A Tale Of Twilight: The Dawn Of Dark Ages

THE UNWELCOMED GUARDIAN

The forest had been a disappointment. The hunt, a bore. The mortal she’d chased through the gnarled oaks had given up too easily, his fear turning sour and pathetic before she’d even sunk her fangs in. It left a bitter taste, one not even the coppery warmth of his blood could fully cleanse.

Yvonne Arne moved with a languid, indolent grace through the pre-dawn stillness, her boots making no sound on the gravel path that snaked from the ancient woods to the imposing silhouette of her home. The castle wasn’t just a dwelling; it was a statement carved in stone and shadow, a monument to the power of the Ventrue line.

As she approached, the main sensor gate, an incongruous piece of modern technology set within the centuries-old wall, hissed open on its own volition, recognizing her unique bio-signature. She didn’t break her stride, passing through the threshold of her gilded cage.

Restlessness, her constant companion, propelled her upward. With the preternatural agility of her kind, she scaled the rough-hewn stone of the main keep, her fingers finding holds invisible to the human eye. She landed soundlessly on the sloped, lead-lined mansard roof facing west, the spot she considered her private sanctuary.

The world from here was a study in monochrome. The almost pitch-black horizon seemed to melt into the churning, ink-dark sea, a seamless void of nothingness. She watched, a statue in the cold, as the first razor-thin line of crimson split the sky. The light began its daily, arrogant assault, sweeping the comforting darkness back toward the ocean.

As the sun threatened her peace, her thoughts, inevitably, turned to her father.

Arne Anton, the Ventrue King, had been… different since the police incident. The weekly trips, the secretive departures in the dead of night, returning at strange hours. He’d always come back reticent, cloaked in a silence so heavy it felt violent. His magnificent gray eyes, usually sharp enough to dissect a soul, would be clouded, perturbed, as if he were constantly combing through the vast archives of his ancient mind, searching, always searching, for a solution to a problem she refused to acknowledge she was.

The very idea of a bodyguard was an insult. A vampire of the royal line, needing a nursemaid? It was a joke, a symptom of her father’s paranoia, a crack in the formidable facade of the king who feared nothing.

The crunch of tires on the main driveway far below shattered her brooding. Her enhanced hearing picked up the near-silent hum of a powerful electric engine—a sound that was becoming regrettably common even in their world. She peered over the roof's edge.

A black Porsche Macan 4S, windows tinted to utter opacity, glided up the long drive that ran like a dark vein through the cemetery before connecting to the main road. It was her father’s vehicle. Not the most ostentatious in his collection, that would be the vintage Rolls or the brutalist armored Mercedes, but his most loved. The Macan was for when he wished to move through the human world unnoticed, a predator in a wolf’s clever disguise.

The car slid into the underground garage entrance with a whisper. A moment later, the massive figure of Henry, her father’s personal guard and chauffeur, emerged from the passenger side. Dressed in an impeccably tailored black suit that did little to conceal the lethal power beneath, he moved with a quiet purpose. His hands, she noted with a detached curiosity, were massive, each one nearly twice the size of her own, capable of crushing stone, or a skull, with ease.

He rounded the vehicle with a deferential air and opened the rear door. Arne emerged, his slender, elegant form a stark contrast to Henry’s brute strength. He straightened his jacket, a simple motion that nonetheless commanded the very air around him.

Then, the other rear door opened.

Yvonne froze, her breath catching in her throat. Her father never brought guests to the castle. Not allies, not sycophants, not even the few ancient beings he called contemporaries. The castle was their sanctum, their bastion. Its location was a secret more closely guarded than the crown jewels.

Yet, here was a stranger.

The man who unfolded himself from the car wasn't a giant, but stood a good six feet eight inches. He was dressed in functional, dark tactical gear that looked out of place against the Porsche’s luxury, his physique not bulky but over-built, like a mountain carved into human form. From her perch, Yvonne’s keen eyes cataloged him.

His face was oddly… normal. Handsome, in a rugged, masculine way, with a strong jaw and a perfect cheekbone. His eyes, a warm, light brown like coffee generously laced with cream, scanned his surroundings with a calm, unnerving alertness. His hair, the color of a starless night, was pulled back into a severe, practical ponytail. Her gaze traveled down, assessing the threat. His biceps, visible under the tight fabric of his shirt, were not grotesquely large, but they were rigid, defined with a corded strength that spoke of relentless discipline, not mere vanity.

And then he looked up.

Directly at her.

He made no show of searching; his eyes simply found hers on the shadowed roof as if he’d known she was there all along. A slow, warm smile spread across his face. It was a perfect, even, disarmingly white smile. It should have been reassuring. It was not.

It sent a shiver skittering down her spine, a cold, unfamiliar sensation that had nothing to do with the morning chill.

Fear? The thought was so alien, so utterly ridiculous, that she nearly laughed aloud. She was Yvonne Arne. She did not feel fear. Yet, a primal part of her, the ancient lizard brain that existed beneath the vampire royalty, recoiled. She ignored him, a deliberate act of dismissal, and leaped from the roof, landing softly on the courtyard stones before her father.

“You’re back early,” she said, moving to hug him, a gesture she usually performed with theatrical affection. This time, her body was stiff. Her eyes flickered back to the giant, who was now walking toward them with a calm, ground-eating stride that was completely silent, Impossibly silent for a man of his size.

