Several Years Later, The Outskirts of Inverness...

The winds swept angrily through the Scottish mountains. The darkness, interrupted by a capricious moon, grew thicker. All the creatures of the great Highlands were quiet, waiting for the storm to come. All was still, except for one lone violin.

The girl stood by a camp fire, her skirts pushing against her bare legs as her arm dipped up and down, dragging a bow over taught strings. Her music grew louder, challenging the angry weather, daring the waiting snow. Several gypsies sat on logs nearby, the flickering lights playing across their eyes, the energy thrumming through their veins.

Then the girl moved, her feet stepping to the rhythm, her body twisting to the haunting melody. The high notes sent shivers down the backs of the listeners; this was a song of passion and heartache.

A man stood, his violin joining the girl's in the frenzied game. He moved towards her, but she moved back. There was no place for anyone else in her grief stricken world and she told him so with the angry notes that tumbled off her instrument.

Then a tambourine sounded from the other side of the fire and the girl flung her hands over her head and began to twirl. Other gypsies stood their instruments and bodies ready to join the fray. The shadows danced swiftly across the frozen grounds, unconscious of the freshly falling snow.

The Seer watched the scene from a nearby tree, her mouth curling into a semblance of a smile. Dressed in a red and green cloak, her crystals dangling from her neck and wrists even now in the dead of the night, the Seer was a woman of infinite wisdom and mystery.

No one knew where she had come from, no one knew where she was going and it was impossible to tell her age. The Seer never spoke unless she wished to, never asked questions for she knew all the answers, and for the last thirteen years she had taken care of the girl for reasons known only to her.

"Violet!"

The girl came to a stop, her skirts falling into place as she tilted her face towards the origin of the sound. The gypsies around her continued their revelry, their souls too caught up in the dance to notice her stillness.

"Come here, child," the Seer called in the ancient tongue of Romany.

"Yes, Seer?" Violet held her violin loosely, steam radiating from her aching arms as she approached. She spoke the language of the gypsies as flawlessly as she danced the Romano Kheliben: the dance of freedom and existence.

"You are leaving us." The statement brooked no argument, so Violet did not argue. Her nose was picking up unfamiliar scents; scents that made her realize she did not have much time.

"Alone?" Violet asked trying to be brave, because she knew the Seer would want her to be. The older woman had told her many times that she could not allow her blindness to weaken her. She had to balance it out by being smarter and more courageous than others.

"Yes."

Violet's fingers tightened around the scratchy wool of her skirt as she took a deep breath. She could smell the bodies dancing behind her, the owl on the nearby tree, and the water from the stream up ahead. Then came those unknown smells once more...horses, wood, paint. It had to be a caravan no, two. They were coming up the road, kicking up dirt, pouring soil and grass and dead leaves into the frosty air.

"Are they Gypsies?"

"No, but they will take you where you wish to go. Now take another breath."

Violet tilted her head. The Seer had taught her to see without her eyes, she had said one day Violet would get around better than people with sight. And now it had become so; she did not fear the darkness anymore. Snowflakes caught on her eyelashes as she took a breath. Soil, leaves, trees, stream, horses, wood, paint, hay and what was that other smell? Something sweet. Perfume, from a woman. And powder, rouge, leather...old leather and metal. Lots of metal.

"There is something, it is surrounded by metal. I do not know what it is."

The Seer smiled. She would never say so, but she admired the young girl. She admired her courage, her gift, and what she would do in the future. 

"Lions," the Seer said at long last.

Violet's delicate brows arched at the word. "Lions are dangerous," she whispered.

The Seer did not smile this time. Violet had no need to fear the lions, but there would be other dangers along her chosen path, other things to fear. Yes, danger would find the young girl and then Violet would face death... but that was not till later, much later.

"They are coming," Violet said, her brave façade finally failing her as she reached for the ring hanging around her neck.

"There is no room for fear in your life. Remember that Violet." The Seer touched the girls arm for the briefest moment, then let go. "Get your coat, and be quick. The convoy is heading south. They will take you to London. You will find the man you are looking for, there."

