Chapter Text
Aphelios pulled the straw from his parted lips as he sucked in a breath, already tasting the change; his senses sharpened at once, the rush of the blood's power coursing through every fiber of his being, fanning an ember into a radiant, bright flame.
Blood, thick and hot, ran down his throat, a sense of pleasure roaring in his chest at the deliciously rich taste.
He finally opened his eyes again, sharp pupils focusing on the tiny droplets of water on the arched, high Gothic-style window in front of him.
The building's interior felt like an ancient hideout, with its dark wooden floors, antique furniture, and old rugs. The overall effect was one of grace and history, a comfort Aphelios had the luxury of calling his home.
Targon’s winter-night cold and rain had always been something the Vampire enjoyed a lot, especially in the security of his own home. Flames of candles flickered along the walls, shadows dancing over the backs of old scrolls and sigils, the iron-drenched air carrying a faint scent of the books' ink.
Sitting back in his heavy armchair, Aphelios wrapped his lips around the straw of the bloodbag in his hands again. Another sip, another rush. Then a slap, gentle, insistent, against his wrist.
“Enough, Aphelios.” Alune’s voice was warm but firm. She took the blood bag from his hand, her presence a steady anchor, drawing the Vampire back into the present.
A moment of craving, guilt, and resentment went through him as he caught himself reaching for the blood again, just a flicker, before he quickly masked it. The Vampire wanted to protest, but the rush had him mute for another moment, his fogged senses clearing drastically after a painful week of dullness. His sister had not seen the way he had pathetically reached for it, her back already turned on him.
“We do not have much left, and Killian is late with the next ration. Again”, she sighed, pulling the used straw out of the bag and putting everything down in its order on a tray of an elegant cart, “We still need some for tomorrow, so do not even get the idea to complain to me.”
A sharp blade of familiar shame cut through his guts at the reminder. And with that, a hint of envy at the casual confidence of his sister's movement.
Alune and Aphelios were twins, born into a noble family of high-ranking Vampires in Targon, a country in Europe, with a lineage of ancient and powerful blood. Despite their relationship, they could not have been more different from each other.
Aphelios chose not to comment on his Sister's worry, instead glancing down at his now-empty hand in his lap, watching the candlelight dance over his pale skin. “Are you already feeling it?” she asked, stepping back over to lean over his shoulder and follow Aphelios’s glance down to his hand, her long white hair, a feature that set them apart, falling from her shoulder, brushing the armrest of his seat.
“I do”, he answered in a careful whisper for the first time that night, throat smoothed out in a way it was rarely, his hands balling into a tight fist. Aphelios clenched it hard, feeling his nails digging into the palm of his hand until they drew blood out of crescent cuts.
Only when he felt the cold liquid did he open his fist again, watching the wounds close almost immediately. Alune gave a sound of approval, squeezing her brother's shoulder with a hand, “Very good, and how is your throat?”
Defeat spread in his chest at that familiar question, but he still answered, “Better.” His sister nodded, ruffling his short black hair affectionately. The bitter spark of frustration blossomed underneath his skin as Aphelios slouched into his seat, “I would still prefer it if you told the council I had passed, so I might not have to attend tomorrow.”
After a moment of silence spread between them, Aphelios already regretted wasting his new energy on a complaint as his sister crouched down next to his seat, smiling at him, “We’re both expected at council, brother. The Lunari name carries weight, even if you’d rather hide in shadows."
That’s where he belonged. In the shadows.
“If the council knew that a Lunari had to drink werewolf blood in order to appear normal-”
Alune seized both his hands, her grip firm. “They will never know, Phel.”
Rain splattered against the window, distant winds gently rattling the old glass. Her eyes, filled with determination, met his, leaving him nowhere to hide. The candlelight played on their matching features.
He hated this: hated burdening Alune with the guidance she had to provide, hated breaking the Supreme Law behind the council’s back. Hiding his condition, lying to everyone but his sister, was exhausting.
A memory surfaced: when he was still a fledgling, during a public outing, a minor cut he received from a ceremonial dagger wouldn't heal. As the red droplets slowly seeped through his clothes, the other young fledgling vampires, who could heal within seconds, watched it with a mix of pity and disdain. It was only thanks to his parents' swift actions that the rumors of his lack of... Everything spread.
