13 comments/ 22949 views/ 20 favorites Mastering the Darkness By: aria_rose "Right. Now. I don't like doing this as much as you, but if you humans will insist on stealing..." The speaker stood in the middle of the small village green, addressing a large, silent, petrified crowd. The crowd all knew why they were there. Something precious had been stolen from the most powerful, ancient vampire in the land; the culprit had been tracked back to their little town, and now the Master and his two brothers were paying their usually peaceful village a rare and unwanted visit, threatening and angry and terrifying. The Master, looked around the crowd, and, with a fleeting glance to the dark skies above in desperation, spoke once again. "This is your final chance. Precious goods have been stolen from me and, make no mistake, I will have them returned, whether freely or by force." He stood a good foot taller than any of the villagers, his broad, athletic body, jet black curly hair and piercing green eyes enough to threaten anyone; but more so, because the villagers knew why he was here. The slight glimpse of sharp, pointed fangs when he snarled his words was enough to make any human recoil, and this crowd were no exception. The Master's two brothers, almost equally as threatening and imposing, stood either side of him, glaring into the crowd angrily, their fangs also slightly visible. And yet, the mass of people remained deadly silent. The Master shook his head, quickly losing the little patience he had. "If no one comes forward now, I will ransack this place and find the missing goods. And if I cannot find them... I will destroy your settlement and take every single thing of value that this village owns, as compensation." He looked into the crowd of worried faces, growing secretly desperate. "By the Gods, you know I will. I will not hesitate in destroying this place." The Master turned to look at his brother Marcus, who nodded, adamantly encouraging his brother, and turned to address the crowd. "Do you fucking humans not realise everything we do for you? We protect you, we keep all trouble out of this area, we give you a safe place to live, we offer you sanctuary. We are your salvation, when we could be your damnation. All we ask for in return is obedience and fucking trust." He swore under his breath. "Fucking humans. You know how much those goods meant to us. To our father." He paused and glanced back to the Master, who smiled, darkly, demandingly; and spoke. "Now then, who can return to me what was stolen?" * * * Three years previous. Those eyes. Those captivating, sky blue, doe eyes, staring up at him with so much innocence. That was why he hesitated; that was why he did it. In years to come, he'd think back on this hesitation with a sharp stab of painful confusion; this, the only moment in time where he could ever acknowledge that he'd shown weakness. It was those eyes, her eyes. Callan stared at the girl before him. Girl, he affirmed to himself, surely still only in her late teenage years, and yet. So damned captivating. She stared up at him, her back and the palms of her hands pressed against the wall behind her, motionless apart from the tremble of her lower lip, which he observed with intrigue. Yes, she was scared of him, and he should have relished that, revelled in it, but yet. So damned captivating. He narrowed his eyes a little and clenched his jaw, aware that in doing so his fangs began to show at the sides of his mouth, and acutely aware of her heartbeat pacing even faster in terrified response. Hell, he could taste her fear in the air, even through the overwhelming odour of the smoke and the flames, lapping at every house in the village, as his brothers made sure they left no villager alive. Yes, he should kill her, he affirmed to himself. It was his order, to kill every villager he found alive. He could kill her with a mere thought, a blink of an eye, a flick of the wrist. And yet. He found himself unable to break away from her glance. The flames which engulfed the straw roofs of every house in the village were spreading, intoxicating, and it was no exception in the house that Callan now found himself in. Smoke began to billow through the roof, and he knew that it would not be too much longer until the roof collapsed, killing the girl anyway. Hell, he didn't even need to kill her. All he needed to do was to walk away, and that would be one more worthless human dead. But yet. The girl began to cough violently with the smoke, forcing her to break eye contact and bend over, eyes streaming. Callan was glad for it. He regained his composure and control, and straightened a little to look down at her: yes, he just needed to leave her here and she would perish. Perfect. He tried to force a dark smile as he turned his back and walked towards the door of the little house; trying to suppress the foreign, almost human urge not to leave her. As he approached the door, it happened; burning timber and tiles from the roof came crashing down into the middle of the room, and the girl screamed, an ear-piercing, shattering shriek. Callan was used to screams. Hell, only moments before had he stood in the middle of the village with his brothers, burning torch in hand, as the houses began to be burned to the ground on his father's orders. But yet. Callan, hesitating once again, turned back to the girl, and instantly regretted doing so. Her hair, an auburn shade, he had uncharacteristically noticed before, was grey with ash, and her coughs were more incessant as she struggled to breath. At the moment he turned around, she had lifted her head to look at him, she had whispered please, with those captivating, sky blue eyes. And that's why he did it. Callan swore loudly and, in a millisecond, had reached the girl, thrown her roughly into his arms, and darted out of the back of the hut. The fresh air of the moonlit night