Anger and pain filled Violet's heart as it did every time she thought of the fiend who had killed her father. Hesitating not a moment longer, she ran back into the camp, scents rushing at her from every direction. Sweat, leaves, pine trees, burning logs, snow...she turned at the scent of a berry shrub, took seventeen steps forward then lifted her hands to find the latch on the caravan she knew was in front of her.

"Violet?"

The sweet-sour smell of apple reached her just before the scent of Boris's skin. Violet's lips twitched; he was always hungry. Her smile died abruptly when it occurred to her that she was leaving him behind. She was leaving them all behind.

The latch came undone beneath her fingers, and Violet focused her attention on finding her coat in the pile of clothing in front of her.

"You are ignoring me, little sister?" Boris was behind her, his body lending warmth to the cold night.

"I would not ignore you," Violet said as she lifted and discarded several items of clothing. Cotton and wool had a way of soaking up smells, and these clothes had all been thrown in together several hours ago so the task of picking out her own was more difficult than usual.

The scent of heather rose from the right side of the pile and Violet breathed deeply before dipping her hand amongst the coats and pulling out her own. It was precisely for such occasions that she had pinned the dried heather to the lapel of her coat, such occasions and for the simple reason that she loved the smell of the wild Scottish flower.

Shrugging on the coat, she turned back to Boris who had been standing silently by.

"I am leaving."

"I had hoped this day would not come so soon." For once in her life, Violet was happy she couldn't see the expression that accompanied the sadness in the voice that spoke.

Violet felt sorrow well up in her throat but shook her head to clear the feeling. There was no room for such sentiments in her life. The gypsies had taken her in when she was just eight years old; they had saved her from the tavern, from poverty, from starvation. For thirteen years she had shared the Seers caravan, had lived with her family. They had taught her to play the violin, how to dance, how to perform for a meal.

The Seer had taught her not to fear her blindness, how to use her nose to guide her way.

And she had survived.

She had survived because she had a purpose.

She had a man to kill.

"I will miss you," Violet said at last. It was true, she would miss Boris. The closest to her in age in the gypsy camp, Boris had been a good friend, brother and confidant.

"I will think of you," he replied as he put a warm hand on her shoulder, "but I do not want to worry. Show me you are ready, little sister."

A smile touched her mouth, as Violet bent to retrieve her knife from her left boot. This was a game they had played often. Her brows drew together in concentration as she straightened.

"Show me," Boris commanded.

A deep breath: trees, leaves, snow, soil, sweat... her fingers tensed on her weapon as the scent of the apple changed location. Up the trail went, it came from in front, then over her right shoulder... Violet spun, her coattails flying as she flung the knife.

Her breath came quickly as she walked to where the apple had fallen.

"After you have had your revenge, come back to us Violca," Boris said. He held out her coat and took the pierced apple from her hands. "There is a lot of living to do."

Violet wiped her knife clean of apple juice. If she escaped the gallows after what she had to do, she would return to Scotland, although she didn't know if there would be anything left to live for.

Her nose picking up the ever growing scent of the convey, she touched the tip of her fingers to her companion's cheek. "Be well, brother." 

It was time to leave.

Fifteen miles East...

"I, James John Murray, the Duke of Atholl, name Patrick James Bruce as my successor and the new leader of the Northern Clan of Vampires!"

Patrick stepped forward, his body rigid as hundreds of eyes watched him move. He looked at them in turn. Their naked bodies covered in ceremonial cloaks, their faces lit only by the glow of the moon; the Vampires of the Northern Clan regarded him in silence. These were the men and women Patrick would swear to lead and protect. It was a promise he would make willingly, a duty he was honoured to fulfil.

"Now," James raised his voice over the strong winds, "is the time for the challengers to step forward."

A million particles of sand moved in synchrony as the assembled clan took two steps back in show of submission. It was a testament to Patrick's  reputed strength that only five Vampires out of hundreds dared to stand still and declare their challenge.

