Made in Death's Image

She nodded, "Of course." She heard the story a million times. How their prince died. The endless attempts at founding his Kingdom of Night. It was such an esoteric concept to get, Kingdom of Night.

Cordin smiled, moving to touch her bare back, "After, we shall celebrate." He made her skin crawl in a way that couldn't help but get her hot.

She tilted her head towards him, "Is that an order or a question."

His pride stung at her jab and his hand reared back from her skin. He said nothing, knowing that he'd punish her eventually. His sweet vampiric daughter was always too smart for her own good. But not now, for now the woman had a task to do as did he. With another breeze, he was gone. She let out a sigh from all tension held shortly after her retort, knowing her words had angered him. She was much too hungry and couldn't care less over having her fill. The vampire would be lying to herself if she didn't admit such exhaustion for games came from living for too long.

Where she once had become warmed to the idea of living forever, now the thought made her cold and curled her stomach. The days had become long and exhausting with a goal. The moments where she had to be by herself with herself had become innumerable at times- exhausting even.

Grace then moved from the edge of the roof she was on and towards the other end of the building that overlooked an alley. Quietly, she took off her heels (not wanting to break them) before jumping down and into the alley. There, she pulled her heels back on and fluffed her curls.

"W-Whoa," a soft voice said, utterly perturbed from behind her.

She turned, her cold eyes noticing the homeless man that she had just jumped down in front of. She smiled at the man before moving forward. Her first thought was to kill him, and yet she couldn't bring herself to do such a thing at this time. So instead, she held his gaze before pushing her persuasion towards him. The man's eyes glazed over as his lips parted.

"Forget what you saw," she began, then sighed, "And get your life together. Take this money, rent a motel, clean yourself up and get a job. Work hard, work to have a good life." She paused, "You've never seen me, and if by chance it comes back to you. Remember that you'll die if you say a word."

"Work to have a good life, fear the blonde woman." he echoed faintly.

She chortled slightly, mildly satisfied with herself, before pulling 100 bill from her breasts and placing them in his hand. Then she pulled away, strutting from the alley way and towards the bar. Stepping inside, she instantly noticed how cozy the place was. The Google description was not exaggerating.

Music played at a tolerable level in the background as the dimly lit place gave off warm and friendly vibes. She hummed, enjoying the sensation on her skin before walking over to the bartender. He was here, like the Hidden's dossier. The Bartender's eyes met hers with interest. She had him now, smiled at him, he cast the reach of her power before walking deeper into the bar. All she needs to do is wait, hopefully not for long though. She hadn't fed in some time.

She spotted a drunk man near the back, before sitting beside him.

His hungry eyes drank her up greedily, "Hey sugar, do I know you? Mind taking a seat with your new best friend." Those overly familiar words made her angry but she had a part to play. No point blowing it for a power play right now.

"No," she purred, pushing her persuasion over him, "But we will be quite intimately acquainted soon."

TWO

Michael saw the beautiful lady the moment she entered the bar. His eyes widened as her sight lingered on him for a mere second before she smirked, and moved to the back of the bar. The tight red dress clung to all of her curves perfectly and left little to his imagination. Her cleavage almost seemed like it bubbled over the hem holding it in place; a dam waiting to burst if only with some help. Her ass and hips in perfect ratio with the rest of her. Her beauty spot is like the perfect garnish to an ice cream sundae he'd never be able to eat. He could feel himself tense as his mouth began to water and instantly he felt terrible. He had seen gorgeous women before. Yet here he was acting like the rest of these drunk dogs. "Stupid," he whispered to himself, running a hand through his dark curly locks and taking a breath, "Get a grip."

"Hey Michael! Can I get anutha' beer ova' here?" Snapped him out of his self flagellation in his mind.

Michael turned to face one of the bar's regulars, an older man by the name of Phil. He smirked, and rolled his eyes as Phil's friends jested the man. Michael always kept a close and protective eye on his regulars, wanting the bar to be a safe place- a home away from home, the way Frangelica had taught him.

"How about a few waters first?" Michael asked only half jokingly.