was a welcome relief for her lungs and she gasped, spluttering, as he placed her down on the grass, a little too softly for his own liking. He straightened himself to stand tall again, so tall and imposing over her crouched body, and looked down at her darkly. She gulped, shaking, with trembling breaths, and to his surprise she scrambled onto her feet to stand before him, shorter and so obviously weaker, but, he noticed with a confusing pang in his chest, so defiant, still. Her tear-stained eyes now narrowed a little as her forehead creased into a frown, and she spoke, so softly. "Thank you?" her whisper, more of a question than a statement, was so small Callan seriously doubted any human would have been able to pick up on it. But he could, and he noticed it. He also noticed the house, the village, behind them burning to the ground; he noticed that there were no more screams, only the sounds of soul-engulfing flames; he noticed that, being shadowed at the back of the hut, at the back of the village, no one would see the girl as she fled into the fields and the forest beyond. And most of all, he noticed the same tremble of her bottom lip. It was then he spoke; and it came out as one long word, dark and demanding and growling so that she would take note. And she did. "Run". In years to come, he would wonder why she too had hesitated; why, once he had rescued her, she just stood and stared at him, as if, she were not scared, as if she felt something other than fear for him. As if. * * * Present. A woman stood at the back of the crowd, wiping her sweaty chubby palms on the brown material of her skirt nervously, staring mesmerised, petrified at the three imposing figures stood in the centre of her village. They hadn't made a trip into the local community for three years -- and everyone knew what had become of that particular village. She tried to steady her beating heart with a deep breath and carefully, slowly, looked back round to her little home, only a few metres away. The houses that surrounded the village green were all empty: men, women and children all in the crowd. All empty, except her home. Her daughter and niece lay hiding in there, and for good reason. Ann knew she had to go back to them. Ann knew she had to speak up. Gods, what was she to do? The crowd was still so deadly silent, so petrified, and the three dark figures turned to huddle together, backs to the villagers, to discuss just how they were going to destroy the village, Ann presumed. People began crying, protesting, wailing. We don't know anything, please, we don't know anything. It wasn't us; it wasn't me. Ann took this as her cue and hobbled her bulky frame over to the door of her little wooden hut. She creaked the door open as quietly as possible and slipped inside as discreetly as her large build would allow, turning to the right and peering underneath the table to see the two girls crouching, hiding and silent. "Mama! What are you doing? What if they saw you?!" one of the girls whispered passionately, her eyes brimming with tears, shaking uncontrollably. Her cousin Aria, a year younger than her cousin, was not so teary; calm and composed and collected, she stood resolutely to meet her aunt's eyes. "What's going on out there? Is everyone out there?" Ann nodded slowly, glancing back to the wooden door and praying that the figures hadn't turned back around to see her slink off. They had demanded the whole village outside, and Ann and her family would be in even more danger if the vampires found out they hadn't complied. Suddenly, they heard screams and yells coming from some of the villagers, and what she quickly realised to be the sound of burning flames, lit torches. The sound of that same masculine voice as before permeated through the mud walls of the hut, muffled a little, but still overpowering and demonic, growling. "If you will not cooperate, we will burn your properties and take everything of value. Last chance." Ann's daughter began to sob, clutching the little brown bag of precious metals and jewels to her body. Aria frowned and leaned down to pick the bag up out of her elder cousin's lap, beginning to walk to the door. "I'm taking these out there to them." Ann's eyes widened and she tried, unsuccessfully, to snatch the bag out of her niece's hand. "No! Aria, what has got into you, girl? By all the Gods, I will not let you do this!" Ann whispered forcefully through gritted teeth, shifting to stand with her back to the wooden door. Her bulky frame blocked almost the whole doorway, so that Aria couldn't reach around the side to push open the door. Aria sighed, frustrated. "Look. I'll tell them it was me; they're not to know who it was. Lizzy need never speak about it. I'll say I found them somewhere... in the forest." Aria paused, and frowned again at the insistent blocking the door. "It's all they want; then they'll leave us alone." "Oh, and do you seriously believe that?" whispered Ann incredulously, spreading herself against the back of the door even more so now. "What I believe, Aunt, is that they are not bad creatures. I don't believe they're evil. They've protected our villages for years, haven't they? They're angry, and perhaps rightly so, since their father lies dead and all his valuable possessions stolen; but I'll give them back what they want, and they'll leave. It's logical." Ann opened her mouth to argue with her defiant niece, but before sound could escape, the door was flung open with incredible force. Aunt and niece were both thrown halfway across the hut; Aria landed on the floor, as the brown bag split open and the precious metals and jewels which were contained inside scattered all around her, her long auburn hair falling around her face as she landed with an oomph. The imposing figure at the door glanced at Ann, struggling to stand to the left of the door; at Lizzy, crouching on the floor opposite