With the introductions finished, the Duke of Oxford tilts his round head, blatantly sniffing. “My gracious lord, the scent of your aura is truly exquisite. Why do you keep it so strictly enclosed?” The first-generation vampire reminds Haruka of a marble bust he’d once seen in the British Museum of the Greek philosopher Antisthenes. Or perhaps a plump, short Zeus?
Haruka takes another sip from his wine glass before answering the invasive, awkward question. He smiles kindly, setting his glass down. “My aura can be exceptionally distracting. It is with consideration for those around me that I restrain it.” Consideration for others. Protection for himself. Two birds, one stone.
“Oh no.” The duke shakes his head, making the ringlets of his curly white beard sway like a curtain. “I can only just sense the nature of it, but it seems divine. I envy you pureblooded ones and your ability to radiate such alluring energy—born immaculately vampiric. Even with it stifled I can sense the unique composition of it. Your blood must be extraordinarily old. Have you ever needed to feed from a human?”
“No.” Haruka brings his wine glass to his lips again. He’ll need a refill very soon. Perhaps his own bottle?
He’s never fed from a human, and as far as his family record states, neither had his father, grandfather nor anyone in his extensive ancestry. His vampiric bloodline is extremely old—clean. His clan had been among the first to discover the intrinsic benefits of feeding from other vampires rather than humans.
“My mother was the purebred in my parents’ coupling,” the duke explains, his British accent heavy. “Unfortunately, she fed from humans as a child. The act weakened our bloodline. I still experience difficulties as her offspring.”
“The sun, my lord.” Amelia, the duke’s daughter, lifts her chin to address Haruka. She’s strategically seated just beside him. “Father has designated our realm as nocturnal because of his strict aversion to sunlight.” She has straight blonde hair and sharp, green-iridescent eyes set in a round face similar to her father’s. When Haruka focuses his senses on her and breathes in, she smells of peppermint.
“Although I am second-generation, I am able to withstand sunlight like you, your grace.” Amelia casually reaches up to brush her long hair behind her ear. “Because my father and mother have never fed from humans, it has helped to decontaminate our bloodline from human biology. I could… potentially walk beside you in the light.”
Haruka narrows his eyes. Where exactly are we walking?
“Your grace, will you partake of table food?” the duke asks just as the wait staff begins placing baskets of cottage loaves, small bread and crumpets throughout the table. “I understand you do not strictly require it, however some of my guests are of lower-ranking bloodlines.”
“I will,” Haruka assures him. “I greatly enjoy the taste of human nourishment.”
The duke beams. “Splendid. You are much unlike the purebreds of old. Your grace, may I humbly ask, what is your age?”
“I am one hundred and one.”
“So young…” the duke’s mate gushes. The Duchess of Oxfordshire is seated at the duke’s opposite side. She’s the spitting image of her daughter, but with delicate creases etched into her lean, angelic features. “Our Amelia has just reached eighty this year. Why are you unbonded, your grace? It is rare to cross paths with a purebred in this modern age, particularly one that is so beautiful and without a mate.”
More flowery compliments, uncomfortable questions and talk of bonding. As beings who live for centuries, the conversational topics at their disposal run vast and compelling: arts and philosophy, the curious passage of time and subsequent shifts in modernity within their culture, the intricacies of colloquial language, Brexit, the weather.
“I have not yet found a vampire that I am compatible with,” Haruka says, defaulting to his socially couth answer. Truthfully, he has no desire to bond. Stating this would create more commotion than he is willing to manage.
“Please spend some time with our Amelia at the ceremony next month,” the duke says, reaching for a biscuit. “We also have an elder son that is currently traveling for business. I am certain that you will find one of them pleasing enough to consider forming a bond?”
Everyone stares at Haruka expectantly, as if he’s a magician about to perform a trick. He clears his throat. “My apologies. The matter of the ceremony next month and speaking with the purebred in London take precedence. My mind is focused on the tasks set before me.”
“Of course, your grace,” the duchess coos. “Do you have any explanation as to why this purebred would callously ignore the Duke of Devonshire’s formal request? Does he think himself better than us?”
Haruka has no idea. As for himself, he absolutely does not want to participate in this archaic ceremony. But outright ignoring a formal request from a lower-ranked vampire is like committing social suicide—especially in a foreign realm. He is a guest within the British aristocracy. Purebred vampires are the dignity and peacekeepers of their race. Not instigators of societal turmoil.
“I am uncertain,” Haruka demurs. “I will appeal to the purebred directly tomorrow.” Quietly, Haruka prays he’ll oblige. Misery loves company.
The duke sits back, absently twirling a thick curl from his beard in his fingers. “The Duke of Devonshire told us that you held the position of Historian when you oversaw your realm in Japan. I’m certain that much detailed research is necessary for the ceremonial contract.”
Haruka freezes—dread washing over him like a dark ocean wave rushing ashore. He’s been avoiding working on the ceremonial contract: the legal document outlining each bonding vampire’s family lineage and the conjoining of their assets. Truthfully, he’s ignored the entire ordeal, hoping it might be called off. He needs to start the contract as soon as he returns home. His appalling habit of procrastinating has officially gotten the better of him.
The Duke of Oxfordshire smoothly leans forward, his voice low. “And how interesting that the duke’s son would choose a creature from Brazil to bond with. I mean, my word, of all places, considering the trouble there right now.”
