A/N: Hard to believe, isn't it, but I am actually posting something! Once more, a little twelve-page something for Creative Writing class. This was mostly inspired by an Evans Blue song with the same title, off their album "The Melody and the Energetic Nature of Volume". It's a wonderful song, take a listen to it. And in the meantime, enjoy the story!

The world seemed to swim before her as she opened her eyes.

She couldn’t remember why her head was throbbing, why her throat was dry as a drought-ridden field, and why she tasted the coppery tang of blood in her mouth. Nor could she explain it. All her pain made no sense to her whatsoever.

Her vision cleared after a moment, letting her take in her surroundings. Her eyes met a large room, empty of everyone but her. The walls were stone, like those of a castle, and huge, heavy torches were mounted on them; the flickering flames of the torches lit the room with a dim light. A large wooden armoire stood in a corner, a wooden desk was pressed against another wall. The main feature of the room, however, appeared to be the four-poster bed she was lying in. She ran her hands-wrapped in strange strips of linen-over the sheets, marveling their smooth, silky texture.

Satin, her mind whispered. She blinked; so there was a word for material with a texture such as this. But she didn’t know how she knew that word…

The door creaked open loudly, admitting someone to her room. She shot bolt upright, her hand reaching for something to defend herself with. A searing pain shot through her abdomen, taking her breath away. Her head throbbed extra hard; she closed her eyes and doubled over in pain, her arms wrapped tight around her stomach, a cry of detriment escaping her clenched teeth.

Footfalls echoed on the stone floor, and she felt something surprisingly cool-but actually, quite soothing-on either side of her face. Only when the cool objects applied a gentle pressure and lifted her head did she realize that what was touching her face was a pair of hands.

“Easy, Darya, easy,” a soothing voice whispered. “Easy now…after all the trouble Tenreeya went to tending and dressing your wounds, she won’t appreciate you opening them again…”

She didn’t know who Tenreeya was-although, by his words, she seemed to be some kind of healer-and, at the present, she didn’t care. What was more important was that he gave her a name: Darya. What manner of name is that? She thought to herself. Is it my name?

“D…D-Darya..?” she asked, her voice rough and hoarse.

Whoever it was who came to her side chuckled, a low, rich, velvety sound that sent a pleasant kind of shiver down Darya’s spine. She opened her eyes slowly, only to find a pair of gorgeous orange eyes staring back at her. One eye was partially obscured by raven bangs, but both vivid ginger eyes still bored into her, looking past her skin and into her soul, it seemed…

“Yes, my dear,” he purred. “Darya…that is your name. Why, don’t you remember?”

Darya shook her head, slowly moving to lie back down, hoping to assuage the pain still shooting up and down her torso. The black-haired man assisted her, his hands gentle as he helped her lie down, and then tucked her in. She peered up at him with curious eyes, taking in the whole of his appearance.

His hair was long, the color of the midnight sky, and tied back at the base of his neck. Long bangs hung in his pale face; his aristocratic features marked him as a noble, as did the clothing he wore, constructed of linen reserved for only the highest nobility.

He gave her a gentle smile as he sat down on the edge of her bed, his pale hand reaching out and brushing a strand of dark crimson hair out of her eyes. “You don’t remember anything, do you, Darya?”

She shook her head weakly. He sighed, a bit of a wistful look in his eyes. “I was afraid of this…”

As he spoke, Darya noticed something unusual-his canine teeth were abnormally pointed, lethally sharp. Too curious to resist, her bandaged hand reached out, brushing against his soft lips, tracing the contours of his abnormal canines. They were smooth like polished ivory, and, indeed, lethally sharp, nearly impaling her finger as she traced around the tips.

“V-Vampire…”

A wicked flash of ivory fangs. Blood dripping from the corner of a mouth. Eyes burning unnaturally blue in fevered bloodlust.

Her eyes closed as the memories crashed down upon her, small flashes of a life unknown to her. But the images lingered for only a moment; she opened her eyes once more and found his concerned face so close to hers.

“Are you all right? What is it?”