her mother, silent and wide-eyed; and then at Aria, lying opposite the door, the contents of the bag scattered all around her, in the darkness of the back of the hut. His eyes darkened, and with a sneer, he leaned back to beckon over his brothers. "Guys, you need to take a look at this." Almost immediately, two other figures appeared at the doorway, and Aria tried desperately to gather all the tiny brightly coloured jewels and little metal discs, trying to clear up. She glanced nervously at her aunt, who could only return her stare with a terrified blink and gulp, and a slight shake of her head. "Alright, Marcus. Well, let's see then. At least we won't have to destroy the whole village now." The three women recognised the voice of the man who had done the majority of the talking outside, and both mother and daughter cowered as he bent down quite considerably to enter the hut, his dark presence almost preceding him, permeating through and around the hut. Aria took a deep breath and stood up resolutely, holding her hands out, the contents of the little brown bag in her palm. "I took them... I found them and I took them." Aria glanced nervously at Lizzy, silent and trembling in the corner, and carried on defiantly. "But here; you can have them back." The man who had entered the hut, who had spoken, did not so much as spare a fleeting glance at the other two women; he focused immediately on the figure in the shadows at the back of the hut. He could see the jewels, the metals, sparkling and glittering at him in relief, outstretched in the figure's hands. With one swift move he was standing before her, smiling darkly. He had his possessions back, and now he would kill the thief. Just to show them that they don't mess with the Master. His dark smirk turned into a fang-bearing grin. But yet. "Fuck!" The sudden shout echoed around the tense silence of the hut, tearing out of the vampire's mouth and bouncing off the walls with shock. Those eyes. And they were more sky blue, more doe-like, more captivating than he remembered as they grew wider and wider under his gaze. Those same eyes. They were resolute and strong, even now, and he recoiled a little in surprise. But he was still the Master; the strongest, most powerful vampire, in control of this and many, many other villages, and he was not about to be thrown by a girl with pretty eyes. Especially not when they were a... "Fucking thief!" Callan's brother Marcus had shifted from the doorway over to the girl in a second, and, in another second, had knocked the girl so that she hit the stone floor again with a deep thud and a groan, dropping the bag which Marcus caught in one swift, effortless movement. He opened the bag and, apparently satisfied, nodded to his brother. "All there." The Master vampire turned away from the girl and spoke, his fangs clearly visible, causing a shudder to run down the humans' spines. "Mm. I'll take care of the thief. You see to her... accomplices." Immediately, Aria protested, trying to raise her now aching body off the floor. "No! No, these people are not my accomplices! They knew nothing, I swear! The rest of village is innocent!" Even as the girl dragged herself back to her feet, the vampire standing in front of her, his back to her, had made a small gesture of his hand, and the girl's aunt and cousin were forced out of the house and into the crowd of terrified villagers outside by the two other strong, imposing vampires. It was only then that Aria felt tears start to form, stinging and salty, and she gulped them back as she spoke, her gaze lowered a little to the floor as she tried to get her strength of character back, her voice softer now, pleading. "They didn't do..." "Your whole village will pay for what you did." His voice was strong, definite, and unnervingly dark, and she shuddered involuntarily. "But I've returned them..." "And that makes it all better, I suppose?" His voice now sounded incredulous, and he turned around to face the girl, all dark and glaring and fanged. "You will pay for this." If only humans knew how important the goods are, Callan thought angrily, staring down at the auburn-haired girl. What they meant to him; the last reminder of his murdered father. And the power they contained. The danger if they fell into the wrong hands. She raised her head then, and the vampire snatched his gaze away before their eyes met. Blazing white rage pierced all the way through him, tearing at him. "You are a low thief, despicable, and as such, I expect you know what fate is coming to you." By the end of his utterance his voice had grown softer than he intended it to be, he realised with an inner snarl, as he turned to look at the girl, waiting. She would cry now. Humans always cried when you told them they were going to die; and that always furthered his anger. If only humans realised what loneliness and desolation came with eternal life. He'd be almost glad to die, after all these years. He waited to hear her snivel. But yet. She stared up at him, defiantly. "I understand. I accept my fate. Just don't punish the others when they haven't done anything." Selflessness, he remarked to himself with a spark of interest. Unusual. This just got interesting. Still, he snarled at her, fangs bared, eyes dark, imposing. "So you are ready to die, girl, are you? In whichever way I choose?" Again, he waited for her tears, but none came. She simply stared at him, wide-eyed, and slowly, reluctantly, began to nod. He snorted out a short laugh then in disbelief, taking them both by surprise; she was intriguing. He put his forefinger and thumb either side of the underneath of her chin and raised her head up to search into her face for fear, and even he was taken aback by what he found lurking in the sky-blue depths. Such pretty eyes, filled with fear, yes, but stronger than that, such deep, deep sadness... his brow creased a little, as