He was storm-born. I was a shadow. But what is a flash of light against anything but darkness?

His home was a state of pandemonium. Open books dotted tables, dust dirtied the floor, worms poked out of feasts half-eaten. 

He called me his dove when I embraced him. He reached for me as a shipwrecked man reaches for salvation yet I ushered him into a sea of crimson.

'Nikola.'

My fangs found his throat. His breath hitched as I drained him. It would be days before he would wake. This transformation from man to something beyond would be more than explosions of thunder, it would be electric, the grandest of creations.