âTo get back up to the shining world from there My guide and I went into that hidden tunnel, And Following its path, we took no care To rest, but climbed: he first, then I-so far, through a round aperture I saw appear Some of the beautiful things that Heaven bears, Where we came forth, and once more saw the stars.â
And thatâs why your an alcoholic. I donât want to question your intelligence but you do realize alcohol canât solve your problems for you, no matter how much you think it does.
Dorian smiled at the last of the sunset drifted behind the mountains. After the day he had had there was nothing he wanted to do more than go home. Katrina would be there waiting for him. He always looked forward to seeing her at the end of the day, whether he had just seen her an hour before or not since morning. Even after a hundred years he never grew tired of her smile. Each time he looked at her it was like the first day he saw her, the day that smile light up his life and left it dim when she wasnât around. Not for the first time that day, Dorian twisted the wedding band on his left hand, worn to a dull gold from a hundred years of wear.
Glancing left and right before crossing the street, Dorian spotted a patch of wildflowers that had stubbornly resisted getting trampled by the horses that passed through every day. He paused for a moment just looking at them. Katrina loved wildflowers. She loved that they always grew wherever they wanted, but not where you planted them. She had always related that to her own life. Back before they had met. Her parents had wanted her in England for schooling, but she didnât thrive there. But in America with Dorian she grew and blossomed. There was nothing Katrina loved more than having wildflowers displayed around her home.
Dorian stooped down to pick a handful of them. The purples and the blues mixed with yellow making it a lively bunch. A grin worked its way on to his face as he imagined how her face would light up when she saw them. The current vase of wildflowers on the dining room table was beginning to whiter. Katrina would be delighted. With the flowers safely clasped in his fist, Dorian walked down the darkening road toward the manor house he and Katrina shared with the rest of the coven. Everyone would be out tonight. There was a ball being held on the other side of two by one of the wolf packs. Only Katrina and Dorian had opted out of attending. They had spent so little time together in the last few weeks.
Taking the steps two at a time, Dorian reached the front door in a matter of moments. He stopped before opening the door, removing his hat and running a hand through his already mussed hair. His hair had a habit of never taming no matter how hard he tried. Katrina always told him it gave him a sort of boyish charm so he kept it. With a happy sigh, Dorian pushed open the door.
The entry was dark. Though he found that strange, Dorian pushed it aside. Katrina probably hadnât had a chance to light the candles yet. Moving silently through the darkened house, Dorian did his best to not tip her off to his presence. He wanted to surprise her with the flowers. His vampire vision guided his way through the house, the smell of the flowers filling his sense of smell completely.
Realizing the lower part of the house was empty, Dorian climbed the stairs. Katrina must have been in there room. Probably curled up with a book, completely lost to the world. The image made his smile grow. The picture of her in her night dress, honey colored hair unbound and falling about her shoulder, completely and totally lost to her book was an endearing one. He itched to see it with his own eyes. His fingers yearned to link with hers as she read and he lay next to her. Just the simplicity of being close to her was enough for him and had been for a hundred years.
Down the hallway, Dorian could see a light coming from his study. His feet quickened their pace automatically. It wasnât unusual for her to wait for him in his study since he almost always stopped in there at the end of the night. His hand curled around the flowers and a small skip wormed itâs way into his step. Â So little space between them and he itched to close it.
âKat?â he called out, pushing the door to the study all the way open.
His brow furled as the door revealed the room to be empty. Dorian stood in the doorway taking in the scene, a snake of dread uncoiling in his stomach. Something was right about the room. The papers that had been neatly stacked on his desk were scattered haphazardly across it, some even having floated down to rest on the ground. One of the velvet chairs was knocked out of alignment, but only enough that someone intimately familiar with the room would notice.
Dorian dropped the flowers and his hat on the table by the door and moved into the room. There was a smell in the room. One that had been overpowered by the flowers he had been carrying and his excitement to see Katrina. Â The tang of blood filled the room. But it wasnât human blood. It was the stench of blood that had been laying dormant in the veins for centuries. It was the smell of dried blood, never to be freshened again.
It was vampire blood.