she spoke. "I am ready to die. That's the truth. I have done wrong and I take responsibility." She paused, hesitating, her voice quieter. "I am living on borrowed time, anyway. I was meant to die three years ago, with the rest of my family." A moment passed, and she spoke again, her voice barely above a whisper, her gaze lowering, avoiding his glance. "As you know." Ah, so she did remember. Silence filled the little room as, for one of the first times in his life, Callan struggled with not knowing what to say. Aria stared up at the vampire before her, puzzled. He was taking a long time to kill her, and now he had grown silent. Maybe he was silent because he was thinking how he regretted saving the life of a thief three years ago; maybe he was trying to think of the most horrible way of punishing her, of killing her; maybe he was deciding whether or not to dispose of the whole village or just to dispose of her. Maybe he was pausing because a part of him didn't want to kill her. Aria dismissed that thought as soon as it entered her mind. He was deep in thought; that was for sure. His green eyes, such an unusual green, were boring down into her face, and she was surprised to see they were softer than she expected. His black curls framed his face, matching his cloak, his clothes, his stubble, a stark contrast to the two little points of white sharp canines which protruded slightly over his bottom lip. He was quite a sight. His finger and thumb were digging quite forcefully into the underside of her chin now, marking her, and without realising, she gave a little exhaled whimper. Immediately he brought his hand away from her face, and clenched it tightly by his side, all the while never breaking her glance. In truth, Callan could not tear himself away from her. Her fate was death; that was clear enough. And yet. Somewhere between the intrigue and disgust he felt for this girl, sat the uncomfortable thought of her, dead. She had stolen from him, even after he gave her a second chance to live; something which, in truth, he had never found himself wanting to give to anyone before or since, and it made his whole body rage. He didn't want to talk to her, to see her, to have anything to do with her; a disgusting thief. And yet. Callan shuddered with uneasiness at the thought of having her killed; a foreign emotion to a vampire who believed that with actions came consequences: that with committing a serious crime, came certain, undeniable death. Mastering the Darkness Ch. 02 Three days. Three long, slow days. Callan sat in the meeting, hearing the council members conversing and advising and recommending, but struggling to listen to anything they actually said. It had been three days since he'd been to the village, since he'd recovered the precious jewels and the stones, the last remaining token of his father and the key to immense power; three days since he'd brought the girl back to the mansion. And three days since, as promised, and at Marcus' insistence, he had let the council members decide what to do with her, ignoring the gnawing feeling that he should be the one making the decision. He shuddered involuntarily as he remembered that day. They had arrived back at the Manor, leaving the village; Marcus had called the council members together and they were arriving from the various lands and planes. This was serious, a matter of utmost importance - the thief had been caught. And the Pothos jewels returned. In the council room, the very same room that he found himself in these three days later, Callan and his brothers had watched seated around the table as, one by one, the council members had entered the mansion, nodding to the vampires; the more restrained amongst the council ignoring the girl, standing in the corner, top of both arms seized by broad guards who towered above her. The more aggressive members glared at her, projected some of their anger towards her so that it washed over her in waves and made her feel nauseous and light-headed. He remembered observing as she stood, shivering, but somehow still resilient, in the corner. Taking their places around the table, Callan had stood to call the meeting open, and sat back down at the head of the table, the opposite end of the room to the girl, with a little more of a resigned thud into his chair than he had intended. And then: silence. "Well?" Luc spoke first, his voice smooth and soft, laced with a hint of menace. He eyed the girl, up and down, and turned to Callan. "This... this - human... stole the Pothos?" He shook his head and sighed. Luc was an old vampire, one who had shared in the vast history and significance of the jewels almost as long as Callan and his brothers had. He knew the implications. He knew the consequences. And more silence. Callan was unusually quiet in his seat; his brother Marcus, restless and sat opposite Luc, answered him. "Yes. Indeed. This female is a fucking worthless thief, and must be punished. The Pothos are returned to us; all is well and good again, my friends, but the first task on our agenda today is to decide what to with her. Callan has left it up to us to decide; as you may understand, he is a little too angry to make the decision himself." Several men around the room nodded emphatically. "So, my dear council - suggestions? I, for one, say bleed her so that she dies slowly." A slow, fang-bearing smile formed on his dark face. "And so that we may enjoy her. She does smell rather good, after all, and it would be a shame to waste her." A half-hearted chuckle raised around the room at that; the ten council members sharing knowing glances with each other, fangs elongating involuntarily. Callan found his fist clenching underneath the table. "Yes yes, a good idea." Luc spoke again, his long, straight blonde hair waving around him as nodded his agreement. "Shall we start now? I could do with some light refreshment while