What do I tell him? How do I describe what I just saw? “N-Nothing…”

He nodded, that small, charming smile still on his face. “Good. And, as you stated a moment ago, yes, I am a vampire. My name is Lucian, my dear.”

“W-What h-happened…to m-me?”

“You were attacked, love,” he told her, melancholy in his voice. “You went out riding, and when you didn’t come back by nightfall, I grew worried. I went out to bring you back, and there you were by the roadside, bleeding and barely alive. There was a werewolf’s scent in the air around you. I suspect you may have been attacked by a rogue; I’ve placed my men on lookout for the wretched cur.”

She listened raptly to Lucian’s talk-she couldn’t help but be touched by his concern for her. “Y-You came f-for…for m-me?”

“Of course I did! Why would I not?” he asked with a chuckle. “Darya…you’re my love. My life. Why would I not come for you?”

He stood, smoothing the minute wrinkles in his breeches. “Now get some rest. You need it to gather your strength…”

Darya nodded, closing her eyes. Lucian began to hum a tune, soft and gentle, which helped to ease her into the warm, peaceful darkness that waited for her…

***

It took a full week of rest-which nearly drove Darya insane, as she felt better after the first two days-before Lucian let her venture out of bed, however reluctantly.

He had left her alone after breakfast, prompting her to dress-and, as she passed a mirror and took in her scruffy, unkempt appearance, take a bath as well. Much to her luck, Lucian had a very attentive staff of servants, all of whom seemed to be at his-and her-beck and call. Over the few days she’d been there, and been conscious, she’d became quite close to Tenreeya, a slight, scrawny werewolf of a maid with a cheery persona.

And it was Tenreeya who was waiting for her as she emerged from the bathroom after a hot bath and scrubbing a week’s worth of dirt and blood off her skin. A beautiful dark-blue dress was draped over her arm, a charcoal-colored external corset tucked under her other arm. A toothy beam stretched across her face when she saw Darya.

“Master Lucian sent me to help you dress,” she stated. “It’s good to see you out of bed and cleaned up, Miss Darya.”

“It’s good to be out of bed and cleaned up,” Darya said, striding towards the friendly maidservant. “I must’ve looked a fright…”

“We can’t blame you, Miss Darya,” Tenreeya said. “You were attacked-and almost killed-by a werewolf. We’re lucky to have you alive. I think the fact that you survived was more to important to us all than the fact that you were a little dirty and bloody…”

She passed the elegant dress to Darya, who slipped behind the changing screen, pulling the sapphire dress over her head. She emerged once she was dressed so Tenreeya could help her with her corset. As the lycan maidservant cinched up her corset, her thoughts turned to all she had learned from Lucian in the past week. Especially about…about their love…

He said that he’s my one and only love, she mused, standing, unmoving, as she was laced into her corset. And that I’m his only love as well. But…what does that mean? Are we lovers? Are we courting? Are we married..?

A beautiful ring, resting in the palm of someone’s pale, smooth hand. Sweet nothings, whispered into her ears under the cover of a starry night. Soft, gentle lips against her own, kissing her as if nothing else in the world mattered.

She blinked as the memories hit her once more; they’d been doing this so much throughout the week, and it was starting to annoy her more than intrigue her. Those memories, those precious memories she so craved…just beyond her reach. Although, there was one issue about them that concerned her…most of the memories were those of war, of blood, of death. Was that all my life was? Death and disaster? Why would I want that life..?

“Something troubling you, Miss Darya?”

She shook her head, snapping out of her musings at Tenreeya’s voice. “No, no…nothing. Just thinking to myself.” She looked down, admiring the gown clothing her, before turning in a circle, her skirt flaring out like that of a dancer’s. “It’s beautiful, Tenreeya. I love it!”

She smiled. “Aye, it is a beauty. Master Lucian had it tailored just for you. Goes so beautifully with your hair and your eyes, Miss Darya.”

