Fortier: Blood and Moon

Compromise

It wasn't that long before we reached our destination. For us vampires, everything is doubled compared to the average human. Our senses are heightened, but so is our strength. Brute and pure muscles, what you need days to do, we can do in hours.

We kept running at a great distance. I lost track, to tell you the truth. I've never been interested to know where the Bertrams live anyways, but I think we ended up being in Texas. These undergrounds are all connected some way or another, and it just makes the trip that much easier for us, at least.

“We're here,” Lychas said before he halted and we stood in front of a large iron gate that was filled with spikes so sharp they could cut through whatever came at them. He took the keys from his pocket and unlocked that monstrosity.

He pushed the door with his bare hands, and I could see blood dripping from them soon afterward as the spikes went through his palms, coming from the rear end. “This door is very special. It's built to recognize the blood.”

I wasn't really that interested in knowing how the gate works, nor anything about them. To tell you the truth, the only reason I came was because of my father, and I'd much rather be somewhere else, so I simply nod and we march inside.

No lights, nothing. Not a single breath I could sense. That place was as empty as it could be, though I could hear two people aside from us breathing. Lychas sure didn't want anyone to stumble across me by mistake. I wonder what he told them though, but alas, we make way towards the house.

Lychas knocks on the door, and it is barged opened. A lady, most probably his wife, pushes herself onto him for an embrace. He returns it and gently pushes her away from him.

“Is this him? The Fortier?” she asks.

Lychas simply nods and goes inside. He turns around and looks at me. “Come in.”

At this point, I really do not care what he has to say, but curiosity gets the best of me. If anything, it will be fun, shouldn’t it? And so I enter the house, and we sit down at a table. The wife brings out some god-awful blood from the refrigerator. No marks or labels, I can only guess what it is from the foul smell that it radiates. “You prefer fresh blood, you said?”

“I wasn’t expecting you to show up, to be honest. But it is good nonetheless. Please forgive the quality,” he said. It was hard for him to say that I could tell. He began to scratch the back of his head, as well.

“In all honesty, our house has seen better days,” he said before he took a pause and rolled his eyes towards his wife. “I called you here because as you may have heard, your father plans to launch a full-scale attack on us.”

He took a pause. He turned pale yet again, he began to sweat and breathe heavily. This was not an easy topic for him to talk about, that much was clear . . . but what exactly was he planning? “A Bertram always has a plan” is what they are famous for.

“Are you telling me that you will not survive the attack?”

He turned his head towards me quickly, so fast that I almost heard his neck snap. “That is exactly what this is about. Your father is not simply after revenge, he is after annihilation,” he said. He halted if only for a moment. “Why do I have to pay for the sins that my father committed?”

I shook my head. “Sins must always be purged, Lychas. I’m disappointed in you. Really, I am,” I said before I stood up from the chair. This conversation was over. He merely called me in to simply beg that I stop what they had coming for generations.

“Wait!” the wife said, as she stood up and grabbed my arm. “This cannot go on forever! War is not a game!” she begged.

“There is a winner and a loser. That's a game, and one that you are about to lose, may I add.” I said. They were quite taken back by my words. Sure, I do not envy them right now, but I know my father and the stories that brew from his judgment. He was not the type of person to let the death of anyone to go unanswered. An eye for an eye, he always believed.

“I thought you despised vendettas, Alfred,” Lychas replied.

“I choose to not partake in this idiocy. Sure, I believe it to be unjust that you have to answer for crimes that you have not committed, but not even I can change my father's mind.” I said before I broke free from the wife's grasp. “You have a choice. Fight and die with honor, and may this feud end with both of your deaths.”

“What if you could force your father to accept peace?”

I took one look at his face when he said that, and it was all I needed to burst into laughter. I laughed so hard that a tear came down my cheeks. “The words ‘peace’ and ‘my father’ cannot even be said in one sentence. Surely you jest.”

Lychas then stood up from his chair, he looked at his wife and I could swear that she frowned. I concentrated. I knew they were up to something. I could sense someone else.

“Petra . . . Come here,” Lychas said.

“Yes, father,” I heard a soft and tender voice say from across the room where we were. Vampires had superb hearing after all, and they didn’t have to be in the same area to eavesdrop on a conversation. But something was different about her: she was not a fighter by a mile. I could sense how weak she was. Her heartbeat raced with every step she was taking towards us.

And then she came into the light: a round face that housed a small nose with bright blue eyes. She had dark hair that reached her shoulders. She was beautiful on all accords. But even then, I could feel how young and inexperienced she was.