Undead

They say vampires are not born, they’re transformed. But what happens when she is born under unnatural circumstances and external powers are vying for her to be destroyed? What will it take to protect her and how does she overcome when she doesn’t even know...

Chapter 1 The Dream

Odesa lay beside Vincent, her eyes wide open, staring at the ornate ceiling of their modest chamber. It had happened again.

She shifted, the rustle of silk sheets stirring Vincent. He murmured, a soft, sleepy sound, and turned to face her, his arm instinctively reaching out to draw her closer.

“The dream,” she whispered. “Again.”

Vincent’s eyes opened slowly. “The same one?” he asked, his voice a low rumble. He knew. It had been recurring for weeks now, a silent, unsettling presence in their nights. He gently stroked her arm. “Do you feel ill, my love? A fever, perhaps?”

Odessa pressed her palm to her forehead. Her skin felt normal, cool to the touch as always. “No, not ill. I feel… different. It’s my bloodlust, Vincent. It’s… shifted.”

He propped himself up on an elbow, his gaze sharpening, studying her. He reached out, his long fingers gently tracing the line of her cheekbone. His brow furrowed. “Your skin, Odessa,” he observed, his voice tinged with concern. “It’s… paler. Even more so than usual.”

It was true. Even for a creature of the night, whose complexion was naturally fairer than any human’s, hers had taken on an almost translucent quality in recent days.

“We need to see a physician,” Odessa stated, swinging her legs off the bed, a sudden urgency propelling her.

Vincent rose too, a hand on her shoulder, stilling her movements. His grip was firm, his eyes serious. “No,” he said, his voice quiet but resolute. “Not a physician in this realm.”

Odessa turned, confusion etched on her features. “Why ever not? Lord Belial’s healers are renowned. If anyone can diagnose this…”

“Precisely,” Vincent interrupted, his gaze sweeping over their modest chamber. “Suppose they diagnose you with something… unusual. Something unprecedented, even for our kind. The Assembly, Odessa, they would know.”

The mention of the Assembly sent a shiver down Odessa’s spine. The ruling council of this realm, their every decision absolute, their scrutiny relentless.

“This is unusual, Odessa,” Vincent continued, his voice lowered. “It must be kept secret. Between us. We cannot risk it becoming known.”

Odessa’s shoulders slumped. The truth of his words weighed heavy. A strange illness, especially one affecting her bloodlust, could be seen as a weakness, a contagion, or even a mutation. The Assembly’s response would likely not be gentle. “Then what are we supposed to do?” she asked, her voice tinged with desperation.

Vincent turned from the window, his expression grim but determined. “We must leave the realm. Journey to the Umbra Imperium.”

Odessa’s breath caught. The Umbra Imperium. A whisper of a place, spoken of in hushed tones, a world where the sun never touched the sky, where vampires lived in eternal twilight, untouched by the need for amulets or the fear of discovery. A world completely separate from their own, inaccessible to humans who would wander for days, lost, unable to even perceive its entrance.

“The Imperium?” she echoed.

“Yes,” Vincent affirmed, stepping towards her, taking her hands in his. “We are not known there. We can seek answers without fear of exposure. Without the Assembly’s prying eyes.”

The idea, audacious as it was, settled within her. The risk of staying, of her condition worsening and being discovered, felt far greater than the risk of venturing into the unknown. “Okay,” she whispered, her voice gaining strength. “Okay. When do we leave?”

“Immediately,” Vincent stated, his eyes fixed on hers. “We prepare now. A few essentials. We will travel light.”

They moved with an almost frantic purpose, their silent agreement hanging in the air as they packed, securing their intricate obsidian amulet around their neck. It was a habit born of necessity, a shield against the sun that would be useless in the Imperium.

They stepped out of their modest home, leaving its familiar comfort behind. The city around them was slowly stirring, its human inhabitants beginning their daily routines, oblivious to the two figures moving with preternatural speed through the shadowed alleyways, heading towards the discreet portal known only to their kind.

Vincent moved with his usual swift grace, a dark blur against the muted backdrop. But Odessa found herself struggling. Each stride felt heavier than the last, her limbs surprisingly leaden. She pushed herself, forcing her legs to move, but her usual preternatural speed was a distant memory. Her lungs burned, a strange, unfamiliar ache.