She led Darya to a mirror, and she stopped for a moment, taking in her appearance with startlingly silver eyes, flecked with crimson. No longer caked in dirt and dried blood, her skin was a soft shade of golden-brown, peppered with freckles. Dark red hair, the color of a fine burgundy wine, tumbled down around her neck and shoulders in soft ringlets, though, for the day, Tenreeya had pulled it back from her face and neck. Darya’s curious fingertips reached up, brushing against her ears; something about them had seemed off, caught her eye in the mirror. The tips of her ears tapered to a point under her fingers, almost like Lucian’s fangs…

“Elf…” she muttered under her breath.

A sturdy sword rested in her hand, the richly decorated hilt embossed with intricate Elvin designs. A vortex of black, swirling mist hovered over the palm of her other hand, docile in appearance, deadly in nature. Her adversaries fell before her, none a match for her preternatural prowess and skill.

A smile crossed Darya’s face as the memory ended; she fingered the tapered tips of her ears once more. “No…not elf. Drow.”

***

The sun was brilliant, almost blinding as she left the dark confines of Lucian’s manor for the first time since she’d been brought there. The air was warm, but a pleasant breeze blew, keeping her pleasantly warm, but not too hot, as she travelled towards the town on foot, admiring the beauty of the lands that surrounded Lucian’s estate. At the same time, her keen eyes scoured for any sign of the place where she was attacked, anything could possibly trigger more memories, or even bring them all back to her. She looked for blood smeared in the dirt, or claw marks gouged in trees, but, much to her surprise-and disappointment-she found nothing.

Her disheartening lack of success failed to deter Darya, however. She kept searching for any signs of the place where she was attacked, all the way until she had made it to the city’s gates. The gatekeeper eyed her suspiciously for a moment, then, without so much as a word to explain his scrutiny, he opened the gates, letting her pass.

She stopped for a moment, right within the boundaries of the city, her silvery eyes taking in all the sights around her. People bustled about, going about their daily activities, while merchants peddled their wares in the streets. Voices echoed out as friends called out to each other, minstrels sang, tales of romance and cheer, and merchants advertised.

The streets were empty of all, save for one person…her greatest adversary yet. Blood was smeared copiously on his tunic and breeches, and his face as well. His eyes glowed with his lust, impossible to slake. Her hand tightened on the hilt of her sword. She was ready to spill his blood on the streets.

Or to have her own spilled all over the dirt.

Her eyes opened once more, revealing the hustle and bustle of the streets, a comforting sight. This new memory was one of those that she hoped to any deity above wasn’t an actual one, just some subconscious dream that somehow made its way into her memories…

She moved to start off into the city, but before she could even take two steps, a man hurried towards her, his shoulder-length hair, the color of chestnut, flying free in the breeze, brushing past his ears to reveal tapered tips, similar to her own. His blue eyes were alight with jubilation and concern. He threw his arms around her, holding her tightly. She froze, her back stiff, caught off guard by some strange man embracing her.

“Darya!” he whispered intimately into her ear. “Oh, my love…I’ve missed you…”

She tried to push him away, but his grip was strong, he refused to let go. That same black fog from her memory formed around her right hand, docile but deadly. She struck the new coming elf in the gut with her fog-shrouded hand, blasting him backwards a few yards.

“Get away from me!” she snarled, her face contorting in anger. “Who are you and what do you want?!”

His face was shocked, and he almost looked…heartbroken by Darya’s rejection of him. “Darya…Darya, don’t you remember me? Evander?”

She glared at him, suspicious at his behavior. He acted and spoke as if they knew each other…and not just known each other, but loved each other as well. That pleading look in his eyes, that frown upon his handsome face…he looked as though he loved her. But she had no idea who he was.

And I love Lucian…she thought to herself.

“No, I don’t remember you. And from what I’ve seen of you so far, perhaps that’s a good thing.”

“Darya…” he said, pleading. “Darya, I’ve been so worried about you. Where were you? Did you win? I thought he’d killed you…”

“Did I win what? Who killed me?”

“Lucian,” he said, a sudden bout of utter hatred contorting his delicate, elfin features before his face smoothed out once more.

