Fear was a distant memory for me.
After nearly two hundred years, it was something I recalled from long ago, like the name of a childhood friend or the feel of the sun on my skin.
I strode through the streets of Keswick, unburdened by that fear.
But not by caution.
While I was confident in my strength and abilities, I was no fool, and my kind had enemies everywhere. It was not enough that humans, and almost every other supernatural race feared and despised us, we were the prey of our own kind too.
This thought was uppermost in my mind as I walked the narrow street towards the house on the edge of town.
It was an old building, though younger than I by many decades. Three storeys of grey stone with a slate tile roof, and windows covered with heavy curtains. I knew that there would be blackout screens behind those curtains too, blocking the burning light of the sun from entering.
The light above the door flickered irritatingly, the buzzing it gave off setting my teeth on edge.
I had barely raised my clenched fist to knock when the door swung open.
He stood there like a painting brought to life, all soft curls and smooth skin. His jeans were too tight, his shirt undone to the waist, revealing a chest that was more ornament than armour.
Tomas.
His lips parted in a slow, indulgent smile. "Welcome, Jonathan. Please, do come in."
"Still her favourite toy," I said, stepping past him.
His laugh was a light, silken thing. He shut the door behind me. "Jealousy doesn't suit you, Jonathan."
Foolish of him, to mistake sarcasm for envy.
The house smelled of old blood and rose oil. My nose twitched, inhaling the sweet scent of the blood.
Tomas's, I recognised the scent.
I swallowed the saliva that filled my mouth, sneering at the knowing smile on the face of the brainless fool beside me. He lifted an arm, directing me further into the house, and with a final sneer, I strode on towards the distant sound of voices raised in argument.
Mirelle was draped across the long velvet couch like she owned the world.
Perhaps she thought she did. She was older than me by a decade or two and never let me forget it. Her gown shimmered silver in the firelight, her auburn hair twisted up into a coronet of braids fit for a queen. One slender hand held a glass filled with the tantalisingly crimson blood of her chosen.
She rose as I entered, smiling with those perfect lips, her fangs just barely visible.
"Brother, you took your time."
I took her extended hand, bowing low over it, my lips barely brushing the cold, pale, skin. Then, I looked up and met her eyes. "Mirelle, I like what you've done with the place."
I didn't.
Her taste was garish, though she considered it bold. A lot of velvet, dark purples and burgundy. The artwork she had hung from the walls was vulgar, depictions of naked men, indulging in their youth and every depravity one could devise.
"You like it?" She asked, settling back onto the couch. "I thought, since we may be here a while, we might as well have a home of our own."
"In Tomas's name?"
"Of course." She wagged a finger lazily. "So, you cannot kill him, no matter how much you may wish to."
She gestured for me to sit. I chose the chair near the fire, the one furthest from the window. I didn't like having my back exposed.
Across the room, Alec barely acknowledged me. He stood, arms thick as a man's calves, crossed over a broad chest. Eyes like granite beneath a furrowed brow, with a chin as solid as marble. He was bigger than I remembered, all clenched jaw and quiet fury.
"You're late."
"I was busy."
"You think there is anything more important than this?"
I did, but it was clear he was in a mood. In the one hundred and seventy years I had known him; I had never known him not to be.
The man was a pain.
So, I bit my tongue and lied.
"Of course not, brother."
"Then what's the reason you're late?"
I didn't bother answering him. Alec needed someone to blame for everything and tonight it was me. Instead, I turned my attention back to Mirelle.
Tomas had knelt beside her and her fingers threaded his hair as he rested his head on her thigh. She stroked him absently, like a cat. Her glamour was strong, his eyes too wide, his smile too empty.
"He's obedient," I noted.
"He's mine," she replied.
"Your always liked your pets docile."
"And you always liked pretending to be one of them," Alex muttered.
I let the insult pass.
"Where are Lucien and Mara?"
"On their way," Alec growled, and I turned an insouciant smile upon him as I cocked a brow.
He wisely ignored me.
"I met the girl," I said, turning back to Mirelle, and almost laughed as her eyes widened.
"You did not!"
Alec took a step towards me, lowering his arms, though his stance was no less aggressive. "Why risk it alone!"
"There was no risk," I said, waving away his concerns. "She does not know what she is."
The two of them shared a look as I let their anger wash over me, soaking it in, enjoying it.
"It was a risk, brother dearest," Mirelle said, and I cocked a brow. She only called me that when she was pissed, because she knew how much it upset Alec.
He always felt he should be her favourite.
Fool.
"I tried to glamour her." It was my turn to frown. "She… shrugged it off."
"That is not your strongest gift," Mirelle pointed out. "You use it too little. Perhaps I should try."