we discuss the rest of the agenda - and I see that in his rush to organise today's council meeting, the Master has not laid any on." Another small chuckle around the room, and Marcus leant forward slightly over the table, nodded once more with a smile at his friend, and then raised a hand to beckon the guards to bring the girl away from the corner and nearer the end of the long table. And Callan's eyes were on her straight away. The guard's hands gripped her upper arms so hard that her skin was flushed white underneath their hands, and they brought her forward so that she clumsily stumbled as she walked, her long auburn hair flowing around her haphazardly. His jaw set and his eyes narrowed at the strange tension running through him. Anger, he reasoned; it must be hot, pure white anger, coming face to face with the thief. And yet. Brought now from the corner to the opposite end of the table to the Master, she stood still. She was nervous, they could all smell it on her; but she raised her chin defiantly as she looked at each vampire in the room. In truth, she wasn't quite sure what she was doing; but it was worth a try, wasn't it? It had to be. Most of the men glared at her, or looked like they wanted to devour her, or - worse? - both. The Master's other brother - the one who was not Marcus, she noted - looked at her with something between pity and apathy in his eyes. And the Master himself? She looked at him last, stubbornly. Luc stood, pushing out his chair from behind him and grinning at Marcus, who returned a similar expression. His long fingers tapped the glass council room table momentarily, drumming a quick rhythm excitedly, as he stalked around the side of the table towards the girl. She glanced at him for a split second, and then decided that it would be far much better not to. She moved her glance firmly back to the Master. And by all the Gods, there was that lip trembling again. Callan cleared his throat suddenly and stood, pushing his chair out decidedly and moving to the coffee table and mini-bar at the back of the room, his back to her. He opened the mini-bar absent-mindedly, only half noticing that it was empty before he closed it up again. He picked up a wine glass from the selection on the coffee table and examined its cleanliness, its purity; an image of it filled with her blood clouding his mind. He slammed the glass back down onto the table. And he looked in the mirror, above the coffee table; the mirror that reflected to the other end of the council table. And there was Luc; fingers reaching around her neck, eyes closing as he inhaled her scent, smile forming on his face as he bent down towards her pulse. And there was the girl, with her eyes fixed on Callan still. She met his eyes in the mirror. Fuck. "Wait." Luc froze, fangs bared and an inch from her neck, his eyes shifting to look towards the Master. Callan turned around to face the council. "Not yet. Luc, sit back down." Luc's eyes widened as his grip tightened desperately around the girl's neck. "You can't be serious, Master. I was just-" "Sit." The Master's voice was dark, demanding, and Luc immediately released the shaking girl, pacing begrudgingly back to his seat and exchanging bewildered glances with the other vampires in the room. Marcus looked at his brother in utter disbelief. "What-" Callan raised a hand, and Marcus was immediately commanded into silence; a little reminder of the Master's true power, so much more than that of anyone else in the room - even his brothers. Callan narrowed his eyes and walked back towards the table. "Not today." His mind raced privately. "Do you not think, men... that we would be better enjoying her a week tomorrow?" The council members all looked at each other, unsure. One shrugged. "After all," Callan continued, coming to sit back down in his seat, rather cooler now, "have we all forgotten that it is the 3000th anniversary of the founding of the council? I would think it more logical, and, of course, more ultimately enjoyable, if we refrained from... humans, until then." A few of the vampires exchanged unconvinced glances, but the majority began to bow their heads slightly in agreement. Callan could always get what he wanted anyway. Callan looked around the room. "So, my council, it is decided; we will save her until then. A week tomorrow." He looked at the guards, careful - so very careful - not to look her in the eyes. And then he spoke again, darkly. "Take her away." Three days. For three dragging days Callan had wrestled with his conscience. For three long, tiring days he had shifted restlessly at night as he dreamed of her in the holding room where he knew they would have taken her and had got, at least half a dozen times, half-way down to where she would be before chastising himself and turning around. It was getting worse and worse. He was determined to stay strong; she had done wrong, after all. She would be punished, enjoyed by the council, as they had decided - as he had given them the power to decide. But yet. He was tired of this meeting, tired of the Council's advice and musings. He only had himself to blame, in truth; he had disbanded the meeting prematurely three days ago, after the little incident with the girl, and had commanded that they all leave immediately. He himself had rescheduled the meeting for today, for three days' time. So why was he so restless? "Master?" Callan jolted out of his daze. Thane looked at him questioningly; the most youthful vampire council member, Callan always made sure he was sat to his immediate left, in case of any rash immature outbursts. They were rare, now, after all this years; but it was a necessary precaution all the same. Callan looked at Thane and then back at all the council members, eyebrows raised in slight embarrassment. "Apologies. Do continue." Marcus cocked his head, looking down the table questioningly at this brother. It