He had another nightmare, three to count and each one more violent than the last. He saw a woman with raven hair and a wicked grin roaming the streets of his fair city. She was young and depiction of heavenly beauty. Almost as if she had been painted on a canvas and granted life. However, he never saw her face, only her body. Somehow, her true identity remained a mystery to him. His servants returned empty handed when he had sent them out in search of information of her whereabouts and present situation. He did not even know her name. If he had this, his search would have ended the night it began. He could have summoned her.

The rather tall and toned Elder rose from his king size canopy bed and hugged himself in his Chinese silk robe. Snow white skin seemed to glow from beneath the rich crimson material that draped over his muscular arms with loving care and tenderness. He tied his mane of golden hair away from his narrow face to make his crystalline eyes more noticeable. He was so beautiful and flawless yet he could not be seen by the outside world. He was too pale, too odd. There was always the option of cosmetics yet such a thought brought shame and embarrassment. If only he had a bit more color like the others of his time. If only. . .

If only, he thought as he clutched the ivory handle of his antique mirror. If only I had her God damned name!

A soft knock at his chamber door broke his self-induced trance of rage and frustration.

"Enter," he ordered as he set down the ancient valuable.

A young boy, near the age of fourteen, entered timidly. His soft brown eyes were kept to the ground out of trained respect and fear as he silently shuffled over the threshold. He fought valiantly with his fear as his master approached with ghostly grace. The boy kept his pallid and scarred arms behind his back to hide the new scabs and bruises the others had given him. He trembled slightly from blood loss and the pain of a swollen ankle. What was left of his button up shirt and beige slacks had been reduced to ruins months ago and his once neatly kept hair was nothing but gnarls and snares.

Dominitrix admired this boy for his strength and courage. Despite his unkempt appearance, he was his most favorite of child servants. Soon, when he became of age, he would allow Chandler to make this one his own descendant and teach him in the ways of the coven. However, this promise had not yet been bestowed upon the boy. He had a few years of conditioning left and his use as a mortal spy would prove most handy in the coming days. The Elder smiled slightly and addressed the boy.

"Isaac," he started in a silky tone as the boy halted a few feet from him. Isaac bowed slightly, squinting from the cuts on his abdomen and chest, then straightened. "What have you brought me?"

"Terrible news, my lord," the child began, his voice trembling slightly in fear of his own life.

The Elder's smile faded into a thin line of warning. "Continue."

"It is Chandler. Sire, he is. . ." Isaac swallowed hard to find his voice and courage again, ". . . dead."

Silence filled the looming void between master and servant until rage and disbelief broke through.

"What?" Dominitrix bellowed as he stepped towards the startled boy. "How can this be?"

Isaac stumbled backwards until he hugged against the dark, hand carved double doors of the master's bedroom. His face reflected horror. Tears gathered in his eyes as he was lifted from the floor and shaken violently by the once graceful and soft spoken Elder. Isaac cried out as his closed wounds broke open and bled freely adding new stains to his shredded shirt.

"Who dares?"

Unable to answer his master, Isaac pleaded with him to take pity and release him. Dominitrix held the boy tighter, pinning him against the wall. The Elder's icy glare sent visions of his own death racing into his slightly unstable mind.

"Who?" he screamed at Isaac.

"I. . . I don't know. . . master!" he cried, tears streaming down his flushed cheeks. "Your children have just returned him."

"Where have they taken him?"

"To the marble alter in the foyer. "

Dominitrix fell silent, lost in his own grief and anger. Tears oily crimson tears brimmed in his eyes as his thoughts evaded him. "Remain here," he hissed, nearly dropping the boy on his way out of his private chambers. Isaac, trembled violently, curled into a tight ball against the wall.

Servants, both mortal and immortal, retreated to the safety of the alcoves as their master stormed through the candle lit halls of the former civic theater towards the immense, fourth floor foyer. The walls had been constructed solely of stained glass and the light from the moon, as well as the city lights, provided enough illumination for him to see the limp body. His servants had placed Chandler's corpse on the polished marble center piece. His once beautiful face twisted into a frown of grief as his rage was drowned by the new tears. For a brief moment, his vision was tainted by a red film. As he attempted to blink away the tears, they only cascaded down his cheeks leaving a faint trail in their wake.

He fell to his knees and covered his face with his slender hand. His muffled sobs filled the room as a few of his children gathered at the door. Ignoring those that watched, he lowered his trembling hands to gaze upon his lost protege. The Elder hesitated as he reached out to touch the ashen flesh of his student; his most cherish descendant. It was cold and stiff. Rigormortis had already begun its course. Turning Chandler's head to the side with little notice to the stiffness, he was stunned to find no puncture wounds or cuts. Yet, not a single drop of blood remained in his body. It was clear to any with half a brain that Chandler had been drained but what was difficult to comprehend was where the point of contract was to extract the blood.