Vincent noticed her lagging pace. He slowed, falling back to walk beside her, his hand gently resting on the small of her back. “Are you alright?” he asked, his voice laced with concern.

Odessa nodded, though the effort strained her. “Just… tired,” she managed, her voice a little breathless. Her skin felt tighter, her vision blurring at the edges.

He didn't press, merely adjusted his pace to hers, his presence a steady anchor. He occasionally offered his arm, which she gratefully took, leaning on him for support as they traversed the rugged terrain.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, a sprawling, dark silhouette emerged from the perpetual gloom. Towers of obsidian and polished stone pierced the sky, not reaching for a sun, but simply existing, monolithic and ancient. No light emanated from within, only the profound, unyielding darkness of a world that had never known dawn.

They had arrived. The Umbra Imperium.

Chapter 2 The Discovery

The imperium sprawled beneath an eternal twilight sky, its architecture a skeletal filigree of spires and arches. Within the heart of it all, stood the abode of the vampire physician.

Vincent’s hand rested on the small of Odessa’s back as they navigated the labyrinthine corridors. The air grew heavy with the scent of aged parchment, esoteric herbs, and a faint, metallic tang that spoke of old blood.

An elderly woman sat behind a gnarled desk, her eyes, like obsidian, fixed on them as they entered. This was the Physician.

She motioned them to two ornate, high-backed chairs positioned opposite her. Vincent settled into his seat, his broad shoulder brushing Odessa’s, a silent anchor. Odessa gripped the arms of her chair, her knuckles white.

"So, my dear," the Physician's voice was low, "you have sought my counsel. Explain your condition."

Odessa took a breath, the air suddenly thick. “It’s… the dreams. They’ve become constant, relentless.” Her gaze drifted, lost in the spectral glow of the lamp. “Always blood. Fountains of it, gushing from impossible sources. And a child. A younger image of myself, but small, vulnerable. Always in danger. Always reaching out.” Her voice trembled on the last word. “I wake up… feeling an ache I can’t explain. A primal fear.”

The physician listened, her expression unreadable, a slight tilt of her head the only indication of her attentiveness. She waited until Odessa finished, then rose. Her movements were fluid, graceful. She extended a slender hand towards Odessa’s wrist. “May I?”

Odessa nodded, offering her arm. The physician’s fingers rested lightly on Odessa’s pulse point. Her eyes closed for a moment, a faint hum escaping her lips, a sound too low for human ears. Then, she retrieved a small, obsidian vial from her desk, uncorked it, and held it out. “A single drop, if you please.”

Odessa’s finger pricked easily, a bead of crimson welling on her fingertip. The physician guided her hand over a smooth, polished bowl filled with crystal-clear water. The drop fell as it dissolved into the liquid. The water remained clear.

“Close your eyes, child,” the physician instructed, her voice soft but firm. “Concentrate on the sensation within you. On the dreams, the ache. Allow your mind to clear.”

Odessa obeyed, her eyelids fluttering shut. Vincent watched, his jaw tight, every fiber of his being focused on his mate. The physician dipped her hands into the bowl, her fingers spreading wide, then placed her now-moist palms gently over Odessa’s stomach.

A subtle light seemed to emanate from the Physician’s hands, a faint warmth spreading through Odessa’s body. The air in the room grew heavy, charged with an unseen energy, as the Physician closed her eyes, her lips moving in a silent, ancient incantation – the 'blood touch'.

After what felt like an eternity, the physician withdrew her hands. She opened her eyes, her gaze falling first on Odessa, then on Vincent, a new light within their depths.

Vincent shifted in his seat, unable to maintain his composure any longer. “Well?” he asked, his voice raw with urgency.

The physician’s lips parted in a slow, deliberate movement. “There is life within you, Odessa.” Her voice resonated. “Not just one. But two.”

Odessa’s eyes snapped open, wide and disbelieving. Vincent’s breath hitched. They stared, first at the physician, then at each other, their minds struggling to grasp the impossibility of her words. Vampires were not born. They were made. A blood curse, a transformation, an eternal existence. How could life burgeon within Odessa?

The physician nodded, acknowledging their unspoken shock. “One of these children,” she continued, her gaze piercing, “is destined for greatness beyond imagining. A pivotal force. That is why you have had these dreams, Odessa. To warn you. A great battle lies ahead. You must protect them with everything you have. Everything.”