was Victor who spoke, though; they all knew his calming tone would be the most effective. "We were just finished, actually; Marcus asked if you had anything else to add?" Callan met Victor's eyes with a silent gratitude that he had not furthered his embarrassing lack of attention. He turned to his other brother. "No; no, everything seems in order." He looked around the table at the ancient beings gathered there. "Council dismissed, men. We meet again in five days, for the anniversary of the founding of the council. So, until then." He stood swiftly, bowed slightly to the vampires and strode out of the door commandingly, his strides long and serious. Outside of the room, he chastised himself for his lack of attention, for his normally well-controlled and serious mind racing all the time. He needed to find a way to calm the disquiet inside him; it was most distracting. Still, only five days, and then he was certain that his apprehension would leave him - one way or the other. Not wanting to face the council again today, he paced out of the council meeting room door, and through the mansion's atrium to the long corridor that run down the opposite side, leading towards his rooms. Disappearing down the dark corridor, he retreated into the blackness and sought comfort from it, feeling it wrap itself around him. He came to his drawing room and entered, closing the door firmly behind him. And sighed. Walking over dark red carpet, he went past the floor-to-ceiling bookcases and the armchairs and the small dark wooden dining table; past the grand piano and past the glimmering fireplace until he stood, at the end of the room, by the large bay window. Crossing his arms, he looked up into the sky, and down, from the mansion at the top of the hill down to the world below, the world in which he had complete and ultimate power. He sighed again. With his astute hearing, he could hear the other council members leave; he could hear Marcus saying to Victor that he would go and talk to Callan, and Victor, sensibly as always, sensitive to others' emotions, persuading him not to. He heard a snarl as Marcus left the mansion, presumably to find food. He was having difficulty not enjoying humans until the anniversary day, as Callan had suggested, somewhat on a whim, three days ago. He heard Victor blur upstairs, rather more calmly, and retreat to the East Wing, used by him and Marcus when they stayed at the mansion. And now it was deadly silent. Callan moved away from the window and went to sit by the fire, thinking of a book to read, when he realised. No one was around. Victor was out of earshot, even by vampire standards. He could feel the temptation in him growing, surging, and even as he fought to push it back down inside him he knew he couldn't. He was alone; and no one would hear if he went to the holding cell; if he went to where the girl was. In a flash he was out of the room and back into the atrium, down the corridor on the other side, through the door at the end, down the steps, and - finally - at the door of the holding cell. Composing himself, he pulled down the handle and pushed open the door. He was not expecting what he saw. * * * Aching; aching everywhere. Pain and dull aching and soreness. It consumed her, and her breathing was laboured as she took sharp sighs in and out, trying to calm herself through the pain. It would stop eventually, one way or the other. She had to be strong. She would die, if not today then at this council event anyway; not long to wait, either way. But how long had she been down here? It was difficult to tell. Handcuffs attached to a chain attached to the wall kept her constrained to about a metre's radius; although in truth, her legs were too weak to stand now anyway. There was no way to escape. And no light, either; it was so dark down here, so she had no way of knowing whether it was day or night outside. That was unsettling; not to know how time was passing. She hoped it was going fast, that it was nearly the day of the anniversary, the day where all this pain would finally stop. She desperately hoped. Her stomach swelled with a deep rumbling, asking for more than just the little bread and water she was brought every now and then. It was the only sound filling the room, apart from her laboured breathing, and the occasional clink of the chains as she moved. And there was a man, or two - maybe different ones, but mainly one man - and he would come in, every so often, and she would get slaps and punches and even kicks, until she would inevitably pass out. And she would wake up after the abuse, and find some bread and water next to her; as if it was a reward for still being alive. Who was the man? She didn't know him; perhaps it was the vampire who had nearly sunk his teeth into her neck in the meeting room. Perhaps it was Marcus, or the Master's other brother. But it wasn't the Master. She knew that much, although how she knew that was a mystery. Pain consumed her again, washing over her in waves. She groaned softly and lay back down on the hard floor, eyes closing to try to shut out what was going on around her. She succumbed to the darkness as it swept over her; welcomed a relief from the aching. * * * The first thing Callan noticed was that there was not just one but two figures in the room; not just the girl, but another. The guards were usually to stand outside and keep outside, unless it was a prisoner of an extremely threatening and serious nature - in which case, they would be kept subdued by having guards in the holding room with them from time to time. To punish them, and hurt them a little, until they were more co-operative. But surely this was not needed here; he had given no command that the girl should be hurt. The second thing Callan noticed was that one of the figures was standing, and the other on the floor. This, Callan immediately found strange; prisoners