Bloodlines

The rain over the metropolis didn't fall; it flooded the streets like a river. The storm had come through earlier that afternoon, along with rumbles of thunder and lightning crackling across the sky. It still showed no signs of stopping at the current time of 1:35 am. Taryn Blackthorn was awake and standing inside the glass atrium of her underground art gallery, The Obsidian Vault, watching the neon lights of the upper district bleed into the puddles on the pavement above. Down here, thirty feet below the bustling city streets, the air smelled of centuries-old stone, damp canvas, and the faint, sweet metallic tang of the blood-wine sitting in her crystal flute...

To the mortal world, she was a wealthy, eccentric gallery owner with a severe aversion to daylight. To the hidden night-world, she wasLady Taryn of House Blackthorn— a daughter of vampire nobility, whose ancestors could be traced back centuries further than any other known clan. She had always been very attractive; tall and slim with wavy waist length caramel brown hair and bright bluish green eyes. She was over 300 years old, and many a fellow noble dared to offer themselves as companions. But during all that time, she only had a few romantic relationships in her life that truly mattered to her; the last one she married. He was a werewolf named James Hawkins. She’d lost him twenty years ago, to a genetic illness which had plagued his family for generations. A cure was found shortly after his death, which hit Taryn really hard; she had been on her own since then. Unlike most of her kin who were obsessed with blood purity, her parents did not have issues with mixed relationships. They also accepted her decision about children; becoming a mother wasn’t ever something she really wanted...

A sudden flare of light shattered the rhythmic drumming of the storm. A cold, violent neon blue arc, was sparking against the wet asphalt of the alleyway directly opposite her gallery’s glass ceiling. The light didn’t fade; it hissed, scorching the rain into tiny puffs of steam. Taryn set her glass down with a soft, deliberate clink. Her pupils dilated, her light eyes fading to a deep black. Her vision easily adapted to the pitch-dark alley.

A young man tumbled out of the shadows, tumbling against a row of trash bins. He was clutching his left flank, his breath coming in ragged, desperate gasps that clouded in the autumn air. The magic clung to him like glowing static, bleeding out of a jagged tear in his leather jacket. She recognised it as a high-grade weave of sorcery, but it was fracturing, casting erratic patterns of light against the brick walls. A warlock, Taryn thought, her natural instincts at once sharpening.

Before she made the decision to turn away, she noticed the alleyway shadows now taking shape in the alleyway. Two figures wearing rune-stitched robes, stepped into the neon glare. They moved with the synchronized, lethal grace of the High Warlock Council’s personal executioners. One of them raised a hand, fingers curling as twisted tendrils of purple hex-magic began to float through the air,tracking the boy’s scent with the focus of a bloodhound.

The warlock on the ground looked up. His eyes, flooded with the same desperate blue light as his failing magic, met Taryn’s through the thick glass roof. He didn’t cry out. He didn’t beg. He just pressed a blood-slicked hand against the brick wall, fingernails clawing at the mortar as he tried to force his trembling legs to stand. His defiance was quiet, futile, and captivating. One of the executioners raised his palm, the purple hex-magic, ready to impale the runaway.

Taryn didn’t think; she moved. To a human’s eye, she simply ceased to exist inside the gallery, leaving behind a faint displacement of air that rustled the nearby oil paintings. She reappeared in the alleyway and caught the spell caster’s wrist a mere second before the hex released.

The bones in his arm cracked loudly. He barely held back his scream; it wouldn’t have mattered even if he did cry out in obvious pain. Nobody could possibly hear the commotion going on in this alley, with the thunder overhead. His concentration was wavering, which caused the purple tendril of power meant for the injured warlock, to backfire directly into his own chest. The impact sent him flying backward into the rain, his robes smoking.

The second man lunged, drawing out a silver dagger etched with glowing anti-vampire wards that sizzled violently as they came into contact with the damp air. But Taryn didn’t give him the distance he needed to cast. She stepped inside his guard, her hand moving faster than a striking viper, and drove her palm into his sternum. He was thrown cleanly across the alley. He hit the brick wall with a sickening crunch and slumped into a rising puddle, totally out for the count.

Taryn turned around, smoothing down the front of her tailored coat. She looked at the fugitive. Close up, she could see the wound on his flank wasn’t just a tear; it was glowing a sickly green. A tracking curse, burrowing its way toward his ribs. “You’re making an awful mess outside my establishment,” Taryn said, her voice smooth and icy calm. The young man stared up at her, his lips pale, shivering, and stained with a fleck of dark blood. “They’ll... they’ll track the flare,” he panted, his hands twitching against the wet pavement. “My father... he won’t stop. He’ll burn this whole block to find me.”

“Then it’s a good thing my family’s estate is well guarded,” Taryn replied. She knelt in the puddle, entirely unbothered by the mud staining her boots, and scooped his arm over her shoulder. As she lifted him effortlessly, his body heat radiated fiercely against her naturally cold skin like a furnace. “What’s your name, warlock?” “Gill,” he whispered, his head rolling back against her shoulder, his eyes fluttering shut as the exhaustion of the chase finally overwhelmed him. “Gill...Ashmore.”