The journey back to their own dark manor felt like a blur, the gothic beauty of the imperium now an oppressive weight. As soon as the heavy oak door of their home swung shut behind them, Odessa turned to Vincent, her face pale, her eyes haunted.

"What does it mean, my dear? Children… in my stomach? We are vampires. Our kind are not born. We are… created. By the curse of blood." Her voice trailed off, the anomaly too vast to grasp.

Vincent paced, his mind racing through ancient texts, forgotten lore, desperate for an answer that didn't exist. “I know, my love. It defies everything we know. Everything the Assembly dictates.” He stopped, turning to face her, his hands coming to rest on her shoulders.

"You are a half-breed, Odessa. Your creation was… unique. Not pure blood. What does that make these children? Hybrids? Something entirely new? They cannot be pure-blood, not if you are not. And if they are neither pure-blood nor fully human… what then?"

A cold dread seeped into Odessa’s bones. "The Assembly," she whispered, the name a curse. "What happens if the Assembly finds out? They will… they will destroy them, won’t they?”

“They would stop at nothing to harm them,” Vincent finished, his voice grim. “An abomination. A threat to their carefully constructed order. They would hunt them, dissect them, erase them from existence.” His grip on her shoulders tightened, a silent promise. “We will not allow it. We will protect them, Odessa. With our lives.”

But even as he spoke the words, a cold dread coiled in his gut. Suddenly, his resolve felt fragile, insufficient.

“We can’t do this alone,” he admitted, the words a bitter confession. “They are too vast, too powerful. We need help.”

Odessa looked up at him, her eyes wide with a desperate hope. “Help? From whom? Who could possibly stand against the Assembly?”

Vincent’s gaze turned towards the shadowed corners of their ancestral hall. “There is only one path, my love. An entity. A power older than even our kind. But their aid, it comes with a price. Always.”

Odessa’s hand moved instinctively to her stomach, a fierce, protective instinct igniting in her eyes. “I’m willing to pay it, Vincent. Whatever it is. I’m willing to do anything.”

Chapter 3 The Summon

“How do we do this, my love?” Odessa asked worriedly “How do we summon it?”

Vincent’s jaw tightened. He moved with a practiced grace, crossing to a tall, carved oak cabinet. His long fingers fumbled slightly as he pulled open a series of drawers. His gaze swept over neatly stacked scrolls and ancient, leather-bound texts before settling on a particular volume tucked away. It was larger than the others, its leather cover so dark it seemed to absorb the dim lamplight, its edges worn smooth by centuries of handling.

He carried the heavy tome to the large mahogany table in the center of the room. Odessa joined him, her hand brushing the cool, aged leather as he laid it flat. Together, they began to turn the thick, brittle pages, each one rustling softly.

Finally, a specific page, marked by a thin, desiccated ribbon, appeared. Vincent leaned closer, his brow furrowed, tracing the ancient script with a finger. “Here it is,” he murmured. He began to read aloud, his words slow and deliberate, the language archaic but comprehensible. “The summoning ritual… can only be performed under the full light of the Luna Suprema.” His eyes flickered up to meet Odessa’s, a grim recognition passing between them. “The next full moon is in a fortnight.”

A sigh, heavy with resignation, escaped Odessa’s lips. Fourteen days of agonizing suspense. But there was no alternative. They would wait.

The subsequent two weeks stretched out, each day a slow, deliberate march towards the appointed night. The house became a sanctuary, or perhaps a gilded cage, for Odessa. Her usually vibrant energy was muted, her movements more deliberate. She rarely ventured beyond their threshold. A subtle glow emanated from her. It was a faint, ethereal aura, a visible manifestation of the potent life burgeoning inside her, making her seem less vampire, more… something else entirely.

Vincent took on the burden of their external needs, particularly her dramatically altered bloodlust. Her usual refined preferences had become savage, primal. She craved not just the life essence, but the very vitality of the freshest, most potent sources. He returned each night exhausted, his clothes sometimes bearing the subtle scent of the hunt, his eyes shadowed with the strain, yet always carrying enough to sate her voracious hunger. He watched her consume, the rapid, almost desperate intake, the way her veins throbbed beneath her translucent skin, and a chill of both awe and fear would trickle down his spine. They meticulously gathered the components for the ritual: ancient herbs, rare crystals, specially consecrated oils, each item chosen with precision, each placement imbued with a silent prayer.

