- XXXI -

The rain clouds had disappeared and pale starlight now illuminated the room. Viktor felt his pulse quicken and a drop of cold sweat ran down his neck. There was no doubt: the haggard, skeletal – he didn't dare to use the word even in thought – corpse, actually was Amelia. The beautiful and proud Elder, the fierce warrior, his lover.

Slowly he approached her, sitting down at the edge of the bed. She looked as if she had passed away peacefully, like she hadn't suffered. The wound on her neck, however, was still visible. Was it possible? Had the werewolf's bite killed Amelia? Viktor touched her limp fingers. They felt cold, colder than all immortal flesh, and completely drained. Of course, she had lost much blood in battle, but she had fed on animals afterwards. He himself had given her his lifeblood, though it seemed like every drop had evaporated from her veins.

When Marcus entered the room, his astonished gaze wandered from Viktor to Amelia and back again.

"So the maids were right..." he noticed, his tone indifferent.

"Her death doesn't seem to affect you in the slightest," Viktor hissed. The warlord rose from his seat and his eyes began to glow in an angry blue.

"Because it's utterly impossible. We do not die," Marcus stated, folding his arms and raising his chin.

"Then tell me, oh dear progenitor, how to awaken her when she has no pulse and doesn't breathe!" Viktor growled, cynicism evident in every syllable he spoke.

The original vampire's upper lip twitched to reveal his fangs. The tone Viktor used for that form of address was so completely different from the ingratiating one in which Marcus had heard it last.

"Try to give her blood," he suggested between clenched teeth. "And not just bull's blood."

The colour of Viktor's eyes turned from a shimmering aquamarine to a flashing steel blue.

"You empty-headed fool! Do you think I haven't tried to heal her, that I haven't given her my blood?!" he spat, towering threateningly over Marcus.

Corvinus stared back at him, gaze unwavering, while the maids at the doorstep hurried to abscond.

Thomas stood in the corridor, carefully watching. He wasn't afraid of Viktor's wrath or Marcus's waywardness, but he knew when to keep his distance. He desperately hoped that the original vampire was right and his lady Amelia was not really dead, but it was the Elders' matter to deal with, not his.

"Well, then it seems your inedible blood is not nourishing enough," Marcus snapped. "That's absolutely comprehensible, considering that it's been decades since I turned you and I still have that foul taste in my mouth sometimes."

With that insult, Viktor finally lost his temper and in a quick motion, he grabbed Marcus's throat, pressing down on his windpipe. Corvinus tried to defend himself by seizing the warlord's forearm. Roaring and using all his immortal strength, he was able to keep him from choking him, but he couldn't push him away and his nails weren't sharp enough to pierce the plate of Viktor's armour.

The warlord hissed at him, furious, because Marcus wasn't as easily defeated as all the other opponents he had fought. He used his left hand to get a hold of Corvinus's wrist. Tensing all the muscles of his arm, he pressed down again, his nails ripping Marcus's skin. Large, bright red drops of the first vampire's lifeblood fell to the floor, staining the rug in front of Amelia's bed. The sweet smell that followed caused both the men's eyes to widen – Marcus's, because he was shocked that the warlord was able to and, more importantly, dared to harm him like that, and Viktor's, because with that, an idea sprang to his mind.

Maybe his own blood hadn't helped Amelia recover from William's bite, because they were both Marcus's descendants. Maybe she needed the life energy of their maker. Viktor let go of Corvinus's throat and instead yanked at his wrist, forcing him down, closer to the skeleton-like female Elder in the bed.

"What the hell are you doing?!" Marcus hissed, his bright cobalt eyes narrowed.

"Well," Viktor mimicked Corvinus's mocking tone from before. "when my inedible blood isn't nourishing enough, we should instead try yours..."

The original vampire snarled, but wasn't able to free himself from the warlord's iron grip.

"...oh highborn progenitor!" Viktor added, grinning maliciously, his elongated fangs showing.

Biting down on his lower lip, Marcus could only watch while the red liquid dripped from his veins, down onto Amelia's half-open lips. How he hated every moment of that mortification! It wasn't like he wouldn't have offered to donate his blood in order to awaken her. But he would have liked it to happen in a more... dignified way. He could have acted as the generous lord, giving a share of his life to Amelia. Instead he again was inferior, a schoolboy being taught a lesson and shown his place by the true master and leader of their people.

Viktor's eyes sparkled with exaltation. Oh, he loved this sweet feeling of power, of humiliating others, especially Marcus, that immature simpleton. He still believed he could play the noble forefather, when he wasn't anything else other than a necessary evil. Did the fool know, that Viktor would kill him as soon as he would have made certain that the existence of their race didn't depend on whether the original vampire lived or not? When he would have slain William, he would see if all the werewolves would die with him. And if not...

While the male Elders stared at one another, contrary, but on both sides effervescent emotions were evident on their features, as Marcus's blood trickled its way down Amelia's throat. Like a sponge, her tissue absorbed the precious liquid, the capillaries carrying it into her veins, the veins transporting it into her heart, until the ventricles were filled enough to perform a first beat.

A wave of life flooded Amelia's body, from her chest to her fingertips, and suddenly her lids snapped open. Cold, dull eyes first stared at the drapery of the four-poster bed, then instinctively searched for anything alimental, anything that would satisfy the enormous thirst building in the female Elder's throat. Although almost every muscle in her limbs was atrophied, her spidery hands grabbed the first living thing within their reach – which wasn't Marcus's still bleeding wrist, but Viktor's arm.

In a reflex action, the warlord tried to shove her away, but the corpse-like woman was far more agile than she looked. She rose from the bed, stretched her neck, and buried her fangs in Viktor's throat even before he could utter his surprise. His pained gaze flickered between Amelia and Marcus, who he, in shock, had unintentionally released.

Clutching his already healing wrist, the original vampire now took on an upright posture, and a smirk appeared on his lips.

"Well, she needs blood," he said. "So badly she takes whatever she can get, regardless of the taste."