The Vampire & Her Witch

Answaen didn’t need to ask in order to know where her Master was. This close to him, she could feel the echo of his blood singing in her veins, and her feet followed a familiar path through the winding passages of his home without the need of a guide.

Along the way, she passed by the corridors that led to her ’sibling’s chambers. It had been over a century since she’d seen any of Shubnalu’s other progeny, and none of them accompanied their Master now, but soon, she imagined, it would be time to come together again.

The world outside had begun to change as rapidly as it had when the ice withdrew, and with that change came people who aspired to power they could not be allowed to hold. The time to hunt would come again, and the world that had forgotten who saved them from the ice would come to fear the Fangs of Death once again.

When Answaen reached the bronze sheathed door to her Master’s chamber, she set down the rough pine box with a -CLANK- of chains. The box’s occupant was far too weak to wake even from the rough handling of the journey, but she still gave him a measure of respect by ensuring that she stood him right-side up. He could be considered a cousin after all, even if he was less than half her age.

Besides, it was her Master’s place to chastise the man who had once ruled over the Tangled Tower, not hers.

When she stepped through the doorway, Answaen was immediately surrounded by flickering golden light. More than a hundred oil lamps, most crafted from simple clay pots, burned at once along with twice as many candles.

The era of painting with fresh ground pigments on stone walls had ended long ago, and her Master had dedicated the largest chamber in his home to the creation of more perfect paintings. Several unfinished works filled the space, waiting for either inspiration or materials to be completed.

Dozens of jars of paint lined the walls, and in several places, large stone mortars held everything from crushed stones to insect shells, silently testifying to the lengths her Master would go to in order to ensure that he had the perfect shade to capture the essence of the place that only he could remember visiting.

”Master,” Answaen said, dropping to one knee and lowering her horn. ”I’ve come home.”

”So you have,” Shubnalu said smoothly, his voice reaching past Answaen’s ears to caress the innermost parts of her being. ”Let me look at you,” he said as he appeared before her in a flicker of movement that was too swift for even her eyes to follow.

A slender, delicate hand reached out to caress the flowing white fur that spilled from the crown of her head before it drifted lower, cupping her face gently as he lifted her gaze to meet his, and when he did, the slow, steady beat of Answaen’s heart stopped.

Shubnalu had been perfect since the day he was born, and he remained so even now. His alabaster skin was free of any blemish, and his delicate, almost feminine features were so perfectly proportioned that almost any Eldritch clan would recognize his beauty even though his features differed substantially from their own.

Shubnalu wasn’t beautiful the way a person’s mate was beautiful. Though there was a sensuality in his careful, graceful movements, his beauty extended far beyond the primal signals that provoked lust and the urge to breed.

His eyes weren’t just dark, they were pools of the Void given flesh, and anyone living would drown in his gaze, willingly surrendering to death before they knew it had arrived. His dark hair fell in loose waves past sculpted cheekbones and a refined, sharp jawline. Two large, cup-shaped ears nestled among those dark tresses swiveled toward Answaen, telling him every bit as much about his progeny as his eyes did.

”You’re troubled,” Shubnalu said as a frown formed on his lush, purple lips. ”Your heart turned to ice long ago. What could make it tremble now?”

”Ansgar has been destroyed,” Answaen said, biting her lower lip as she fought to keep her heart from racing at her Master’s touch. The soft silk shirt he wore tickled her cheeks with the spills of lace falling from his cuffs, and the laces across his chest had come untied at some point this evening, or several days ago, as he focused on the painting he’d been creating, revealing a chest that was as smooth as marble and every bit as sculpted as the heroic figures found in the High Fen.

”Ah,” Shubnalu said, receiving the news in the same way a man might receive news that it had rained that morning. ”I warned you this day would come. You should have been ready,” he said disapprovingly.

”I was ready for your sorcery to fail under the grinding of time’s millstone,” Answaen answered as her iridescent horn shimmered a deep, icy blue. ”But I do not accept his deliberate destruction.”

”So be it,” Shubnalu replied, turning away from Answaen as though he could no longer bear to look at the progeny who had disappointed him. ”You may go. Avenge yourself and then return. We will speak again when your heart is at peace,” he said as he retrieved his paintbrush and prepared to resume his work.

”Master,” Answaen protested. ”I have news that cannot wait.”

”Oh?” the ancient vampire said in a tone of mild surprise. ”News more important than your brother’s destruction? Has the Emperor finally fallen? If there is a successor to the title, I would be interested in taking his measure,” he said as a slow, predatory smile formed on his lips, revealing the tips of his fangs.

”Makya of the Thousand Spires still clings to his title,” Answaen reported, unsurprised by the question. Few things could draw her Master’s interest more than the person who currently possessed the title of ’strongest’ among the Eldritch.

Shubnalu considered it his solemn duty to ensure that no Emperor could threaten the Eldritch world with domination that threatened to bring about the kind of extinction unseen since the Age of Ice, and if someone new had claimed the title, it was nearly certain that the Fangs of Death would pay that ’Emperor’ a visit within the year.

”Ah,” Shubnalu said, his interest fading as he returned to his painting. ”Then what else could be important?”

”Little Nyrielle has finally claimed her title as the Harbinger of Death,” Answaen said. ”She forced High Lord Hamdi into a corner and left his broken body atop the Tangled Tower. More importantly,” she added after a slight pause. ”She’s discovered a way to take a Great Witch as her Seneschal. It is said that the Harbinger of Death will soon wed the newest Mother of Trees...”