Darya froze for a moment, then burst out laughing at the foolishness of his statement. Evander stared at her, confused by her laughter; it took a moment for her to calm down enough to look at him. “What? You stupid elf! Why would I fight the man I love? That’s preposterous!”

“What?!” Evander squawked. “You? Lucian? Love? What hideous lies has he been feeding you, my love? You can’t love a man like him!”

Now frustrated by this invasive little elf, Darya’s face twisted into a scowl once more. With no warning, and took quick for Evander to catch, she seized him by his throat and slammed him against a nearby tree, hard enough to rattle Evander’s senses and knock the breath from him. A nasty leer twisted her lips. “And what makes you think that I can’t love a man like Lucian? You don’t even know him, do you, little elf?”

His azuline eyes bore into hers, deadly serious, a trace of concern and love in them. “Actually, I do, Darya. More than I care to know him. And you know him too…the real him. Whatever he’s told you…he’s lied. He’s lied to you badly.”

“Why would he lie to me? What reason does he have?”

“You’d be surprised,” he stated simply. “But…you would know the reason he lies to you, Darya, if only you knew yourself…”

“How do I know you’re not the one lying to me?”

He tilted his head to the side slightly, his eyes holding all the seriousness of the world. “Because I would never lie to you. I respect you too much. I love you too much. He’s lying to you because he doesn’t care about you, Darya. He doesn’t love you. He doesn’t respect you. He can’t-he’s incapable of doing that. I know he is.”

His words rang out deep in her soul. He was so serious about this how could he be lying? But…she knew nothing about him. She hadn’t even known his name or seen his face until perhaps half an hour ago. For all she knew, his words could mean nothing.

Aside from that…she didn’t want to think that Lucian’s words, all the sweet nothings he’d whispered to her, all the things he told her about the relationship between them…she didn’t want to think it was a lie. She would hate to think that all those sweet words, all the blissful images she’d thought when he told her, were nothing more than hideous lies.

“Darya, you have to believe me,” he pleaded. “Lucian is evil. Everything he’s told you, it’s a lie. Every sweet word he’s whispered to you means nothing. He wants to kill you. He almost did…Please, you have to believe me…”

She released her grip on Evander’s neck, and he rubbed at his abused throat. She crossed her arms over her chest, eyeing him in a dark yet thoughtful manner, her mind warring with the notion to believe him, or blast him with the dark fog that she could conjure.

“I’ll believe you when you give me proof that Lucian’s as evil as you say.”

Evander sighed, his shoulders slumping slightly, before looking back up at her, resolve in his sapphire eyes. “Fine. I shall give you your proof…After Lucian leaves the manor tonight, I shall meet you at the front gates. And I will prove to you that Lucian is lying to you, and nothing but evil…prove that his black heart feels nothing for you. I promise.”

***

Twilight had painted the sky indigo by the time Darya managed to leave the manor. She threw a cloak over her shoulders as she exited the front door, pulling the hood up to conceal her face, her feet making nary a sound as she climbed down the front steps and walked down the path towards the manor’s gates. A dark figure outside of the gates confirmed that Evander was here to give her his so-called proof of Lucian’s evil ways.

“This had best be worthwhile,” Darya growled as she slipped out of the gates and they started off down the road. “If I find out you’ve been playing me false, you will rue the day you were born…”

“I will give you the proof you require that Lucian is evil and has been lying to you,” Evander promised solemnly.

“Why is this so important to you? Why do you want to prove Lucian’s evil so badly?”

“Because I can’t stand to see him taking advantage of you like this, my love. I think of all the things he’s said to you, all those hideous lies, and it sickens me. What he’s doing is just plain wrong, Darya. I can’t let him do it.”

“What would he want with me, though? What reason does he have to lie to me?”

“You’re one of his greatest opponents,” Evander explained. “If you’re his ally, then his greatest threat has been removed…and it’s only a matter of time before he’s ended life as we all know it.”

“That bad, is it?”

“You have no idea,” Evander said, shaking his head. “But you will…”

The streets of the town were almost completely deserted as they passed the gates, the gatekeeper asleep, leaving the gates wide open. Only a few people dared to wander the streets after dark, and most of them were drunk to boot. She wrinkled her nose in disgust. “I hardly see any evil vampires roaming the streets. Just stumbling drunks.”