Dorian knew what he would see on the other side of his desk before he laid eyes on it. Honey colored hair strewn across the floor and laced with blood. Clear, blue eyes staring blankly at the ceiling like a porcelain dollâs. The sight of the stake protruding from her chest cause a lump to form in Dorianâs throat. He didnât move. It was like he was seeing the scene before him from a great distance and the full magnitude of it hadnât hit him yet. Images of Katrina from the morning played before his eyes as he stared down at her lifeless body. Katrina carefully pinning up her hair and talking with the slaves making breakfast. Katrina kissing him on the cheek as he left to go meet with the Petrov brothers. The images of a girl so full of life refused to fit with the body that was laying before him.
The suddenly the shock was gone and the grief hit him like a tidal wave, nearly doubling him over. The pain was like nothing he had ever felt. The sensation that his insides were being forcibly ripped up bit by agonizing bit. Dorian wouldnât have been surprised if he opened his shirt to see claws shredding him from the inside out. His knees hit the floor as he began to crawl across the scuffed wooden surface to where she lay. Blood soaked into the knees of his trousers and covered his hands as he pulled her into his lap. One hand smoothed back her hair, leaving streaks of blood throughout the shining gold of her hair. Tears rolled freely down Dorianâs face and on to Katrinaâs closed eyelids as he held her tight to him.
For a seemingly infinite amount of time, Dorian cradled Katrina in his lap, rocking slowly back and forth. He never made a sound. The tears just flowed silently down his face. The blood soaked his clothes through and smeared his face as he ran his hands over them. He barely noticed. He barely noticed anything.
Until he saw the note.
It was nearly completely saturated in blood, but the looping black scrawl was still clear enough on the paper,
Best regards, La Roux.
He knew that name. Edwin La Roux was the leader of a gypsy vampire coven that had set up their camp not far outside Birchwood. Heâd sent scouts out to speak with them.
Dorian didnât understand. La Roux had been peaceful. Had said he hadnât wanted trouble.
But this wasnât peaceful.
He was done thinking. The note crumpled in his hands and fell to the red stained floor. Dorian didnât look at Katrinaâs body laying on the ground as he walked out the door to his study. He was a whirlwind of emotion. Rage and grief overtook anything that had been keeping him in check before. Someone had hurt Katrina. The only person he had loved in his life and who had unconditionally loved him back. Theyâd killed her. Taken her away from him. Heâd never touch her again. Never hear her again. Never tell her he loved her again. The pain the ripped through him fueled his every step.
Dorian tore through town ignoring the towns people that ran away at the sight of him. He was a frightful sight. The blood soaked clothes and the viciousness that was communicated in his very stride. The sight of his eyes is what did it for them. The man was burning from the inside out and the pain was clear on his face. It was terrifying.
The gypsy camp came into view not long after Dorian left the outskirts of town. He could see the bonfire in the distance and hear the boisterous laughter of someone telling a story. It grated on his frayed and rawed nerves. How dare they laugh? How dare they laugh while the only light in his life lay extinguished on the cold floor of his study? The rage flared up again driving his steps faster and faster through the open field.
Heâd tear them apart.
He was a like a black wind. The angel of death let loose on the unsuspecting. There was nothing stopping him. It didnât matter that there was more of them than there was of him. It didnât matter that they had the combined strength to crush him. They were nothing compared to the rage and the grief and the betrayal that eminated so loudly from Dorian. The grass was painted as red as the floor of his study and by the time the screams had died down, his clothes were soaked in more blood than just Katrinaâs.
Heâd torn them all apart. Bodies upon bodies lay tossed aside in the space around him. With the exception of the vampire that lay dying at Dorianâs feet. Bending down, Dorian caught a grip of the manâs neck. Blood bubbled from his mouth as he attempted to breath, but Dorian was unaffected. Was that how Katrina had felt in her last moments? He believe the entire coven that now lay dead deserved to feel everything she had.
âWho did it?â Dorianâs voice was a menacing whisper, so low that is vibrated deep in his chest.
The man gurgled on the ground unable to speak around Dorianâs hand. With a disgusted noise, Dorian slammed the man back on the ground before kneeling over him. The burning man look was still present on his face, but there was something predatory  in his eyes. The bloodlust had overtaken him completely. He was more monster than man. Every shred of humanity he had was pooled onto the floor of his house along with Katrinaâs blood. Again he asked his question and this time he got an answer.
 Iâve been researching to see if any of my family is alive. Maybe my siblings lived to have children whose children are walking this earth somewhere.
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