Chapter 1
William Markos sat up, swinging his legs over the edge of the bed. He shivered, a reaction left over from his mortal days, at the feeling of dread that washed over him.
He let his mind wander for a moment, searching his thoughts for where the itch was coming from. Then he found it. It was the night of Elysium, the regular meeting of the Kindred of Austin. And it was a special night, one on which an execution was being called for.
A fledgling of the Mekhet Clan had killed. The Priscus of the Clan in Austin was bringing the case before the Council. The fledgling was in the care of the Sheriff and William, as Prince, had to rule on the case.
So lost in thought was William that he did not feel his lover moving on the bed behind him until her hand came to rest on his shoulder. He jumped a bit, startled at the feel of her touch on his cool skin. She chuckled in response as he turned around to look at her.
Sabrina O'Shaughnessy was a daughter of Ireland. Born in 1883 in Dublin, she was a buxom redhead with a trim waist that flared out to a set of full hips. Her eyes sparkled with a deep emerald color and a light sprinkle of freckles still decorated her cheekbones. Her lips were full and deep red and her nose had a slightly upthrust tip. Dark red hair hung in curls down her back, stopping short above the small of her back. William knew that she would have it cut short before they left for Elysium (separately, of course), but that, when they woke the next sunset, it would be at its regular length. He loved her long, red hair.
Her hand moved to entangle itself in his short, dark hair as she pulled him into a kiss. Her fingers gently massaged the contours of his scalp while her tongue pushed into his mouth. He felt that familiar draw from his mortal days and his manhood swelled inside his shorts. She laid back, yielding to the pressure he put on her to do so.
William's hands roamed over the silk of her negligee and his fingers dipped below the hem of the garment, touching the soft, cool flesh beneath it. When they reached the apex of her firm thighs, they found rust-colored curls there and, beneath them, the moist velvet of her. She moaned deeply into his mouth, her hands moving quickly now as he moved on top of her. She pushed his shorts down, freeing him from his confinement, in one smooth, practiced motion.
The pleasure of entering his beloved rocked him, the long familiarity of their lovemaking doing nothing to take away from the utter joy of being one again. She squeezed him as he moved inside of her, telling him of the pleasure that mirrored his own. She gasped as he swelled inside of her, the foreshadowing of his orgasm triggering her own sweet waves of pleasure.
She pulled her mouth from his, crying out as she climaxed. A distant part of her felt him thrust once more before the spasms of his pleasure overtook him, launching him to the stratosphere. She squeezed his hips with her thighs as she pulled him down to her, kissing him languidly in the afterglow of their love.
There was sultry laughter in her accented voice. "Did my Prince enjoy himself?"
William's own voice answered with its own chuckle. "He always does, my lover."
Before him on the altar were two books.
One was the Holy Bible.
The other was the Testament of Longinus, sacred to the Lancea Sanctum.
Marcus Davila, Archbishop of Texas, kneeled and prayed to God, asking to be a greater example to the kine of the world that the wages of sin is death. Marcus fought briefly to keep a neutral mien as he prayed as the darker parts of his soul struggled to erupt in laughter at the thought that he would be the bringer of those wages to humanity.
Finally, he rose from the stool before the altar, a click sounding audibly from his left knee, the one he'd injured as a Mexican-American soldier in the U.S. Army of 1916, under Blackjack Pershing in Mexico. He had been wounded a month after the injury in battle, left for dead after an ambush, and there Embraced, Damned to walk the earth for eternity as the ultimate Bringer of Death to mortals. His Sire had risen to become Prince of San Antonio in the 1950's and Marcus had been sent as a field commander in the war between the Lancea and the Circle of the Crone in the area of Austin, a war that few had survived, particularly after the intervention of the Invictus under William Markos had conquered the city in 1973.
Prince William had become almost an ally, but never really a friend, to the Lancea Sanctum. He had requested Marcus to become one of his Primogen, along with that loco bitch Crysanthe, the chief brujah of the Circle of the Crone. In his head, Marcus still went back and forth between the English he had learned in school and the Spanish spoken in his boyhood home in Laredo, Texas.
A Hispanic girl of about 18 years was held in the arms of two of the Sanctified in the doorway to Marcus' room. She wore no clothes, as Marcus liked them. He took a moment to study her thin, struggling figure. His eyes took in the round breasts, swinging back and forth with her movements, the roundness around her waist, the broadness of her hips around the dark hair that hid her feminine core. He thrilled at the thought of that wet nether-mouth sloppy around his manhood and felt himself harden at the memory of that particular pleasure, one which he rarely indulged. He knew from the hardness between his legs that he needed the punishing whip that he would force himself to endure, its heated, silver-tipped ends that would cut into his flesh and take time to disappear. Still, a part of him enjoyed the experience of looking at her.
He ignored the frightened Spanish curses that emanated from her mouth and reached out with his eyes, finding the dark brown, fear-filled orbs in her face. Calm, he thought.
She immediately fill silent and stopped struggling.
A grin flickered at the corner of his mouth as his fangs slipped forth.
He felt like this would be as enjoyable as it would be nourishing.
It was nearly midnight and the Kindred of Austin and its surrounding environs had gathered in the main theater at the Scottish Rite Children's Theatre.
The Council of Primogen, the leaders of the area's Kindred population, gathered in the long, narrow Masonic Lodge meeting room on the second floor.
