Chapter Text
Nineteen of us immortals gathered in the throne room, exactly as we had done for centuries; venom pooling in our mouths, waiting for the doors to open. Our eyes had turned black with thirst.
Lesser predators would have shifted, prowled, and bared their teeth with anticipation, but we stayed still. We stood in our usual circle, quiet and unmoving, as marble statues should. Only a few dark cloaks stirred in the draft that rose from the drain beneath us.
Heidi’s voice sounded from the corridor, delivering another theatrical retelling of the palazzo’s history. Or a variation thereof; Heidi rarely repeated herself, preferring to keep her stories fresh.
Where once our food came by horse carriage from nearby provinces, lured by promises of work and wages, now they arrived by aeroplane and bus, seduced by the idea of exploring local Italian charm and undiscovered medieval splendour. The medium had changed; the hunger remained.
There were murmured voices and a few bursts of laughter, the sound of a charging flash and the shutter click of a camera. Thirty-six heartbeats, by my count.
Then something struck me. It was a sudden, violent jolt where my dead heart lay; a physical constriction, tight enough that I gasped, clutching my chest.
Carefully, I glanced around. Athenodora and Sulpicia focused on maintaining control, trying to resist the temptation to strike the moment the door opened. Demetri and Felix stared at the heavy wooden doors, patient and entirely impassive.
They felt nothing.
I lowered my hand to my side, forcing a breath. One of those useless breathing exercises I had once learned. Pointless, of course, given the nature of my physiology.
The doors screeched open.
The humans spilled into the chamber, murmuring their little awestruck exclamations. Some gaped in awe at the ceiling, where light streamed through the stained glass windows, casting shadows on the floor. Others, more wary, slowed as they spotted us immortals.
They were the usual assortment: a few fair, a few dark, most average in appearance. Some old, some young. They were individuals with few attachments, unlikely to be missed or mourned. Heidi was always careful. A handful of couples were mercifully allowed to die together.
I lifted my arms to offer the traditional welcome, but this time I hesitated. I stood there, arms raised, mute and confused.
It was the signal regardless.
Around me, dark cloaks flooded towards the humans, engulfing the crowd. The humans barely had time to process the trap before hands seized them, dragging them to the floor, to the walls. The screaming shattered my paralysis.
Jane, looking like a cherub, seized a tower of a man. With a beatific expression and her eyes closed, she savoured him. The man spasmed once, then sagged on the ground into an awkward position.
Athenodora, emerged from her tower, was less refined. She tore a trembling young woman and made a revolting mess. Her technique lacked finesse: bones cracked under her fingers as she pulled the human apart too quickly, red blood splashing from the neck across her gown. Despite her poor technique, she looked oddly pleased with herself.
From every side came sounds I had heard a thousand times before: the rip of flesh, the wet suck of feeding. And then the dull, final thuds of bodies hitting stone.
Over it all, there was the heartbeat metronome: thirty-six…thirty-five…thirty-four…a slow descent into silence.
Yet I felt only peculiar. My appetite had vanished. In its place was a strange, aching pull, a gentle but insistent tug that drew my attention towards the far left corner of the hall. Almost as if in a trance, I surveyed the carnage, scanned the screaming humans. Limbs lashed out as iron grips held them fast, draining their blood.
Somewhere in that chaos, among the twisting limbs and spilled blood, was the source of my discomfort. I felt it. A presence that pulled me, more intimately than any scent ever had.
Those not yet captured huddled near the door, pressed together. Some tried to open the door, but most just froze. They rarely fought. My eyes followed Santiago, who had just stepped before the cluster to select his second course. Satiated from his first, he sniffed leisurely, though he was not known for being fastidious; he enjoyed all blood, regardless of the flavour.
