𝖈𝖍𝖆𝖕𝖙𝖊𝖗 𝖔𝖓𝖊

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𝐕𝐈𝐕𝐈𝐀𝐍𝐀 𝐒𝐀𝐓 𝐔𝐏, 𝐆𝐀𝐒𝐏𝐈𝐍𝐆, her hand clutched to her neck. It took her a moment to recognise her surroundings as she caught her breath. Dark drapes had blocked out most of the light from windows adorned with stained glass, and a thin veil of dust seemed to cover the rest of the room. She knew this was her bedroom, as it had been for the last four and a half centuries. She frowned. Had it been much more than that by now?

Her fingertips were pressed into her flesh, just below her ear. There was no pulse, no warmth, but there were still the faint, raised scars she knew too well. Two tiny bore holes that had changed everything. Her hand retracted until she held it up to her face. The skin was pale, but not more than usual, nor was it thinned or stretched over her bones as she had anticipated.

Pursing her lips, her brows still taught, she swung her legs over the edge of her bed. Bed was a term used loosely; the casket lid was propped up and skilfully disguised by tapestries, ornate cushions, and beaded pillows, and the mattress was thick and soft, but it was a casket, nonetheless.

She always had a flair for the dramatics.

Light footsteps descended the grand staircase of the foyer, but Alistaire still lifted his head as his sister entered. "Ah!" he toyed. "The lady awakens." His legs were crossed at the ankles, boots propped against the tabletop he was sat in front of. A brass goblet was cradled in his palm, his fingers caressing the polished jewels embedded in the metal.

"Fuck off, Ali," she muttered, plucking the goblet from his outstretched hand and downing the thick, sweet nectar.

"Six and a half years," he continued, unfazed by her thirst. "My, my. That must be one killer hangover." He took back the emptied cup. "You certainly know how to bring in the century, dear sister."

Viviana was deliberately wiping the corner of her mouth with her middle finger, causing Alistaire to chuckle. "Has it only been six?" she asked. "I intended on at least twenty."

"And miss the fun of the dawn of the millennium?" His brows cocked. "In six hundred years, Vivy, I've never known you to stray from a party."

Staring about the room, Viviana scoffed. It was empty, aside from the two of them. The long table between them stretched the length of the room, intended to be stocked with fruit, pastry, and fine wine. But there was only one substance that fully satiated them now. "You call this a party?"

Alistaire simply shrugged, returning to the dusty book splayed over his lap.

"Where are the others?" she pressed, knowing he wasn't going to divulge until she asked.

"Mm," he hummed. "The twins are in Paris. Martinella had plans on spending a few decades in Sicily, and Florin is in America," he lifted his gaze to her again, "at the behest of our dear Lana."

Her eyes narrowed; he hadn't told her the whereabouts of their entire coven. "Aysha? Alaric?"

"Ah," Alistaire's grin widened, "they are on the prowl."

"Did you already burn through our entire supply?" Her eyes were almost glowing from fury. "That was to last at least a decade, Ali."

He tutted. "Calm yourself, Vivy. You're not the only one to regain strength."

"Lorenzo." He was the only member Ali hadn't mentioned. "What happened?"

"He ran into an old friend." Alistaire remained cryptic. "You know Lori, always in trouble. More so than you, sister."

"Ali," she warned, hating having to repeat herself. "What happened?"

Her brother grinned, eager to tattle on their brethren. "You remember James and Victoria, yes?"

"How could I not?" She had despised the both of them.

"Last year, James had locked on to yet another mortal, ever a fan of the chase," Ali explained. "This time, Lori was there to intervene. Unfortunately, the mortal perished 'fore Lori could save them, and James and Victoria flew off into the night." He flittered his hand, smirking. "Lori's terribly torn up about it."

"Where is he?" She tried to hide the desperation in her voice, but her brother knew better of her.

"The tower," Ali grinned, leaning back in his chair so it rested only on two legs, still eyeing his sister, "waiting for his dear lady to wake."

She rolled her eyes, kicking the chair out from under him as she stepped to leave. But he remained in his position, suspended above where his seat had been as the chair clattered to the stone floor.

"Nice try, Vivy!" he called as she left.

She snatched a bloodbag from the fridge that was tucked in the corner of what would have been the scullery when their abode had been built, before making her way up the winding steps of the western tower. She stayed close to the inside pillar, avoiding the slivers of light that cracked through the thin windows lining the outer wall. The wooden door was closed when she reached it, but not locked. Her fingers wrapped around the wrought iron handle, pushing it open as she braced herself for the worst.

The heavy curtains that hung over the windows were drawn closed, mimicking that of her own chambers. The difference being that Lorenzo's bed was an alcove, with another layer of curtains to aid in his defence from the sun. She pulled them apart slowly, revealing Lorenzo's sleeping figure. Easing onto the edge of his mattress, she found herself staring, taking him in in his silence. Her fingertips traced through his hair, knowing it wouldn't stir him.

His eyes were sullen, worn as his body was trying to heal with little blood. Pale scars covered the skin that was visible, and there was a small crack at the base of his neck; James and Victoria must've tried to tear his head from his shoulders. She wondered how long it had been since he'd fed, how long since the attack, how long he'd been torturing himself trying to live without sustenance.

Vivy used her teeth to tear the seal of the bloodbag, licking the few drops that clung to the plastic before pressing the opening to the parting of Lorenzo's lips. She tipped the bag slightly, allowing the blood to drain to him from its recess.

