Lysette’s tone is cold as she speaks. “How presumptuous.” Her fingers twirl around her silver braid.
The vampire before her stands several heads taller than herself yet is years behind in wisdom. The horrendous brand on his forehead causes her nose to twitch in disgust. The brand of a traitor, marked by the Faith. The scales of balance are burned directly into the center of his brow. She snickers at the thought of Bes on his knees before a priest of balance. The scent of his burning flesh must have smelled enticing. She tosses the braid back behind her shoulder. It is not often that she attends these types of meetings herself, but things are different now. Emil had made sure she would act on his behalf. She must ensure cooperation from all vampire-kind. She does not need to open her eyes to know everyone is gawking at her. She can feel it, just as she can feel everything around her. The consul squirming naked beside her, the termites crawling through the wooden foundation, the raven perched atop the consul’s home, the lightest flicker of movement over Bes’ lip. She can see all of it, everything. That was the gift she was given when Emil took her eyes.
The crowd gasps the moment her eyelids flicker open. The opaque green stones shine with a sickening radiance. The uneasy and nervous movements of the crowd make her want to laugh. Her fingers brush along the bound figure’s hair, tousling the dark locks vigorously.
“Bes, if you’re so sure of your success. Then why are there still so many mortals in Cochon?” Lysette asks, rising from the cushioned chair with an air of grace.
“Lysette, we must still feed… surely you can understand our hesi—”
“Emil doesn’t care about your hesitation. Your failure to do as you’re told is worrisome. Did he or did he not tell you to eradicate the mortals in Cochon?”
Bes strokes his chin, then eyes the others around the crowd. “We aren’t like you. You’re different… you don’t have the hunger like w—”
“Emil nor his kindred care about your hunger. You’ll learn to stave off these pathetic pangs of weakness in time…”
“We can’t wait that long… how many years have you lived? How many years must we wait before we no longer thir—”
Lysette silences him with her raised hand. “Every moment you speak, Bes, you make me second-guess my decision to allow you to rule over Cochon. There are other promising vampires among our ranks.”
“Emil promised!” Bes spits, taking an aggressive step forward.
Lysette clicks her tongue. “Don’t raise your voice at me. I swear it will be the last thing you do.”
Lysette’s feet do not make a sound while she crosses the distance between them. She places a hand on Bes’ chest and rubs back and forth. If only you were smarter.
“What happened here… in Cochon will capture the attention of Loria,” Bes whispers under his breath. “Was this your plan?”
Maybe he’s not so dumb after all.
“We want to expand our reach, surround the northern cities, and cut off their trade. Taking Cochon all but ensures some of these walled cities will suffer,” Lysette replies, a smile tugging at the corner of her lip. But Loria will retaliate.
“But Loria will come!” A woman shouts. Her dark hair falls just below her shoulders. The satin shirt clings to her form and hugs her curves. “We’ve already killed one of their damned priests.”
Of course, Loria will come.
Lysette claps her hands together in praise. “Excellent, little dove. You made Emil proud… now do all of us proud and eliminate the remnants of the mortals you left behind.”
Bes clears his throat, his head hangs, his eyes glued to his feet. “There are rumors, Lysette.”
“So I have heard,” Lysette replies with caution. “There will always be rumors.”
“But if it’s true? If the Saint of Flames is reborn?”
The Saint of Flames. The name had inspired awe in her since she was a girl. But things had changed in the hundreds of years since her transformation. Awe had given way to fear, but she never forgot the Saint of Flames she met as a child. A kind-hearted woman whose hair was as golden as the dawn, radiant as the evening sky. For some reason, the name had faded from her memory, but she never forgot the kindness which was imparted to her.
“Then we’ll deal with it as we always have. When and if that time comes. But each reincarnation has been progressively weaker… and you know why, Bes?”
“Because people are losing their faith,” Bes replies, glaring at Lysette from under his brow.
Lysette nods and pushes Bes back into the crowd of vampires. “That’s right. Those sanctimonious Lorian priests are nothing more than the shells they once were. We’ve nothing to fear from them.”
“Be that as it may,” the woman scoffs. “That sun priest still managed to extinguish the life of several of our brethren.”
“Oh, Eve,” Lysette replies with a click of her tongue. “Your life is already gone… you can’t snuff a candle that’s long been burnt away. If they couldn’t handle a single sun priest, maybe it’s better they’re gone. Less dead weight around,” she snips, flashing her sharp fangs.
Bes sighs and pushes himself in front of Eve. “There… is no need for any friction between us. We’re all children of Emil, are we not?”
Lysette nearly laughs at him. How dare you loop me with your kind? She steps back to the wooden chair and returns to her seat without a sound. The man, squirming beside her, cries out through the leather gag. A gift from the vampires who had secured Cochon, the greedy Lorian Consul who had offered his own people so that he may live. Pathetic.
Bes had told her the story. Within a fortnight, he had managed to convince the Consul to betray his kind. Two weeks had been all the time that was needed to make a proud Lorian noble turn on those he presides over. Bes had given his word that the Consul would be safe in the impending attacks, that he would be unharmed from their kind.
But they’re all so hungry…
“I won’t tarry long here, Bes. It seems you’ve enough sense to make sure that Emil’s will is carried out. Maybe next time I come, you can keep your wretches in check,” Lysette chuckles under her breath. “I appreciate your generous gift, but I am afraid he’s rather cumbersome for travel. Isn’t that right, mon petite chou?”
The pale man cowers before her on his knees. In his nakedness, he looks nothing more than a sad sack of flesh. His skin hangs loose over his frame, his eyes sunken in. Barely worth the effort.
“If you’re hungry… you should eat this one. After all, what good would it be to allow such a sniveling creature such as him to live?” Lysette asks. Her fingers trace along the pulsing veins running through his neck and into his cheek.
“We did promise him,” Bes says, tilting his head questioningly. “I was told we keep our promises… am I mistaken?”
Lysette’s lips curl into a smile. Her fingers curl into the black curls before she tugs him to face her. “Did Bes promise you protection?” She asks, her emerald gaze greets him.
The consul cowers, lifting his bound hands in defense. “Y-y-yes!” He stammers.
Lysette scoffs mockingly and looks at Bes. “Silly,” she taunts, smiling at the crowd. “We don’t make promises we can’t keep,” she snaps, her words finishing in anger.
The consul’s neck snaps backward in a horrible crunch. The jumbled mess of meat and bone causes a strange bulge in his neck.
“We don’t make promises,” Lysette asserts once more, relinquishing her grip. The body thuds onto the cold tiles.
Several from the crowd step forward, the thirst in their eyes obvious. Lysette sniggers to herself. Feral pigs wanting their pound of flesh. With a dismissive wave of her hand, the crowd descends onto the consul in a blink. The crunching and squelching do not bother her, nor does the smell of his blood rising into her nostrils.
“Bes,” Lysette says, crossing her legs over the arm of the chair. “Don’t forget what I said.”
“It will be done, Lysette,” Bes promises, blood dripping from his jaw.
“Oh, one last thing,” Lysette whispers, her eyes narrowed on the vision in front of her. “Next time I see you. Wear something over that appalling brand, lest you lose your head.”
Bes’ eyes look up to meet hers, his amber eyes reflect with his hunger. “Of course, Lysette.”
Chattel, all of them.