Nodding politely, Haruka remains silent, not wanting to encourage the duke’s prejudice. Although the environment of the Brazilian aristocracy is indeed in chaos, it seems unfair to cast sweeping generalizations upon its vampires.
Haruka discreetly shifts his gaze sideways when he feels the gentle pressure of fingertips grazing his thigh underneath the table. Amelia is watching him with her iridescent eyes, smiling seductively. Her incisors slowly elongate into sharp white points.
Two
By the time Haruka has taken a hot shower and collapses onto his back in bed, he’s exhausted. Throughout dinner, Amelia had focused all her affection and conversation in his direction.
What are you looking for in a mate? You’re so very stunning. When do you think you’ll be ready to bond? Your eyes are lovely, but are they normally this color? What’s the aristocracy like in Japan? Do you have a physical source? Do you find me desirable? I find you incredibly desirable.
Somehow, he graciously weaved through the barrage of questions. Before tonight, he’d worried that he might come across as socially awkward from years of isolating himself in the English countryside. Whether he’s inept or not, it doesn’t seem to matter. He is desirable and apparently this is sufficient. Physical prowess supersedes any deeper character failings. A pretty face will do.
The look and feel of the guest chamber flow in rhythm with the rest of the house: moody lighting with baroque décor. Tapered candlesticks dripping with wax. Even his bed is an excessively large four-poster monstrosity that occupies most of the room’s square footage.
Haruka turns onto his side, burrowing his body into the soft comforter. He’s finally alone, feeling somewhat at ease for the first time in hours. When there’s a soft knock at the door, his eyes flicker open. He rolls onto his back, concentrating. Stretching his mind and vampiric senses toward the door, he sniffs the air. It is definitely the ogling, blue-eyed manservant from earlier in the evening. He stares blankly at the low ceiling, exhaling a heavy sigh. “And so we begin.”
He drags his body upright, eventually moving toward the door to crack it open. The servant blinks his large, baby-doll eyes as Haruka peers through the gap. He is much shorter than Haruka in stature, his vampiric bloodline weak. Essentially, he is a human clinging to the edges of modern vampire culture. A human-vampire. Low-leveler.
The manservant’s hair is sandy-brown, cut short to complement his heart-shaped face. A splattering of light freckles graces his nose and cheeks, like careless flecks from a paintbrush. Although he seems fairly young, he is undeniably attractive and Haruka knows what he wants. The sultry, admiring look he gives with his cerulean gaze is unmistakable.
“Your grace, is everything well within your chamber dwelling?”
My chamber dwelling. The longer Haruka stays in this house, the more he feels he’s being swept back in time—or as if he’s part of some human-conceived, literary stereotype of his culture. He half expected an extravagant coffin in his guest room in lieu of an actual bed.
“All is well,” Haruka assures him. “Thank you for your concern.”
“Of course.” A warm smile slowly forms on the manservant’s thin lips. “Do you wish for me to come inside to review the apartment? It is my sincere desire for you to be pleased while you abide with us. I would do whatever is necessary to ensure you are satisfied, my beautiful and gracious lord.”
God help me. Haruka politely returns his smile. “I appreciate the kind offer. But I would like to rest tonight.”
“Are you certain? I am quite skilled—”
“I am.”
“I understand. It is my great loss.” He bows his head, then looks up at Haruka from beneath long brown eyelashes before turning and walking away. When the door is closed, Haruka switches the lock for good measure.
As soon as he’s back in bed with his eyes closed, there is another knock at the door.
Haruka remains still this time, stretching his senses and inhaling once more. It is the second-generation female with the lovely brown skin tone. She’d been one of the silent twelve in attendance during dinner. They’d literally said nothing all evening—only laughed and smiled on cue like stiff actors in a community theater troupe.
The door is locked, so Haruka decides to play possum. After a few minutes she gives up, her subtle essence fading away.
When the third knock comes, Haruka is asleep. He lazily opens his eyes. Exhaustion is settled heavily in his mind as he yawns, but before he can discern who is outside his bedroom, there’s a loud click in the silence. He turns his head. The lock mechanism has shifted. He watches in confusion as the door creaks open.
Yellow light from the hallway precedes Amelia as she steps into the room and swiftly closes the door behind her. She walks toward Haruka as he hastily sits upright in bed. He rubs his palm down his face in a weak attempt to shake his disoriented state. “What are you—”
She launches herself forward. She moves fast but Haruka is faster—quickly blinking and making his eyes burn bright as he wills the power of his nature from within his body. The sensation is a tight knot deep in his core, unraveling and rushing fiercely outward like a blazing river. As it moves, it grows and expands. Haruka intentionally sends the force of it toward Amelia and she gasps, suddenly frozen, wide-eyed under his subjugation.
Haruka’s chest heaves as he holds her in place. He subdues her in totality, not even leaving her consciousness free to communicate with him. He hasn’t willed his nature outward like this in at least a decade, and now he’s done it sloppily—indiscriminately and without true focus or his usual finesse. The scent of his unique aura permeates the room like a cloudy haze of smoke from a fire, but crimson and supernatural. If he doesn’t absorb it within himself soon, it will stir the inhabitants of the house, drawing them in like a beacon.
“Asao?” Haruka speaks into the still silence, his eyes fixed on the frozen form of Amelia in front of him. To his great relief, Asao soon opens the door. He closes it, then moves to stand behind Amelia.