Then I saw her caught in his deadly embrace. Her eyes were wide with fear, her weak fists trying to push Santiago away. His fangs were already at her throat when I seized his head with both hands and wrenched him backward. He twisted in my grip, snarling, his instinct to protect his kill overriding recognition. His elbow struck my ribs - I ignored it. I slammed him against the stone wall hard enough to crack the marble. Around us, the feeding paused. Heads turned. My fingers dug into his skull, a hairsbreadth from crushing it entirely. Santiago’s eyes focused. When he recognised me, he froze, raising his hands in surrender.
“Master -”
I released him with a shove. He scrambled away, wisely putting distance between himself and the woman.
The woman stumbled away, her back hitting the wall. I scooped her up and anchored her warm body against me. Her limbs flailed, a heel landing a feeble blow to my shin.
That was when I felt it intensely: the strange, mesmerising spark that I could not ignore.
Her scent rose up as she struggled: pomegranate with a hint of rose, oddly soothing amidst the iron stench of the slaughter and not appetising at all. She shouted something, her voice roughened by panic, but the words were lost in the piercing shrieks of the dying.
I stepped over a fallen body and kicked open the heavy wooden door, carrying her away from the throne room, away from the gory scene of spilled blood and pale corpses. I ran through the corridors, through two turns and down a flight of stairs, holding her tight. Her heartbeat fluttered erratically against my chest, and the only coherent thought in my ancient mind was: mine.
I did not stop until we reached the Golden Salon where we occasionally received dignitaries. It was far enough from the throne room that no sound of the slaughter could follow. The room was Baroque, ornate, and utterly incongruous with what we had just left behind. I barely registered the velvet upholstery or the patterned tapestry on the walls. There was a table inlaid with rare woods, a Tabriz rug, something from André-Charles Boulle…details my mind could supply without effort, and yet none of it mattered now. I had brought her here not for the opulent aesthetics but because the space was in such a stark contrast to the cold, spartan marble of the throne room.
Gently, I lowered her to the ground, reluctant to let her go. I wanted to soothe the sobbing woman before me, but when I released her, she stumbled back immediately, recoiling from me entirely. She collapsed against the wall beside a sofa, curling inward, with her arms wrapped around her knees. Her shoulders trembled as she wept; mascara had left black streaks on her cheeks.
Helpless, I knelt before her, made myself small. I desperately wanted to hold her again, to comfort her, but when I reached out, she flinched and pressed further into the corner.
It was only fair, given she had just escaped a massacre. I had saved her from death, yes, but my hands looked too much like the ones that had just killed.
I extended a hand, palm open. “Shhh,” I whispered. “You are safe. I will not hurt you.”
She looked up then.
Tears still streamed down her cheeks, her sobs interrupted only by the occasional gasp for air. She was shaking, red-eyed, teetering on the edge of hysteria - and I had not the faintest idea how to help her.
I settled onto the floor, legs crossed beneath me, leaning casually on one hand. It was a relaxed posture, one I had learned centuries ago that could make even a predator appear harmless.
“I am Aro,” I said gently. “I am sorry for what you witnessed. It was…not ideal.”
“Not ideal?” she repeated. Her laugh was jagged, hysterical. “You just butchered thirty people.”
Her voice was a rich, smoky contralto that vibrated through my chest and rattled something inside me. A soft accent placed her somewhere east of Europe.
“Please, try to relax. It is over. What is your name, my dear?”
I offered a small, encouraging smile, extending my hand once more. I had indeed failed to touch her skin when she was still in my arms.
She did not answer at once, only stared at me with wide dark eyes.
Her sobs slowed and settled into weary sniffles. When she tried to dry her face, I retrieved a pocket square - crimson silk, naturally - and held it out. She hesitated. Her gaze flicked from the fabric to my face.
I nodded, coaxing. “Please.”
Cautiously, she unfurled and shifted into a cross-legged position before plucking it from my fingers.
When she had dabbed her swollen eyes, I saw her fully. Her hair, a dark, dishevelled bob, clung to her tear-damp cheeks. Her skin, pale despite its warm undertones, was defined by a proud aquiline nose and full lips. Around her long, inviting neck lay a necklace of heavy ruby-red stone that flashed like fresh blood in the low light, clasped high and regal. Even now, defeated and trembling, she held herself like a woman not meant to be conquered.
