A Tale Of Twilight: The Dawn Of Dark Ages

AN UNWANTED SHIELD

The world was a disorienting cacophony of groaning metal, the acrid smell of ozone from shattered batteries, and the coppery tang of fresh blood. Silence, heavy and stunned, followed the final, sickening crunch of the crash.

Matt was the first to move. Adrenaline, cold and precise, burned through the daze. He found himself inverted, held by the seatbelt that had bitten deep into his shoulder. With a grunt, he released it, dropping onto what was now the ceiling of the overturned Macan. The driver’s side was a tomb of compressed steel and plastic. There was no movement from within.

Ignoring the protest of bruised muscles, he kicked out the already webbed-cracked window of the rear passenger side, the safety glass dissolving into a cascade of diamonds. He hauled himself out into the blinding, unforgiving morning sun, his boots crunching on glittering debris.

His first thought was her. Turning back to the wreck, he gripped the edge of the mangled door and, with a surge of focused strength that made the tendons in his forearms cord, wrenched it open with a shriek of tortured metal.

“Give me your hand,” he commanded, his voice rough but steady, reaching into the dark interior.

Yvonne didn’t move. She was a crumpled figure in the shadows, suspended upside down by her belt, her hair a silver waterfall pooling on the crushed roof lining. She batted his hand away with a weak, furious swipe.

“The sun is out, you simpleton,” she hissed, the words choked but venomous. Her eyes, wide with a pain that was more than physical, were fixed on the rectangle of deadly daylight beyond the door.

The reality of her vulnerability hit him. He eased back, his mind clicking into a different protocol. Leaning into the wreckage, he fumbled beside his former seat and pulled free a compact, heavy-duty black umbrella. With a sharp thwip, he opened it, immediately creating a pool of safe, protective shadow around her.

Only then did she move. With a pained, slow creep, she unbuckled herself and slithered out of the car, her movements unnaturally stiff, her body instinctively following the sanctuary of the umbrella’s shade.

Once clear of the wreck, Matt didn’t hesitate. Still holding the umbrella aloft with one hand, he shrugged out of his brown leather jacket with the other. The morning air was cool on his skin, now covered only by a form-fitting white short-sleeved shirt that did little to conceal the powerful, densely packed muscles of his shoulders and arms. He wrapped the jacket around her shoulders, its size swallowing her frame.

She looked up, her gaze initially meeting his with its usual defiance. But then it faltered, trailing down. She took in the sun-beaten, slightly browned skin of his face, the strong line of his jaw accentuated by a freshly trimmed goatee. His hair, free from its usual ponytail, was a cascade of coal-black waves that reached his shoulders, shining under the morning light in a way that seemed almost insolent in its vitality. He was a creature of the sun, standing protectively over a creature of the night. The contrast was jarring, and for a moment, a flicker of something like envy crossed her features.

“Are you alright, ma’am? You seem quite flustered,” Matt said, catching her intense stare. He seemed unsettled by it, his professional mask slipping for a microsecond.

“Yes, I am… I’m fine.. I’m good,” she stammered, the stutter surprising even her. It betrayed a shock she refused to verbally acknowledge.

“Are you sure, ma’am? You are—” he began, his voice laced with a concern that felt alien in their dynamic.

“Are you deaf?” she snapped, the moment of vulnerability shattered by familiar hostility. “I said I’m fine! Besides, an accident with this… diminutive amount of damage would leave only a superficial scratch on a member of the Lunar clan like myself.” It was a weak attempt to reassert her superiority, to cloak her shaken state in bravado.

Matt’s gaze drifted past her, to the front of the wreck. “Clearly the driver was not a member of the Lunar clan,” he stated flatly, his voice devoid of emotion. He was inadvertently staring at the grisly remains. The lower half of the driver’s body, exposed to the sun, had already begun to disintegrate into ash. The upper half, shielded by the twisted dashboard, was a crushed and headless ruin. The word ‘diminutive’ echoed in his mind, a chilling testament to the vast gulf in their values. He said nothing.

“Yeah, certainly not,” Yvonne murmured, her own gaze fixed on the horrific sight with a detached, almost clinical curiosity. “He was Bidenin. So he’s probably dead.” The disposal of a life was a simple statement of fact.

“We’ve got to get going,” Matt said, his voice hardening. The priority was re-established. “You have to get home. And I have to make sure of that.” He clutched her arm firmly, his grip like iron, and began to pull her away from the wreck.

“Let go of me! Hey! Get your filthy hands off of me!” she snarled, trying to wrench herself free. In her struggle, she stumbled backward, a single step taking her out from under the umbrella’s protection and into a direct s***h of morning sun.

The effect was instantaneous. A wisp of smoke curled from the exposed skin of her forearm. She let out a sharp, pained cry—a genuine sound of agony that was utterly unlike her theatrical complaints. “Ouch! Heyyyy!”

