+ Garden +

Late that night, the Vampire King ventured into one of his private gardens, drawn to immerse himself in one of the tranquil pools. Gushes of cool wind encircled him, caressing his ancient skin. He reveled in the fact that the dampness in the air lingered, growing even chillier as the light dwindled on the eastern horizon. A satisfied smirk touched his lips. It was precisely what he had desired.

He walked leisurely alongside the pool, taking a moment to drink in the details of his surroundings. With each passing night, his realization deepened: his powers had grown immeasurably. Even with the vast expanse of his kingdom, he could manipulate its weather with astounding ease.

The Vampire Castle, a magnificent edifice at the heart of his domain, was surrounded by villages, all of which lay ensconced within a protective bubble of a tropical climate. Crafting this artificial environment had required the most intricate and demanding strands of Fae Magic. In times gone by, maintaining such a climate, so antithetical to the natural icy ambiance of the Vampyr Realm, would exhaust him. Yet, these efforts barely took a toll on him now, a testament to his maturation as a Vampire Fae Warlock.

His trusted Cadre often questioned his choice to sustain this anomaly. Why put forth such effort when it wasn't a necessity? But his answer was simple: it was a testament to his might. A resounding statement to everyone, especially the ambitious aristocrats with designs on his throne, that he wielded power beyond their comprehension. It was less about need and more about capability. A stark reminder of his immense power, his grandeur, and his relentless endurance. Those who contemplated crossing him would do well to remember that he had maintained this balmy refuge for centuries using nothing but his own magic.

Though the Vampire King had come to enjoy the cold's embrace, it no longer had any true impact on him. He could feel it, yes, but it was a mere whisper against his immortal being.

The climate, in truth, was of little consequence to the Vampire King. Yet, he maintained it to ensure his human subjects—the very lifeblood the vampires relied upon—didn't succumb prematurely to the numbing frost that could pierce their skin and chill them to the bone. The warmth was essential, preserving his prey in a state of freshness. Moreover, by doing so, he could flaunt the prowess of his Fae Magic to all the Realms without uttering a word, a silent display of dominance and power.

Nevertheless, he couldn't deny the sheer beauty of his gardens, which had transformed into a sensual haven. Palm trees swayed gracefully, standing sentinel at the garden's edge, their silhouettes framed against the luminescent glow of the frozen seas beyond. The air was thick with the fragrant blend of vibrant bougainvillaea and myriad tropical blossoms. Broad, flat stones, deliberately set within the sand, etched out meandering paths, leading to the garden's more intimate recesses. For the Vampire King, this secluded sanctuary was an idyllic setting to entice his concubines, offering a private escape for moments of intimacy.

In the distance, the solitary hoot of an owl punctuated the night's silence. On a night when he was more at ease, he might have found himself more appreciative of the meticulous effort his subjects had invested to create this celestial refuge. But tonight was not that night. The gentle rustle of leaves and the soft cascade of water over stone fountains offered a mild distraction, yet they barely scratched the surface of his mounting agitation.

Ten days and counting.

Jon and the High Priestess had yet to return to the castle. This evening, he had dispatched soldiers to the caves, hoping they'd have answers. Such an absence was uncharacteristic for Jon, who could navigate those subterranean labyrinths as though he had the map etched onto the back of his hand. This particular skill of Jon's, his uncanny sense of direction, left the Vampire King stroking his chin in deep thought.

Had Jon taken the girl to the underground caverns, or had he whisked her away to some hidden corner to succumb to his darker urges? Would the Vampire King himself have acted any differently, given a chance with the ethereal, silver-haired High Priestess? It would indeed be a travesty if her life were cut short during the initiation.

As twilight deepened, the lilting melodies of harps and flutes, played with finesse by the Consorts, intertwined with the carefree laughter of his Concubines splashing in the pool, urging him to partake in their mirth. A woman, with an intensity that betrayed her longing, fixed her gaze upon his sculpted physique, seemingly ready to devour him. Matching her intense stare, the Vampire King shed the only barrier between them, a black kilt-like garment.