William Markos, the Prince of the City, stood separately from the cliques that gathered whenever they met. He wore a simple, dark-gray wool suit, a black turtleneck under the jacket. His wing-tips matched the sweater, as did his belt and the pocket square he wore. While he was, in addition to being the head Kindred in the city, also the unquestioned leader of both the Invictus Covenant and his own Ventrue Clan, both of those worthy bodies were represented by others on the Council, increasing the power of both.
His Seneschal, Edward Patton of the Mekhet Clan, was also a Kogaion of the Ordo Dracul, it leader in Austin, and one of the most powerful members of his Order in the world. Edward looked like a young academic, which he had once been, but, William knew, that anyone who took his bookish appearance at face value, could easily find himself cut to shreds by the silver blade in his cane within moments. He wore a tweed jacket over a white shirt and cream-with-red-polka-dot bowtie, along with khaki trousers and brown brogans.
The Herald of Austin was a Mekhet of the Invictus Covenant named Fredo Sangiovanni. Fredo was a foppish Italian of a family of necromancers that were well known enough to be considered a bloodline of that Clan. He wore a vividly purple suit and emerald green shirt, whose gaiety was offset by his slicked-back jet black hair and deep brown, almost black eyes. He was a rare case, as most of the Sangiovanni were not drawn to the Invictus, more normally drawn to the Circle of the Crone or the Lancea Sanctum, where their particularly dread talents were more accepted. Again, taking the Mekhet at face value was a bad idea, as he was a savage fighter.
The remaining members of William's personal staff were the Hounds and the Sheriff. They were stationed at various points around the room, with the Sheriff near William. He was of a legendary bloodline of the Gangrel Clan called the Childer of the Morrigan. While all knew his name to be Matthew McFadden, the only name he was ever called was "Strongbow". He looked like the Celtic warrior he had been in life, all powerful muscle and hard planes. He had long blond hair that was, for these gatherings, pulled back in a pony-tail, and haunting green eyes. Breaking with Morrigan tradition, he had adopted the ways of the Lancea Sanctum, accepting their pseudo-Judeo-Christian-Islamist ways over the pagan views of the Circle of the Crone. With him in that was his childe, one of his Hounds who guarded the door, Anna O'Tierna, known to all as "Leathers". She too accepted the monotheism of the Lancea over the polytheism of the Circle. She could have passed for Strongbow's little sister, matching him in hair and eye color, although short and compact where he was long and lean. Many men got lost peering at her cleavage, a dangerous thing for a kine man who valued his blood or a Kindred offender that valued his head.
The other members of the Council (the Hounds were simply guards and not allowed voice or vote, an important right in Kindred society, even though no vote was truly binding) represented either a region in the Principality, a Clan, or a Covenant. In his desire to build a city infrastructure that could be representative and peaceful, William had made a place on his Council for each of these disparate groups to be represented.
The Ventrue Clan was thus represented by one of the Regents that William had selected. Calvin Boyd was a Viscount of the Invictus Covenant, a youngish man who aped his Prince's dress, striking a balance between the business-like and the casual, although he had decided to wear a shirt and tie rather than a turtleneck. His suit was navy with a gray pinstripe, while his shirt was white and the gray was mirrored in his tie. Calvin was the Regent of Williamson County and his seat was in Georgetown, although he had to spend much of his time in the thriving community of Round Rock, which grew exponentially with the growth of Austin.
The other Regent was also the representative and Edward's lieutenant in the Ordo Dracul. Guillem Dragolescu had been a professor of the Classics at the University in Vienna in life. His family, like that of Fredo Sangiovanni's, had become famous enough to become a bloodline in and of itself within the Ventrue Clan. Of an age with the legendary Ioan Dragolescu, Guillem was an older man, already into his middle-60's when he was Embraced. He had a thick white mustache and a full head of thick white hair atop his head. He, like the Kogaion, dressed in the uniform of academia, wearing dark gray slacks and a brown tweed jacket, although he had foregone the bowtie for a white scarf which actually appeared to enrich his pallor. His seat of power was in San Marcos, home of the smaller Texas State University, but a rich hunting ground on its own, and he had responsibility for goings-on in Hays County.
Calvin spoke in a group with the other Clan Primogen. Sabrina O'Shaughnessy, whose red hair had indeed been razor-clipped short, represented the Daeva Clan. Tall, long-limbed, and cadaverous Alan Stokes was the Unaligned Priscus of the Gangrel Clan. His favorite seemed to be the swarthy Ibrahim Kaya of the Mekhet Clan. Meanwhile, Jesse Thomas, in life an up-and-coming gang leader, now led the Nosferatu Clan.
While the Clan Priscii occupied one segment of the room, their counterparts in the Covenants stood in a clique of their own. Along with Guillem Dragolescu, representing the Ordo Dracul, were Marcus Davila, Archbishop of Texas for the Lancea Sanctum, his most intimate rival Crysanthe Georgiou, Hierophant of the Circle of the Crone, Anna von Braun, whose aristocratic good looks combined with her Daeva blood, made the Invictus Baroness of Austin unable to miss, and the Carthian Prefect, the Nosferatu Felix Thomas.
William considered his Council as the hour approached, already judging political alliances and opposition. His eyes caught the clock on the wall and he nodded to Fredo.
The Herald stepped to the top level of the dais at one end of the long room and spoke.
"Councilors and Primogen, the hour has arrived. Please give your attention to our Prince."
All eyes focused on William, who, as usual, felt the fear, the hatred, and the lust for power that those eyes betrayed. Ignoring them all, his face creased with a broad grin as he mounted the steps next to Fredo. "Thank you, my friend." He clapped Fredo on the shoulder as the Seneschal rose behind him. "Now," he began, letting his eyes pass over the room, "let us begin."