"I accept," Patrick spoke for the first time since the ceremony had begun. The ground moved once again as the crowd spread along the beach while the challengers  followed Patrick to the edge of the water.

The North Sea spewed against the beach, inching over Patrick's bare feet, lapping at his cloak. He ignored the tugging, just as he ignored the howling skies and snow that had begun to fall.

The attack begun without preamble and a fist struck him in the shoulder, sending him into the rolling waves. He recovered quickly and flung off the soaking cape as he resurfaced. Five pairs of eyes glowed red, and Patrick's lips thinned out in an angry line. So it would be all of them at once? It was not against the rules, but smacked of cowardice. 

Pity, Patrick thought as they circled him in the shallow waters.  Together or one by one, he would defeat them easily and he had hoped for at least one decent challenger.  These Vampires did not believe they could take him on alone, so he would show them just how right they were.

He dived into the water, knowing they would follow suit. A second later he was up, watching them swim towards him under the rapid currents. When they were almost close enough to reach, he jumped, his muscles straining to push him high into the air. The challengers surfaced in confusion just as Patrick landed on the largest man. A quick jab paralyzed his lower body and he went down, but not before Patrick propelled himself off of the man's shoulders and into the air once more.

He twisted in the sky and watched with some appreciation as the remaining four worked together to hoist two challengers after him; they were quick. But not quick enough, Patrick thought with some amusement as the two Vampires rushed upwards and towards him. In a heartbeat, Patrick straightened his body and twisted, diving straight towards the sea. He saw the surprised expressions as he whipped past his pursuers and latched onto one of the Vampires waiting below. The speed of his attack knocked the Vampire out, both of them sinking into the waves.

Underwater, Patrick caught sight of the cloak he had dropped into the Sea. There was one Vampire standing ten breast strokes away and two in the air that would be down in a moment. Moving quickly, he grabbed the cloak and surfaced. The two challengers in the air were nearly upon him, their hands above their heads, looking to tackle him as he had tackled the previous challenger.

Too predictable, Patrick frowned as his hands tightened on the cloak that he held right below the surface of the water. Out of the corner of his eye he kept the third Vampire in sight. That ones fear was palpable as he stood his ground, waiting for the other two to take him.

Now! Patrick thought as he propelled the heavy cloak towards the sky with all his might. The material tangled over the Vampires faces and sent them full speed into the water, their heads striking the sand with a force that knocked them out instantly.

Raising his hand, Patrick curled his fingers and motioned for the last of them to come to him. "Come on then, let us finish this."

The man's fangs retreated, his eyes dimming to a shade of deep blue. "I surrender, Leader!" The words echoed over the waters as the Vampire sunk to one knee in defeat. 

Tension drained out of Patrick's body as he retrieved his cloak and clasped it around his neck once more. The adrenaline that had been pumping through his veins slowed, allowing his fangs to slide back into his gums as he motioned for several onlookers to drag the unconscious challengers out of the water. No matter how cowardly or foolish, he was responsible for them now. 

The crowd on the beach shifted back as Patrick walked out of the waters and climbed the large rock where the Leaders awaited him. Icy water dripped down the solid muscles of his stomach and back as Patrick looked out over the gathering of dark figures. 

The clouds were moving on over the Sea and the moon reappeared, illuminating the snow covered sands. He could see acceptance in the glowing red eyes that watched him now, acceptance and trust.  Warmth enveloped him as he turned to  face the four Vampires that stood with him on the platform. 

The Duke of Atholl stepped back allowing Patrick to stand in line with the three other clan leaders.  Prince Alexander, the Leader of the Eastern Clan and Isabelle, the Leader of the Western Clan, nodded their acceptance as he stood beside them.  Ismail, his best friend and the Leader of the Southern Clan only grinned.

"The Leader of the Northern Clan!" James bellowed, his voice carrying across the dunes . The sands shifted for a final time as one by one Vampires knelt, and repeated the words.

"The Leader of the Northern Clan!"