A Journey of Black and Red-Novel

Constantine’s office is as spacious and ordered as before, but now it feels crowded. To my right stands a tall man with dark curly hair and the beard and mustache of a Spanish Conquistador, which, arguably, he might be.

He is also my rival for the ownership of the State of Illinois.

Behind his desk, Constantine gauges the both of us as we sit at attention, studiously ignoring each other.

I hiss and stop, as Constantine immediately raised a hand to preclude any protest I may have.

My fingers itch.

I ignore them.

Constantine leans forward, his lean fingers intertwined on top of his desk.

A year ago or so, I rescued a werewolf from the Order prison where Sivaya and Nami were also held captive. Alistair was his name, and he was originally from the city of York. He had mentioned that communities had formed in the Canadian wilderness.

He had also mentioned a group called Black Peak that was trying to gain dominance. At that time, I had dismissed the whole affair as having nothing to do with me, and I had not helped him. Well, the joke is on me now. This mass movement is most certainly related to that whole business. Either those groups Constantine mentioned are refugees or, more worrying, the Black Peak wolves are trying to expand.

I really hope this is the former.

I could, of course, share my observations with Constantine and my rival, but I really do not see the point. Vampires only rarely interact with werewolves besides by hunting them down, though individuals are sometimes used as freelance agents. If I treat them as an organized faction from the beginning, it might give me the edge I need to win this contest.

That means that he can only rely on his subordinates, not his entire clan. Good news.

I sputter in outrage! Calumnies! Shameless defamation! It seldom ever happens!

My rival bows then to my surprise, turns to me.

He grabs his fancy hat and departs the room.

How dare he be polite and respectful while I plan to do unspeakably devious things to him and his party! This proper behavior will not save him from my wrath. His clan should have thought twice before annoying me.

We wait until the door closes behind us. Then we wait some more.

And some more.

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I am tempted to draw on the Hastings essence. Besides turning coffee into an elixir of the gods, it allows me to act more human. That means shifting in the seat, scratching my arm and other mannerisms that vampires apparently find endlessly annoying coming from another vampire, according to Torran. Fortunately, Constantine speaks before I must resort to psychological warfare.

I instinctively grip the edge of my seat. If he dares…

Constantine shows the most minute signs of distress. A mortal would have missed it.

Despite my best effort, I must have shown a sign of excitement because my host looks a bit aggravated. Progenitor blood! A rare treat indeed. It will lack vitality, but this power...

I join him behind his desk, a symbolic allowance on his part. He extends one bare wrist which I take delicately, then his other hand whips out and grabs my head with lightning speed.

I freeze. From where I stand, I see the edges of a mage gauntlet of incredible power. The contained aura of the artefact thrums with a threatening rhythm like war drums in the distance. It tastes of blood, iron and the tide.

I feel no aggression from Constantine and so I stay still. Even my instincts are silent as power emanates in waves from the Progenitor’s form.

He is considerably faster than me.

He is also known as a blood magic genius, showing incredible innovation, a rarity among our kind.

I am convinced that he will not kill me if I do not give him cause and so I keep my peace.

I nod.

I lick the skin over the vein, eliciting a sigh. I can feel the power crawling languishly under the pale skin. Despite my best efforts, I find myself anticipating the moment with great pleasure.

I bite down.

I pull back.

I have seen enough; I have taken enough. The essence is mine now. I finally understand the secret power Ganiz, no, Constantine, has chosen for himself. Just as my own sire was driven by conquest, Constantine crossed the boundary out of brotherly love. The touch of his line will make the Servant better, more powerful. Inhuman. Not as strong as a vampire but sharing none of our weaknesses, they will be a force to reckon with. Not to mention that we still cannot touch them. The taboo is still here.

I find his sacrifice touching.

I need to remember that Melitone will display superhuman abilities, especially now that she has had a century to train. It also implies that should she fall, the murderer will have to face a vengeance like no others.

I care not.

Again, so much power. I can feel it roll and merge into me. Its touch is gentler than Sinead and Sivaya’s essence, a pond to their torrent, but no less powerful for it. I stretch in delight under the soothing effect, marveling at its strength.

My essence follows the line of my body, while my aura is more diffuse and more flexible. I can feel it growing denser and darker. It feels good.

I flex my claws. Now would be a good time for a Hunt, but alas, necessity makes law.

I note in passing that I am not drunk, just like the night I tasted my sire’s essence all those years ago. Perhaps it is due to the low vitality? Curious.

