ã€ŠDiamonds of the Pastã€‹


 From Alaska to New York

    Half a century had passed since his last visit and a full century since the body had been relocated from its previous location, inside a cave high up in the Vinson Mountains. Quite a journey it had been too, moving a corpse from Antarctica all the way to Alaska. And the logistics of it quite problematic without the infrastructure of the twentieth century. The body was resting deep inside a maze-like cave near the peak of Mount Denali. Anshar wasn¡¯t exactly a corpse - nothing as permanent as that. In a way, he was still very much alive, simply unaware of the centuries that had flown by since he had last walked and terrorized the face of the Earth. Over twenty-three hundred years had passed since a witch had sentenced him to his millennial sleep. At least there was no consciousness inside him to feel the passing of time. Or was there? So many times Egil had contemplated the horror of Anshar still being conscious while in his coma-like sleep, aware of everything around him: the cold, the loneliness, the hunger and the scarce and quiet visits his first creation paid him. His first creation and no one else.

    On occasion, it seemed like much too severe of a punishment, but for the most part, it was exactly what the monster that laid dormant under marble-like skin deserved. He had brought violent and untimely death to countless people and that is without including the casualties on the battlefields. The fangs covered by perfectly sculpted and pale lips had fed on many innocent and guilty alike. Then again, the same could be said for Egil and he knew, as he was looking down on his maker¡¯s body laying on stone, that the very same fate was what he deserved. It didn¡¯t stop there for all of his brothers and sisters and their offspring should be sharing in that punishment for those same crimes. Monsters, all of them. Did numbers matter? A few hundreds more or less when it came to counting victims was meaningless when considering the many centuries of preying and feeding on mortals. His poor sire had been the first and, in a way, uniquely tortured, with no control over what had happened to him. Perhaps, in a twisted way of looking at it, the most innocent of them all.

    A fleeting frown perturbed the handsome face as old memories flooded his mind: images of his wife¡¯s bloodied form strewn over their bed, his sister¡¯s lifeless eyes looking up at the ceiling from the floor of their room and his little brother¡¯s body, sadistically arranged as if asleep, near the fountain. He hadn¡¯t known then that the man he would come to view as a savior, mentor, friend, ally, king and so much more, was responsible for it all. That memory - the sight of his slaughtered loved ones, his family, was something he relived with each visit.

    Yet the pain had dulled over the centuries and that only angered and confused Egil even more. No amount of time should have lessened such agony - be it years, centuries or eons. He felt like a monster for not being able to experience the same raging torture that he had felt that day. He was a monster for it and for many other things as well. After that tragedyhad come Thagi. She had been yet another victim of Anshar¡¯s jealousy and he didn¡¯t even, to that day, have any idea about how she had met her end. That same monster responsible for the worst pains in his life had also gifted him with immortality and many years of unrivaled happiness and pleasure. He was the man Egil hated and loved above all others, his maker, his sire and his greatest enemy. He longed to hear his voice and see the look he used to give him, full of passion and possibilities, but all his desire was laced with pain and hate. This hate he found himself having to work to hang onto and keep its flame burning over the years - refusing to let go of it even if it had to be refueled ever so often. Anshar was, for all intents and purposes, dead. He was going to stay that way for a very long time to come.

    The vampire turned around at human speed, facing away from Anshar¡¯s resting form. He hadn¡¯t uttered a single word the whole time he had been there, nor were there any he wanted to say to his maker. The vampire had voiced it all in his early visits - he had raged, cried and screamed his hate as well as proclaimed his love. He had sworn eternal loathing and also professed his desire to relive the days they had spent together and to be able to look at him and not see the creature that had slaughtered his entire family and had robbed him of a chance at a second love.

    There was nothing left to say and more than five hundred years had passed since he had last voiced a word in the presence of Anshar¡¯s lifeless form. He lingered for a second, as still as the corpse laying on the stone bed. A drop of water fell from the tip of a stalactite and landed in a perfectly still puddle of water. Ripples formed one after the other and, although they started as concentric circles, they hit the uneven edges and chaotically bounced back, disturbing those that formed later. There was no more calmness or order where a perfect stillness had previously reigned. All that because of one little drop of water. It¡¯s echo traveled through the tunnels of the cave and Egil¡¯s sensitive hearing picked it up. One second later he was gone and the puddle was still struggling to go back to its previous state of calmness, but it was going to take a very long time.

    The journey up the mountain to reach the cave and back down usually took Egil about a couple of days, but at least that meant it was next to impossible for any human to accidentally find it. Humans barely managed to climb the mountain, so exploring it and its many caves was out of the question. His brothers and sisters, who were also looking for their sire, probably had no idea how misplaced their search efforts were. The last time he had checked up on their progress, they were back to running around in circles around the area that used to be the ancient Assyrian Kingdom from where both Anshar and Egil originated and where Kishargal had cursed the vampire. His body had never returned to those parts ever since it had come into Egil¡¯s possession. He had been as careful as possible to leave no traces that would lead anyone to him, but was such a thing even truly possible? So far it seemed he had done a great job at it.This novel is published on a different platform. Support the original author by finding the official source.

    The city of New York awaited Egil¡¯s return. In truth, New York had met Caiden Thorne. Egil was a name that was left behind, locked in the tomb with the man who gave that same name meaning, immortality, power and pain beyond imagining.

    Caiden Thorne was an old vampire, almost eight hundred years old, and it was the identity known by the world, while Egil, the three thousand years old vampire, the first of the First Generation of vampires, turned directly by Anshar, didn¡¯t exist. His blood brothers and sisters didn¡¯t know about him. Anshar had never mentioned him to them - he had essentially been removed from the family tree. He, on the other hand, knew all of them very well. The manipulative and intelligent Aram, always hungry for power and scheming to create a better world for vampires and the reawakening of his maker. The painfully beautiful, but equally deadly and always hungry for attention, Livia. Wise Solon with the biggest superiority complex Egil had ever witnessed in all his years - and that was saying something. The charming, fun, womanizer and deceitful puppeteer Valerius and the youngest of them all, the gem, the one who didn¡¯t fit, yet the one who kept a fragile semblance of balance among those of the First Generation, Charis.

    He had kept tabs on all of them over the years and they all currently found themselves in the same place. No matter how big New York was, holding them all together could prove to be too much for any one city. His five brothers and sisters formed the High Council of Vampires, the only true authority recognized by vampires, yet still very little known to most humans.

    Oh, the humans! Wouldn¡¯t they have been better off kept in the dark about their kind and the other supernaturals? It had once been that way. The year 1946 was when it all started shifting and vampires and witches began surfacing - indeed, just after the second world war, while the world was still tired and licking its wounds. Everything went according to a well-designed agenda and, in truth, it had been a wonderful masterpiece of planning, diplomacy, marketing, and manipulation.

    Oh, how all supernatural species played the victim cards and offered every help possible placing themselves in the service of humans. It wasn¡¯t like complete annihilation was even an option. No, they became citizens with rights and feelings. Protests, violent and otherwise, all eventually simmered down and let way to change. Laws changed, religions changed and conceptions as well. The transition went smoothly in many places around the world and the US was probably the place where the change was accepted the easiest.

    It¡¯s amazing what humans are capable of adapting to. Vampire blood in hospitals saved more lives than anything else, Sharur policed the supernaturals and also helped with catching human criminals by aiding the police, and witches came with their perks too. With how very few and rare supernaturals were, it was quite unusual for people to ever even lay eyes on one, much less be in any danger from them. That was the story one would read in the newspaper or saw on the TV anyway. And people tend to want to believe, don¡¯t they? A beautiful lie was always easier to swallow than an ugly truth and that was how, seventy years later, the world found itself at peace and settled into a new order.

