Chapter 1
1915, Symphony Hall, Boston
It was the perfect night to kill leeches.
Helen adjusted her hat and the elegant black net covering her face. With her Valkyrie features obscured from view, she had no problem mingling with the humans. As long as they didn't see her pointed ears, her delicate fangs and kept her claws inside her pretty gloves, Helen would survive.
Yes, the perfect disguise for the perfect night to kill leeches, she smirked.
Boston had been swarming with vampires as of late, to no reason she and her Valkyrie sisters understood why. Vampires, or leeches, as they fondly called them, preferred to hunt their prey in the night, and that was the reason why Helen chose to lurk Symphony Hall.
The Symphony Hall, for instance, was another perfect place for them to blend in.
Helen chose to sit on the balcony that cold spring night, wanting a complete view of tonight's audience. Several male humans leered their heads for a glimpse of her. No matter how flattering it was, if they weren't her target, she wasn't interested in them.
As one of the oldest Valkyries, perhaps near to Nix's age, Helen used every arsenal in her command— her female wiles and skill with a sword, to kill her foe. Tonight was no different.
Compared to her sisters, Helen knew she was no great beauty. Her Lydian heritage gifted her with her dark hair and eyes, features which were beautiful, but plain when matched to her exotic Valkyrie sisters.
Annika, one of her closest sisters with her angelic beauty said that everyone had their own brand of beauty. The most beautiful of their kind, Myst the Coveted had been kind, calling her hauntingly beautiful.
Hauntingly beautiful, Helen mused. Perhaps those adjectives were the reasons why she had attracted and killed scores of vampires in her entire existence.
She licked her lips, feeling the fine hairs behind her neck rise. It was unusual for her to feel goosebumps and she looked around. Across her, Balcony Seven, sat seven men, all dressed in black. One man, with shoulder length blond hair in particular, had his face partially covered with a mask.
As if he didn't want other people to see his eyes.
Helen's senses sharpened. This was a creature of the lore, and whether he was vampire or not, she would see him, talk to him, and render judgment.
The music was pleasant, tolerable at most. Helen was never fond of music, but had grown to appreciate it after nights of visiting the Symphony Hall. Once the show had ended, she refrained from leaving her box. There was still the mystery man she was waiting for, and if he was indeed the person who caused her goosebumps, then he would be arriving soon.
"Excuse me, milady. I believe this is yours?" he handed her a neatly folded handkerchief with her initials inscribed, a bright red H.O.T. across the elegant smooth fabric. "I found it behind your chair."
Helen had deliberately dropped the article. Smiling, she accepted the handkerchief. "Yes, it's mine. Thank you very much, sir…?"
"Fyodor." He answered. "and you are?"
Fyodor, she repeated to herself. Why did the name ring a bell? His face was still covered with that mask, as if he fancied himself as the Phantom of the Opera. She still couldn't see his features, whether his eyes were of the Fallen, or of Kristoff's faction.
"Helen." She replied. "Just Helen."
"You have beautiful eyes." He murmured.
"My eyes are dark and common, sir."
"Fyodor, if you please."
She battered her eyelashes. "My eyes are rather plain and nothing too remarkable, Fyodor."
"Nonsense. You're a beautiful woman."
Then suddenly, she felt the goosebumps again. She looked at him again, tall and imposing. She felt his eyes, silently appraising her.
"You are making me uncomfortable." She admitted with honesty, an admission she never would have given to another immortal.
"I can make you comfortable."
"How?"
Helen was playing a dangerous game, and she knew it. Unless she determined this Immortal's kind, the sick feeling in her stomach would never go.
"The night is still early. Would you care for a walk underneath the moon?"
"Drape me with that coat of yours."
He was startled, as if it was his first time experiencing a woman who demanded a coat from him. Then he removed and draped it over her, and she caught a whiff of him, virile, male.
And vampire.
"Thank you." She said, smiling.
He offered her his arm. "Is something wrong?"
"I was thinking… of how tall you are." She lied.
"You're a tall woman yourself."
Wordlessly, she grasped her arm as he led her outside. Not too far was a garden maze and they strolled around. To her surprise, she found he had a dark sense of humor, and as she exchanged stories with him, she knew she was treading dangerous waters.