"Mm," he murmured, rousing from his deep slumber. His hands reached up to anchor her wrist, drinking, his eyes still closed. The discolouration under his eyes seemed to fade and the pink began to slowly return to his cheeks and lips. "Innamorata," he breathed, detaching himself from his food source.

"You got into mischief again?" Viviana sighed, discarding the emptied bloodbag to the floor.

His thumb rubbed circles against her skin before his hand slipped into hers. "They had it coming." His voice was deep, groggy, still shaking off his hibernation.

Once again wondering how long he too had been out, Viviana's free hand returned to his hair, tracing over his scalp, earning a hum of satisfaction. His eyes lazily opened halfway, if only to gaze upon her. He reached to run his thumb over her bottom lip. "You've fed," he remarked.

"Barely," she countered, "whatever remained in Ali's cup. I've only just woken."

His thumb traced down her chin to her neck. "What year is it?"

"2006."

"Hm," he acknowledged. "I thought you would've slept for longer." His hand rested on her neck, pulling her closer.

"Bad dream." She was eager to end the conversation there.

Lorenzo was good at taking her hints. He dropped the topic. "Come," he instead muttered, his eyes on her lips. "Drink with me."

Her smile widened, descending to kiss away the blood that remained on his lips. She squared herself over his hips, not even breaking their kiss to pull the drapes closed once again, shrouding them in darkness.

♱

𝐅𝐋𝐔𝐎𝐑𝐄𝐒𝐂𝐄𝐍𝐓 𝐋𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓𝐒 𝐀𝐋𝐌𝐎𝐒𝐓 𝐁𝐋𝐈𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐃 the two figures as they hurried through the hospital halls, but it was nothing compared to what lay outside in the late afternoon sun. Rhythmic beeping and overhead announcements drilled their way into their minds, the scents of medication and cleaning chemicals clouding their senses. But none more so intoxicating than what they came for.

Blood.

"This was a bad idea," the woman said, sweeping her copper hair into the clip it had fallen loose from. "We should've waited until nightfall."

"Shut up, Aysha," the male hissed. "We break in at night, we draw suspicion." He turned a corner, his stolen white coat billowing behind him. "We've shaken officials once already this year, I don't intend on doing so again."

"We could always go old-school, Alaric," Aysha toyed, tugging at the blue scrubs he had forced her to wear. "Go out and bite a few mortals, have a little massacre soirée."

Alaric stopped at a locked door, staring daggers at his friend. "What part of 'we can't draw suspicion' do you not understand?"

She simply grinned, shrugging. "I'm kidding."

From his coat-pocket, he retrieved the keycard he had taken from the doctor he had collided with by the front desk, pressing it to the scanner by the door handle and ignoring Aysha's remark. The door emitted two small beeps as it unlocked. He drew down the handle, pushing open the door to reveal a small testing lab.

"Who are you?" a blond boy, not older than 20, spoke, looking up from his computer.

"Routine inspection," Alaric lied. "Need to take a few samples, ensure there's no threat of biowarfare."

"O-Our supplier tests for that," the technician tried to assure him.

"Cross-checking," Aysha added. "Can never be too careful."

Alaric strode towards the grey door behind the boy. The shelves of bloodbags were visible through the small porthole window, almost making the elder vampire salivate, until the boy stepped in front of him.

"I can't let you in there, sir," he insisted. "I haven't been notified of any clearance."

"Right," Alaric was growing impatient, pinching the bridge of his nose. "What's your name, kid?"

"Nicholas," he answered.

"Nicholas," Alaric repeated, reaching forward to grab the youth's collar and towering over him. "Look at me."

The boy gulped, forced to stare at his assailant's pitch black irises.

"You are going to let us in," Alaric ordered, locked onto him now. "You will say nothing. You will remember nothing. Got it?"

The boy opened his mouth to speak, but nothing came. You will say nothing. The words rang in his mind as he simply nodded, compelled to follow the commands he was given.

Alaric released him, pushing past to force open the door, with Aysha following behind with a smirk. "You didn't have to make him shit his pants, Ric."

"I didn't," he glanced over his shoulder to her. "He did that on his own." The two stopped at the digital keypad hindering their next door. Their plight lay just beyond reach, divided only by a pane of thick, unbreakable glass. Alaric extended his hand. "Have at it, Aguirre."

Aysha rolled her eyes, reaching forward. Ribbons of electricity connected from her fingertips to the keypad, which then turned green as the door unlatched. "You know, we could've just asked for the code."

"He wouldn't be able to answer," Ric reminded her. His hands ran over the cold bags, filled with crimson gold. He was eager to rip into them after not feeding for the past fortnight, but staved himself, handing them to Aysha to deposit into their duffel bag.

"Mm!" Aysha remarked, her eyes fallen on one of the bags further to the back of the shelf. "Can you grab me that A-pos?"

"No," Ric responded flatly, still filling the bag. "O-negative."

"Ric, they need that O-negative," she argued. "The more we take, the less they have. They're not going to miss a few bags of A or B."

With a heavy sigh, Ric retrieved the bags of A-positive. "If I give you these, will you shut up?"

"Probably not." She plucked them from his grip, humming greedily at the blood's presence in her touch.

The low-hum of the refrigerators was a soothing drone, only broken by Ric's phone soon ringing. He groaned in annoyance, pulling it from his back pocket and pressing it to his ear. "What?" His tone was demanding, but instantly softened at the news on the other end, piquing both Aysha's curiosity and concern as he looked to her. "We'll be right there."