrid blood hit his nose. His blood.

The murky liquid had dripped from the marrings along his face and onto his surprisingly clean leather jacket, the thick substance shiny in the moonlight. Valentine made a mental note to have his mother's assistance in cleaning the piece of clothing, though at a later time when all of the blood suckers were composed. In the meantime the nineteen year old would have to settle for using a scrapped and dusty piece of cloth he found on the ground. The cloth looked as though it had been part of a blue flannel item at one point in time, but now it was just a ragged and torn bit of fabric with unraveling seams and dirt, the blue now murked by the dark and rotten blood of the undead teen.

Valentine exhaled softly as he scanned the fabric in his hand, gently dabbing too small remnants of the bodily fluid from his coat before growling animalistically and tossing the material to the stiff dirt. The vampire turned his head towards his family's tomb and held his hand up, all fingers pressed against his palm except his middle finger. His black nail polish had chipped, revealing the dark keratin underneath, making the undead's eyes twitch as a new wave of annoyance washed over his body.

The ghastly boy's eyes closed as he took a deep breath before suddenly running off, his feet pounding faster and faster against the ground with each passing second. His teeth bared in aggravation as he tore his way through the trees, his eyes glowing brighter and brighter with each step. The heels of his boots digging up the frozen dirt, the spikes and studs nothing more than a mere glint in the darkness.

After a few moments the boy slowed to a stop, his feet sliding across the ice slowly at the sudden stop, the toes of his shoes at the edge of the cliff he stood upon. The gashes on his face, still gaping holes, glistened with dew from the leaves as he ran. If he had been alive, he would have been panting profusely, his chest heaving and struggling with every gasp for air. But even so, his chest remained still, no breaths drawn and no heart beating. A sign, a painful strike to his mind, that Valentine was not alive.

His being wasn't natural.

A freak of nature.

Weird.

A monster.

Valentine fell to his knees, opening his mouth and drawing in an unnecessary breath, empty sobs filling the air as he broke down. Dead can't cry, right? Vampires couldn't. No matter how hard he try, how hard he willed his tear ducts to dampen, no tears fell. This only caused the boy to clutch his chest, his sobs echoing louder as his hand came into contact with the icy cold flesh of his collar bone, the bones protruding from his thin frame.

Freak.

Monstrosity.

Abnormal.

Bizarre.

Misfit.

Valentine missed the simpler days, the days when he would lay down in his bed, uncomfortable and spine-destroying as it was. He missed playing with his young sister in their mother's garden, the ebony haired maiden by the name of Felicity calling to them to watch out for the tulips and pansies. The boy missed the days where his only true responsibilities were to watch over his kid sister and to help his father around the small Russian farm, whether it were for him to clean the horses' stables or to help the family dog herd the goats. Valentine would give anything to go back to the simpler days. A hundred and seventy three years prior to the night he lived at present. It was only April twenty-eighth. The year, you may ask? Time is an illusion when you're immortal, Valentine cared not for the years any longer.

The undead male's sobs slowly quieted to just a mere whimper, his body still drawing in the useless air. His frostbitten fingers pulled helplessly at his hair and shirt, silently begging for the suffering to cease. But alas, most pleas go ignored by....whatever god-like being revelled in the unknown abyss of the universe.