    No, vampires were not as rare as mortals believed, neither were witches or Sharur. To be fair, most witches could barely light a match using magic and the rest was mostly smoke screen, but there were those few among them who could and had already reshaped the whole world. The secret was to be careful: turning someone into a vampire was strictly regulated. Not the way humans believed it to be, but there were rules. Biting humans who were unwilling was also strictly forbidden and punishable even by death in the worst case. It happened a lot more than people thought, but it was all covered expertly. Humans were having their world being slowly taken from under their feet while they were blissfully patting themselves on the back for being tolerant, accepting and accommodating to all of ¡°God¡¯s creatures¡±.

    There were parts of the world more chaotic when it came to the change. Most chose to embrace, co-exist and do their best to make it work, but other countries chose to persecute supernaturals, kill them indiscriminately or simply forbid them entrance and those were the ones that made the news. Other small towns were overrun with supernaturals and humans lived in fear, yet word about them barely ever made it even in the shadiest of tabloids. The High Council was the tip of the iceberg and its tentacles reached deep and wide. The humans only knew what it wanted them to know. In fact, no one had any idea how close to the edge of the precipice the world as they knew it truly was.

    New York city was one of the locations where supernaturals seemed to converge. The seat of the High Council of vampires as well as home to the most respected group of Sharur Elders. Three of the leaders of the major five covens of witches also resided in New York City. Politically it made sense. Practically - it made New York a time bomb. Tic tac.

 The High Council

    Charis was the last one to stand up from her seat at the High Council table. As usual, she took her time, her expression clearly touched by a frown. Looking up her eyes landed on Aram¡¯s face as he listened to Solon talking about which Senators and Congressmen they had to worry about for passing the blood donation law. It was a great step towards the goal the Council wanted to achieve. What most of its members wanted. Not Charis, although the law had merits that not even she could simply ignore.

    The agreement in effect at the time was that, in the US, one percent of all donated blood went to the ¡°cold blood centers¡± as they were called, from where vampires were able to buy it. A lot more than that was ¡°redirected¡± at those centers in reality, but it was still not enough. It was a law that protected vampires and humans alike, but they wanted more. The Council was pushing for something unprecedented: all healthy humans over the age of eighteen would be required to donate blood at least once every three months. Such a news, should the law be made reality, was not going to be easily digested, not even after almost seven decades of peaceful co-existence and accommodation.

    Word of this had yet to make it out to the press, but it would sooner or later and it was not going to escape passionate controversy. She recalled the fervent and lasting protests after the law legalizing ¡°blood prostitution¡± was passed. It was still called that, even though most establishments didn¡¯t deal in prostitution at all. It was simply about humans selling their blood, straight from their veins, to paying customers. No sexual favors involved at all - unless it was also the kind of establishment that allowed that. And there were. Of course, for a vampire, drinking blood from a living human being was dangerously close to being a sexual experience just the same.

    The law was going to pass. Charis knew that already, for how could it turn out differently? The corruption was at an all time high - it was no longer just the promise of wealth, but a new stake was also shamelessly thrown into the game: the chance at immortality. The Government was mostly under control, as was most of the press, the authorities compliant, while the humans were, for the most part, oblivious.

    Aram switched to another topic. Although they had finished the official Council meeting, the discussion wasn¡¯t over yet. An all too familiar word spoken in an ancient accent caught her attention. Aram spoke Anshar¡¯s name the way only those as burdened by millennia did. They had switched to what it always came down to: their sire, their father. Livia, who had been sitting on the table, seductively leaning back while speaking to Valerius, shifted her position to lean slightly forward. The gesture was completely unnecessary for her vampiric hearing allowed her to listen in perfectly, despite the hushed tones they were using.

    All eyes were on Solon as he talked about a new lead. His tone as well as expression gave little hope of anything solid coming out of it, but it was still something. Like starving vultures they pursued any and all rumors and possibilities. They all thirsted for their maker like lost souls thirsted for water in the desert. Even Charis - sweet, tormented Charis. A kind soul from the very beginning, raised by her maternal grandmother, Charis had spent her human years learning about plants and how to use them to cure or ease illness. She had met Anshar through Livia¡¯s desire for revenge - and how can anything good come out of that?

    Livia was Charis¡¯ biological aunt and had been, supposedly, wronged by Charis¡¯ mother - that, in turn, meant that Charis had to die. It was Anshar who changed the rules of the game and, instead, decided he wanted to break the sweet child and turn her into one of his creations. But he wanted her to want it - and it never happened as he had planned it. A sixteen year old Charis was kidnapped from her home and kept locked up for three years in the house Anshar lived in at the time. Something for Livia to torment and a toy for Anshar¡¯s amusement. Valerius was the only one to show her a sweeter side, even though he refused to help her escape. Their sire had enjoyed toying with her by being kind and loving sometimes, while allowing his monstrous side to surface when she least expected it.

    After three long years, Anshar became frustrated with the young woman¡¯s stubbornness. Instead of carrying on with his plan to break her, he simply decided to turn her, out of the blue, and then he released her on a whim. A new vampire is not a creature one can just release into the world, for there is no coherent or rational thought loud enough to pierce the bloodlust one feels in those moments. Charis killed - she killed her grandmother, she killed children, women, innocents and she didn¡¯t stop on her own. She didn¡¯t care. It wasn¡¯t even pleasure she remembered feeling, it simply had been out of her control. He let her loose everyday, with the same outcome, until her sanity, bit by bit, started coming back to her. The fleeting moments of lucidity only came after the killing sprees and the reality of what she had done slammed into her with all the weight of the guilt she felt. She cried, she screamed, she raged until the hunger took over again and Charis fed with passionate surrender.

    It lasted for a year before Anshar took pity and started training her to control it. Her maker used her weakness, the bloodlust and her guilt expertly. Yet they shared passion as well. She longed for him and he longed for her. It was still rape - just a different kind.

    Livia left on her own after Charis was turned. It had always been difficult for her to share Anshar, but this time it was another of his creations she had to share him with, not some transitory mortal. She was going to return, there was no doubt about that.

    After the first twenty years or so, Charis started becoming more and more like her old self with each day that passed. It annoyed Anshar that she was, for all intents and purposes, still unbroken.With Solon it created a rift, for their views on humans and their value differed greatly. Her relationship with Valerius, however, remained unchanged as he accepted and loved her as a sister no matter how she metamorphosed. Despite his wild, unpredictable and apparently immature character, Valerius was the one to care most about family, their dysfunctional, murderous family.

    It was shortly after that that Anshar left on his own and, to this day, they have yet to be reunited. Rumors reached them that he had fallen under the curse of a witch, lying in a coma-like state, hidden who knew where. They made progress in finding out why and how and they also learned what to do to reawaken him. They still hadn¡¯t found his body or a serious lead to reveal where its location might have been, but it was only a matter of time before Lady Luck smiled down on them in that regard.Did you know this story is from Royal Road? Read the official version for free and support the author.

    Charis was clenching her fists without realizing, her mouth partially open while she listened to Solon talk about a single private flight from a small town, south of Rome, to the US. It was a long shot, but for information about any flight to be absolutely out of reach for Solon and Valerius¡¯ contacts meant it was something worthy of a thorough investigation. It was not much, yet enough to ignite a humble hope in all of their hearts. Charis¡¯ as well. The monster who had kidnapped, tortured, raped, turned her into a vampire and released her on her own family and on other innocent humans was not a person she should have been harboring any good feelings for. Yet she did. She loved him just like all his other children did. She longed for him and it was more primal than hunger was.

    ¡°Fine, make it your priority. Leave no stone unturned, brother.¡± Aram spoke with a nod towards Solon, then his eyes found Livia. His expression wasn¡¯t something any normal human would be able to read. It changed ever so slightly, but Charis knew what to look for and she caught it. Aram had always been in love with Livia, that much was no secret to any of them. He was the reason Anshar hadn¡¯t left her to die buried in the underground chamber like she had been sentenced. Ever since Anshar¡¯s curse, Livia had directed her passion towards Aram. She loved him deeply as a lover, but everyone knew that Anshar would always come first for her. For each of them, in fact.