And unlike Alune, he had no gifts to set him apart from a common vampire, no visions, no power, no ability that made him special. Because thats what he was supposed to be; something special. He swallowed hard as another wave of blood-born electricity pulsed through him.
Pathetic, he thought. Weak. Might as well be human. His jaw clenched, fangs piercing his lower lip, the taste bitter.
Alune reached up, gently squeezing her brother's cheek with a smile, “You’re angry.” The werewolf blood always did this, irritation flaring into anger. If he didn’t control it, the strength it gave would burn out too soon.
Aphelios forced himself to breathe the still air, to let the tension ebb. He forced his jaw to unclench, tasting blood, as anger sparked and sputtered in his chest.
“Go, rest up. I will see to contact Killian...” She rose, smoothing the folds of her clothes, always so composed, “And ask him if he needs assistance delivering a few bags.” Right, Killian. The only other vampire who knew his secret.
Despite Killian's lack of noble blood, he had always maneuvered through the vampire society as if he were born for it, a close friend of the twins.
After Aphelios' parents' passing, Alune and Killian figured out a way to protect Aphelios on their own, which led to Killian's involvement in the werewolf blood business, a dangerous endeavor Aphelios was never okay with.
If the council discovered their secret, going against ancient law, against the Kodex of Supreme Law, there would be no trial, only a stake to the heart. Yet Killian took the risk, for them. A risk that could possibly result in a horrible death.
The Vampire shook the mental image out of his head, pushing himself out of his seat, prepared to retreat back into his chambers with a good book; he now finally had the focus to read something without getting a headache.
A book tucked under his arm, he scanned the shelves, considering what to bring for tomorrow’s journey. He had always been a fast reader if his mind was clear enough.
His senses picked up a familiar presence, seconds before a soft knock rattled the heavy door of the library, echoing through the old house.
Alune’s eyes flicked toward Aphelios. She’d barely settled into her armchair before she stood again and opened the door. Killian slipped inside, rain clinging to his coat, carrying the faint scent of the night‘s air.
“Evening, nobles,” Killian grinned, holding up a battered satchel as if it were a royal treasure. “Your order, delivered with all the subtlety of a fox in a henhouse.” Alune took the bag from her friend's hands, inspecting the contents with a hint of relief in her expression.
“You’re late,” she finally said, weighing the delivery in one hand, the other on her hip as she arched a brow at the man. Killian winked, unfazed. “You try negotiating with werewolves and see if you’re ever on time.” Aphelios managed an honest smile as their rain-soaked friend shrugged off his coat, throwing it over the free table.
Killian let out a dramatic, long breath, clearly exhausted, an unusual state for a vampire. He must have hurried on his way here, Aphelios thought. Killian’s dark blonde hair stuck to his forehead, and he slicked it back with an effortless, swift motion, his gaze softening as he looked at Aphelios, “You holding up?”
Aphelios nodded, fiddling with the book in his hands, “For now.” Guilt gnawed at his unbeating heart for having to rely on his friend's help.
Alune tossed a towel at the soaked vampire, who slouched down on one of the free armchairs by the window, catching it. “We appreciate the risk you take for us, Killian.” He waved her off, but there was a quiet pride in his smirk. “Someone has to keep the last of the Lunari from keeling over during council meetings.”
He glanced at Aphelios, more serious now as he ruffled his messy hair dry. “Watch your back. The city’s been strange lately. Too many eyes in the dark, and not all of them friendly.”
Aphelios’s hand tightened on the book, unexplainable dread spreading in his chest at his friend's words. “We’ll be careful.”
-
Killian had left shortly after, as per usual. His visits, cut short by business, were nothing out of the ordinary. After all, their manor stood atop one of Targons' highest hills, hard to reach under those harsh weather conditions, aside from the long flight one had to put themselves through for the distance alone.
Already feeling tired, Aphelios lingered in his empty bedchamber, book in hand, eyes locked on the window to the outside. From here, the city below was just a blur, snow now swirling where rain had fallen, flakes blowing past the glass. The grim weather in this country was another reason why the heads of vampire society had settled in a place like this, days cut short by a gray sky.