"You use it too much," I said with a pointed look at the shell of a man at her feet.
Mirelle pouted, and I laughed.
"Tell me of this girl," Mirelle said.
So, I did, sharing with my siblings what I had learned in the brief meeting, which to be fair, was not much.
She was new to the lake, new to the house, having arrived only two days prior. She brought no entourage and wore no spells of warding or protection. She carried neither hated silver nor deadly ash, and she walked unafraid and unknowing of the danger that surrounded her.
She was, in effect, tantalisingly vulnerable, and to a race of predators, that was almost too much to bear.
The desire to take her had been almost too much, and I'd needed to slip away to retain my control over myself.
"I should have faced her first," Alec growled.
"If you hand, you big ox," Mirelle spat, not taking her eyes from me. "You would have killed her and doomed us all."
"Take that back, sister!"
"Enough!" I snapped. "You are not famed for your control, baby brother. I am, and even so, I nearly lost it."
A low growl was all the reply I received, and I grinned, leaning back in the chair, eyes half-closed as I recalled the memory of her.
She was an old enemy, and ally. One hundred and forty-nine years ago, a pact of blood had been made and if it was not renewed, before the years end, then the pact would be broken and with it, the seals holding bound something that none of us wanted released.
A shudder ran through me at the thought. I did not fear, but what was bound beneath that house brought me close to feeling it.
Now, the only remaining person who could renew that pact was a young woman with no knowledge of who or what she was. A hated enemy, though she knew it not.
A soft sigh escaped me. It was… problematic.
"When did you last feed?" Mirelle asked, her voice soft and filled with something disturbingly close to concern.
I waved a hand. "It's no matter."
"It is, brother. You need your strength."
Strength, I had, enough. It was knowledge I needed, lest we all perish for our crimes.
"What shall we do, sister?"
"Wait for the others, this concerns us all."
I snorted at that. "And how long will that take. You know they resisted the pact in the first place."
No reason to think they would have changed their mind now. It was only the knowledge that they would be included in whatever fell punishment we faced, that kept them in line.
"The barriers are weakening," I said, voice barely above a whisper though clearly heard by my siblings. "The effects of his stirring are being felt by the townsfolk."
"It will worsen the closer we get to the time," Mirelle agreed.
"I offered to purchase the property," I said, and shrugged. "She refused."
"More fool her," Alec muttered. "Elias tried also, and she rebuffed his attempts."
"Then her fate is sealed," Mirelle spat. "She has to live to perform the ritual."
"And if she does not know how to perform it?" I asked and gained only silence as my reply.
The silence stretched.
Then it changed.
A breath of wind, unnatural, slipped through the room. The fire trembled. My body reacted before my mind caught up, fangs dropping, muscles tightening.
I wasn't alone.
I saw Mirelle's eyes widen. Alec's lips curled into a snarl as he bared his fangs, hissing at the night.
Then we all turned toward the same thing.
A scent.
It hit me like lightning. Sweet and sharp, old and powerful. Not just blood.
Something more.
We moved without speaking. Out the door. Down the road. Through the town.
To a human eye, we'd have been nothing but shadow, moving as fast as our unnatural abilities allowed, regardless of the cost to ourselves. We weren't moving for the humans. We weren't hunting.
We were being drawn to the source.
The centre of Keswick.
We arrived as one.
The body lay on the stones like an offering. Smoke curled from it, rising into the night. The air reeked of burned flesh and blood. I knew before I saw the stake what it was.
Vampire.
A pile of blackened ash and charred skin in the shape of a man. Limbs twisted. Face gone. But the stake…
I crouched beside it. Ash wood, driven straight through the heart. Carved with runes.
Holy.
I felt its heat before I touched it. It hadn't just killed, it had annihilated.
Behind me, Mirelle stopped breathing. Then, so soft I barely heard her, she whispered:
"Elias."
My head snapped toward her. "What?"
She stepped forward, her face pale, gaze locked on the corpse. "That's Elias. Our brother."
I looked again. And I saw it now, what was left of the ring on the burned hand. The silver crest set in gold. I'd seen it before. Worn by a man older than all of us.
Stronger than all of us.
"No," Alec growled. "He couldn't be killed. Not like this."
But he could. Someone had.
I stood slowly.
"He was powerful," I said.
"Too powerful," Mirelle added. Her voice shook.
Alec knelt, taking my place beside the body, lips curled in disgust. "Someone wanted us to see this."
"They're sending a message," I agreed.
"If Elias is dead," Mirelle said. "None of us are safe."
Somewhere in the distance, a church bell chimed the hour. The wind carried mocking whispers to our ears.
And I, Jonathan Thorne, two centuries old, and unafraid, felt a dread coil deep within my chest.
Not fear. Not yet.
But close.