"Right. Now. I don't like doing this as much as you, but if you humans will insist on stealing..." The speaker stood in the middle of the small village green, addressing a large, silent, petrified crowd. The crowd all knew why they were there. Something precious had been stolen from the most powerful, ancient vampire in the land; the culprit had been tracked back to their little town, and now the Master and his two brothers were paying their usually peaceful village a rare and unwanted visit, threatening and angry and terrifying. The Master, looked around the crowd, and, with a fleeting glance to the dark skies above in desperation, spoke once again. "This is your final chance. Precious goods have been stolen from me and, make no mistake, I will have them returned, whether freely or by force."
He stood a good foot taller than any of the villagers, his broad, athletic body, jet black curly hair and piercing green eyes enough to threaten anyone; but more so, because the villagers knew why he was here. The slight glimpse of sharp, pointed fangs when he snarled his words was enough to make any human recoil, and this crowd were no exception. The Master's two brothers, almost equally as threatening and imposing, stood either side of him, glaring into the crowd angrily, their fangs also slightly visible. And yet, the mass of people remained deadly silent. The Master shook his head, quickly losing the little patience he had. "If no one comes forward now, I will ransack this place and find the missing goods. And if I cannot find them... I will destroy your settlement and take every single thing of value that this village owns, as compensation." He looked into the crowd of worried faces, growing secretly desperate. "By the Gods, you know I will. I will not hesitate in destroying this place." The Master turned to look at his brother Marcus, who nodded, adamantly encouraging his brother, and turned to address the crowd.
"Do you fucking humans not realise everything we do for you? We protect you, we keep all trouble out of this area, we give you a safe place to live, we offer you sanctuary. We are your salvation, when we could be your damnation. All we ask for in return is obedience and fucking trust." He swore under his breath. "Fucking humans. You know how much those goods meant to us. To our father." He paused and glanced back to the Master, who smiled, darkly, demandingly; and spoke.
"Now then, who can return to me what was stolen?"
* * *
Three years previous.
Those eyes. Those captivating, sky blue, doe eyes, staring up at him with so much innocence. That was why he hesitated; that was why he did it. In years to come, he'd think back on this hesitation with a sharp stab of painful confusion; this, the only moment in time where he could ever acknowledge that he'd shown weakness. It was those eyes, her eyes.
Callan stared at the girl before him. Girl, he affirmed to himself, surely still only in her late teenage years, and yet. So damned captivating. She stared up at him, her back and the palms of her hands pressed against the wall behind her, motionless apart from the tremble of her lower lip, which he observed with intrigue. Yes, she was scared of him, and he should have relished that, revelled in it, but yet. So damned captivating. He narrowed his eyes a little and clenched his jaw, aware that in doing so his fangs began to show at the sides of his mouth, and acutely aware of her heartbeat pacing even faster in terrified response. Hell, he could taste her fear in the air, even through the overwhelming odour of the smoke and the flames, lapping at every house in the village, as his brothers made sure they left no villager alive. Yes, he should kill her, he affirmed to himself. It was his order, to kill every villager he found alive. He could kill her with a mere thought, a blink of an eye, a flick of the wrist. And yet. He found himself unable to break away from her glance.
The flames which engulfed the straw roofs of every house in the village were spreading, intoxicating, and it was no exception in the house that Callan now found himself in. Smoke began to billow through the roof, and he knew that it would not be too much longer until the roof collapsed, killing the girl anyway. Hell, he didn't even need to kill her. All he needed to do was to walk away, and that would be one more worthless human dead. But yet.
The girl began to cough violently with the smoke, forcing her to break eye contact and bend over, eyes streaming. Callan was glad for it. He regained his composure and control, and straightened a little to look down at her: yes, he just needed to leave her here and she would perish. Perfect. He tried to force a dark smile as he turned his back and walked towards the door of the little house; trying to suppress the foreign, almost human urge not to leave her.
As he approached the door, it happened; burning timber and tiles from the roof came crashing down into the middle of the room, and the girl screamed, an ear-piercing, shattering shriek. Callan was used to screams. Hell, only moments before had he stood in the middle of the village with his brothers, burning torch in hand, as the houses began to be burned to the ground on his father's orders. But yet.
Callan, hesitating once again, turned back to the girl, and instantly regretted doing so. Her hair, an auburn shade, he had uncharacteristically noticed before, was grey with ash, and her coughs were more incessant as she struggled to breath. At the moment he turned around, she had lifted her head to look at him, she had whispered please, with those captivating, sky blue eyes. And that's why he did it.
Callan swore loudly and, in a millisecond, had reached the girl, thrown her roughly into his arms, and darted out of the back of the hut. The fresh air of the moonlit night was a welcome relief for her lungs and she gasped, spluttering, as he placed her down on the grass, a little too softly for his own liking. He straightened himself to stand tall again, so tall and imposing over her crouched body, and looked down at her darkly. She gulped, shaking, with trembling breaths, and to his surprise she scrambled onto her feet to stand before him, shorter and so obviously weaker, but, he noticed with a confusing pang in his chest, so defiant, still. Her tear-stained eyes now narrowed a little as her forehead creased into a frown, and she spoke, so softly.
"Thank you?" her whisper, more of a question than a statement, was so small Callan seriously doubted any human would have been able to pick up on it. But he could, and he noticed it. He also noticed the house, the village, behind them burning to the ground; he noticed that there were no more screams, only the sounds of soul-engulfing flames; he noticed that, being shadowed at the back of the hut, at the back of the village, no one would see the girl as she fled into the fields and the forest beyond. And most of all, he noticed the same tremble of her bottom lip. It was then he spoke; and it came out as one long word, dark and demanding and growling so that she would take note. And she did.
"Run".
In years to come, he would wonder why she too had hesitated; why, once he had rescued her, she just stood and stared at him, as if, she were not scared, as if she felt something other than fear for him. As if.