He pulled thick curtains closed; for him, like many vampires, sunlight meant imminent death. Sighing, Aphelios let himself fall into the four-poster monstrosity that dominated his room. He closed his eyes for a bit, the book clutched to his chest, before he glanced back over to his nightstand. Reading glasses stared back in silent mockery, a reminder of his cruel fate.
His jaw clenched again, and he rolled himself across the sheets to shove them into the first drawer, slamming it shut before burrowing his body into the soft comforter. Drawing circles on the book's cover, his eyes skimmed over the dark baroque decor in the moody light of his room. This was his world, all of it. Without Alune, he rarely left.
The circle, and the charade of being “the Seer,” dragged him from this solitude more than he liked. If only they knew: he was ordinary. Powerless. Possibly worse than those words could describe. The Sovereign, above all, must never find out. Just the thought of their leader made the vampire’s mouth run dry.
Alune, though, had been born with two gifts. The twins had joked for a long time that she had absorbed what she could within their shared time in their mother's womb. It was funny if one did not have to live like Aphelios. When he still was convinced their parents would be around, to shield them from this gruesome-.
“Why am I even alive..?”, Aphelios muttered to himself, lifting the book off his chest to look at it, as if waiting for an answer to this question he had asked himself for centuries. It stayed silent, clearly unable to provide him with what he needed the most. He sighed, letting his arm fall to his side, the book sliding out of his hand and over the sheets.
Even if he was holding the position as “the Seer,” it was Alune “the Shadow” who saw visions of the future. Not him. Aside from that outstanding and most important ability, her blood allowed her to summon their family's arsenal of spiritual weapons to her side, making her even more indispensable. Unlike Aphelios, she had to leave often, called in for missions to carry out directly for their Sovereign.
Alune... Their leader's personal agent for special tasks or confidential missions.
Aphelios sucked in a sharp breath at the bubbling anger in his chest. He disliked it. His sister had to work harder than anyone else, not just by carrying out her duty as Shadow, but also by keeping Aphelios’ charade up.
His hands balled into fists as he stared at the high ceiling. Tomorrow, she would give him little notes of her seer's vision to practice on their way to the meeting, for it to seem like he had seen those.
Aphelios relaxed his undead muscles at once, letting out a breath he could have held forever. He should sleep, get his thoughts in order, and not let the anger of the werewolf blood get to him. At least there was one thing Aphelios was good at: sleeping.
He closed his eyes, wishing for oblivion, a few hours’ peace before dawn’s light, and all the burdens tomorrow would bring.
-
The Vampire shook as a cold breeze swept over his skin, startling his eyes open.
The dark ceiling of his room was gone, opening the sight of the bright night sky. Stars twinkled high above, the moon illuminating his surroundings, hanging way too low for what he had known was right.
Aphelios let out a breath, a warm steam cloud leaving his lips. He pushed himself upright; snow bit his fingers, numbing them.
So cold.
Confused, he glanced at the glittering white dust, the tips of his fingers reddened from its cold. How did he even know it was..? His breath fogged the air, uneven and unfamiliar. He whipped his head around, his eyes searching for anything that could tell him what was going on.
A forest. A perfect circle of trees, dark, silent, and impossibly tall, hemmed him in. His stomach churned weirdly as his heart rate picked up. Cold wind blew over his cheeks, causing the vampire to shiver.
Aphelios raised both his freezing hands to his even colder face, breathing warm air into them in hopes of heating them up as quickly as possible, his head turning from left to right, trying to spot a clue or a familiar sign. His black hair clung to his scalp, wet, cold.
He had to get out of here.
“A—”, Aphelios tried to call out, but his voice died in a horribly painful scratch that had him grab for his own throat. What was going on? His breathing picked up, his heart drumming in his ears. Panic rose sharply in his chest.
Each time he dared to glance at them, the trees grew impossibly taller, the world shrinking to swallow him whole.
Frightened, he fought himself up to his stiffly frozen legs, clenching his teeth at the sudden pain in his muscles. His entire body was as tense as a bowstring, fighting to survive as the blistering cold chewed on his bones.
Aphelios tried to call out again, to scream for his sister to come and save him, but he only felt the familiar sharp pain in his throat. This was not possible. He had just healed! He had just consumed the blood of a werewolf! He was supposed to call out, to speak!