Phil frowned, a blush on his cheeks and the tip of his nose, "Alright, alright I get it. I'll chill but after I want a beer and a shot."

Michael smiled kindly at the man dismissing his request in the back of his mind, before getting him a nice cold glass of water with ice. The man thanked him before proceeding to gulp down the water as fast as he could. Michael then returned to his spot at the front of the bar. The night continued on, and he performed with a kind smile and warm exterior but his mind was distracted, the mystery lady long forgotten now. Just duty and responsibility at the forefront.

The longer he stood, the more his mind wandered through the memories of how he got here. His mind drew to Raul--only for a second, he remembered his adopted brother's smile. But that was enough to put a chink in his composure and his smile cracked. He blinked hard, trying to ground himself when Frangelica, the bar's owner, noticed.

"Michael," the older woman said softly, her hand on his shoulder, "Take your break."

He frowned, "I'm fine Fran.", quickly returning to his Bartending duties.

Fran smiled gently, "I know you are, but you haven't taken one all night." She knew Michael all too well. She was like his mother at this point.

Relaxed, Michael nodded grateful for his mentor's kindness. He excused himself from the bar as she took over for him, and stepped into the kitchen. Because it was almost closing now, the kitchen had closed half an hour shy of midnight. However, that didn't stop Michael from grabbing a snack, and pouring himself a glass of water. He took ten minutes to collect his composure and push all painful memories from his mind.

Instead, he thought of the first time he met Fran, at a hardware store.

"Hey lady," Michael had called out, "Need help?"

Frangelica paused, her eyes scrutinizing the thin young man, his face looked dirty and tired--like he had been working all his life. And yet, there was something about his voice that pulled her in. It was so soft, and yet so firm. She could feel the warmth coming from his body, it was protective through and through.

"Are you a worker here?" she asked.

She was dressed in a long black pencil skirt, and a white blouse. Her dark locks were messy, most likely from struggling to carry the large piece of wood she held in both her hands. Michael had stepped in to help the woman after hearing the workers of the store mocking the woman in her struggles. While it took every inch of his being not to punch them in the face, he decided his time would be better spent helping the woman.

"No," he replied, "I was looking for paint. Saw you, and wanted to help." Michael gestured to the unwieldy planks of wood.

She smiled, "Thank you. That would be amazing."

He helped her with the wood, all the way to the bar. She explained that last night some university students had gotten too wild and punched holes into the bathroom wall. He helped her repair the wall and it was when his eyes blinked in surprise when she offered him a few bills for his work, did she realize she wanted this man in her life. Deciding at that moment to offer him a job. Michael didn't refuse.

Michael washed the empty cup before returning to the bar.

"Oh perfect timing," Fran said with a smile, "Can you close tonight? It seems Phil needs a drive home. Again." She pointed her thumb over her shoulder at the drunk mess singing along to a pop song he had no business knowing the words of.

Michael raised an eyebrow at Phil, "Spent all his money with his friends on beer and liquor?"

"Fran baby, you know you love me," Phil hollered. Interrupting his own singing to whatever played on the radio.

Michael's eyes rolled. The man might be a flirt but he was most certainly harmless. Then Fran was gone, and for the next few hours, the bar died down before the place was practically empty. It was about two thirty in the morning when he yelled last call, and waited in silence for a final rush of customers but the patrons that remained nursed their drinks and did not disturb. Joyed at the compliance or laziness- whatever came first- he announced the bar was now closed. The place emptied out shortly after, and he began to clean up the establishment. It was then he heard odd noises from the back of the bar. Michael paused not really nervous as much as confused as to how they didn't notice the ruckus of closing.

"Hello?" he called somewhat irate at the stragglers. He just wanted to go home and sleep at this point.

Nothing. And yet, the strange noises continued.

He moved to the back of the bar where he spotted a man pressed up against a woman in the booth. Michael smirked, thinking some university students were trying to get frisky in secret at the bar. He took a step forward, cocking his head curiously at the odd sounding union. "Alright you two," he chided, "Go home."