His frustration was palpable. His fingers raked through his tousled raven locks, wrestling with desires that felt out of place. He tried to be present, tried to lose himself in the allure of the moment, but the haunting image of the High Priestess was a tenacious specter in his mind. The memory of her touch, the feel of her body pressed against his, had ensnared him in a mesmerizing spell. With a forceful shake of his head, he endeavored to dispel her from his sinful thoughts. But he was cognizant of the lines that shouldn't be crossed, especially with Fei's impending chastisement hanging over him like a sword of Damocles. Thus, he diverted his attention to the eagerly waiting concubines, determined to drown in their adoration.

With unabashed confidence, he reveled in their gaze, standing boldly, his only adornment a self-satisfied grin. It was high time he found respite, to bury his thoughts and fears and find a night's reprieve from the torments of the Blood Beast. He longed to achieve a state of utter exhaustion, a trifecta of physical, mental, and sensual fatigue to procure that elusive peace.

The final vestiges of twilight surrendered to the captivating dance of the aurora borealis. As the Vampire King gracefully waded into the waters, a multitude of fireflies, drawn irresistibly to his very essence, encircled him in a luminous embrace.

Perfumed lotus petals lazily adorned the water, drifting amidst the silvery silhouette of the moon's reflection. The Vampire King, with a mere gesture, beckoned, "Approach, My Concubines."

One of the beauties, with eyes reminiscent of a deer caught in moonlight, gracefully knelt behind him, pressing her fingers into the taut muscles of his shoulders. His head rested against the stone border of the pool, and every knead from her expert fingers elicited a gratified murmur from his lips.

"I am Catriona, Your Majesty," whispered another, her raven tresses cascading like a waterfall as her gaze met his, heavy with promise. Her fingertips ventured downwards, eliciting a response from the depths of his being. Her voice dropped an octave, laden with seduction, "My only wish is to serve and satiate My King."

Resting one powerful arm on the pool's edge, his other hand sought the curves of a concubine. "Catriona, is it?" His voice held a languid quality, juxtaposed against the tension palpable in his every move. "Ensure I remember that name by the night's end."

The women, like enchantresses, danced their fingers over his form, occasionally letting their teeth graze his flesh. The symphony of sensations—soft caresses, pinches, and teasing touches—overwhelmed him. However, it was not long before his body succumbed, releasing its pent-up energy into the water's depths.

Regaining his composure post the intense climax, his voice, thick with desire, commanded, "Again, Concubine, but this time, employ your lips."

Yet, amidst the haze of passion, a ghostly green radiance encroached from two hundred paces away. An unanticipated presence breached the sanctity of their retreat. With swift reflexes, the Vampire King warded off the persistent advances of his concubines, his entire focus shifting to the aura of the interloper, whose audacity had disrupted his nocturnal indulgences.

A chill raced down his spine, making the fine hairs at the nape of his neck stand on end. The uninvited presence bore the signature of a formidable mage.

"Eunuchs," he commanded with a steady voice, addressing the Concubines' appointed guardians, "escort the women to my private chamber. Our evening's diversions shall continue there. Ensure they're ready for me."

With a dismissive wave, the Vampire King began to send the women on their way. Yet, on a whim or perhaps a deeper instinct, he gently captured the wrist of each Concubine, drawing their hands to his lips. He placed soft, lingering kisses on each fingertip, delighting them with unexpected tenderness. He might choose one as his Empress someday, so a bit of sweet appeasement wasn't amiss. But deep introspection and decisions of that nature could wait. Tonight was evidently not that night, and his desires remained unquenched.

Only once he was certain they were safely away from the imminent threat did he allow himself to fully tune in to the darkness that now enveloped the surroundings, a void that mirrored the tumult within him. The slight variations in the shadows hinted at concealed alcoves behind the rocks.

"Consider your next move carefully," he warned the unseen entity, his voice echoing eerily across the still night. "For if you seek harm, the fiery depths of the underworld shall be your next vista." He knew he was potentially goading an adversary, but he preferred to be the predator rather than the prey.

Drawn to a disturbance in the water, the Vampire King's heart raced as he approached, tension coiling every muscle. The still pool was marred only by a frothy churn. With a sudden, fierce movement, he thrust his hands into the water, fingers tangling in a familiar cascade of hair.

His breath caught in his throat.

It was the High Priestess.