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.
Once her arms are secured behind her back, the manservant lifts his chin. “I’m ready. You can release her.”
Haruka inhales, mechanically absorbing the weight of his energy back within his body. He mentally stuffs it into a knotted hold deep inside himself. Amelia sucks in a breath as if she’d been underwater, her eyes bulging. She bucks and thrashes her voluptuous frame against Asao to free herself, but the solid manservant easily restricts her.
“You—you have actual powers,” Amelia breathes, her voice ragged from the impact of subjugation. “I knew it. I could smell—and your blood. Incredible!”
“Amelia.” Haruka uses the weight of his deep voice to calm her. Being lower ranked, she is more vulnerable to his words after direct exposure to his aura. “You cannot break into someone’s room. I am a guest in your home and it is extremely rude… I should not need to say these things.”
“I—I apologize, your grace.” She sways in Asao’s grasp. She almost falls over, but he holds her steady. “I wanted to feed from you—to please you… to release… your… aura.” She sleeps. Asao rearranges her in his arms to properly support her. He looks down at her sagging frame and shakes his head.
“First of all, I told you.”
Haruka rolls his eyes.
“Second,” Asao continues, “poor kid barges in here and she can’t even handle you. ‘Pull your aura.’ Yeah, right. Did you need to fully subjugate her?”
Haruka takes a deep breath and scratches the back of his head. “No… However, she startled me and I’m out of practice. You came quickly—were you listening?”
“Yeah. I heard you when she first came into the room. They have my bedroom so damn far away that it took me a while to walk over here. This place is creepy.”
Haruka yawns. It has been a day. “I am grateful for your unique ability.”
“You’re not grateful for it when you’re trying to sneak wine from the kitchen in the middle of the night.” Asao smirks.
Haruka breathes a laugh. “True.”
“What the hell should I do with her?”
There is a knock on the bedroom door. Haruka smirks. Ask and you shall receive. He focuses and sniffs. “Perhaps the young manservant on the other side of the door can help?”
Sitting down hard on the bed, he watches as Asao grapples with a peacefully sleeping Amelia. The freckled manservant timidly peeks his head into the room. He’s dumbfounded as Asao speaks, staring past him to uncomfortably gawk at Haruka on the bed. Soon, Asao awkwardly hands Amelia over to him and shuts the door.
“You’ve had quite a few admirers this evening.” Asao grins, walking toward the bed as Haruka settles back down. He pulls the sheets up to make himself comfortable while his manservant sits along the side. “It’s a good thing she was second-gen,” Asao continues. “What if she’d been higher ranked?”
Haruka closes his eyes, mumbling against the sheets. “What if you help me pack up the house?”
“Haruka. How long are we going to do this? Ignoring your true responsibilities and stifling your nature? You’ve avoided talking about this for years now… This whole mess started with Yuna. Your bond—”
“Asao, please.” Haruka turns to look at him, imploring. He’s exhausted from rapidly pushing his aura outward, annoyed about the upcoming bonding ceremony and frustrated that he has irresponsibly procrastinated over the start of a major cultural document. The last thing he wants to do is have a heart-to-heart about the ghosts of his unfortunate past.