However, to his surprise, when he spoke, the man's body fell forward onto the floor with a loud thud and still in the booth were the beautiful women from earlier. Michael's mouth dropped in horror as he noticed the fangs hanging in her mouth, and the blood that stained her lips and dress. She was every bit as stunning even erotic with the bloody fluids dripping down her neck and cleavage but now also embodied unparalleled predatory prowess. Instantly, panic and fear grasped him and he knew nothing but the need to flee.

So he did, cursing under his breath, he turned on his heels and ran out the back door knowing it was still unlocked. The cold night air hit him in the face as he slammed open the door, and his shoes slapped noisily against the pavement as he pumped his arms and his lungs burned from the cold night air.

For a moment, Grace just watched him go, surprised. She'd never seen someone with such good instincts to immediately run. Most would stand or test their luck. She figured it was all that modern amputee media that betrayed the reality of her kind. She had gotten so hungry waiting she overindulged in a meal. Grace looked down at the body before sniffing the air lightly. Relief filled her, the man was still alive- barely. She knew better than to drink from an intoxicated individual while working a job. She stood adjusting herself before bending down so, she wiped his mind of the event's trauma before walking calming out the back door and into a puddle or filth. Blood dripped down her chin when she frowned, as she tilted her head towards the fleeing man.

"Oh Grace," she muttered to herself, peeling off her heels and tossing them into the trash, "You've gone and ruined your dress and shoes again. You know how expensive this all is."

Then, without another thought, she shifted her form into a silk, black raven and followed him.

THREE

"That'll be five eighty," Fran said with a warm smile.

The man laughed, "How about you give me a discount Fran."

Michael frowned, stepping in between them, "Pay the bill dickhead."

Instantly, Fran placed her hand on his shoulder and gave the man the beer before apologizing for her bartender's attitude. The man ended up getting that discount and Michael watched with pure confusion at the scene.

"Why?" he asked baffled.

She smiled kindly at him, "Look around, what do you see?"

"Drunks," Michael muttered discontentedly.

Fran shook her head, "I see people working hard to provide for their family. I see stressed men and women, I see broken and afraid minds. I see people desperate for a safe haven. That man's name is Frank Billard. His wife died last year of cancer and now he is raising their daughter alone. He comes here once a year, on his anniversary to have a beer."

Suddenly, Michael felt ashamed, "I-I didn't know."

"Of course not," she chuckled, "You're new and all you see are drunks." She endearingly grabbed Michael by the forearm and smiled.

Then she turned and poured out another beer before placing it beside Franks' first one. Now watching carefully, Michael saw the tears in the man's eyes. He sniffled when Fran put the beer out for his dead wife, and Michael saw the man's composure crumble slightly. Michael looked around again, this time more carefully and he realized Fran was right.

This was a home away from home, even for him. She wanted a place for people to come snd be happy and let go, within reason of course.

Michael groaned softly.

Sunlight danced across his eye lids like a ballerina with two left feet. His head pounded with a harsh throbbing sensation, and his entire body ached. He rolled over, his face feeling what was not a bed but instead grass. This made his eyes peel open as he sat up. He was laying in a park, joggers giving him strange looks as they ran by him.

"What the hell happened?" He muttered, blocking the light from entering his eyes.

His quest to search his brain was quickly abandoned as his phone went off. He patted his clothing in his search before finding the phone, with a cracked screen on the grass under him. Looking down at the screen, he noticed twenty missed calls from Fran.

"Fuck," he grunted, quickly standing and answering, "Hello?"

Fran gasped, "Michael? Oh god, are you alright? Where are you? What happened? There was blood all over the bar! Cops are here asking for you."

Michael opened his mouth to reply when he noticed a police officer at the front of the park. He realized that this would be the perfect chance to report the strange things that had happened and quickly, he told Fran he was alright and he'd call her back. Walking over to the police officers, he hollered.

The man turned, instantly suspicious, "Can I help you?"

Michael nodded, "Yeah I think I've been drugged?"

"Drugged you say," the man hummed, "By what?"

Michael paused, "The fuck you mean by what? If I'd known that I wouldn't be coming to you now would I? I'd be going to the hospital or sleeping this shit off. Listen man, I've been assaulted."

