Vampire's and Mage's and Blood Bond's oh my.
The Erotic Adventures of the Undead
'There has got to be a better way, ' crossed the vampires mind for the millionth time as his teeth broke the plastic of the blood bag, and the cold, thick fluid filled his mouth. 'Jupiter's balls, I wish getting a meal wasn't so hard. ' Disgust filled him briefly before he lost thought and gave in to the rapture that his kind always experienced when, feeding.
Images shifted and he relaxed. How long had it been since he had last hunted? Twenty, or was it thirty years? Thirty years of living on cold, lifeless, blood. No heat, no passion, just cold little bags. It 'had' to change. He could not continue to live like this.
His name was Michael Brook, or at least it was now. Too many years had passed since he had used the name of his birth. So many that there were times he could not recall it without seeking his journals. So many years, so many names, and it had all come down to this--a half-life of sneaking into blood banks and hospitals for the nourishment he needed
"Argh." He threw his arm over his eyes. He noticed he still held the empty bag. With a snarl of disgust, he hurled it from him. Never, in over eleven hundred years, since he first embraced the night, had he ever regretted his choice, before now.
'Now' , the word echoed in his head. Now it was too dangerous for his kind. The world was to crowded. Long gone were the days when you could just pick up a bite in some dark corner or alleyway. 'Now' , you had to research your victim, lest you accidentally feast on some slumming aristocrat, and bring your whole world crashing down around you ears. People might disappear every day, even now, but you dared not let them find the body. Science, damn those questing mortals, enabled them to list, categorize and catalog each and every part of the body, including the amount of blood in one's veins. The news media made peculiar, unusual deaths public knowledge.
No. Hunting was not the answer, but an options of hunting animals or others of his kind were not to his liking either. Michael had never been able to stand the blood of lower animals for long. It wasn't the same. And unlike those younger hunters, he would never hunt his own. None of the Elders would. It was genocide. Though the Vampyr were not by nature social creatures preferring to hunt alone or in small groups or covenstead's, they all were linked to each other and every needless death weakened them.
Alas, short of risking discovery by hunting, or an existence on cold, lifeless blood, what was he to do?
'Enough', it was time to seek his Sire. The Elder would give him some clue. You did not live to be over three thousand years old without learning how to survive.
Michael's body became still as his mind reached outward. The tie of Sire to Fledgling was the most powerful of all a vampire's connections with his people. Never wavering, never weakening, even as the years rolled by and the time between the two grew. The Vampyr had few weaknesses--fire, sun, and starvation of course-but these were well known. The one thing, that, most hid, would kill to protect, was that link between Sire and Childe.
None of the Vampyr bred indiscriminately. To do so would be folly. Once a, mortal, was Chosen for the Gift, fate was set. They had to be survivors, fighters, and loners.
Willing to stand as a single being, alone, answerable to no one and nothing through out the ages. With one exception: Vampires never stood against their Sires. Run, yes; hide, always. Once the training was complete and they were able to walk free, communications were rare and usually fleeting between adult and Sire. This was the way of their breed. It was law. No adult vampire could or would have contact with their Sire, except in emergencies, until they themselves had achieved Eldership, somewhere roughly around a thousand years. For no matter how old or how powerful the vampire, in the presence of his Sire he was the Childe again, the Fledgling, and, those, old ancient fears and needs rose to capture him once more. None but an Elder Vampire could resist the urge to bare his throat and bend to their will once again.
So, it was not, without great trepidation, and more than a little fear, that Michael sent forth the Summons that would connect with his Sire. *Azrael, * his mind cast forth into the darkness.
The ancient vampire's presence was felt long before the soft caress of his mind. *Yes Childe, what has you summoning me? *
*I need you, Master. I cannot bear my existence any longer. * He opened his heart to the one that gave him the Gift, raised him to be what he was so many years ago, counting on the tie of Sire to Childe for the comfort he needed.
A rush of concern so strong it brought tears to his eyes washed over him. He had been right. Azrael would not let him continue like this. *Come. * A single word of command before the link swelled and Michael felt himself being pulled along the Dark Paths. The room around him dimmed and faded as he gave himself to Azrael's summons