The heir of the Blackwell family sluggishly staggered to his feet, his body continuing to ripple with unheard sobs of desperation. With one last glance up at the moon high overhead, and a longing stare into the ravine below the cliff, Valentine turned and abandoned his place of solitude and began his trek back to the catacombs in which he dwelled.

~~~~~

What would one expect when they return home, especially when their family is full of nobleman vampires? Certainly, not a catastrophic scene. The tombs and headstones lay in disarray, crumbling and broken beyond their former scenery. LED lights spread about, cast iron nets coated in when smelled to be lamb blood. And the sounds. The sounds made Valentine freeze on the spot. The screams of his elder sister and younger brother floated to his ears. The cries of pain from Freya.

Valentine quickly shook his shock away and sprinted at full speed into the cobweb infested crypt, his feet moving too fast for the normal, human eye. The Blackwell son growled inhumanely and leapt forward towards one of the three men advancing on his injured mother and siblings, his fangs burying themselves into the man's shoulder. The sounds of the victim's screams only drove Valentine further into a blood and rage induced frenzy, his pupils small and wild with hunger. Damien Anderson's nephew. That is who Valentine's victim was. His name, Alec Anderson, he was only twenty four when the fire of life left his eyes.

The oldening man screamed in rage, tears brimming his sleep deprived eyes. Anderson leapt forward, grabbing the creature by his left shoulder and tearing him off his nephew, the vampires teeth latching on and ripping Alec's shoulder open and making the former venomous bite mark a gaping hole in the dying male's body. Anderson fell to his knees and hugged the younger's body to his chest, shaking and staring ahead wildly as blood seeped from the fatal injury and onto him, splatters of red everywhere.

Valentine, still in his hunger trance, laughed. A deep and sorrowful, yet quite bitter laugh that shook the two Blackwell women to their core. A bitterness caused by Valentine's mind screaming at him. He had done to Alec just what Cassius had done to him.

A monster. That's all Valentine Blackwell was. A creature neither dead, nor alive, and yet simultaneously immortal. Against his will, he was forced to prey on others. Taking the running blood from their heart and veins, taking it out of envy and greed. A greed to quench the burning thirst in his throat. An envy caused by his hearing of their beating hearts. And Lust. A lust to make others feel what he felt, a lust for their life, a lust for their warm blood to meet his lips and make it way down his scorching throat. He was a being of the deadly sins. A monster.

Anderson screamed and threw his nephew's corpse down to the ground in hatred. Hatred towards the family he came to kill. Hatred towards himself for hunting down the powerful family of vampires. Hatred towards Valentine. And so, the mad man grabbed a metal detector that had been rigged to hold an LED light that was like a miniature sun. A metal detector built to kill the living dead.

Valentine couldn't help but let his scarred lips twitch upwards into a smile. He knew this death would be nothing but pain on his part. But he would welcome it with open arms. He wanted to be rid of the sins he fought daily. The immortal boy closed his eyes, awaiting the burn. But it never came, not to him.

Valentine's eyes, no longer hazy and red, but sorrowful and blue, snapped open as he heard the gut wrenching screams. The smell of putrid blood and sizzling flesh met his nose. He refused to believe his eyes. Nor his ears and nose. And so he stood, watching his father's figure get consumed by the deadly light, listening as the Head of Blackwell screamed the loudest he ever had. And the teen smelled, he smelled the stench of death. The death of a being deemed unkillable and immortal. The death of a powerful man so well respected amongst the mythical world. A man who, though against his wishes, had given Valentine a second chance after he had died of yellow fever.

Valentine watched as Cassius Blackwell was burned to death by a maddened man, hellbent on destroying one of the most peaceful vampire families in history. The teen watched as the man he had lived with as his father, was killed before his eyes. One hundred and seventy three years, that is how long he had to prove to Cassius he had been thankful for his second chance, whether it made him a freak or not. And what did the heir do? Resented the elder vampire. And for the second time that night, Valentine Blackwell collapsed to his knees and sobbed because of his adoptive, vampire father. And for the second time in a century, Valentine was driven into a haze, his vision turning to red as he tore through the third man's chest and straight to his heart. Valentine watched as Damien Anderson fled the old and dusty crypt, his angry eyes red and tearful as he carried his fallen nephew's corpse to that run-down Honda.

The last thing the new Head of the Blackwell family heard was that of the screeching tires of a silver pick-up truck, his mother calling his name broken heartedly, and he felt Cassandra and Gregory wrap their arms around their blood covered brother. And then, Valentine's vision returned to normal, before going completely black. The last thing he saw that day was his mother wiping the fresh, warm blood from his face and neck as she looked down at him solemnly.

~~~~~