would usually have no need to be on the floor, as they had the use of the entire room - the bed, the wardrobes, the bookshelves, the chairs. It could not be said that the Master treated his prisoners badly; he was fair, but not wholly unkind. The only exception to the rule was if the prisoner was extremely dangerous and severely powerful - then, and only then, would they be chained to the wall, so that they couldn't escape. The third thing Callan noticed was a female voice, a low, laboured groan. And with that, Callan decided that he was done with noticing. The Master commanded the room's lights to come on with a split-second thought, and tried - struggled - to take in the now illuminated scene before him. The bed, chairs, wardrobe, bookshelves - completely unused. A tall, broad guard standing darkly by the left-hand side wall. And the girl. Callan felt a tightening in his chest as he saw the girl, chained to the wall as if she was a demonic mass-murderer rather than a human; vicious bruises covering every inch of her skin, almost unrecognisable; her face and auburn hair stained an alarming shade of blood red. Dark red, almost brown blood around her on the floor; dried because it must have been days old. A crust of bread and a half-drunk glass of water just in her reach - although she must have been in no state to drink it. The guard glaring down at the girl, a smirk on his face. The guard looked round at the intruder, his eyes growing wide as he realised who it was. The Master. Callan felt uncontrollable rage surging within him as, with a fang-bearing snarl, too angry to speak, he commanded his power to paralyse the guard. The man fell to the floor, like a statue, unable to move. Glaring at him with searing heat, the Master projected agony onto the paralysed man, knowing that he would be unable to express his agonising pain, to even try and escape it. Temporarily satisfied, Callan turned his attention to the girl, and was at her side in an instant. She was breathing, but not awake; not surprising, Callan considered. He had a thousand questions, he needed to see blazing pain etched across the guard's face as he explained himself, as he told the Master why he had hurt her, as he succumbed to the intense pain he would put him through - but not yet. He needed to see to the girl first. He bent down next to her, clearing her bloodied hair away from her face so he could survey the damage properly. He recoiled in disgust at the large purple and yellow bruises covering every inch of her skin, a nauseous feeling washing over him as he imagined the pain she must have felt. The smell of her dried blood filled his nose; an ancient vampire, he no longer experienced mad blood lust, and could control himself well, but there was so much of her blood in this room that somewhere in the back of his mind the blood lust was still stirring. So much blood. He pushed the feeling firmly back down inside himself and swept down to gather her up in his arms, lifting her as if she were as light as a feather. Limbs loose and head lulled back, she was a like a broken rag doll in his arms, and the tightening in his chest worsened as he instinctively held her tighter to him. He went to stride out of the door; turning back to the paralysed guard, racked with pain on the cold stone floor. He used his mind to take the pain away for a second, so that the guard would comprehend what he said; speaking with such darkness in his deep, gravelly voice that he even surprised himself. "I don't know what the fuck you thought you were doing." The Master looked down at the girl again, and then back to the paralysed guard. "I don't know why you thought you had permission to hurt her. But you will pay. Believe me, you will suffer for this." And with that, he projected searing agony into the man's body again, heard the man's stifling sharp intake of breath, and walked out the room. In a blur, he was back down his dark corridor, down to the lone guest bedroom that was in his private quarters. No one had used it for years and the place was full of cobwebs and dust, but with a mere thought in his mind as he held the girl, they disappeared, and new furniture adorned the room. The door closed behind him as he took the girl over to the bed, laying her gently on her back, noting her ripped dress and bruised skin underneath; bruises everywhere. He sat, hesitantly, on the side of the bed, looking down at her, watching her laboured, unconscious breathing. "I'm sorry." The words took him by surprise as he whispered them and they echoed around the silent room. Slowly beginning to come to again, the girl whimpered in pain; Callan wincing alongside her. He considered turning off the lighting, so that she didn't know it was him with her; but then re-thought that idea, not wanting her to imagine for a moment that she was still in that holding room, and still with the guard; still about to receive more pain. Instead, he dimmed the light slightly. She looked up at him through narrowed, blinking eyes, full of pain. Mastering the Darkness Ch. 02 "Master?" Her little murmur filled the room as she met his eyes. He saw fear there, such deep fear, and the tightening in his chest returned. "It's ok. There will be no more pain now." He spoke firmly and she looked at him questioningly, hesitantly; clearly disbelieving. He lowered his voice again, growing involuntarily more tender. "I didn't know. I didn't know they were hurting you. I'm sorry." Callan felt weak, for the first time in centuries; he felt as if he had been brought to his knees, a situation out of control. And he didn't like the feeling. She continued to stare at him, blinking every so often, trying to hear what he was saying through the pain. He didn't know; he was sorry. Aria didn't know why she should, but she believed him. She couldn't not believe him, when his eyes were full of sorrow, pain mirroring