“Just you wait, Darya. Just you wait…”

A half-hour had passed in absolute silence when the sudden scent of fresh blood, and the sounds of gentle footsteps, caught Darya’s attention. Evander seemed to notice, too, for he seized her upper arm and dragged her into the shadows of a nearby alley. She made a noise of protest, which he muffled by placing his hand over her mouth. A moment of quiet wrestling passed before she managed to tear his hand from her mouth.

“What’s the meaning of this?! You’ve got a lot of nerve, you know that, right-?”

He shushed her, then pointed down the road. Squinting, Darya made out the silhouette of a person coming down the road, a man, walking the proud, tall walk of a sober man, not stumbling over himself like a drunk. As he drew closer, she caught a glimpse of burning orange eyes that let her know it was none other than Lucian.

But this was Lucian as she’d not seen him before. His orange eyes burned with intensity the likes of which she’s never seen, burning with some sick kind of lust. His skin had taken on pallor even more ashen than she’d ever seen. And his mouth was smeared with…

“Blood…” she whispered.

Evander nodded. “Probably back from feeding somewhere…and, since it’s early, that feeding was probably only a warm-up.”

She shook her head, shaking off her momentary horror. “Cattle blood. It’s nothing more than cattle blood. He told me that he’s never fed on a human.”

Evander struggled to contain a derisive laugh. “Never fed on a human? And I’m a troll. In his centuries of living, Darya, he’s slaughtered several countries’ worth of people, simply to gorge himself on their blood. In this, you can trust.”

“Then where did the blood come from?”

“Probably from some unfortunate drunk. However…that’s not quite the proof I had in mind. No, no, my dear…the show is just about to begin.”

“What on earth do you mean by that? Do I want to know?”

“Murdering is only a hobby for Lucian…a source of food,” Evander explained in a whisper, leading her out of the dark alley and following after the departing vampire. “His occupation however…lies in manipulation and extortion.”

“Extortion? Manipulation?”

“He’ll seek out people, or families, who are in need of something…usually, some kind of monetary assistance. He’ll loan them some of his vast wealth, which he’s obtained in ways that I don’t know or want to know, and he’ll loan it to the family. Then…he’ll give them a period of time in which to pay him back, sometimes with money, sometimes with some kind of offering…such as a human, a member of the family, to work in his service. If they don’t pay…he kills them all. Simple as that.”

“All of them?”

“All of them. Not just the debtor. He kills the witnesses…and he makes an example. That’s why very few go after him…he’s scared them…”

Evander suddenly fell silent as Lucian stopped, knocking on the door of a crude hut. The door opened, and Lucian stepped inside; Darya’s sensitive ears picked up the sounds of frightened whispers and whimpers, and a pleading voice, muttering something about wanting more time. Both the elf and the drow crept closer, Darya in a horrified sort of trace. She peered through a grimy window, not wanting to see what was going to happen, but insatiably curious at the same time.

Through a gap in the worn curtains, she saw a family gathered in the front room of the hut. A man she presumed to be the father stood before Lucian, standing tall, apparently trying to rationalize with him, while a woman who was likely the mother stood near the fireplace, looking terrified. A girl about the age of fourteen, holding a small baby, stood behind her mother; two terrified young boys, only seven or eight, and a terrified young girl no older than four clung to both the mother and the young woman’s skirts. The women and the young children were crying; only the father was dry-eyed.

With no warning, Lucian attacked, his fangs sinking into the throat of the father; the man’s blood sprayed all over, staining the floor, the walls, and Lucian’s clothes. Once he was bled dry, Lucian moved to the family, lunging first for the mother. Darya watched in horror as he gruesomely and systematically slaughtered the mother, the elder daughter, the two young boys, and the little girl before turning his attention to the young woman holding the baby. She was covered with the blood of her parents and siblings, and crying, pleading for salvation for her and the baby. He ripped the defenseless infant from her arms, cruelly draining the blood from the infant and dropping its lifeless body to the ground before turning back to the woman. She cried even harder; her entire family was dead now, she was left to face down a fearsome vampire on her lonesome. Without even the slightest change of expression, he thumped her on the head, knocking her unconscious. He threw her over his shoulder like a sack of wheat and left the house, passing Darya and Evander without a single glance, not seeing them as he headed back towards his manor.

