As usual, there was no indication to judge what Vasilios was thinking. The stony expression on his unflinching face didn’t flicker. But then Alasdair caught it, the way his eyes narrowed a fraction of an inch. It was the only movement in the otherwise still room—until he spoke.
“I have to confess. You have disappointed me tonight.”
Vasilios halted Alasdair’s movements when he was within a few feet of the three and found himself fixed to the spot.
“I never expected you to be one who would show such disrespect. Thanos, perhaps, but not you.”
The inability to speak was frustrating as fuck. But even if he’d had the capability to do so, he wouldn’t have responded. One didn’t do that—not unless they wanted their tongue ripped from their head.
“I wonder what could have been so pressing tonight that you would have dismissed a meeting so blithely? Especially when you knew this one held such importance.”
As the word importance left his tongue, Alasdair’s kneecaps cracked and he fell to them with a muted grunt of agony.
“You will kneel as we ruminate your misgivings. Do you understand?” Vasilios’s eyes glowed with the question, and Alasdair’s jaw loosened enough for him to speak.
“I live to serve, my sire.”
“I am delighted to hear that. But not quite convinced of your sincerity.”
The perverse excitement building en masse was obvious from the muttering amongst the council members, the anticipation of blood and violence starting a frenzy amongst the natives as the one-sided trial played out before them.
“Perhaps we need a token of good faith. Proof that you weren’t thinking clearly when you disregarded a mandate over a thousand years old. It’s been a long time since I have thought about my own beginnings, Alasdair. The whys of it all. Like…why do we share a bond that binds you to me if you are going to ignore it?” Vasilios’s voice had built to a thunderous roar, and then he ceased talking altogether. The silence was eerie as he glared down at him. Then he clasped his hands together and asked, “Do you need a reminder, Alasdair? I wouldn’t think you would need to be re-schooled on how we came to exist. However—”
“Ambrogio,” Alasdair forced out between taut lips.
“Ahh, yes. See? You do remember your history.”
“Of course,” he said through the crushing bite of pain in his knees. “He turned the three of you after years of isolation. That is why, with him in a state of transcendence, you three reign as the almighty. The most powerful vampires to exist.”
“Quite right you are, agóri.”
Deciding he might as well try everything to get in his Ancient’s good graces, Alasdair continued. “That is also why he made a vow to you three. A promise that you would not share the same lonely fate as he. He allowed you to choose one you would bind yourself to. Creating an eternal bond between you and your first sired.”
“Yes. One I am seriously second-guessing since you deemed it within your right to disregard my wishes this evening.”
Alasdair opened his mouth to continue but found he could no longer speak.
“I think it is time you prove yourself to me once more. In front of our friends and family.”
The splintering shards of broken bone in his knees were a crushing reminder that he had no choice of what he wanted or could do. But the humiliation that accompanied the position was what really smarted, not so much the shattered bones. So, with the expected respect, Alasdair lowered his eyes to the ground and answered.
“I would enjoy nothing more than to prove my obedience to you.”
Mumbled speculation swept throughout as the council played onlookers to a day they never thought they would see: Alasdair Kyriakoús on his knees. It truly was a first.
“Quiet!”
The word thundered through the hall, and the silence that followed could have only been achieved by those who had the ability to exist without breath—those who were already dead.
“It would be remiss of us not to give Alasdair a chance to defend himself before we decide what should become of him. And how are we to do that with all of your inane chattering? The next to utter a sound will take up and play his proxy, and unlike for him, I hold no affection for any of you. Do I make myself clear?”
Alasdair wondered if the others were thinking just what would happen to them if the affection he was currently being shown was two smashed kneecaps and fuck only knew what was to come.
“As for you… You are going to help me understand why you would ever think it was acceptable not to show your face when I command you to do so.”
Metal scraped across stone—pointed nails extending from deadly fingers. Nails that could slit a throat open, puncture a vein, or stab an eye out.
Before he had a chance to speak, though, Alasdair’s head was thrust up by invisible fingers to face his sire, who was now on his feet. His eyes locked with the angry, black orbs that had replaced the green they both shared.
Alasdair had never seen him so enraged—at least, not at him. In that moment, the true majesty of Vasilios’s power washed over him, and a rush of adrenaline raced down his spine, followed by the icy tendrils of true fear.
“Are you frightened of me right now, Alasdair?”
Vasilios was able to sense his fear as easily as he could rip his heart out with no more than a thought. But part of his punishment, Alasdair understood, was the humiliating process of bringing him down a peg or two.
“Yes, my sire.”
He figured the next thing that happened would be painful and horrendous, but instead, he heard in his head, You should be, omorfo mou agóri. You have hurt me greatly. And now, though it pains me to do so, I must return the gesture.
When his right hand was wrenched behind his back between his shoulder blades, a curse tore from his throat. His arm had been dislocated from the joint and left to swing down by his side. Then, invisible, ironlike tentacles wrapped around his spine and arched his chest out at a warped angle so his upper body bowed. Next went his coat and his shirt, both ripped free so they fell on the floor behind his useless frame, exposing his torso to the crazed eyes surrounding him.
The temperature in the room skyrocketed from frigid to fevered as the lust and hunger of a kill, or a taking, was presented. Alasdair wondered for a brief second which direction it would go—until fingernails scoured his chest as they dragged down his ribs to his pants.
“Understand, Alasdair. Although I need you to exist, I can still break you.”
The words were calculated. They were issued as a way to inform the others of exactly who was the puppet and who was the master. But there was no mistaking it, and Alasdair knew that the words were also being stated for Vasilios’s own warped pleasure. He was enjoying showing the council what was his. That was soon confirmed as the next thought was forced inside his mind.
If you try to resist what I am about to do to you, I will let these animals feed on you until you are so weak it will take a good year to heal. And they’re hungry for you. Look at them.
The threat was the most effective one he could’ve issued.
Alasdair was known for three things.
One—never slaking his needs within his own brood. Fight-or fuck-wise.
Two—his selective nature when it came to whom he fed and healed from.
And three—his unnatural self-control.
All things his sire was aware of.
The welts now rising down the length of his torso festered from the liquid silver the nails had been tipped with, searing like an iron poker being pressed directly into his veins.