Taryn paused, her grip tightening on his jacket. Ashmore. As in the High Arch-Warlock of the Order of the Celestial Spire. Wow. She hadn’t just rescued a random magical refugee; she had assaulted two high-ranking council enforcers to rescue the most wanted runaway in the underworld.

The warlock looked so weak and vulnerable in her arms and he was bleeding, if only a little. Easy prey. But Taryn was not a young vampire or a fledging just turned; her self control when it came to the thirst was second to none. Gill would be safe from her, and the others who lived at Blackthorn.

A slow, dangerous smile touched the vampire’s lips. Her father was going to find this absolutely hilarious. “Well, Gill Ashmore,” Taryn murmured, stepping backward into the shadows of the gallery entrance as the iron doors slid shut and the security wards hummed back to life, sealing them away from the world. “Let’s go meet the family.”

***********

The Blackthorn estate was a literal death trap for uninvited magical beings.The unique architecture stopped cold any tracking spells or hexes the moment someone crossed the threshold. Taryn dragged the warlock inside and the doors closed on their own.

Eleanor Blackthorn, Taryn’s mother, descended the grand staircase. She wore a sweeping silk navy gown, her silver-streaked hair styled perfectly. She stopped on the landing, her eyes locking onto the shivering warlock slung over her daughter's shoulder. She sniffed the air, her nose wrinkling. "Taryn darling, you’re trailing mud on some very expensive rugs. And you’ve brought home a stray. A magical one, at that.” "He’s not a stray, Mother. He’s a guest," Taryn said, easing Gill onto a velvet chaise lounge in the receiving parlour.

From the shadows of the study doorway. Taryn’s father, Lord Cassian Blackthorn, stepped into the light. He looked like a man in his late forties, though his eyes carried the weight of several centuries. He adjusted the cuffs of his tailored suit, looking at Gill with a mixture of amusement and calculation. "That is the signature tracking hex of the Order of the Celestial Spire. Tell me you didn't kidnap an apprentice from the high warlock coven."

"No kidnapping and not an apprentice," Taryn replied, looking up at her father. "His name is Gill Ashmore." Cassian’s eyebrows lifting slightly. "The High Arch-Warlock’s son? The one who supposedly stole the coven's sacred ledger? Well. You certainly don't do things by halves, do you?"

Eleanor immediately moved to the side table, ringing a small silver bell. "He's likely been running for days. The boy looks half-starved. Charles! Prepare the guest wing please, and also bring up some of those enchanted pastries we confiscated from those warlocks last season. The ones that mend ruptured auras." A stoic vampire butler, who had appeared seemingly out of nowhere, bowed to his mistress. “Right away Madam.” He turned and left the room quickly.

“We are harbouring a fugitive from the most powerful magical coven on the coast,” Cassian remarked, though he was already walking over to Gill, examining the glowing green wound on his flank. He tapped a fingernail against his chin. “The wards will mask his presence for now, but his father will turn this city upside down if he discovers a vampire clan has his boy.” “Let him try,” Taryn said sternly. The words were out of her mouth before she even registered what she had said. Since when was she so protective of a stranger? Her parents had similar expressions of disbelief on their faces. Her attention went straight back to the warlock, as she watched him stir on the lounge.

Gill’s eyes flickered open, the brilliant blue light in his irises dimming as the manor’s cold-iron infrastructure dampened his active magic. He shot up, hand flying to his side, his gaze darting wildly around the opulent room, landing finally on the three vampires staring down at him. He tried to scramble backward, his boots sliding on the leather of the chaise. “Easy, little warlock,” Eleanor said, her voice dripping with maternal warmth that felt entirely surreal given her pointed fangs. “Nobody enters House Blackthorn without an invitation, and the last person who tried became fertilizer for my orchids.”

Gill looked from Eleanor to Cassian, and finally to Taryn. The panic in his chest began to subside as he realized the agonizing burn of the tracking curse had gone dormant, suppressed by the estate’s heavy wards.“Why... why are you helping me?” Gill rasped, his voice raw. “My father treats your kind like pests. If he finds out—” “Your father is a pompous hypocrite who thinks the world revolves around his spell-books,” Cassian interrupted.

He clapped a hand on Taryn’s shoulder. “Besides, my daughter clearly fancies you, and it has been decades since we’ve had any real entertainment around here. Welcome to the family, Gill. Let’s see about fixing that nasty curse of yours.”

Gill stared at them, completely bewildered. He had spent his entire life being told that vampires were soulless, calculating monsters. Yet here they were, offering him asylum, enchanted pastries, and a front-row seat to a supernatural war, all with such politeness. He blushed a little as he looked back at Taryn,who was watching him, a tiny smile on her pretty face. For the first time in days, Gill felt like he could actually breathe.

**********

On Gill’s fifth night at Blackthorn Estate, Taryn found the warlock wandering along the upstairs hall. He seemed to be healing well. He saw her walking towards him. “Hey.” “Evening. It’s late, 3 am if you want to be precise. I thought you’d already be in bed.” Gill glanced at his watch. “ I was unconscious for two days after you brought me here. The last two evenings I struggled to shut my eyes and now tonight, I can’t sleep.” “You should have told someone.”

