!Warning: M (16+)-rated themes: Depiction of violence, cruelty and blood.

- XLVIII -

The last gusts of wind still moaned softly through the windows and the hollow sound of her footsteps echoed from the high walls of Castle Corvinus when Amelia walked down to the main keep. Her eyes narrowed and her gaze straight ahead, her silken dress billowing behind her, the Elder appeared so vigorously determined, servants and soldiers in the long corridors almost leapt out of her way. But Amelia, blind to her surroundings, didn't bother to notice them.

When she had exited Viktor's quarters there had been a pitch-black darkness nesting in her chest, slowly but surely growing and spreading through her whole body. Maybe if she had been a mortal or a younger vampire, that dark, seething pool would have effervesced into emotions such as grief or despair or hate or rage. Amelia, however, wasn't young anymore. She had lived for centuries now, had seen and experienced things no mortal man could even imagine. And so the void in her heart remained, giving her body only one impulse: To leave those rooms behind her; those rooms and the fateful encounter with that girl who claimed to be Viktor's wife.

Not even a blink of an eye it had taken him to replace herself with the next best mortal he could find: Ilona, a child, young and naive and innocent and weak. She was everything Amelia was not, and therefore everything Viktor needed to achieve his egomaniacal aim of fathering an heir and perpetuate his patriarchic reign in eternity. How he had managed to cajole that girl into becoming his plaything, she couldn't tell, but she had to admit that the tyrant undeniably had a talent to get what he wanted.

A sudden sting of pain in her palms caused Amelia to stop in her tracks at the top of the staircase that led to the old dining room. Bewilderedly raising her hands, she noticed eight drops of blood springing from the wounds where she had dug her nails into her own flesh. The Elder watched them absentmindedly, how they trickled through her fingers and dripped to the stone floor. The deep red had a soothing way about it. Was that rich velvet colour everything the pitch-black pool in her heart could produce? Everything that was left in her? The last drops of meaning in the bleak and empty darkness that was her life? Amelia's lips curled into a malicious grin. Then she would need more of it. Now. And the Elder descended the staircase to her dining hall.

When Marcus arrived at the door of the makeshift quarters Lajos's men had set up, he straightened his posture and smoothened the collar of his cloak, readying himself for his great entrance as the mortals' new leader who would generously bestow the gift of eternal life upon them, when he heard a familiar arrogant voice from inside the old dining room. The original vampire's eyes widened and his upper lip twitched to reveal his fangs in both shock and anger. He just couldn't believe it! Viktor had already anticipated him! With a snarl, Corvinus pushed the door open. This time he wouldn't allow the old tyrant to have his way!

"...if you decline, you will remain mere mortals and eke out an existence in poverty in the villages you came from," Viktor just finished his little hypocritical fabrication, when Marcus walked into the room.

"Do not believe a word out of that ignominious liar's mouth!" Corvinus hissed, positioning himself between the warlord and his prey. "He pretends to leave you a choice when in truth he will slaughter you like cattle the moment you reject his oh so attractive offer."

The sixteen mortal men stared at him, then their eyes began to flicker from one vampire lord to the other, visibly bewildered.

"Marcus!" Viktor bellowed, his eyes lighting up in a dangerous shade of blue. "How dare you burst in here and disturb my business with your untenable false accusations!"

"I'll tell you why, dear friend," Corvinus spat the last words out like they were some disgusting vermin. "Because I've watched your scheming and power plays long enough. We are both Elders, both equal, and still, after centuries, I do not have my own army. I demand that you step back and leave those men to me!"

Andreas Tanis leaned against the wall outside the dining hall, listening to the Elders' quarrel, gloatingly grinning from ear to ear. The execution of the maids and guards had been a nice spectacle, but this would be the greatest show these castle walls had ever seen. The lords were only a few insults away from going for each other's throats. Of course they wouldn't dare to kill one another, but whoever won the fight would gain a lot of power, and therefore surely thank the historian for recommending a visit to the mortals' quarters. Maybe Tanis would become Marcus's or Viktor's stewart, or maybe a new position would be created for him. Chancellor was a euphonic title.

Yes, Chancellor Tanis sounds just perfect, the scribe thought while his smirk broadened.

Suddenly the echo of footsteps ripped him from his fertile imagination and he looked up the staircase. Billowing silken cloth glistened in the pale moonlight, announcing the appearance of the third Elder.

The mortals had already had an unpleasant feeling when the two lords of the castle were bickering over them and some men now whispered to each other, planning an escape, but when the door to their quarters flew open a third time, they retreated a few steps, eyes wide in fear.

A queenly clothed woman had entered the room, her light dress and dark hair flowing around her like flickering flames, her unnaturally white skin in stark contrast to her blazing green eyes. With both elegant and powerful steps Amelia approached the mortal men, wasting not a glance on Viktor and Marcus. Her demonic gaze focussed on the first of her victims and her beautiful lips contorted into a cruel smile, showing her protruding fangs.

With one quick motion she seized the man's throat, hauling him up easily, then, letting out a animalistic growl, the Elder rampantly savaged him, burying her fangs deep in his carotid. The horrified shrieks that escaped the mortal's mouth didn't bother her, neither did his desperate writhing, and within moments she had consumed his blood almost completely, then discarded his limp body like some leftover bones after a tasteless meal.

Before the mortals could react in any way, Amelia was upon the second of them, her claw-like nails precisely cutting his flesh, causing a fountain of red to spring from his throat, scenting the room with the unmistakable smell of fresh human blood, staining her violet dress. Her features completely emotionless, she only drank a mouthful from him before she proceeded to the next.

This one seemed to have become aware of the deadly peril he was in, for he, shock and fear in his wide eyes, had armed himself with a long dagger. Just a flick of her wrist was needed to slap it out of his hand, sending it flying across the hall, but when she was about to seize him, Amelia felt some kind of stinging sensation. Cocking her head, she found that a forth man had driven a long, two-pronged serving fork into her shoulder.

"Damned witch!" he cried in a panicked, high-pitched tone. "Die! In the name of..."

But before he could utter the name of the Lord, Amelia's predator-like claws pierced his skin. Her hand went through his flesh and bones like they were paper, and retreating, left a hole in his chest at which he stared, aghast, before he tumbled to the floor with a gurgling scream.

Two more elegant and swift movements, and the mortal who had so easily lost his dagger was on his knees, too, his neck providing scarlet refreshment for her.

There was so much warmth in those defenceless and worthless creatures. The warmth of life itself. Was this the life she had been lacking? Was this what she had been searching for? Amelia still didn't feel anything.