hers. She dug deep to find the energy to reply, her voice still a whisper, so that she had to struggle to hear herself above the loud pulsing of her heart in her ears; but loud enough for him to hear. "Can you..." another deep, difficult breath. "...make the pain stop?" At that, his fangs immediately came out, gleaming white and threatening over the sides of his mouth, and his eyes flashed from a green to a dark red. Uncertainty crept over her. What was he...? "Master?" In another second, he bit into his wrist, and, blood seeping out, he held it to her mouth. "Drink." It was a dark command, his eyes boring down into hers. Would this make her better? Did she have anything to lose, any other option? With all the strength she could muster beyond the pain, she licked hesitantly at his wrist, tasting the bitterness of the copper as it seeped into her mouth. His wrist did not move away. She licked again, and again, becoming surer of herself, until he shifted his arm slightly so that the blood trickled more easily into her mouth, so that she more of the liquid could seep down into her throat. She drank, looking to his wrist and then to his eyes, seeing a strange emotion there. After a long moment, he gently touched her chin with his other hand to stop her, and removed his arm, licking at his wrist to close the wound as he fought down the surge inside him at the sight of his blood round her mouth, mixing with hers. He watched as the bruises began to fade to a paler hue; she wouldn't be fully recovered, but he couldn't let her ingest any more of his powerful blood - it would have been too much for her. She had at least had enough that the pain should ebb away now, at least considerably. With a little sigh, her head moved back against the pillow, feeling the blood work its way through her. She looked up at him again through hazy eyes. "Thank you." He stared back at her, mesmerised by the bruises fading, by her features underneath returning to some form of resemblance. Her eyes closed, her breathing becoming deeper, and he sat there for a long moment until the shock and emotion of what had happened washed away, the tightening in his chest had gone, and he was able to check himself, to get a hold of himself again. With one last look back at her, Callan rose off the bed and left the room, moving next door to his bed chamber. He removed his clothes and slipped underneath the sheet, laying with his hands behind his head and gazing up to the ceiling above, waiting for sleep to take over him, waiting. His mind whirled over the day's events; what would he do with the girl, the girl he was meant to have killed in five days' time, now asleep in his spare bedroom? What would he do about the Pothos, and the potential danger that they held being out of his hands when they had been stolen; how would he struggle to contain the power of the Pothos jewels? And, lastly, darkly; why would anyone have hurt the girl? Why did anyone - the guard, or whoever had commanded him to do it - think that it was acceptable, or what he, the Master, would have wanted? And how would he punish their actions? Yes, sleep took a long time to come for Callan; and when it finally did, his dreams weren't filled with his dilemmas: they were filled with her tongue licking at his wrist, the feeling as she drank from him, and, finally, those eyes - those big, blue, haunting eyes. Mastering the Darkness Now that he had taken his hand away from her face, the girl's bottom lip started trembling, flashing the image of her in his mind from three years ago, that same auburn hair, that same trembling bottom lip, that same expression; commendably resolute. Did she deserve another chance? Callan narrowed his eyes and almost recoiled from the girl, in disgust with himself as the words left his mouth. "You... have an ultimatum." She gulped, her forehead creased in bewilderment. "An ultimatum?" Her voice softly repeated the words. He glared down at her, imposing. "Either you can stay here and I will burn this village to the ground, leaving the villagers, apart from you, alive, but with no houses, no money, no food, and they can live with the consequences. Or" -- he felt a strange twitch of emotion flicker through him as she gasped, horrified -- "you will leave your village now and will come back with me and my brothers to Merton, and I will let the others of my kind decide what to do with you." Her jaw clenched, and her breathing, he noticed, grew shallower. The thought of her having to go to the vampire's mansion chilled her to the core. Everyone said how evil vampires were; the things they would do to humans - even to their own kind. But what choice did she have? She wasn't going to let her cousin Lizzy, just engaged and with so much to lose, actually take the blame. Aria was single, and ultimately, unfortunately, alone. It was the logical thing for her to take the responsibility for the village. Logical, perhaps; but not easy. Still. She composed herself and met his gaze, defiant. Her voice, when she spoke at last, was thick with emotion. "If I come with you, what will become of this place? Will you promise to leave the village alone, and not to kill anyone else?" He cocked his head to one side, as ever taken aback by the girl's definite attitude. He considered her words, slowly. "Very well." "Then I will come with you." Her answer came immediately, and Callan couldn't help raising his eyebrows slightly in surprise. He felt some strange kind of relief wash over him; perfect. He would give her to the other vampires, and they could feed from her, suck the life out of her, ghoul her, and then technically, he wouldn't be responsible. And then maybe he could get shot of this uncomfortable feeling lurking in his chest, as he looked at her and imagined her dead at his hands. Yes. He smirked then; making her wonder with a shiver exactly what she had agreed to. "Very well."