She hadn't even determined his eyes. If he could only remove his mask…
"You're in deep thought." The vampire said. "Am I boring you with my tales?"
"I was thinking about how you resemble Erik."
"and who, is Erik?"
"Gaston Leroux's Phantom of the Opera."
He gaped at her, before laughing. His hand touching his mask. "I didn't know my mask bothered you so. Should I remove it?"
"I want to see the Phantom beneath his mask."
"Everything changed when the Phantom was unmasked." He answered.
"Please," she requested, preparing her claws.
"If you insist… my dear little Valkyrie." And he removed his mask.
Helen cursed.
How could she have not recognized him? With his blond hair, his height, and the bloody red eyes… Of all the vampires she had to run into, it had to be him.
The Vampire Horde King, Demestriu.
Game's over, she thought, she could face other low ranking vampires, but not this leech.
She ran as fast as she could, with his coat still draped across her body. Then he traced in front of her, and struck her with his palm. The impact flew her several feet away. It was enough to make her head bleed.
The Horde King approached and crouched beside her. Looking at him, Helen beheld his haunting features. Handsome, evil.
"Fyodor, huh?"
"My other name, Valkyrie." He said dispassionately. Then he yanked the net concealing her face, and held her neck in a tight grip.
"So how do Valkyries perish?" he asked.
She spat against him.
He tightened his grip around her neck, choking her further. "Ah yes, I remembered. Beheading, wasn't it? It's unfortunate I do not have a sword with me, perhaps I should use the one hidden underneath your petticoat? Hm, are you surprised my dear? Don't be. I've analyzed how you prey on my kind, Valkyrie."
He inched his head closer to her face, inhaling her scent. The blood flowing from her wound was enough to cause a faint reaction in his face. "But your blood smells very good. Helen, was it? I hope you won't mind if I have a taste of it, before I behead you. Blood from the living is vastly different from a dead one's."
"
"What a ridiculous question" she choked. "if you kill me, you might as well get on with it.
His lips curled into an evil smile, making his handsome face even more sinister. "If you insist." Then he licked the blood from her temples, and applied force around her neck.
It was getting difficult to breathe, she gasped, and instinctively, she tried to strike her assailer.
"You are a brave one, little Valkyrie. But I'm afraid your luck ends here."
"Blood sucking leech." She sneered. "I hope you rot in hell."
He smiled then, a beautiful smile on his handsome face. "Shall I send you there first?"
Helen struggled. Damn, she didn't spend her life only to be strangled by a fucking leech. She had to do something. Anything to distract him. Seconds would matter. And if she did that, she could still escape alive.
Then Helen felt it. He really was about to snap her neck into two!
Perhaps it was the strong emotion that accompanied her, the fear of death, that lightning cracked. Caught off-guard, Demestriu stared into Helen's eyes, her irises flashing silver. His grip had loosened and that was the moment Helen just needed.
With her entire might, she pushed him away and ran as fast as she could, not sparing him a single glance.
"Why did you let her go, uncle?" Lothaire asked. "You could have killed her with a snap of your hands."
Demestriu looked his nephew, quite unsure himself.
"Was it mercy, uncle?"
Demstriu glared at him. "You ask too many questions. Leave me."
Lothaire bowed and traced away.
In the comfort of his room, Demestriu allowed himself the comfort to relax. Relaxation was a luxury he couldn't afford, not after since he ascended the throne. No, since he had seized the throne.
Lightning cracked outside Castle Helvita, and the image of the black haired Valkyrie whom he nearly killed appeared in his mind.
The Valkyrie with the flashing silver eyes.
He had seen a Valkyrie's eyes flash silver before, before he strangled and snapped their dainty necks. It had never bothered him, but this Valkyrie, Helen, was different.
What was so special about her then, for him to spare her life, he wondered. Was it the blood? There was nothing special about it.
Closing his eyes, he allowed his mind to drift back to Helen, with her haunting beauty. Helen, who called herself plain. Her image comforted him as he fell asleep, distracting him from the ugly dreams that he tried so hard to blot.