There was another war coming.

Dex Quaid could feel it in his well-practiced bones. In his one hundred thirty years, he had participated in many a war, coming out unscathed more times than he could count. Dex was hungry. The time for hunting was nigh.

“I have sorrowful news, my liege.” The voice came from Arwen Bostwick, a woman of unimaginable beauty and charm. There was an alluring look in her red eyes, which perhaps was to distract Dex from the sorrowful news she was about to deliver. “We cannot hunt tonight, for Rowan has been injured. The poor soul needs a vampire of strength and wit to tend to her. Surely, you must tell me you’re up for the task.”

Arwen had always known how to get under Dex’s skin. This, after all, was a skill of hers, perhaps the best one to persuade him into agreeing to relations. “Perhaps,” he said, and swept a white hair from the face of the Vampiress, “you shall leave for a hunt on your own, and I shall tend to the girl Rowan. I am hungry, my lady. I cannot survive another night without a hunt.” Dex was the type to hunt regularly: a vampire of determination, his Purity determined by diet and morality. There was nothing wrong with being Impure, but the blood of the Ordinaries tasted to Dex much less satisfying than the blood of the animals.

The girl Rowan lie on a flowerbed, cradling a slender leg in her hands. She was a Half-Blood, borne of Vampiress and man, and never Turned. Dex had been Turned but a hundred years ago, when things were very different. He had never tasted the blood of man, but it wasn’t because he was mild-mannered. “I will not let you down, my liege.” Arwen curtsied, kissing the face of Dex, whom she loved. “If for some reason I have not returned by dawn, please do not come after me. If I am in danger, I do not want you to become entangled in my troubles.” And she leapt off, a shadow of grace and captivation.

Dex was rather quick and skilled with his hands. Like many his age, he was practiced and growing restless. He approached the girl Rowan, groaning, and looking to him for comfort. “Oh, my Girl, what sort of trouble do you find yourself in this time?” Rowan was often in trouble, as she was new to the nation, and new to the life of a Vampiress.  

If she had been bleeding, Dex didn’t think he would have been able to control his appetite. It was most fortunate for Rowan that the injury in question was small and hadn’t broken the skin. Her leg had become entangled in thorns, the sorts of thorns that would eat a being alive if they had enough time. Rowan’s hands were weak and fumbled many times during her attempts to free herself. When Dex unravelled the thorns, the girl kissed him once on each cheek, and bounded upward. “Oh, my liege! Could I trouble you with my company? It is oh-so frightful in this new nation of mine; I am afraid I might lose my way.”

Dex was not a sympathetic man, except when it came to Arwen. He was not a reasonable man, except when it came to Arwen. The woman was two hundred years old and still as young and beautiful as a girl. She had promised Dex her heart for as long as their existence would continue. As an Immortal, they would remain unbroken, their love surpassing the bonds of time and far into any future Universes. Before Crepegrum, Dex and Arwen had lived in a different nation, a nation the travellers called Earth, which was dangerous and unaccepting. The humans had been a dangerous race, and now they had become Ordinary, and they had become tame and expendable.

Dex did not wish to bask in the company of the girl Rowan. His love returned when morning was nigh, and her eyes glistened with satisfaction and the quench of her thirst. “I’ve brought the most joyous news!” When she trilled, the girl Rowan ran out from the Castle of Astril, and dared to approach the beauty. “Here is a chalice filled with fresh drink for you, my love. I was very sure to make certain it was Pure. I hope this meets your expectations.”

She had been gone a rather long time to fulfill the hunt. Dex was satisfied both by this and by her, and he told her so. Arwen’s white skin flushed pink in the moonlight, accompanied by the sparkle in her red eye. Arwen was the picture of beauty. Before she had Turned, those many moons ago, she had been a simple woman working as a housewife, which was the only job for women in those days. She had been brought to Astril several years after Dex had made a home there, and she was captivated by him instantly, for he was also beautiful.

“I am grateful.” Dex removed the chalice from Arwen’s pointy fingers, and drank from it. The drink was fresh and warm and smelled a fruity smell, like wine. “I thank you, my lady, for your efforts tonight. You leave me refreshed and satisfied. Now, would you give me the honour of accompanying me to my bed-chamber, for a slumber?”

Arwen had no objections to this. The girl Rowan slumbered in a casket, which she had been said to prefer over any other. She slumbered long and soundly, often needing to be awakened when the time for slumber had passed. Arwen was dressed in her hunting clothes, which were always neat and tidy, as she was an agile hunter. “I bid thee goodnight,” she said to the girl Rowan, who was tucked already in her coffin and nearly sound asleep. “Come, my liege, and let us join each other in love-making before our slumber. I long for you, you know. It has been a while.”

The forests of Astril were long and bushy, filled with animals of all kinds. Dex enjoyed the freedom of their hunts, and the freedom of nighttime. Before he had Turned, he had not enjoyed these freedoms, and rather took advantage of the day and his foolish Mortality. Dex missed it not, his Mortality. His family had aged and gone, and he was no longer bothered by this, as he had found himself a new family in Arwen and the girl Rowan. He supposed one day, they would have no choice but to separate. There was a wat on the horizon, besides, and they were a Feared race.

He suspected the fae-folk had paid a visit to the Castle before they had settled in for the night. The lantern, which was used during hunts at times, had been filled with water and set in quite an unusual spot. The existence of the fae-folk was known by all – except, naturally, the Ordinaries, who knew nothing. They knew nothing of other races and especially nothing of how Ordinary they really were. Dex did not envy them. It was quite an unlucky thing, to be Ordinary.

Arwen accompanied Dex to his bed-chamber and undressed in the dark. Dex had had a lover once before, when he had not yet Turned, and she was not as beautiful as Arwen. It was evening when he Turned, and he was nearing thirty-three years old. His home was quiet and he had enjoyed it that way. This hadn’t changed. He still enjoyed the quiet, to sleep, and to hunt. Things were much more serene this way.

The skin of a Vampiress was cold and stiff. The skin of Dex was much whiter than it had ever been when he was Human. He became comfortable beside Arwen in bed, and slid his hands down her glistening skin. "I am wary of the upcoming war,” she said, her voice high-pitched, “but perhaps tonight, we can accompany one another in your bed-chamber, and worry not about anything other than one another.”

Dex wasn’t tired. “I have not heard tonight of anything so wonderful as this.” Arwen closed her eyes on his left side and became very comfortable.