Frustration welled all the way up from his gut, tears falling in hot streams over his freezing cold cheeks. Shivering, he sniffled. Aphelios forcibly tried to move his body, the snow creaking underneath the first step.
Help me! he thought, tears kept falling into the snow below. Please!
Aphelios thought of his sister, Alune. Of his friend, Killian. One of them–! His knees buckled, and he fell, kneeling back into the snow, a frustrated huff leaving him in another cloud of steam.
Then, from the shadows, bright golden eyes: a pair that glowed, beastly yet almost human. He didn’t know these eyes.
His muscles were too stiff to move just a fraction of a second ago, but this-! Aphelios fought himself up to his feet, sudden dread washing in a hot wave of adrenaline through his veins, pumping hard enough for his body to move!
The temporary high let him run for the first time, and he did. Stumbling through the snow, he breathed out in erratic puffs, wind howling, picking up in volume, biting sharply at his skin. And just when he thought he was ahead, Aphelios dared to throw a glance over his shoulder.
It was coming after him.
The creature burst from the treeline, its outline tall and lupine, black as midnight, closing the distance in impossibly fast strides. Aphelios tried to scream, a useless, scratching sound.
Run!
God damn it, RUN—!
But no matter how fast he thought he ran, the creature behind him was running faster.
He heard it, just before his stiff body forcibly slammed back into the snow underneath the burning hot weight of what had been after him.
The scent hit him: animal, wild, the same as the blood lingering on his tongue, but hotter, alive.
Screeching, panic surging, he threw his limbs around him to at least put up a fight before dying a violent death, grabbing a fist full of that creature's hair to— “Phel!”
Aphelios froze at the sound of his nickname. But it couldn't have been his sister's voice, the sound too deep to come from her. He felt a jolt of something more than fear, like recognition.
“Aphelios!”
He shot upright in his own bed, heart pounding. Gentle hands gripped his shoulders, anchoring him as his vision cleared. Alune’s face hovered above him, eyes wide with worry.
“Aphelios!” she said firmly, shaking him just enough to bring him all the way back. For a moment, the echo of golden eyes lingered behind his eyelids, the deep sound of the monster's voice, and his heart hammered not just with terror, but with something he couldn’t name.
-
A bitter wind rattled the carriage, dragged by two strong horses provided by the council. Lanterns at the driver’s perch swayed in the night, barely illuminating anything with their weak flame, not that the vampire twins could be bothered by it.
Snow lashed at the windows, hissing along the glass, pushing through every crack and seam. Aphelios did not mind the old-fashioned way; he was accustomed to it, yet he wondered why they wouldn't use a car for this treacherously long road down from the manor into town.
“We need to look into a new solution. This blood is not ideal. I can't have you waking up, screaming like a madman every night, Phel.” Alune’s gloved fingers tapped the carriage window, eyes distant, lost in the snowy scenery.
“Did you see anything?” Aphelios asked, voice low, the carriage’s gloom making their secrets feel heavier. He folded the crumpled notes she’d given him, grateful for any distraction from the memory of his nightmare.
She nodded, but her voice was careful. “There’s unrest in the city, brother. I saw shadows moving in the alleys, blood on stone. But the faces were blurred, as if the future was hiding something from me.”
Aphelios frowned. “Nothing about the council?” It was pleasant to have his voice back. Even if it was just for the next few days.
“Only that we must be cautious. A new presence is coming, a wolf in strange company. Hold to that, if they ask.” He nodded, his unbeating heart echoing with the rhythm of the memory in his dream in his ears.
A wolf in strange company. Aphelios didn’t ask what she wasn’t telling him. He’d learned not to. Being the Seer and hiding it, he could only imagine what his sister was going through. But she was going through it for him. It would be difficult to fake him summoning any type of weapon.
Outside, the city’s lights appeared at last, faint, flickering lanterns and illuminated windows behind the veil of swirling snow.
“A new presence, hmh?” He mumbled, more to himself as he followed his sister's glance outside, catching a first glimpse of the high roof of their council's building, sharp and black against the dark sky, like teeth waiting to bite. “I have a bad feeling about this, Alune.”
Alune gave him a weak hum in response, “Me too, Phel.”
As the carriage rattled on, Aphelios pressed his palm to the cold glass, watching the town draw closer, feeling a chill that had nothing to do with the Winter's cold.