Evander approached Darya, placing a hand on her shoulder. “Darya..?”

She closed her eyes, trying to block out what she’d just seen. It was in vain, however; the images of the massacre she’d just seen remained in her mind, dancing behind the lids of her closed eyes. And then…there was more…

A family, gathered before a roaring fire, laughing cheerfully. A young girl, only seven, chasing a young boy, maybe ten, past her legs, both of them shrieking in delight. A baby resting gently against her chest, peering up at her with big green eyes. A young, handsome man, his green eyes sparkling with pride and love, placing a hand on her shoulder.

The door flung open, banging against the wall. Bright orange eyes glowing with bloodlust, staring at her and her loved ones. Fangs sinking into the throat of the man she called her husband, his blood sprayed on the walls. The two young children, screaming as their blood was taken, as the death claimed them. A baby’s wails of terror, her arms not enough to protect her child.

Those eyes staring at her, that mouth taunting her with his words. A sword resting over the fireplace, suddenly in her hands, pointing at his heart, threatening to impale the seemingly nonexistent organ. A challenge glowing in his ginger eyes, a threat of an eternal rivalry.

Darya thought that was all, but there was more…

The moon at her back as she followed the dirt road to wherever it may lead. A sword, that same sword from that fateful night, resting in her palm, a comforting weight. Footsteps behind her, she was being followed. Calming azure eyes, asking for no fight. A hand grasping hers, a promise of alliance. A name, whispered from pale pink lips…Evander.

More little things followed, filling in everything she was missing. But one memory struck her the most…

The streets were empty of all, save for one person…her greatest adversary yet. Blood was smeared copiously on his tunic and breeches, and his face as well. His eyes glowed with his lust, impossible to slake. Her hand tightened on the hilt of her sword. She was ready to spill his blood on the streets.

Or to have her own spilled all over the dirt.

Those orange eyes, taunting her, challenging her. Steel meeting steel as their swords met again and again, locked in a fierce battle. Searing pain, her blood warm as it coated her skin. Blackness lingering on the edges of her mind, beckoning her to its warm embrace.

And then…its sweet embrace…

Darya’s eyes flew open, her breath coming in short gasps. She placed her hand on her chest, over her heart, struggling to catch her breath.

She could remember it all, now…

***

“Miss Darya, are you almost ready for dinner? You’re wanted in the dining hallway…” Tenreeya called from the other side of the door.

Darya looked up, motioning for Evander to be absolutely silent, even as he helped her lace herself into the molded steel and leather armor, crafted for her exact body size, light and inconspicuous enough to be worn under a dress. “Yes, Tenreeya-I’ll be right out…”

“Are you ready for this?” Evander whispered to her, handing her the beautiful emerald dress Lucian had requested she wear.

She nodded. “Ready as I’ll ever be. Tonight, his reign will end.” She strapped a long-bladed dagger to her calf, before tugging the skirt of her dress over it. “Do you have it?”

He nodded, producing a small, corked vial from the pocket of his vest. A silvery liquid sloshed against the inside of the vial as he pressed it into his palm. “Simply pour it into his glass before he comes into the room. It should leave no trace, no residue…and burn his organs from the inside out.”

“Silver poisoning…what a way to go…” she whispered. He surprised her with a quick, passionate kiss.

“Good luck…”

***

The dining hall was empty as she entered, the long table holding a feast fit for a king. Darya looked around, keeping up the façade of cluelessness to the horrors she knew now existed. “Where is Lucian?”

“Master Lucian sends his apologies, he’s running a little late,” Tenreeya apologized. “Just have a seat. He’ll be with you in a few minutes.”