“Sorry. I appreciate you guys taking care of me. It’s just I’m so used to doing things myself, relying on somebody else is not a concept I am very familiar with.” “I can understand that. Would you like a hot drink? I can also show you the library.” “Not a bad idea. Reading does sometimes tire me out.” He followed the vampire further down the hall.

Gill asked Taryn questions, as he ran his hands over the spines of several volumes he had always wanted to read. She answered with complete honesty, feeling no need to hide her true self. For some inexplicable reason she trusted him. Gill soon began to realise how rare an opportunity this conversation would be. Taryn Blackthorn certainly gave the impression that she did not share information like to this to just anyone. He wondered if she liked him as much as he liked her. There really was a whole lot he didn’t know about her kind and it was fascinating.

A red leather journal with symbols embellished all over the cover caught his attention. Charles came in and placed a silver tea set on the desk. “Thank you.” The butler nodded and withdrew. Taryn poured herself a cup. The smell of hot chocolate wafted through the air. “That smells so good.” They both found seats and Gill immediately started turning pages. A comfortable silence followed as each of them sipped at the welcome beverage. About two hours passed; Gill’s eyelids were growing heavy.

All of a sudden the oak doors of the library swung open with a dramatic flourish. “I leave the estate for one weekend to scout a new venue in the fashion district, and my dear sister goes and kidnaps a legacy warlock.” Gill looked up from the book he’d just grabbed, at the stranger’s voice. A male vampire stepped into the room, tossing a sleek leather jacket onto a velvet armchair. He was devastatingly handsome, with a gold hoop earring catching the chandelier light and a smile that was entirely too mischievous. He had emerald green eyes and the same colour hair as Taryn.

 “I saved him actually. He’s on the run from his own people. Julius, can you try not to bother our guest? He is still recovering,” she warned from her seat by the fire, though a fond,subtle smirk played on her lips. “Oh, please. He looks much better than he did in the security footage,” her brother said, gliding across the room with fluid,supernatural movements.

He dropped onto a spot on the lounge right next to Gill,leaning in close. Julius tilted his head, inspecting the warlock’s face with a critical gaze, seeming pleased that the young man refused to flinch away. “Well. You do have excellent bone structure darling, and those blue eyes really are something. I can see why my sister broke a few executioners’ wrists for you. If Taryn hadn’t already claimed you, I might have kept you for myself.” Gill blinked, his cheeks flushing a faint, living pink. “I... thank you?”

Julius laughed, a rich, melodic sound, and reached for a crystal decanter of blood-wine on the table. “Don’t look so freaked out Gill Ashmore.You’ll come to no harm from me. I prefer my men with a bit more colour in their cheeks and of a less magical variety. Besides, my own relationship status just may heading into serious territory. Dominic Riccardo is a talented young architect whom I met when we both got trapped in one of the elevators at the apartment complex where I currently live. He was visiting a sick friend. By the time maintenance found us, we were getting along very well indeed.” He winked at Gill, then smiled widely as the meaning of his words sunk in.

The warlock cleared his throat and reached for a glass of water, wincing. Two pairs of sharp eyes were instantly fixed upon him. He hurried to assure the siblings. “I’m alright. The witch Jacinta Grey, whom Lord Cassian asked to heal me has removed the tracker, I just feel a slight twinge if I move a certain way. She was brave to come here and help me. Once my father or anyone else in the Order learns about it and they no doubt will at some point, she may be captured and tortured for information.” Taryn settled back into her chair.

Julius drained his glass and stood up. “Miss Grey is powerful and knows how to be discreet. She's also well paid, but that matters little to her. Alrighty, I think I’ll go and reorganise my wardrobe. I’ve just bought some fabulous threads and I have some fresh ideas for my new line.” He bowed theatrically. “Good night my lovelies, it was a pleasure to meet you Gill. I have a feeling I shall see more of you before I leave again.” 

Julius took one step out the door, and in a matter of seconds, he’d disappeared. Taryn couldn’t help laughing. “Don’t mind him, my brother has always been the more dramatic one.” “Yeah, I got that loud and clear. Hey, what did he mean by you claiming me?” “I didn’t have to step in to rescue you. But I did and now your life belongs to me. Where we go from there, is entirely up to you. I wont force anything. From the moment we first locked gazes I felt a genuine connection between us, which doesn’t happen to me all that often.” “ I haven’t been around for nearly as long as you, and yet I know exactly what you mean. I thought my feelings may be one-sided and I am relieved to hear that they’re not. ”

Gill closed the book, trying and failing to disguise a yawn. Taryn approached the young warlock slowly and held out her hand. He let her walk him to his bedroom. Surprising her completely, he leaned in and kissed her. She wrapped her arms around him. They stayed that way for a while. Then he moved back. “Goodnight.” She kissed his cheek, smiling. “Sleep well.”

TO BE CONTINUED...