    The look lasted for only a second. Livia¡¯s expression bordered on apologetic for that same amount of time. Flirtatious, apparently shallow Livia was just as deep, complex and disturbed as the rest of them. How could they not be when more than two and a half thousand years of existence and experience weighed down on their shoulders. Sometimes Charis saw the years in all their faces and actions as well as in her own, while other times they all seemed to fall very short of their ages. No amount of time entirely erased passion, immaturity, desire or the propensity to make mistakes.

    Aram looked as impeccable as always, his shoulder-length blond hair neatly pulled back in a low ponytail and his blue-grey suit was tailored to perfection. The Head of the High Council as well as the Head on their family had the most responsibility of them all. He was their leader and the First Generation wasn¡¯t an easy bunch to lead, nor were their goals easy to achieve. Basically it involved finding their cursed sire, releasing him from his coma-like state while, in the meantime, conquering the world with minimal losses on their part. Needless to say, a very long check list was involved.

    Aram was the first out the door, followed closely by Solon, his expression just as serious and thoughtful as always. Valerius stepped away from Livia, turning to face both remaining females. ¡°Dearest sisters, I¡¯d love to stick around, but I¡¯m needed elsewhere.¡± His words were preceded by his usual boyish, charming smirk. The ¡°needed¡± part just hinted to the fact that he was out to have fun, whether with his witch conquest or someone else. Livia rolled her eyes and he winked in return. ¡°See you later tonight, Aram¡¯s place?¡± He added as a question, but it was rhetorical since they were all going to be there without a doubt. Charis simply nodded, while Livia added her signature pout to her nod and she hopped off the table.

    Only an old vampire like her would be able to manage such a motion while looking elegant and seductive doing it. It was almost like she floated with how fluid the movement was. As soon as Valerius was out the door, Livia turned toward Charis. Her expression didn¡¯t change. The past in which Livia had sought revenge, the past in which she had been jealous over the attention Anshar bestowed upon the youngest of the First Generation had been long buried.

    Livia closed the distance between them until they were one step away from their clothes and bodies touching. ¡°I don¡¯t suppose I can convince you to come and play with me, little sister. There¡¯s this new buffet-club opening tonight and it looks very promising.¡± Her eyes sparkled with pleasure at the possibilities as she spoke. Livia had big, light-brown eyes that hinted at a green, but never quite reached it. Her finger sensually traced a line upward on Charis¡¯ left arm, from elbow to shoulder as she batted her eyelashes. The older vampire never stopped seducing, it was her second nature and it indeed made her powerful. It wasn¡¯t even something she had to think about or plan anymore. Charis leaned in with her genuine, kind smile and placed a kiss on her lips - it was just a peck - and she whispered against Livia¡¯s full, soft, cold lips. ¡°Amber Unity charity event. You know I can¡¯t miss it, Livia.¡± A long sigh came from the rejected female. She turned on her heels and spoke without looking back: ¡°I¡¯m out of here then¡­¡± Livia flipped her hair back playfully, without turning her head around to look at Charis. ¡°... before you try dragging me to such horridly dull events.¡± She added, a smirk implied in her tone.

    Charis smiled even as her sister exited the High Council meeting room. It was horridly boring indeed, but the young vampire went to many such charitable events. The press knew her best and she made the entire Council look good. It was a double-edged sword, for that meant the High Council gained more power, more influence and were able to better manipulate the public view on vampires. Still, Charis was loyal to the Council and Aram despite her different viewpoints. They were family, they all shared Anshar¡¯s blood and a deep connection to him and that meant that they stuck together no matter what. Besides, she had better chances of protecting what little she was able to when it came to humans if she was working with the Council and not against it.

    Aside from all those reasons, first and foremost, Charis went because she was the type to empathize. The female vampire had always cared, trying to be the voice of reason and balance. She was the youngest of her siblings, but her voice demanded their attention and her arguments never went ignored, despite how inconvenient they were to her siblings. It didn¡¯t mean she had any chance of swaying them away from the idea that supernaturals were meant to be at the top and humans had been utterly outranked. It also didn¡¯t mean Charis wasn¡¯t a monster. The youngest had killed and the hunger and lust for human blood was painfully present inside of her just like it was for every other vampire. She killed still, although there was a justification behind each kill. Wasn¡¯t it the case that everyone had justification for each one of their actions as well? Sometimes Charis feared the possibility that she was the most hypocrite among her siblings after all.

    Looking down at her cellphone, it was hard to resist the urge to call Michael and see how he was doing. No, she had to give him freedom and trust that he was enough in control of his bloodlust that he wouldn¡¯t get into trouble. There was business to take care of first. Her high heels clicked rhythmically as she too left the room. If only the humans knew what those walls heard during each meeting. Things were changing fast and they weren¡¯t reacting quickly enough. They were, no matter what, going to be swallowed whole.

 And so it begins

    Karla collapsed on her knees. She didn¡¯t register the pain. Flaming red hair fell in chaotic waves around her as she gasped for breath and shivered. Valentine was by her side in a second. He took her into his arms, both kneeling on the marble floor of the living room and he caressed her gently. The redhead grabbed with one hand his upper arm and dug her nails hard without even fully realizing it as she still gasped for precious breath.

    ¡°Shh, my little flame, you¡¯re safe, I¡¯m here. What are you seeing?¡± Val¡¯s voice was soft, soothing, but it didn¡¯t stop the shaking. ¡°It¡¯s¡­ cold.. so¡­ cold.¡± Karla barely whispered the words through gritted teeth. ¡°I see.. him.¡± The shaking was getting worse.

    ¡°Who, Karla, who do you see? Where are you?¡± Val asked with urgency, yet not raising his voice. The visions about the past rarely affected her that much, but when she experienced visions of the present it was usually violent and it left her weakened for days. Yet those were the precious ones, the ones Val and his siblings cared most about. His body did provide some warmth for Karla since Val had recently fed, however the cold she was feeling wasn¡¯t exactly physical, so it didn¡¯t make much of a difference in the end.

    ¡°Val, help me.¡± Tears escaped her eyes onto her freckled cheeks. ¡°I can¡¯t stand the¡­ the cold.¡± She stuttered, one tear after the other flowing from her eyes.

    ¡°I¡¯m here, Karla. You can do it. The cold is not real, it¡¯s just in your head.¡± His caresses became more rushed on her exposed skin. The cold might have been in her head, but her skin had indeed become dangerously cold for a human. Val still needed to know what she was seeing. ¡°Tell me more, Karla. Focus on where you are and what you¡¯re seeing. Listen to my voice and forget about the cold.¡± He gently turned her around so that she was now facing him, her open eyes looking at him, but not seeing her lover at all. Her cupped her face and brought his own close to her until their foreheads touched. ¡°Karla, talk to me, my little flame.¡±

    The shivering became slightly less pronounced. ¡°A cave. I¡¯m in a cave, on a mountain.¡± There was a pause. Val said nothing out of fear of her snapping out of the vision. ¡°Anshar¡­ he¡¯s lying on a stone. It¡¯s cold, damp and dark.¡± Her voice was barely even a whisper and Val was the only force keeping her from collapsing to the floor entirely. ¡°What else, Karla? What more can you tell me?¡± Val¡¯s voice was almost pleading. Karla¡¯s tears were trickling down his own arms. She was very cold and her eyelids slowly started covering her blue eyes. Val shifted slightly to catch her in his arms as she finally lost consciousness. The vampire stood, holding the beautiful and unconscious redhead in his arms. He carried her upstairs to her bedroom, calling for Amantha, one of the women working in his house, on the way. Val placed the young woman gently on her bed. He drew the covers over her then turned to Amantha. ¡°Her body temperature is very low. I leave her in your care.¡±

    He turned and left the room. His cell phone was already dialing someone. ¡°Aram, we need to meet. Karla saw something.¡± The conversation was short. She had not seen much, but any information was precious. A cave. Their maker was somewhere in a cave, on some mountain¡­ somewhere. Oddly enough, it still narrowed down their search.

