Dominic laid back on his chair, finally sated. All around him, his banquet guests were slowly dying, their veins torn open, their crimson lifeblood flowing freely on the immaculate white marble tabletop.
The woman bleeding on his right let out a small sigh. Still excited, he nibbled at the gash on the side of her pristine, beautiful neck and helped himself to more of her blood. Between his third sip and his fourth, he felt her life leave her body.
Dominic raised his head to the fresco-decorated ceiling and let the blood trickle down his chin, smiling savagely at himself.
Ah, life was good.
He was royalty, after all; why shouldn't it be?
Gone were the days of patience and moderation. Thanks to the machinations of his beloved elder sister, Dame Ravine, there was no shortage of gullible, delicious young men and women flooding Rabastet's Foreigner Quarter every couple of months, hapless immigrants in search of a better life.
This was at last the time for the kindred to feast; to bask in the majesty of their nature. Not even the most conservative of Rabastet's Elders could dare hold them back now. Not even that ancient corpse Lord Vilgenvoort.
And that was only the beginning.
An almost imperceptible change in the air woke Dominic up from his reverie.
The blood feast hadn't dulled Dominic's senses - quite the contrary. He felt his heckles stand on end. He was not alone. More likely than not, he was being watched.
"You can come out now, Yelena. There's no point in skulking. Care to partake in my banquet? I think the blond one dressed in blue velvet is still drawing breath."
Predictably, his younger sister stepped out of the shadows cast by the heavy, lush curtains and tapestries that hung from the walls.
"You're being foolish, Dominic."
As she drew closer, they locked eyes in a silent power struggle. Raven-black hair and pallor aside, the two of them were a study in differences.
Dominic had a penchant for the finer things in life: luxurious clothes and trinkets, fine food and drink, gratuitous violence. He was a creature of arrogance and self-indulgence - in short, a true member of House De Witt.
Yelena, the youngest scion of the House, would probably make a better Vilgenvoort. Cautious, reserved, and calculating, she lacked the telltale De Witt flare almost completely, and suffered for it. De Witt Manor was no place where such virtues were valued.
As expected, she was the one to break eye contact first.
"Stupid little cunt", Dominic growled through a smile full of sharp fangs. "Who do you think you are, waltzing in here and insulting me?"
"This is not about you and me, Dominic", Yelena said, despite the audible quiver in her voice. "The Elders advise discretion and moderation. You could bring trouble to our doorstep."
"None would dare, neonate", the older vampire chuckled.
"I am not a neonate."
"Then stop acting like one!", Dominic burst in sudden, erratic rage. "House De Witt reigns supreme! We are Rabastet's rightful royalty! The Blood runs hot in our veins! Our power is uncontested!"
"Is it, brother?", she said, her voice barely audible. "Is it so?"
In place of an answer, Dominic roared, grabbed a knife from the dining table before him and launched it straight at Yelena's heart.
It would strike home, too, hadn't the young scion been preternaturally agile. Unwilling to stoke Dominic's fury any further, she vanished as abruptly as she had appeared.
Dominic frowned, his previous good spirits all but gone. Despite her weakness - or maybe because of it - Yelena was proving to be quite a thorn in his side. He simply could not have that - he had to get rid of her.
With both Mother and Ravine away from De Witt manor, he realized, he might have a chance to do just that. The mere thought brought a savage grin to his perfectly proportioned pale face.
His wicked mind already set to scheming his next move, he went back to nibbling his guests' torn veins, enjoying their now-lukewarm blood.
There was much to do, and the time was almost ripe.
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