“Are you going to kill me, too?”
“No,” I said at once. “You are safe. Please rest, be comfortable. I assure you nothing will happen to you.”
How deeply she affected me was ludicrous. I did not trust the pull in my chest, this sweeping, overwhelming feeling. Yet here I was, utterly attentive to a stranger’s breath, her scent, her trembling hands. And it was…irresistible. Unsettling.
“Would you like me to help you up?” I asked, offering my open hand once more.
At a loss for what else I could do, I called for Heidi, who arrived within seconds. Thankfully, she had the sense to slow for the final steps, avoiding the vampiric speed that might further terrify the trembling human.
When she crouched beside me, I took her hand and searched her mind for everything she knew about our latest food delivery: names, ages, families. Anything that might tell me who this woman was. Another name emerged, tethered to hers in Heidi’s mind. Younger, travelling with her. The resemblance was unmistakable.
Of course. Her tears were more than shock. She had been forced to survive the worst.
“What about the daughter she came with?” I asked uneasily, already seeing the complications unfolding. I spoke in Koine Greek, the language we used within the coven when we did not wish to be understood by outsiders.
“She was with Athenodora.”
I pressed my lips together and nodded. The images I found in Heidi’s memory looked gruesome and matched a scene I had witnessed from a different angle. Athenodora was a messy eater with a penchant for playing cruel games with her prey, though this time she had mostly confined herself to shattering her victim’s spine.
“Make sure the body is presentable in case she wishes to see it later.”
“Of course, Master.”
“Boris has a mortuary fridge in his room. Tell him I want him to share it.”
Heidi’s expression went blank with disbelief. “I beg your pardon?”
I closed my eyes and shook my head. “Do not ask. Just trust me - you do not want to know.”
Knowing everyone’s secrets with a mere touch often came with unpleasant information I would rather not have. Unfortunately, this was one of those times. But all that mattered was that Boris possessed a mortuary fridge to keep the daughter from decaying.
“And then fetch a selection of sedatives and antidepressants.”
“Sure.”
Heidi had barely vanished when Renata appeared behind me. I gave her a list of comforts to organise: an electric blanket, sweets from the pasticceria, and instructions to prepare my rooms for a human guest. She nodded and was gone within the blink of an eye.
Noor and I were alone again.
“Noor,” I whispered, infusing my voice with warmth. “Please, sit on the sofa. The floor is cold.”
Slowly, I glided further away to give her space, gesturing to the seat she pressed herself against.
“It is softer, warmer. Please, do not sit on the floor.”
She looked at the velvet seat, then at me.
“What happened to my daughter?”
I hesitated. “Natalie…I… I am sorry. It was too late.”
Her eyes filled with tears again, but she only nodded quietly, holding my gaze. She pulled herself up and sank onto the sofa. She looked small there.
I removed my jacket and held it out. When I approached her, she flinched, but I paid it no mind. Gently, I draped the jacket across her shoulders like a blanket, wishing I could touch her, feel her.
I breathed in her scent when I heard Sulpicia’s footsteps approaching. My muscles tightened, and I readied myself to pounce if necessary. I had not forgotten what Sulpicia had done to my sweet Carthaginian Elyssa two millennia ago. For seven years, Elyssa had shared my bed until Sulpicia had drained her dry one night in a fit of jealousy. I had been inconsolable for decades.
Looming above us, Sulpicia offered a glass of water.
“Here, drink.”
She examined Noor with a probing yet not unfriendly gaze.
To my surprise, Noor took the glass, though she only cradled it in her lap, making no move to drink from it.
“Thank you,” she murmured in that husky voice that sent shivers down my spine.
Squeezing my shoulder, Sulpicia said in English, “Good luck,” and left.