She slipped into a seat, folding her hands docilely on her lap, and the lycanthropic maidservant slipped out respectfully. When the large double doors had creaked closed, she scrambled out of her seat, producing the corked vial of molten silver from a concealed pocket in her dress. She crept to the end of the table, casting glances over her shoulder, scouring the room to make sure she was completely and totally alone. She was the only one in the room; she uncorked the vial, tipping it, ready to pour the contents into the glass waiting at Lucian’s end of the table, the glass filled with what was no doubt human blood…

A hand locked around her wrist, stopping her from emptying the vial into Lucian’s glass. She looked up to meet a pair of angry ginger eyes; a snarl curled Lucian’s lips, and he flashed his fangs. “Looks as though you’ve been caught in the act, Darya. You’re the last person I’d expect, though…”

“Spare me,” she spat, anger in her eyes. “I’m not your puppet anymore, Lucian. I know what you’ve done. I remember it all now…”

A flicker of surprise flashed in his eyes. “So…you’ve gotten all your memories back. That certainly explains why you were trying to kill me.” His grip tightened, threatening to crush her wrist. “Too bad you won’t succeed.”

“Who says I won’t?” She moved to grab the vial with her other hand and force it past Lucian’s blabbering mouth, but he seized her other wrist, gripping tight enough to crush her bones. She glared darkly at him, and then freed both her wrists by means of a swift kick to Lucian’s groin, one that made him let go immediately.

She went for the dagger strapped to her calf as Lucian recovered from her blow. “Your reign of terror ends tonight, Lucian. You’ve lied, manipulated, and killed for centuries. But now…you’ve manipulated the wrong woman!”

She lunged at him with the dagger, aiming for his undead heart. He dodged, grabbing her upper arm and throwing her to the floor. She tumbled, losing her footing, but jumped back up in a second, ready for another strike. Lucian produced a dagger from a scabbard at his waist, lunging for her as well. Clangs echoed out as steel met steel, as Lucian and Darya locked blades in a fight. It was a fight to the death, and each was clamoring to be the one who walked away from the battle.

After what seemed like ages, Darya made the briefest of fumbles, and Lucian knocked her blade away from her. The dagger skidded across the floor, and a sneer curled Lucian’s lips. He strode towards Darya, and she backed up, until she backed against the table. He pressed against her, his hand seizing her throat, his thumb stroking her jugular vein tenderly, almost lovingly.

“Oh, Darya, Darya, Darya,” he said. “We could’ve been so much together. We could’ve been immortal lovers…rulers of the world…with your dark magic prowess and my knowledge, we could have ruled the world. But no…you had to tempt fate. You had to rebel against me. And now…you’ll be joining your husband and those brats of yours beyond this world.” He sighed. “A pity…you were so beautiful-”

His sentence ended with an abrupt gasp. While he had been talking, Darya’s hand had crept blindly across the table, searching for a knife, which she had plunged into Lucian’s heart. While not a fatal injury, as the blade was not silver, blood still gushed forth, cold and black in color. He clutched at the handle of the knife, assaying to pull it from his chest. Darya blasted his back off his feet with a well-placed dark magic orb to his stomach, then she darted across the room, lunging for the dagger she’d lost.

Lucian had just freed the dinner knife from his chest when her fingers closed over the hilt of the dagger. He charged for her, impossibly fast, but she was quicker still, more prepared. As he collided with her, she rammed the silver blade into his stomach, straight up to the hilt.

He howled in pain as the caustic metal burned his flesh. Smoke rose from his wound, filling Darya’s nostrils with the acrid scent of burning vampiric flesh. His ginger eyes were filled with pain as he collapsed to the floor, his sticky lifeblood splashing across the floor and spattering her dress. He looked up at her, only to see her disgusted face.

“May you find no peace in death,” she spat at him, walking away, walking out of the manor. None of the servants stopped her, none questioned the blood on her dress. She strode straight out the front door, and, with soft, hurried footsteps, Evander joined her side. A soft smile crossed her face, and she slipped her hand into his, as they walked away from that accursed manor, into an eternity that was waiting just for them.