"There isn't any," he thought out loud. The few that were behind him, a woman in her mid twenties and two men in their early thirties, mumbled to themselves in confusion. Dominitrix turned to them suddenly. His face seemed to have aged decades in a matter of minutes. "Where was he found?"

"In the alley next to Ferguson's, Master," the woman answered.

"Did you see anyone? Catch the scent of the insolent wretch that did this?" he demanded.

"No sire," she said. The others complied with mere shakes of their heads.

Dominitrix returned his suffering face to that of his descendant's and waved the others away. They obeyed silently. His grief overwhelmed him now as the memory of his sudden chest and mental pain returned to him. Now he knew why he felt such torment. He had felt Chandler's death. His brow furrowed in confusion for he had been told of such a thing happening yet he had never experienced it or known any thing of such severity. It was puzzling yet it did nothing to suppress his agony.

Chandler had been Dominitrix's first born since he had awakened from his long sleep. It had been nineteen hundred years since the Elder had walked the land and much had changed during that time of darkness. Countries had risen and fallen. Wars raged on for freedom and slavery above his head while he slept deeply in the soil. Occasionally, the blood of those that surrounded him, or so he had assumed, would seep into the ground, replenishing him. When he woke after his seemingly endless slumber, the new city of Chaucer greeted him with chaos and disorder. Riots over petty ordeals broke out before him and murders were committed without fear or purpose. He smiled at the scene, welcomed it with open arms.

This place shall be mine, he thought as he began to familiarize himself with the streets and alleys. As the months progressed, Dominitrix had not only memorized the layout of the entire city, but also gained the trust of many important individuals. Through their eyes and ears, Dominitrix began to take control of smaller operations and businesses. His income grew as his "friends" profits grew. After the sudden death of Chaucer's mayor, Dominitrix stepped forward from the shadows to claim the seat. Using his ability to manipulated the wills of the citizens, he turned their decisions in his favor and the Elder took complete control of the city and made it grow.

Half a century passed and Dominitrix's hold over the city grew stronger and fiercer. A new mayor had been elected, serving as his puppet. He knew everyone that came and went, as well as every item that had been imported and exported from his domain. Confident enough that nothing could touch him or his possession, he began to create a new coven; a new family of Elders since the others had been destroyed. This was when he stumbled into Chandler, or rather Chandler stumbled into him.

He was young, only eighteen, and an orphan. His mother had died in childbirth and his father, a victim to alcohol. Relying on his street senses, the frail boy survived the harshest of winters. However, while he ran from the law, he came face to face with the master of the city, nearly running him over in the process.

Dominitrix had been out hunting that night and had heard the boy's frantic footsteps, the scent of his youth and blood nearly overwhelming him. He waited in the silence for him to round the corner. The boy turned as expected without glancing ahead of him. The Elder grabbed him, pulled him to the ground, covering his mouth with near frozen hand to silence his screams. Chandler struggled against the silent predator, fighting the influence that slowly took control. Respect sparked in the Elder as he bled the boy. Deciding against killing Chandler, Dominitrix took him to his home and healed his wounds. He began to educate him in reading and writing, eventually winning the boy's trust and loyalty. He waited three years then gave his "son" a gift, his own blood.

"That was almost forty-seven years ago," he cried. "Why, my son? Why have they taken you away from me. So young. Fragile. Why?"

As he slowly raised one of the corpse's hands to his cheek, he noticed the blood that stained his pale flesh and the strands of dark material under his nails. Studying the fingertips closely, he plucked away the strands, raised them to his nostrils to sniff them. The scent betrayed nothing of the person's identity, save the sex. There was a faint trace of perfume indicating the hairs belonged to a female.

Frowning a bit from the lack of information, he rubbed a smooth finger over the blood and tasted it. It was rich and sweet, not coppery like a mortal's. Once the blood had touched his tongue he began to shake uncontrollably. The substance was strong, too strong for that of a mortal and far stronger than his own. Dominitrix felt his fear grow inside as he rose unsteadily to his feet. His eyes widened at the thought of another survivor wandering the streets of his city. He wished deep inside that he possessed the gift to tap into his deceased son's mind and retrieve what little information about his assailant his mind may have trapped yet Dominitrix's descendency failed to grant him that. However, he felt that this was his warning

"Isaac!" the pallid skinned Elder screamed out as he ran back towards his room. The boy nearly collided with his master as he met him just beyond the threshold.

"Sire?"

"Call my coven. There is to be an assembly and a blood hunt," he said as he hastily grabbed a gray, Versace suit from his ebony wood closet and tore off the robe. "Go!"

"Yes sire," the boy stammered as he hurried to carry out his orders.

Chapter 2

Return to top of page | Home