Noor stared into the water. She cradled the glass in her lap, making no move to drink. Her thumb traced the rim in slow circles. Around and around. A mind seeking occupation while the world crumbled. Her fingers tightened around the glass until her knuckles blanched. The tears had stopped. Through clenched teeth, she asked, “What do you want from me? Am I a captive?”
“No,” I said gently. “You are not my captive.”
That was not quite a lie. It was not quite the truth either. She was here because I had taken her, but of course I could not, would not, let her go.
“Then I want to leave,” she whispered.
“That…would be unwise.”
“I don’t give a shit!” she hissed. “I want to get out of this hellhole!” Her voice rose to a shout.
“Shhh…” I murmured, turning both palms down, placating. “You need to calm down and rest.”
“I don’t want to fucking calm down!”
Her hand snapped forward and the water from her glass splashed across my face.
I blinked. Droplets slid down my cheek and along my jaw, dropping onto my collar. Without hurry, I reached into my pocket, drew out a handkerchief, and dabbed my face.
“I suppose I deserved that,” I said, exhaling. I much preferred her like this, fiery and defiant rather than weeping.
Her jaw was tight as she glared at me, surprised by her own audacity. But I understood. In her mind, she had nothing left to lose. Her only child, just barely grown into adulthood, had been taken from her. And despite my assurances, she likely doubted she would leave this place alive after the carnage she had witnessed.
Noor slumped against the cushions, the jacket still draped over her. Her fingers tightened around the glass, but at least the tears were gone for now.
Once Heidi arrived with the sedatives, I braced myself for the next step, popping a tablet from the foil.
“Noor. Take this.”
Noor stared at my hand with loathing.
“I don’t want your fucking drugs,” she hissed.
I sighed. Of course not.
I am a patient man. I have waited centuries for political schemes to mature. But I could not wait for this. Her heart was beating too fast; she was tearing herself apart with grief and anxiety. After thirty-seven minutes of arguing and pleading, I stopped trying to persuade her and sat beside her on the sofa. “I am sorry,” I whispered.
I pinned her arms to her sides with one hand. She thrashed in a wild, desperate struggle, but against my strength, she was nothing. With my other hand, I gripped her jaw.
She tried to bite me. Her eyes were wide, filled with burning hatred it was almost beautiful in its intensity.
I forced her mouth open and placed the tablets under her tongue. I clamped her jaw shut, feeling the fine bones of her face beneath my fingers.
“Swallow,” I commanded.
I held her there, her body rigid against mine. I counted the seconds and waited until I felt the muscles in her throat work in an involuntary swallow. That is when I released her. She scrambled back into the corner of the sofa, wiping her mouth, looking at me as if I were the devil himself.
“I hate you,” she rasped.
“I know.”
Perhaps I was, but what comfort could I offer now? Thirty minutes passed before the medication began to work, doing what my words could not, and her heart rate dropped.
“Noor, please let me take you to a bed where you can rest,” I said tenderly.
Her eyelids heavy, already dazed by the drug, she looked at me.
“Too tired,” she whispered. Her arms fell to her sides as the tension left her body.
“I will help you,” I said.
She was a dead weight in my arms, when I lifted her, her head lolling against my shoulder. I carried her to my rooms and placed her on my bed where I slipped off her shoes and turned on the electric blanket Renata had prepared. She curled up beneath the quilt and buried her face in my pillow.
She would sleep wearing my jacket, breathing my scent in my bed.
With a sigh, I closed the door, but not before stealing a last glance at her. She had survived our first encounter, which was almost miraculous under these circumstances. Tomorrow, she would wake in a stranger’s room, in a palazzo full of monsters, her daughter dead. And I would have to convince her that a future with me was worth choosing.
For the original character I have a mildly de-aged version of Chrisjen Avasarala from “The Expanse” as a role model in mind. She is a beautiful, mature woman with a fascinating voice. If you search for ‘Avasarala, best lines’, YouTube will not disappoint you.