“I’m sorry!” Matt’s apology was swift, but his tone was exasperated, not remorseful. He yanked her back into the shade with a force that brooked no argument. “Stop being melodramatic and come on. Let’s get out of here.” A grim, almost sinister smile touched his lips. For the first time, the power dynamic had unequivocally shifted. Out here, under the open sky, she was utterly at his mercy.

“I’m thankful you didn’t sit in front,” she spat, cradling her singed arm. “You deserve a more gruesome death than this.”

Matt’s smile didn’t falter. What could be more gruesome than being decapitated and dissolved by sunlight? He simply looked straight ahead, his mind already analyzing the road, the angles, the impossibility of the accident as they began their slow, shuffling walk back to the castle, a strange, symbiotic pair under a single black umbrella.

“Great. We have to walk,” Yvonne muttered, having to match her pace precisely to his to stay within the narrow circle of shade.

“The castle is just a few blocks down,” Matt replied, that same unsettling smile returning before he consciously slowed his long strides to accommodate her. He wasn’t just holding an umbrella; he was a living shield, his body a wall of over two hundred pounds of muscle and cloth, blocking the scattered rays that the umbrella couldn’t catch.

By the time they reached the castle gates, the news had already arrived, spreading through the staff with vampiric speed. But to Matt’s profound distaste, the atmosphere wasn’t one of horror or grief. The staff’s whispers weren’t about the horrific death of a clansman, but about the scandalous, dangerous fact that the Ventrue heir had been exposed to the *sun*.

Arne was waiting for them in the grand foyer, a storm contained in a perfectly tailored suit. “Matt! What on earth happened out there?” he barked, his voice echoing off the marble as they entered. He was animated, pacing, a predator whose territory had been breached.

“You have to take it easy, Dad. He wasn’t at fault at all,” Yvonne interjected, stepping slightly forward. “The driver probably hit something sharp. It blew the tires and sent us flying.” She glanced up at Matt. His face was a carefully neutral mask, but his eyes were distant, lost in the deep waters of his own analysis. He didn’t even seem to register that his greatest antagonist was defending him.

“Matt? Matt!” Arne’s voice grew fiercer. “Does she speak for you now?”

The sound of his name snapped him back. “No. Not really, sir,” Matt said, his voice even and respectful. “But she is not entirely wrong. There were no bumps on the road. I felt the initial jolt and asked the driver about it. He assured me everything was under control.” The lie came easily, a half-truth to placate while he hunted for the whole story.

“So that’s it?” Arne’s shoulders loosened slightly. “Well, he lost his life due to his own recklessness.” Case closed.

“But, sir,” Matt pressed, genuine worry now etching lines on his face. “I still think there’s more to it. It felt… targeted. I think I should investigate this further.”

Arne waved a dismissive hand, already turning away. “There’s no need for that. You did good. I mean… no harm befell my precious jewel.” He stopped and looked back, a king giving a rare compliment. “You shielded her completely from the sun.” His agitation was gone, replaced by a father’s relief.

The moment he was out of earshot, Yvonne turned on Matt, her voice a perfect, mocking parody of her father’s. “*I mean no harm befell my precious jewel. You shielded her completely from the sun.*” She pointed angrily at the red, blistering burn on her elbow. “You did good, my foot. I should have let him terminate your contract right here.” But the look in her eyes held less anger and more a strange, grudging pity.

“I’m sorry to disappoint you if you expect me to thank you for this,” Matt replied coolly. “Besides, you were just telling the truth back there.”

“You know,” she sneered, grabbing a crystal decanter and pouring a generous measure of blood-red wine, “for someone on my father’s payroll, you sure have a big mouth.”

“You know we both need to rest,” he said, his voice firm. “And that’s about enough drinking for two lifetimes.”

“Do you not know anything?” she shot back, though the fight was draining from her. “Vampires have the most rapid metabolism you can think of.” She drained the glass in one go and set it down with a definitive click. “As for being tired… I think you are right.” She didn’t say another word, simply turned and staggered toward the private elevator that led to her chambers, her body language screaming of exhaustion and pain.

Matt said nothing. He watched her go, her proud posture finally broken. As the elevator doors closed, he was left alone in the vast, silent hall.

The question echoed in the emptiness, a silent scream in his own mind: *What am I really doing here?*

He could wave it off with the seductive numbers on his paycheck. But he knew better. A vampire, especially a royal one, doesn’t need a human bodyguard. He was a tool for a purpose he didn’t understand, a pawn in a game whose rules were hidden. He could hold his own in a fight, but in this gilded castle of ancient power and casual cruelty, he knew his safety was an illusion, guaranteed by nothing more than the whim of a king and the fading, sun-blistered patience of his daughter. The wreckage wasn’t just on the road; it was here, in the very foundation of his assignment.