    Val left his lover in the care of someone else. Amantha had taken care of Karla before, she knew what was to be done for she also had been trained as a nurse. It wasn¡¯t that Val didn¡¯t care about his lover. Oh, he did. He cared about her visions and her potential. He loved the human, but Val¡¯s love was not selfless, exclusive or unconditional. It didn¡¯t matter much, he had Karla wrapped around his little finger. Her life with hims was good, she was cared for, showered with presents and attention and everything she needed was one phone call away¡­ except for Val¡¯s heart. She didn¡¯t truly have that. Then again, she didn¡¯t know that.

    <hr>

    Bach was Amelia¡¯s choice for listening while alone with her thoughts. She leaned against the side of the car, looking at the darkened remains of the house. The fire had destroyed most of it, but the years passed since then had allowed some vegetation to invade its ruins. The house Amelia had been born in, the one in which her parents had met their end, that was the object of her visit. There were no other houses in the vicinity, only a grove that surrounded it on three sides. The moon was full, the sky clear and that meant that the night didn¡¯t hide as many secrets from human eyes as the rest of the month.

    The brunette liked going there to clear her mind. It was stupid for a young woman, a young human woman, to be by herself at night, in such a remote location, but never, in the years she had been going there, had she encountered another soul. Somehow it was still her territory. It didn¡¯t make sense. It didn¡¯t have to.

    Amelia missed her parents. Not her real ones, for those she didn¡¯t even remember - her adoptive ones. She had been to visit them a couple of weeks before, in Grand Haven, the place that had watched her grow. There was nothing quite like sleeping back in her old room, eating her mom¡¯s cooking and swimming in Lake Michigan with her father. She still loved New York and she had Cats and Lexi here as well as Angela - Cats¡¯ aunt who loved to act like an overprotective mother to the both even though she didn¡¯t look to be much older than them. The perks of being a fairly strong and capable witch.

    Looking at her wristwatch, a sigh escaped her lips. Time always passed by quickly when she came to visit her biological parents¡¯ house, the one she would have grown up in had the fire not claimed it and their lives. Amelia had been at her grandmother¡¯s when it happened, or, at least, that was the story she had been told. It didn¡¯t matter, there was no changing the past. No matter how much she tried, regretting how things had turned out to be was not something within Amelia¡¯s reach. She had been lucky to be adopted by the Reinharts when her grandmother fell ill shortly after her parents¡¯ death. She had grown up loved, pampered and happy. She still came to visit, though. A subtle itch to know what her biological parents had looked like or what kind of people they had been was still present and it drew her to that place once in a while. Perhaps it was her way of showing respect by acknowledging their part in her existence. It felt wrong not to come.This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it.

    Amelia stopped the music, her hands tugging on the headphones. They fell from her ears, dangling freely as her eyes scanned the darkness beyond the house. Faint noises that she was unable to decipher caught her attention. A woman¡¯s scream and then there was silence. Amelia took out the headphones from the phone and stuffed them into the left jacket pocket. She typed nine one one on the phone, yet refrained from making the call.

    She knew she should get into the car and drive away or, at least, lock herself in there and actually make the call. Whatever it was, there was probably nothing she would be able to do about it. Still, what if the woman was in danger? Or what if she had hurt herself and simply needed help? Somehow it still felt like her own backyard, familiar territory and,therefore, danger-free. It was an absurd sense of safety taking over her, like a voice whispering that it was all perfectly okay. Amelia walked forward. She reached the first tree then passed over the imaginary line that marked the entrance into the grove. There weren¡¯t many trees and the light of the moon penetrated fairly well. Phone still out, she carefully advanced. A form lying on the ground became visible soon, then another one not far from it. The first one moved ever so slightly and a moan reached the girl¡¯s ears. It was a man¡¯s voice, but it was still someone who was obviously hurt.

    Amelia took a few more steps. The blood was soaking the grass all around the stranger. It was dark, almost black, but obviously it was blood. The other figure a little further showed no signs of movement. Another moan. The man was trying to get up and rest against the nearby tree, but failed to do so. Amelia approached him more. With him being too hurt to even crawl into a sitting position, he was obviously no danger to her.

    ¡°Hey, do you need help?¡± She asked as her steps brought her closer and closer to him. ¡°Don¡¯t move, I¡¯ll call for an ambulance.¡± His face was bloody as were his clothes, but he was obviously wearing a suit. Her brown eyes traveled to the other figure. There were still no signs of any kind of motion. A gust of wind blew from behind her, carrying her scent in the direction of the wounded stranger.

    <hr>

    The vanilla scent was familiar. When had he experienced it? Recently - it was still fresh in his memory. The blood loss and the pain were making his thoughts blurred. Very blurred. The hunger was eating him from inside and he wanted to scream and release the pain. He had been too cocky and had let his guard down. One of the witches was dead, the other witch had escaped even while badly wounded and the other three attackers weren¡¯t going to have it easy with their injuries either. Still, he had come close. Too close.

    Now the current scent was not making things easier, however, behind the vanilla, another one hit him. This time it drove him over the edge as soon as his senses registered it. The rapid heartbeat, the noise of blood rushing through human veins. He wanted to swallow, but was unable to. He saw her. The darkness stole nothing from his eyes. The same girl, the same scent from earlier that evening. Of course, the vanilla scent had caught his attention then as well.

    His body shifted and then moved. It was out of his control. The bloodlust had taken over, reminiscent of those days, too long ago, when he had just been turned. The same madness and blind desire. Soon he had her in his steel grip. Her warmth sent waves of pleasure over him. He had her head pushed to the side while her left side of the neck was left exposed for him. Her scream was bliss before it was muffled by her mouth being pressed against his shoulder. He came down on her, fangs so easily piercing her soft skin. Blood rushed from the wound into his mouth, eager to enter his body. Her rapid heartbeat was slamming against his chest, the softness of her breasts against him didn¡¯t go unnoticed either.

    Her blood was warm. Not sweet, for blood was only metaphorically sweet to a vampire, instead it was strong, irony, thick, warm, inebriating. Her hands were uselessly pushing against him. Egil swallowed and moaned in pleasure. Drinking blood was a euphoric experience every time, but there was something much more about it this time. It¡­ tasted differently. Better - much better. More powerful. Intoxicatingly blissful. He drank more and moaned against her neck, unable and unwilling to help himself. How foreign it was, yet terrifyingly familiar somehow.

    The vampire pressed the woman harder against him, reveling in her heat as well as her blood. Something screamed at the back of his mind. It was all different. It wasn¡¯t supposed to be this way. Yet he had tasted it before. He had to stop. Egil knew he had to stop, but getting his body to accept that was going to be difficult. He felt the woman losing strength, her grip and her push became weaker and weaker. He finally found the strength to stop. The desire to continue was torture, but he was used to the internal conflict. He won - barely.

    The woman was hardly conscious anymore. There was no strength in her to speak or move. He gently placed her on the ground, holding her head up against his arm. The vampire knew what it meant - what she was - what he needed to do. Snapping a human¡¯s neck was so easy that it almost seemed unfair. His free hand traveled to her blood stained neck, wrapping itself around it, feeling her shallow pulse against his palm.

    <hr>

    Amelia felt so tired that she couldn¡¯t even gather the strength to care about dying or staying alive. His hand was cold against her neck. She did feel a tear escape her left eye as she looked up at her killer. There was a frown on his face, that much was obvious even in the shadows. He was young too, not much older than her, perhaps. Her right hand twitched and she managed to move it as his grip was slowly tightening on her neck. It reached his hand, but then it fell limply by her side. Herm lips moved to form a plea, but no sound made it past them. His grip loosened. Either that or she was losing feeling in her neck. No, it did loosen as his hand also started moving down until it found the hem of her shirt. She felt it being lifted as the cold air invaded her exposed skin.

    His eyes traveled to her stomach and then her world finally went dark.

