Without precautions?
I chuckle as the cave entrance comes into view, thinking about how I carved up Little Baby’s body with all those symbols. How I put my plan into blood. Then I laugh out loud about how, in the end, I have only ever been praying to myself. Only ever been begging myself for more power.
It was me, checking me.
It was me, empowering me.
I am a genius.
I am the Darkness.
And this is my world.
The scions are sitting on the floor of the cave entrance when I enter, but as soon as they see me, they jump to their feet.
I take them in as they stand, silent and with bowed heads.
A few of them are naked, but some still have tatters of clothes on. All of them are dirty since they all came up from the ground.
They are pale, and gaunt, and actually look like walking death because they are starving.
They need blood and none of these former men have their own personal little Black witch.
Which means they need me.
“It is time to feed,” I say, panning my arms wide like the Messiah I am.
Some of them start to weep. A few fall to their knees. None of them rush me because all of them know better.
“But before we do that,” I continue, “I need to explain your objective here. Look at me. All of you, look at me.”
They do this. Their eyes are all blood red, a sign of severe starvation. They are trembling with anticipation and hunger pangs.
“Your objective,” I say, looking into each set of eyes as my gaze sweeps across the group, “is to drink Paul until he is dry. You will each take a long drink, but you will not give it back.”
There is complete and utter silence after these words come out of my mouth and for several long moments, they just stare at me.
Finally, one says, “My lord, how?” He squints his eyes. “How do you propose we do this?”
“And why?” another one adds. “Why would we drink Paul dry?”
“He’s our maker!” a third chimes in.
The rage inside me surges with this last comment. “He is no one’s maker.” My voice comes out so strong and so loud, it shakes the cave, causing them all to fall to their knees. “I am your maker! I am the maker of every vampire on this Earth. It was me who made you. Do you understand?”
One scion presses his forehead to the rocky cave floor, sobbing. Then the rest follow. Not all cry, but they all submit. They have no choice, they are starving.
I suck in a deep breath, calm myself, and then slowly exhale, my words softer now. “Do not doubt me, scions. Blood of my blood. I will feed you now. You will drink my magic. You will drink my power. And then you will use this power to take Paul’s.”
Again, they are silent.
But again, it’s only temporary. “My lord,” one says, the sobbing one. “My lord, why would we want to do this?”
“Why?” I sigh. The obvious answer is because I fucking said so. But that won’t make them more efficient and answering this question honestly will. “Because he betrayed you, scions.” They look up now, even the crybabies. All their blood-red eyes find mine. “He poisoned you.” They start mumbling. “On purpose. You were never meant to ascend. Never. Paul only cares about Ryet. You were a way to experiment with blood while he used all his knowledge of Dark genetics to build up Ryet. Ryet, Ryet, Ryet—it always goes back to Ryet. Everything Paul does is about Ryet.”
Of course, I was part of this plan as well, but they don’t need to know that.
They look at each other now, confused.