Constantine studies me for a while, and I allow him some time to recuperate. He has not dismissed me yet therefore it would be rude to leave.

I eye him with undisguised amusement.

I laugh as I leave.

I chuckle and close the door behind me.

I already knew I would need resources to complete my mission. The first step is thus to return to Marquette and gather those resources. Constantine correctly anticipated this move and I can rely on Melitone joining me shortly.

As expected, I cannot count on Torran. Not that I planned on asking him for help. Torran is my senior in every regard, to rely on him is to send a signal that I am dependent on him. That will not do.

Thankfully, I have much to work with.

As I step outside of the manor and onto the inner garden, I am joined by the first additional member of our expedition.

When I saved Melusine, I demanded of her a one-time assistance in battle, a favor I am calling upon now. As she turns and narrows her eyes, I will admit that she looks rather good in a brown traveling dress and deep green cloak that compliment her pale skin and carmine curls.

Metis trots out of her stable with a prancing gait that shows everyone that she is the best Nightmare around and she knows it. She stops a few paces in front of us and snorts disdainfully, like the big good warhorse she is.

Both Melusine and I finish our inspection of each other’s horse and scoff at the same time. I turn to her with fangs bared.

Melusine gasps in outrage and displays her fangs in return.

Melusine and I exchange a glance.

We both fall silent as melancholy overcomes my companion. I grab her by the arm and pull her forward. Nothing like a good ride to clear one’s head, after all.

We gallop and soon catch up with Torran as he rides down the path along the cliff leading down from the manor. The humans guards, always vigilant, let us pass without a word after a cursory inspection by the light of their torches.

When we reach him, my lover slows down and pulls alongside me.

I ask with curiosity. We never actually discussed it, simply because I preferred his tales of home, games and politics and I wanted to make it clear that I was interested in him as an individual, not because of his role as a smith. This time is different. Torran initiated the conversation himself.Follow on Novᴇl-Onlinᴇ.cᴏm

Torran considers the question seriously.

Torran is not wrong. Even my pistols are often used at point blank range. To be fair this is the best way to use a pistol as they are not the most precise firearms around.

Torran turns his aristocratic face to me, his grey eyes twinkling with amusement.

I jump on the occasion to ask another question that had bothered me.

I shiver at the memory, a memory I have shared with him. To my surprise, Torran has never been touched by the golden orb’s unforgiving radiance, though he has suffered countless other wounds.

Yet less than a year of being able to move during the day and I have already been roasted once. Maybe I am just an idiot.

By now, we are crossing the fields and glasshouses covering the valley

We continue in silence for a while, until I notice signs that Melusine wishes to speak to me. Surprised, I pull back after a last nod at my lover and align myself with her. As we ride side by side I realize with pleasure that between my size and Metis’, I am easily two heads taller than her.

Melusine huffs, completely unamused.

Ooh, we are on a name basis now.

Melusine merely rolls her eyes.

I stare at her, long and hard. Melusine does not flinch under my scrutiny. She lifts her chin with all the aristocratic grace embedded into her persona since she was dragged screaming into her clan so many nights ago.

She looks forward now, fully absorbed in her demonstration. In front of us, Torran shifts to let me see his amused smile. We must appear as children splitting a cake for one such as him.

She closes a fist and turns to me again with a hint of disdain.

I consider her proposal.

First, she is serious. I can tell from her posture and determined air. She also makes a good point. I will need to create covens. I am unwilling to sire spawn for now and Urchin does not qualify as a coven member.

Second, and most important, can I trust her? If she is willing to take an oath, then yes. Despite her devious Lancaster ways, she is still one of our kind and we do not break oaths easily. It still bears the question…

Melusine smiles softly.

She stares me in the eyes with candor.

I phase out Melusine as she descends into cold rage, listing the many indignities she would subject her fallen superior to. Interestingly, many of them involve fire in some fashion.

I think I can trust her. In theory, her arrangement is also to my benefit, though this time I will consider the question before taking any hasty decision. I will not repeat my mistake of agreeing to lady Sephare too quickly.

We nod to each other with grudging respect and return to riding in a single file. The rest of the trip to the way station is done in silence. A few hours later, Torran and I part ways after promises to spend more time together when all is done. He will travel around for a bit while Melusine and I rush to Marquette at high speed using armored carriages.

We have a war to plan, and to win.