 Aftermath

    Lexi rushed inside the hospital room, the door slowly sliding to a close behind her. She approached the bed and the blonde sitting next to it. ¡°How in hell did this happen?¡± She almost roared, eyes not leaving Amelia¡¯s sleeping form lying on the hospital bed. She looked peaceful, but her neck was bandaged and an IV bag was dripping medicine at a steady rate.

    Brown eyes turned to the blonde girl, concern and anger both twisting Lexi¡¯s expression as she questioned Cats. ¡°Shh, lower your voice, Lexi. She needs rest to recover.¡± The blonde spoke in hushed tones. Amelia had received a blood transfusion and was being hydrated and sedated at the same time, but the sedatives weren¡¯t strong - as the doctor had explained - so the brunette could still wake up from too much noise.

    Lexi clenched her teeth and moved across the room to grab a chair. She sat on the opposite side of the hospital bed from where Cats was. Not having had time to change, she was still in her hunting clothes. Of course she had left her weapons at the entrance of the hospital, as was required. With those clothes yet without the weapons she almost felt naked and awkward. Her long, dark brown hair was braided and tied in a bun. Having long hair during a hunt was not practical. She wore no makeup and neither did she need it. Her creole skin, testimony to her father¡¯s African descent, was flawless, yet her beautiful features were distorted by a deep frown. ¡°Well?...¡± She didn¡¯t whisper, but kept her voice low and filled with latent anger.

    Cats¡¯ eyes were big and a light blue in color. Her blond curls messy and her attire equally disheveled. She had been awakened in the middle of the night by a phone call and had thrown something on herself to replace her pajamas and then had rushed over to the hospital without further delay.

    ¡°The attacker¡­ it was a vampire.¡± It was stating the obvious because the bandage on her neck pretty much made that glaringly clear. ¡°She lost a lot of blood, but they gave her a transfusion. At least they found her in time...¡± Cats was holding Amelia¡¯s hand as she spoke. Lexi was doing the same on the other side. The blonde rubbed her tired eyes with her free hand, sighed and then looked over at her friend. ¡°I¡¯m afraid that¡¯s all I know. It was an anonymous call and she was found in an alley near the hospital. It¡¯s lucky she was so close and they gave her the blood transfusion immediately¡­ otherwise¡­ she wouldn¡¯t have made it.¡± The last part got out as a choked whisper because those were words Cats didn¡¯t dare usher at a normal volume.

    Catherine Lambert - or Cats as her friends called her - was a photographer. She had majored in architecture, but found photography to be much more to her liking, although she was a person who switched passions often enough anyway. One other minor detail - Catherine was also a witch. Quite capable according to her aunt, yet it was something that the blonde seemed intent on pushing into the background of her life. Plagued by the usual nightmares, haunted by the Watchers, or the Dayyani - as her aunt called them, Cats liked focusing on everything in her life that was unrelated to magic.

    She lost control often when it came to using magic. Angela, her aunt, insisted that it was simply a matter of practicing and learning to control it, but it frightened Cats a lot more than she was saying. It had been that way ever since the signs had started, when she was just a child living next-door to Amelia. The two had befriended when they were both seven years old. Amelia moving to New York had meant a very sweet and long awaited reunion for the two. And then Cats introduced her to Lexi and the three became inseparable. Different characters, passions and even different natures, the three formed a whole.

    Cats was the witch - kind, optimistic, forgetful and bubbly. Lexi was a Sharur - confident, strong, protective and short-tempered. Amelia was the human - great with computers and cakes, curious, loyal and smart.

    Lexi¡¯s jaws clenched and she closed her eyes against the rising anger. She hadn¡¯t been there to help her friend. For all the good it did her to be and work as a Sharur, she couldn¡¯t save everyone. Besides, the Sharur were severely understaffed for a city as overrun by the supernaturals as New York was.

    A Sharur was born as a human, often from Sharur parents. They were people trained in combat and weapons from a very young age, taught about weaknesses, their own and those of the other supernaturals. When they were considered ready, if ever, they underwent a ritual called the Alhalsu. It was performed by witches, usually three - sometimes more, sometimes just one sufficed. The spell for the ritual was a very well guarded secret and it also involved drinking vampire blood. Those undergoing the Alhalsu suffered unimaginable pain as their bodies transformed. If they survived the process and if their minds remained intact after that, they became Sharur. Survival didn¡¯t depend solely on physical strength and no one knew what determined who died and who made it through. The mortality rate had decreased with time as the conditions for being considered apt to undergo the Alhalsu had become harsher. Those born from Sharur parents seemed to have better chances of survival so it was thought that genes played some part in it.

    Lexi had been born from Sharur parents. Her father was one of the Elders of New York, but she had been a twin. The Alhalsu had claimed her sister, Brianna, the stronger and more talented of the two, leaving Lexi scarred and changed - it wasn¡¯t visible to those who didn¡¯t know her well, yet blaring obvious to those who did. The scars seemed to have faded considerably ever since meeting Cats and then Amelia, but she remained forever changed for those who had known her before. Perhaps it was one of the many things she loved about Mills and Cats: they didn¡¯t look at her like she was damaged, with that unspoken expectation for her to ¡°get better¡± somehow. Some changes simply were permanent - like becoming a Sharur was.

    ¡°Lexi, stop it.¡± Cats could read her like an open book. Not that it was a difficult thing to do in those moments. ¡°She¡¯s going to be fine¡­ she is fine. It could have been much worse¡­ fortunately it wasn¡¯t.¡± She bit down on her bottom lip. Cats knew her friend hated feeling helpless or failing to protect someone. Failing in general, actually, since Lexi was a very competitive woman, but she imagined it was especially tough on her feeling, as absurd as unjustified as it was, that she had failed one of her best friends. Cats felt it too, to some degree. It wasn¡¯t a witch¡¯s job to protect humans and police the supernaturals, but she was a witch after all - a damn powerful one according to her aunt. What good had it ever done? The Watchers hadn¡¯t alerted her to her friend being in danger, neither was there any spell that would protect her from all potential dangers. Not even healing with magic was a possibility.

    ¡°I know.¡± Lexi finally spoke, exhaling with resignation. Some of the anger was dissipating - she focused on the fact that Amelia was going to make a full recovery after all. ¡°I¡¯m still going to find the bastard who did this to her.¡± Cats nodded with a faint smile. She was still unable to care much about who had harmed Amelia or why. All she cared about was seeing Amelia recovered.This narrative has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. If you see it on Amazon, please report it.

    <hr>

    It was a little after sunrise when Amelia¡¯s eyes fluttered open. A soft moan escaped her lips as she tried to shift but found her body unusually stiff and felt a stab of pain coming from her neck area. The hospital smell invaded her nose - she knew it well enough with all the time she had spent with Cats in one, keeping her company when her friend¡¯s mother was battling cancer.

    There was white everywhere. She looked down at her right hand, pinned down by a sleeping Catherine and stabbed by the IV needle. Her head hurt, mostly behind the eyes and her face felt flushed for some reason. Looking to the left, Lexi was sleeping in a fetal position, all rolled up in an armchair in the corner. Her thoughts were hazy, but she remembered most of the events that had led to her being in a hospital room.

    Amelia shuddered, taking her free hand up to the bandages on her neck. A chill invaded her body, contrasting with the flush of heat she could still feel on her face. The realization hit her: she had nearly died. In fact, in those last moments before losing consciousness, she was certain she was to never wake up again. The memory of sharp fangs against her neck, the pain, the helplessness against the vampire¡¯s stony grip¡­ the smell of wet earth and trees. Then she thought about his cold fingers wrapped around her neck, probably wanting to strangle her. Why wasn¡¯t she dead, after all? How had she ended up in a hospital, alive? She struggled to remember anything beyond that last memory of being a step away from having her neck snapped. There was something more that she couldn¡¯t remember. Either it had really happened it or she had dreamed it - his hand had released its grip on her. Had he changed his mind or had someone else intervened? It proved futile trying to make the fog lift from her mind in those moments.