Arne’s embrace was tight, brief. He pulled back, his own famous smile, a rare and dangerous thing, genuinely plastered on his face. He looked… triumphant. Like a man who had found a legendary weapon thought lost to time.

“Yvonne. This,” he said, gesturing the man closer, his voice rich with satisfaction, “is Matthew Garrett. He is to be your new personal bodyguard.”

The words landed not like a suggestion, but a decree. A sentence. The smile on Yvonne’s face didn’t just slip away; it shattered, replaced by a mask of cold, incredulous fury. She had known it was coming, had braced for the argument, but the reality of this stranger, with the unsettling smile, standing there as the embodiment of her father’s lack of faith was a physical blow.

She looked from her father’s resolute face to Matt’s placid one and back again, her voice a low, venomous hiss. “No. Absolutely not. I thought your threat was a joke, Father. A pathetic attempt to scare me into obedience. My answer was no then. It is a resounding, final NO now.”

Her defenses, honed over decades of rebellion, slammed into place. Her fingers twitched, her two-inch retractable fangs itching to emerge, to feel the give of this man’s flesh. It was only that inexplicable, humiliating tremor of fear that held her back. It wasn't his size. It was… something else.

She realized with a start what was wrong. She couldn’t smell him.

Every living thing had a scent—blood, sweat, ambition, fear. Vampires were walking perfumeries of emotion and biology. This man, Matthew Garrett, gave off nothing. No scent of humanity, no musk of animal, no electric tang of another supernatural being. It was like standing next to a well-drafted statue. The absence was more alarming than any odor could ever be.

Arne simply sighed, the sound full of a patience she knew was feigned. He moved past her toward the main entrance. “The sun is nearly upon us, my dear. And I know you’re not wearing your protective serum. Inside. Now.” It was an order, delivered with a velvet glove but an iron fist.

Henry was already holding the heavy oak door open.

“Father!” she protested, the word a snarl, but she followed him inside, her fury a boiling temper in the castle’s cool, dank air.

The grand sitting room, with its vaulted ceilings and tapestries depicting ancient hunts, felt suddenly claustrophobic. She was at him again before he could even take his customary seat by the cold fireplace.

“This is my life! I should have a say in it! I don’t need a keeper! This is an insult!” Her control frayed. Her fangs did flash then, sharp and white against the crimson of her lips, and her eyes bled from blue to a furious, glowing vermillion.

Arne turned on her, and for a fleeting second, the king was gone, replaced by the terrifying creature who had ripped a throne from its previous owner. His voice, however, remained dangerously soft. “Yvonne. Control yourself. This is not a negotiation. You have forced my hand. Fifty-two times this year. Fifty-two times I have had to pull you from the fire. I will not be the Ventrue who loses his only heir to carelessness or human arrogance. You are all I have left. *Understand me.*”

The raw, uncharacteristic plea in his last two words momentarily doused her fire. She took a sharp breath, trying to leash her anger. “A vampire does not need a bodyguard. Our strength is our own. I am sorry for the trouble I cause, Father, I truly am. But the answer is no. And I don’t trust him. I can’t… *smell* him. There’s something wrong with him.”

Arne’s expression softened a fraction. He placed his hands on her shoulders, a rare paternal gesture. “The ‘what’ is not your concern. The ‘who’ is Matthew Garrett. He was recommended by G-5 itself. If, after a week, you find him truly unsuitable, I will personally find a replacement. But this one… this one meets a standard you cannot yet comprehend.”

She saw the finality in his storm-gray eyes. The battle was lost. She threw her hands up in exasperation, a dramatic, conceding gesture. “Fine! What clan does he hail from, then? He’d better be Lunar. I won’t have a lesser vampire dogging my steps.”

Arne’s smile returned, broad and faintly amused. “Oh, he’s not a vampire, my dear. Matthew is human.”

The statement hung in the air, absurd and shocking.

“Human?” The word was a curse on her lips. “You, who detest their stench, their fleeting, insignificant lives? You bring one of those filthy beings into our home? To guard me?” Then a slow, wicked smile spread across her face as the implications dawned. “To think a human works for G-5… he must be a special kind of fool.” Her mood transformed, the anger replaced by a thrilling sense of predation. “This… this might not be so bad after all. He’ll make a delightful midnight snack. And I do not say that lightly. My day is looking significantly brighter.”

Arne’s smile didn’t waver. He knew his daughter’s mind better than she knew it herself. “Matthew Garrett is not ordinary. You will not find him such easy prey. I sparred with him myself. It took me several minutes to land even a glancing blow. The man is… preternaturally agile. Unnervingly perceptive. Even in his sleep, I suspect he is more dangerous than you can imagine.”

Yvonne’s smirk was dubiously sweet, a promise of mischief and mayhem. She was certain she would try. The challenge was now irresistible. The fear was still there, a tiny, cold pebble in her gut, but it was overshadowed by arrogance and hunger. He was prey. Large, strange, scentless prey, but prey nonetheless. It was only a matter of time.

“We’ll see, Father,” she purred. “We shall see.”

With a final, lingering glance at the silent Matthew, who had taken a post by the door like a statue carved from shadow and muscle, she swept from the room toward her bed chamber, already plotting her first test.

Matt waited until her footsteps faded. He exchanged a long, silent look with Arne, a look that spoke of unspoken agreements and grim purpose. Then, he turned and took his place outside her door, a silent, unmovable sentinel in the darkening hall. The game between guardian and charge had begun.