The fourteenth night arrived, cloaked in the quiet majesty of a full moon. Its silvery light, piercing through the gaps in their carefully drawn curtains, cast the room in an ethereal glow, illuminating the precise circle they had drawn on the floor. Candles, fashioned from beeswax and interwoven with potent herbs, flickered at each cardinal point. The scent of frankincense and other, darker resins hung heavy.

Odessa and Vincent stood within the circle, their hands clasped, their eyes fixed on the moon-drenched window. When the orb reached its zenith, a perfect, luminous disc hanging in the velvet sky, Vincent began the recitation. Odessa joined him, her voice a counterpoint, a softer, equally potent incantation. The air crackled, the candlelight pulsed, and a faint, cold breeze, despite the sealed windows, swept through the room, raising goosebumps on their arms.

Then, the air directly before them thickened, shimmered, and tore. From the swirling darkness stepped Xandros.

His presence was overwhelmingly alien. Tall and lean, he was cloaked in shadows that seemed to cling to him. His eyes, the color of obsidian, held an ancient, chilling knowing. There was no warmth, no malice, only an immense, unfathomable power.

He surveyed them, his gaze lingering on Odessa’s swollen form, before his deep voice echoed through the room. “You have summoned me.” It was a statement, not a question. “For the protection of your children.”

Odessa, her voice a whisper, confirmed, “Yes, Lord Xandros.”

A faint tilt of Xandros’s head. “I have heard your request. But you do not seek the assistance of Xandros empty-handed.” His gaze drifted back to Odessa’s belly. “One of the children… is no ordinary child. It must be protected at all costs.” His eyes, dark as the void, locked onto theirs. “The life of the other child… is the price.”

The words hung in the air, cold and absolute, each syllable a hammer blow to their hearts. Odessa gasped, a silent, choked sound.

Xandros continued, unperturbed by their visible anguish. “I will protect the special child for as long as it is not born. Once it is born, you must keep its powers hidden, locked away, until the appointed time. Should its abilities be discovered prematurely by opposing forces, it will be swiftly destroyed.” He paused, allowing the gravity of his words to settle. “After its powers are locked, I, Xandros, will continue to protect the child for as long as it lives. No harm could ever come to a child under the protection of Lord Xandros.”

As soon as the last chilling word left his lips, the shadows around him deepened, compressed, and then snapped back into nothingness.

Odessa stared at the empty space, her mind reeling, unable to process the horrifying pronouncement. The world tilted beneath her feet, and she stumbled, a wave of nausea washing over her. Vincent, quick as a whisper, caught her, his arms wrapping around her before gently guiding her to the large bed. He sat beside her, pulling her close.

She gripped his hand, her fingers digging into his, her eyes wide with frantic, unshed tears. “What did he mean, dear?” she choked out, her voice raw. “The life of the other child… the sacrifice?”

Vincent held her tighter, pulling her head to rest on his shoulder. He swallowed hard, his own face a mask of profound grief. “It is… it is as we heard, my love.” His voice was a pained whisper against her hair. He wrapped his arms around her, a desperate embrace.

Immediately, a searing pain lanced through Odessa’s lower abdomen. Her breath hitched. A dark, viscous warmth spread between her legs, a sudden, gush of truly crimson. Not the bright, living red of human blood, but the deep, almost black, color of their vampire ichor. She looked down, then up at Vincent, her eyes brimming with a silent, heart-wrenching understanding. A guttural sob escaped her throat, a sound of profound loss and desolation that echoed in the hallowed silence of the room. Vincent held her, letting her weep, his own eyes tightly shut, the silent, terrible truth passing between them: the sacrificial child was gone.

A sharp, insistent rap suddenly echoed through the house, shattering the fragile bubble of their grief.

Vincent’s head snapped up, his jaw clenching. He pushed himself away from Odessa, his movements stiff with suppressed anguish. “Stay here,” he murmured, his voice strained. “Clean up.”

Odessa, still shaking, nodded numbly, her gaze fixed on the darkening stain on her nightgown. She pressed a hand to her aching belly, a phantom presence gone. Vincent was already moving towards the main door, his vampire senses already identifying the caller. The Assembly’s messenger. Now? Of all times.