    Soft moaning came from Cats, her face contorting while asleep. No doubt she¡¯s having one of her nightmares. Amelia thought with the hint of a smile on her dry lips. Lexi shifted a little next and it drew Amelia¡¯s attention her way. That can¡¯t be too comfortable. Of course her friends hadn¡¯t left her side at all. At least there was no sign of Angela, Cats¡¯ aunt. She was a maternal figure and quite overprotective of the girls, even of Lexi. And if anyone could take care of herself, that was Lexi.

    A sudden and loud moan came from Cats. It startled Amelia who had been staring up at the ceiling and Lexi¡¯s feet fell from the chair with a thud uncharacteristic of the grace and reflexes of a Sharur. No doubt the assault on her enhanced hearing had been bigger than on a human. Cats looked up, startled and half-confused from her nightmare. Lexi was on her feet and by Amelia¡¯s side before she was able to blink.

    ¡°Oh no, did I drink too much again?¡± Amelia asked with a pleading grin, while looking from one girl to the other. Cats assaulted her with a hug, despite timid protests because of the pain in her arm caused by the IV needle and the one in her neck. Soon Lexi joined in, softer and more reserved. ¡°I¡¯m okay, you guys. Some oxygen would be good though¡­ anytime now¡­ no hurry¡± It felt good. It felt wonderful and she swallowed back the tears.

    The three talked. Amelia told them everything she remembered. They scolded her repeatedly, they ranted about the whole thing, they laughed and they even cried. Nurses came and went. The doctor saw her and promised she would be discharged soon and that she was perfectly okay. The police came too and took her statement. Amelia had no doubt about the location where the attack had taken place in, but they were saying she had been found in an alley very close to the hospital. And as the result of an anonymous phone call, no less.

    Someone had carried her all the way there, for some reason. But who? Who other than the man who had attacked her in the first place? First he had tried to strangle her, then he had carried her closer to the hospital and made the anonymous phone call. Or maybe someone else had witnessed the attack and had stopped her aggressor, taking her to the hospital afterwards. Then again such a person would have no reason to make an anonymous call instead of taking her all the way to the hospital. They studied all the scenarios, but it was more a matter of passing the time than conviction that their theorizing would lead to anything concrete.

    Amelia was finally discharged and her friends took her home. Of course a sleepover was a must so the three girls fell asleep on Amelia¡¯s bed, while the host was left to stare up at the ceiling of her room, visible only because of the light coming in through the windows from the streetlamp just outside it.

    Sleep eluded her, understandably so. She kept going back to the attack, trying to remember more details about it. At least her attacker¡¯s face. It had been dark and his face had been bloody. Besides she hadn¡¯t even gotten a good look at him. Still she was certain she¡¯d be able to recognize him should they meet again - something she truly hoped wouldn¡¯t happen. This wasn¡¯t a matter of justice or revenge for what she had been through, this was a matter of self-preservation. The vampire had been hurt and had lost a lot of blood¡­ he had probably just given in to bloodlust. That didn¡¯t justify his attempt to kill her after the attack. Perhaps he thought about leaving no witnesses. Why then had he changed his mind?

    Amelia gently rolled off the bed, making her way to the window. Perhaps some fresh, cold, night would help clear her thoughts and help her sleep better.

    <hr>

    He saw her drawing the curtains away from the window. Her silhouette was softly lit by the streetlamp on the sidewalk, just outside, long black hair falling around her shoulders in soft curls. She opened her window, resting her palms against the windowsill. He stood hidden by the shadow of a tree across the street from her apartment building. Her colors were vibrant to his vampire sight, defying the limitations of the night. The memory of her vanilla scent flooded his nose. She was too far away from him to catch any scent coming from her.

    Egil knew what she was, of course. She probably didn¡¯t. He should have killed her when he had had her in his embrace, or later, when he had encircled her neck with his fingers. One sudden move was all it would have taken for her fragile human neck to snap. It still wasn¡¯t too late for him to end her life. One human life - she didn¡¯t matter.

    Egil recoiled from the memory of how her blood tasted. It almost drove him into a trance just thinking about it. Such power. She was a beautiful, young woman, but that had played no part in his decision to allow her to live. No, Amelia was alive because of the treacherous beast inside of himself that longed for what she could bring forth - the potential in her blood. She was a means to an end. The last time he hadn¡¯t hesitated in snapping the woman¡¯s neck, but that had been more than five hundred years previously.

    A beautiful young woman - no older than sixteen - with flaming red hair and blue eyes like the summer sky. Milky white skin and a voice like honey - none of her assets had been enough to save her. As soon as her taste had registered, Egil had made his decision. He had drank her dry with no remorse, leaving behind only the beautiful carcass of a Shi. He knew the curse would simply jump into another unfortunate soul, but allowing her to live had been something beyond contemplation.

    Now he was looking at a Shi again. The Shi, for only one was alive at any one time. The temptation to use her blood for what it was meant to do was dangerous. He hadn¡¯t even been aware of it growing over the years until he had been faced with the choice again. She was the key to damnation - not just his, but possible the world as they knew it. Yet he turned around and left - she would live one more day.

 Curses and blessings

    The previous day:

    ¡°They go by many names, as they have throughout all history: Gods, Spirits, Demons, Dalkhu. Most people today call them Watchers, while some witches prefer to call them by what is believed to be their original names: Dayyani, meaning Underworld Judges¡­ or, you know, just Judges.¡± Liam swallowed, his throat dry. He reached for the glass of water sitting on a small, rounded tall table beside him, on the stage. He was unused to the microphone curling around his ear and sliding across his cheek and therefore all too aware of the small contraption. The lights shining on him were uncomfortable as well. He was sweating a little and his hands were shaking. The spotlight was not where he wanted to be.

    The rush of cold water through his throat felt refreshing. He wet his lips looking over the crowd. He distinguished no faces as the light was on him and it made it hard to see his audience clearly. The tickets to his lecture had sold out in just a couple of days and he was speaking in front of two hundred souls. Never, in his wildest dreams, would he have imagined his book to become a bestseller. It was the very first time he was speaking in public.

    The book was not set on bringing to light all the secrets witches possessed about their own kind and their talents, for they were a very secretive bunch. Instead it was filled with historical facts, theories and interviews Liam had gathered over the past six years of his life. The novelty it presented however was a more personal view - that of someone who had been born into a family of witches and raised among them. Never having known his father, Liam had been raised by his mother and his maternal grandmother, both of them very capable witches.

    Liam dared speak about everything he had learned from them and had even published pictures of their Grimoirs, something no one had ever done before. Grimoirs were rare since only powerful witches created and passed them on and many chose to burn them rather than risk having them fall into foreign hands, but Liam had inherited his family¡¯s and had shared parts of it. Naturally only those pages that he was certain would prove to be useless and harmless for the most part. His book was well written and well documented and, therefore, it proved to be a huge success.

    ¡°Ancient civilizations sometimes divided them into separate categories, believing some to be gods and others demons, but there is a consensus now about the Watchers not being a part of any of those categories, instead pertaining to the same type of beings. We still do not know what they are or why and how they are able to touch this world through the people we call witches. We do not even know if they are entirely a part of this world or not. In my book I do enumerate and explain in detail those hypotheses that have been proposed over time and that remain standing in the face of scrutiny. Any one of them could be true, or none.¡±

    <hr>

    364 BC:

    Kishargal''s beautiful features were distorted by horror and disbelief. Wide mahogany eyes were fixed on the lifeless body of her beloved Gibil as he was being carried inside the house by the monster she knew only by the name he himself had given her - Anshar. The scenery in front of the woman changed as the strength in her knees disappeared and she collapsed on the ground. The pain caused by the impact on her knees and palms didn''t register above the shock of what she was witnessing. Her Gibil was no more. She breathed in the air coming from him to confirm it. No words were uttered for such a spell and no doubt remained that there was no more life in her husband''s body. Her eyes welled with salty tears that trickled down her cheeks with abandon.

