Haruka discreetly sniffs the air as he walks past the formally dressed servants. Their scents are unembellished—the smell of dried earth. They’re vampiric in nature but very low level. The human blood within their ancestry supersedes the vampiric.
The hallway is cool as he steps inside the residence and onto the polished marble floor. The walls are patterned with green Victorian-style wallpaper and the large chandelier above casts sparkling flecks of white light against every surface. The air is still. A smattering of voices echoes down the long hallway as Haruka breathes in the faint scent of salty meats and baked bread.
One manservant glides behind him to take his coat. Haruka obediently shrugs out of the long garment. The second manservant is standing in a daze and staring at Haruka with blue irises the color of summer skies. Haruka furrows his brow—he knows this particular look very well. It’s the look of someone hungry for something that registers as primal… not in the stomach. Below the waist.
The manservant holding Haruka’s coat walks around and discreetly smacks his colleague in the arm. The blue-eyed vampire blinks and smiles weakly, the trance broken. “My apologies, your grace, please follow me.” The manservant turns, hastily moving down the hallway as if trying to outrun his embarrassment.
Well, we’re off to an inauspicious start. He hasn’t been in this house five minutes and already a manservant is stupefied by his stifled aura.
Haruka exhales a breath, massaging the back of his neck with his palm as they walk down the narrow hallway. It’s going to be a long night.
Secretly, Haruka had hoped for a quiet evening between himself and the Duke of Oxford. What he receives is an extravagant feast with fifteen other dukes and duchesses seated within an elaborate ballroom.
When he enters, everyone stands at attention—perfectly still. Their vivid eyes are watching him. They remind Haruka of statues as he walks toward the empty seat at the head of the table just beside the Duke of Oxford. Each vampire tilts their head down in reverence as he passes, like dominoes. Even from a vampire’s perspective, the scene is eerie. The blood-red, dramatic baroque décor of the room certainly doesn’t help. Interesting, he observes. They enjoyed the eighteenth century to the extent that they refuse to leave…
After receiving a humble bow from the duke, Haruka nods politely and sits down. Everyone follows his lead and the duke proceeds with long-winded introductions for each of his guests. When a glass of red wine is placed in front of him, Haruka breathes a sigh of relief. Thank God. Merciful provision to aid him through the long evening ahead. He curls his fingers around the glass and brings it to his lips.
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.