"So were you drugged or assaulted?" The other officer from nearby said in his approach his hand on his gun. Michael realized his belligerence would not do him well... yet he continued.

"Why can't it be both?", realizing his mistake as he made it.

"Sir, I don't like that tone of yours, you need to calm down."

"My tone?" Michael sputtered, "You're kidding right? I'm asking for help! Listen someone was murdered at the bar I work at. I ran in fear until I passed out in the park."

Both cops looked to each other with a knowing look another crazy.

Michael ended up in the back of the police car, and hauled into an interrogation room. By now, Michael felt like shit. His clothing felt heavy, he was exhausted, his head hurt, his body hurt and now he was being questioned for being suspicious. He leaned his cheek on his hands, propped by his elbows on the table as he tried to calm down. His cuffs jingled as he did. The man attempted to channel his inner Fran, knowing the anger that bubbled inside him would only do more harm than good.

"It'll be fine," he muttered to himself.

The door opened and he sighed, "Listen, I didn't do anything wrong. I have information. Can you please call the cops sent to the bar Getaway. They'll be able to confirm what I said."

"Oh of course not," a bright, female voice said.

He quickly lifted his head and gasped, "You!"

Standing in the doorway was Grace, now dressed in crimson, silk romper. Her short hair done up except for two strands framing her picture perfect face, her lips red, round sunglasses on her nose and she wore a different pair of red heels. She smirked at him, before walking over and took his wrists in her hands.

"What are you doing? Coming to kill me bfore I can't rat?" he asked. He was tense. Terrified even.

She smirked but said nothing more. Flexing her hands, she tore the cuffs off of him leaving him speechless. Then she stepped away, grabbing his hand in her cold one and pulling him to stand up. As she did, he snapped out of his bewilderment and he pulled away.

"Wait, stop," he said quickly and cautiously, "What is going on? You'll get me in more trouble. You already murdered someone and now you're snatching me out of a police station."

She rolled her eyes exasperated by his human ignorance, "First off, I didn't murder him. Now come on darling, they won't remember you. We need to go."

Michael shook his head, "I'm not going until you explain what is going on."

Grace turned to him, her glasses slipping slightly to show off her eyes before they transformed from their honey brown to a soulless silver and a furrowed and angry brow made itself apparent. He froze, pure primal fear filled him, she moved her glasses back up onto her face now that her display of dominance was made clear.

"We need to go before they find you. And kill you," she said, reissuing her marching orders.

He started following her again, out of the station, "Who?" Michael whispered, now even more wigged out by what was happening.

"The other vampires," she replied grimly while looking back at him to gauge his reaction before continuing her brisk stride.

"V-Vampires?" Michael was in disbelief but deep down in his belly the truth was not that strange to him. After the last 24 hours and the unexplainable shit he had seen the easiest answer came before the complicated one.

Grace said nothing else as she pulled him past all the officers (who seemed oblivious to them) and out the front door. As they did, one officer passed them before grabbing his arm with an inhuman strength causing him to wince. He grimaced in pain, looking back at the officer who let out a hiss, their eyes the same silver as Grace's.

"Vampire!" Michael said sharply through his teeth, feeling as if his arm was about to snap in two.

Slamming the heel of her shoe into the Vampire Officer's foot, the vampire let Michael go and Grace quickly pulled him away uttering "Not today." Pulling Michael down the street, she cringed every so subtly at at the sunlight, ignoring the draining effect it always had on her. Michael huffed trying to keep pace with her, confused, shocked, and in pain at the entire situation. However, he let her continue to pull him down the street and towards a nice, sleek black Volvo. Once the two were inside of the vehicle Grace began to drive away. Michael couldn't help himself looking over at her, admiring her body and how her breast rested in the silk and how her nipples poked through the fabric and how toned her frame is despite how full assists are under the romper. She was a complete package of sex appeal and traits of an apex predator.

"Who are you?" he barked snapping out of his trance.

"Grace." She said nonchalantly while driving at a faster than legal speed.

He was surprised she was so open to sharing, so he continued, "Alright Grace. Why are vampires after me? Is it because I saw you..."