    Anshar had her precisely where and how he wanted her: scared, vulnerable and aware of the lengths he was willing to go to to get his way. No respect for life or for what she wanted or loved. He wanted the woman to fear him and to understand there was no way to escape his grasp. He saw the horror in her eyes, the sadness and despair, but sought to see resignation and surrender shining through. The vampire had yet to witness them in those precious brown eyes that he liked to gaze into.

    Anshar relaxed his arms and Gibil''s corpse fell to the ground with a horrendous thud. Kishargal gasped and her nails scratched the ground, causing blood to erupt from the tips of her fingers as her fists clenched and she released a guttural moan filled with anguish. She shut her eyes tightly causing more tears to flow onto her flushed cheeks. So much pain was building on top of more pain and despair and she could almost see it catching fire as it transitioned to an anger like nothing she had felt before. Anshar was seeing it too and, although it was not what he was expecting and hoping for, it intrigued him. Every small distortion in her face he swallowed with lusting eyes. He wasn''t smiling nor taunting. His expression was firm and cold as if to make her understand that it was the end of the line. She had put up a fair struggle, but he always won. Always.

    Inside Kishargal there was no battle. No longer could she hear the voices of her mother and grandmother or those of the older witches - all of them warning her against abusing her powers or surrendering to the urge to use them. Kishargal was a Kashaptu, a frighteningly powerful witch. She had always been much more capable than the others and held enough raw power to overshadow the rest of the witches she knew effortlessly. Always haunted by the Gods - Anunnaki - and lured by the irresistible chants of magic, she had learned to fight against it and even went as far as to shun magic away from her life. From the moment she had fallen in love with Gibil, magic had been completely repressed in her and she had never regretted that decision. There was no escaping the Anunnaki''s voices, the nightmares and the terrible headaches, but she had learned to accept them as part of her life. Each person had their own torment and that had to be hers.

    There was nothing holding her back anymore and the only person she had loved with all her being was laying on the ground in front of her, never to whisper sweet words or caress her hair again. In that moment she realized that Gibil had been nothing less than her anchor to sanity. Kishargal¡¯s breathing was shallow, soft sobs escaping her - instead of the expected pleas for mercy or shouts of pain. They were still loud, being the only source of noise disturbing the air inside the house. Eyes snapped open and she found the blue eyes of the monster who was the cause of the pain clouding every bit of reason inside her. ¡°Edimmu.¡± - A word used by Sumerians for an evil spirit, a demon. It was all she managed to whisper through gritted teeth. The air seemed to catch fire around the witch as it filled with energy. The voices of the Anunnaki were easily drowning every other noise, even Anshar¡¯s blasphemous laugh in front of her pain, and their chant was only growing louder with each second. Be they the Gods they were believed to be, spirits or demons themselves, the witch surrendered to their greedy chants. Kishargal¡¯s skin began to tingle until it too seemed to burn as if flames were dancing on it with fury. She saw Anshar for what he was. She had always known he wasn''t human, but now she was seeing why. The foreign energy inside of him called out to her as familiar and unpleasant as all the others: man and demon in one body. That wasn''t all - the young witch saw no edge, no separation at all. Possession by demons was extremely rare, but not unheard of and it lasted a short time before the human eventually died.

    It wasn''t logic or reason driving her, so none of it made any difference anyway. She only had one thought: drawing out the evil spirit, claiming it into her own body. It was going to kill Anshar and kill her as well. It didn¡¯t feel like a sacrifice, giving up her life. It was an opportunity to escape an existence without Gibil and exact revenge upon his killer. Her Gods were all too willing to cooperate with her, although she had never cared nor really knew whether they had any choice in the matter. The witch screamed on the inside. She thought she was screaming out loud as well, but her own voice didn¡¯t reach her ears. It drowned among the screams of the other Gods and demons.

    Anshar did hear Kishargal''s scream. Even he could feel the air stirring with something he had never before experienced. His eyes revelled in the sight of Kishargal''s pain that transformed into raw, untameable anger right before him.. Why was it that she looked beautiful to him even knowing that every fiber of her being wanted him to suffer and die? The power in those eyes, the passion and determination to not give into him only made him lust more. The scent of her blood filled the air more with every second as the adrenaline coursing through her veins only added to her flavor. His tongue danced behind his lips, against the sharp tips of his fangs. He had tasted her before and was going to taste her again until she had no more drops of blood to spill. It wasn''t love, he knew that much. It had never been love with him, but desire was so much more empowering and intoxicating.

    The muscles in his legs tensed and he was prepared to move towards the woman. He knew she was a witch, but she had faced their troublesome kind before without any lasting or particularly memorable damage. He was immortal and was no stranger to pain and that meant no witch had any weapons to use against him. Slow him down temporarily, perhaps, but their necks snapped just as easily as that of any other human. Anshar didn''t get the chance to move from his spot however. The pain wasn''t gradual, instead it hit him like a stone wall, from all directions, from outside as well as from inside. It it felt like being pulled apart in all directions at once. It burned and tore at the very core of his being. He had never experienced anything even remotely resembling such physical torment and there was no coherent thought forming. He felt his back colliding with the ground. The pain turned from burning hot to ice. Cold he didn''t mind, but this was different, as if his very soul, if there was such a thing, was being frozen and stabbed at the same time. Panic, for the first time in his nine hundred years of being alive. The witch was doing it and the only thought he was able to form before it all went dark was that it was going to be over soon and, despite the pain, he was going to be alive to get his own revenge.

    That wasn¡¯t going to be the case. Kishargal felt the spell end, the noises died down. She felt the energy entering her body unwillingly, causing pain and chaos inside of her, her own energy colliding with the invader. She was weak as she collapsed on her elbows, barely holding her head up, looking at Gibil''s body no more than a foot in front of her. She gathered whatever strength she had and crawled closer to him. Leaning her back against the cold wall, Kishargal pulled Gibil''s head onto her lap. Her left hand fell gingerly on his light brown hair. The feeling was blissfully familiar. She gently closed his eyes, brushed her index finger over his lips and then allowed the hand to fall limply by her side. It wouldn''t be long. She knew she hadn''t been able to completely pull the demon out of Anshar, but a part of it was inside of her and it was probably killing her with each passing second. She just had to close her eyes and surrender to the weakness. It was going to be a short sleep that would transition into a painless death. It didn¡¯t come to pass like that.The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.

    A dream. Kishargal knew it was a dream. She was seeing herself looking back at her. Her eyes were sad, but they also held a glimmer of hope. She was telling herself the spell had neither failed nor succeeded in killing Anshar. A hand was resting on her belly. She was going to have to carry the weight of it all. Who was she talking about? The baby, of course. The Kishargal she was staring at was pregnant. "Shi"... the breath of life. The child had saved Kishargal''s life taking the demon into herself. A little girl - Gibil¡¯s and hers. Anshar was not dead, simply unable to wake up - not without the missing part of Alla Xul that had taken refuge inside her unborn child whose energy hadn¡¯t conflicted with the demon.

    Then Kishargal¡¯s reflection disappeared and all that was left was knowledge. The line of the Shi was born that very moment. Every first child of the Shi was going to, upon birth, become the next Shi, the symbol for it etched on her skin as a birthmark. What that child meant, the risk of her being born, was something Kishargal chose to embrace. No power on Earth was going to make the witch endanger her unborn child and the last remaining connection she had with the love of her life. Tho whole world be damned.

    Her eyes opened with all the knowledge of the dream and salty tears overflowed onto her cheeks, replacing the ones that had already dried up. She was numb and yet determined at the same time as she placed Gibil''s head back onto the ground as gently as if she didn''t want to wake him from his sleep. No one had come. No one had heard the commotion. Kishargal realized she needed help. The young Kashaptu stumbled outside her house with her left hand protectively resting on her belly as if expecting some unseen threat. Her eyes were met with a horrible sight: bodies strewn everywhere. Every home and alley was the same: dead villagers who seemed to have collapsed without warning or even signs of physical distress on their faces. There was no animal or human alive as far as Kishargal could see and she instantly realized what was the cause of it all. Consumed by anger and despair, in order to exact her revenge on Anshar, she had fed on the life force of every living organism around her. That was where all the power for the spell had come from.

    <hr>

    Present day:

    Amelia wasn¡¯t used to being afraid. Life in New York was not boring and crime was not at a negligible level, but it was something that had been bound to the news on the television and in the papers. That had changed the night of her attack. The brunette had an extra hint of nervousness to every step. It was dark when she usually left work and the apartment she lived in was close enough that there was no need for a car or any other type of transportation.

    Lexi had acted as a bodyguard for the last week ever since the attack, but she did have her own job and it called for her to be elsewhere sometimes, not babysitting her friend. Besides, it had been an attack, probably an unfortunate accident and no permanent damage had resulted from it. That was Cats¡¯ influence right there. Her friend, even though she had received a big scare with Amelia having been attacked, still somehow managed to see the good parts about a situation, as opposed to Lexi who had simply become overbearingly protective. It was lucky that Cats¡¯ aunt, Angela, didn¡¯t know about the attack, otherwise the witch would have joined hands with Lexi in this.

    The walk home was nice, even with the cold of late autumn in the air. The neighborhood was quiet and not a lot of crime happened. She looked down at her wristwatch for a second but didn¡¯t get the chance to read the hour as someone slightly bumped into her while rushing past her. The sidewalk was not only not crowded, but it was almost deserted, so Amelia had half a mind to say something, but looking up at the man she realized he was kind of wobbling and holding his head between his hands. She said nothing, instead slowed her pace a little. He passed the entrance to the alley between buildings that Amelia was supposed to cross to get home. He seemed to have slowed down his pace as well, but was quite a distance away. She was just being paranoid, but completely justified seeing as how her attack was rather recent in her memory still.

    The brunette rounded to corner. It was a long walk between buildings, so she sped up a little, even though it was deserted. A noise coming from behind caused her heart to start racing. She didn¡¯t turn around right away, nor did she have time to decide to give into her paranoia and turn to look. She was grabbed by the hand and whipped around, her body suddenly pressed against one of the cold walls, a pair of hands pinning her back by the shoulders with enough force to cause pain. She tried to scream, but no sound came out. Her eyes widened in surprise, mouth open still. The blonde, curly hair she recognized as belonging to the one who had bumped into her minutes earlier. His forehead was glistening with sweat, his expression betraying pain. He was tall, hunching to keep his face almost to her own height. ¡°What are you?¡± He spoke through gritted teeth.

    The previous day:

    ¡°No one has yet been able to understand why magic can only be used by women. It¡¯s not always genetically inherited either and no pattern has, to this day, been discovered.¡± The lies travelled to his audience disguised as factual truth. Even as he spoke those words, he felt them - the Watchers. He heard their foreign whispers and sometimes caught a glimpse of the shining, formless mist of one. Fortunately for him, it was a good day - a quiet day, but most weren¡¯t like that. With all the training in meditation and control his grandmother had taught him, it was getting harder and harder to maintain a stable link to sanity. Liam Howell was a being that wasn¡¯t supposed to exist - a male witch, an Anzillu, an abomination. He had been eighteen when the nightmares had started, much older than it usually happened for female witches. Half a year later the whispers had begun. They had intensified with each passing day until the uncontrolled surges of magic had also started. It had been odd for him to see the look of fear in his mother and grandmother¡¯s eyes looking at him. It had taken some time for the two to get used to the idea. Resigned would be a better choice for it, actually.

    Sure, there were myths around about such other Anzillus having existed throughout history. His grandmother had heard stories about them, hushed, timid rumors, but no one seemed to recall the last time anyone had witnessed such a being. There seemed to be a consensus among the few who knew about them: Anzillus grew far too powerful and mentally unstable in a very short amount of time and it always led them to self-destruct, causing disaster around them. In short, Liam knew what he was in for. He wasn¡¯t in denial, neither was he depressively resigned. He just saw it as nothing more or less than the card he had been dealt.

    A wave of nausea swept over him as the Watchers increased the intensity of their whispers. Three were surrounding him now, their transparent, indistinguishable forms obscuring his view on all sides. He went on with his well practiced speech nevertheless, focusing on nothing else but the sound of his voice. He didn¡¯t realize he had closed his eyes in an unconscious effort to eliminate any visual stimuli that might interfere with his concentration. He went on to talk about how most witches were weak, barely even considered worthy of such a title by those who belonged to covens. It was well-enough known that covens only accepted those very gifted within their midsts. It didn¡¯t mean that all powerful witches belonged to such organizations, but it did mean that all those who did were well above average in magical talent.

    As abruptly as the voices had intensified, they died down to the almost rhythmical, subdued volume Liam was more accustomed to. He subtly wiped the beads of sweat above his upper lip with his hand before bringing it up to pass his fingers in his short, blonde curls. He had the habit of doing that whenever he felt nervous.

    By the end of his speech Liam had grown comfortable enough to not dread the signing session that would follow. He still had two more interviews planned for that day so he was far from being able to relax, yet, for the first time in many years, it felt like he was not Liam Howell the abomination, but just another normal human being reaping the fruits of his labor.

    Present day:

    The Watchers weren¡¯t screaming, they were howling and he could feel their excitement, anger, outrage. A flurry of emotions that Liam could barely decipher. He knew he wasn¡¯t losing it the way he was bound to eventually do. It had to be her. Something about her was making all hin inner and outer demons explode with different reactions. The headache had followed him all through the day and it hadn¡¯t been one of the quiet days, yet this was still way out of what he normally went through even in his worst moments. It was terrifyingly similar to losing control completely.

    He tried to walk passed her, mind dizzy and holding his head as if that actually helped against the pounding migraine¡­ of sorts. It hadn¡¯t helped. The Watchers were urging him towards her. He felt almost powerless as his steps were diverted. He almost ran after her. He pinned her against the wall and felt new waves of emotion wash over him, none of it belonging to him. Some were outraged, while others approved. He didn¡¯t know how he knew. Perhaps he was going mad. Who said it had to be gradual? For all anyone knew, it could happen suddenly.

    Liam didn¡¯t know he was hurting her. He knew she was scared, it made sense. The silencing spell left him effortlessly to wrap around her throat. It almost made him smile with pleasure as that small release of magic caused a glimmer of relief among all the tension. She tried to scream, but nothing came out, of course.

    ¡°What are you?¡± Liam spoke through gritted teeth. His voice came out low because of the pain. He just wanted some of the noise to stop. Just for one second, just enough for him to breathe. He started gasping with renewed tension and he squeezed on her shoulders with even more force. Nothing like that had ever happened to him before.

    ¡°I...¡± Of course the girl would be unable to answer him anyway, not that he had any illusions he was making sense of that there was an actual answer. The words came out instinctively almost, as if spoken through him, not by him. Foreign, low and it sounded like a long ¡°ksaa¡± to a human¡¯s ears, but there were tones and nuances to it. Liam tried to ¡°see¡± the girl¡¯s nature through that spoken spell. She was human. Tainted somehow, but human. Why then did the Watchers torment him so?

    There was one voice that whispered in his ear, low and angry. How was it that it broke through all the noise and screams of the other voices? Once the word was out, the voices joined in unison, chanting the same word. At first Liam thought they were saying ¡±she¡±, but the Watchers didn¡¯t speak English, not any language Liam knew. Sometimes they used ancient and very ancient languages, but seldom. No, they were chanting what sounded like ¡°shi¡±.

    ¡°What is a Shi?¡± Liam spoke and all the Watchers stopped screaming. A monotonous humming of that one word took the place of all the noise, but the tension was still there. He broke the silencing spell. The girl screamed and again the Watchers went wild. The pain hit him like a brick wall and he collapsed to the ground. Just before losing consciousness he heard her heels clicking rapidly away from him. At least he would finally get some peace and quiet.