Fernand Polites breathed in the fresh winter air and grinned, a grin full of teeth and a mischievous twinkle in his eyes. Hadrian Deranges was supposed to be here. Along with a Boliarin and some tag along.

Which was good. Fernand hadn’t seen his blood brother in centuries. The last he heard of him; he was starving himself to death travelling the world. Now, he found a good, tasty blood bank.

Harry had always been capable of getting himself out of trouble, their sire Paul had always said. As resourceful as a wolf and as docile as a kitten. Hadrian was made to go around cities and mingle. Not like Fernand.

The guards took a closer look at his papers and were about to return them to him when Fernand looked in their eyes.

“Now, I am slightly hungry,” he said, and his grin turned savage. “Care to share some of that delicious blood you have in your meat sacks?”

The hypnotizing spell worked like a charm, and both guards extended their wrists at Fernand. Hadrian could magic anyone into exposing their necks without any trickery, but Fernand was not his older brother. He needed tricks to keep himself fed.

After he nearly drank the two before him dry, he let them go. They blinked at him and swayed. They remembered that they have signed up for this, but they couldn’t explain to themselves why.

Fernand Polites, son of the extinct Polites royal line, went pass the two as they fell behind him. They would be fine, probably. And if not, well, Wandermere was sure to get two new half-trained losers to guard their sad excuse for a gate.

The night was cold around him, and Fernand headed towards the park. There were doomed to be people who knew where exactly his brother was. They weren’t real brothers, Hadrian and he. But they had the same sire, and Paul had always insisted they behaved as brothers.

And brothers shared their food, did they not? Fernand had always wanted to get himself a pet necromancer. Their blood was simply mouthwatering. But they fled when they saw him and felt his mana. Which was more the pity.

Once he got the Boliarin from beneath Harry’s nose, he was going to drag him back home. Then it will be wonderful tea parties and strolls in his night blooming garden full of hallucinogenic plants.

He only needed to catch the necromancer off guard and separate him from Harry somehow. He entered the park, and the mana sensitive people around him scrammed like the sheep they were.

Fernand was already well-fed, so he didn’t care much. It was not like he could give chase. The Cardinal of the Surian Theocracy was always happy to do crackdowns on vampires.

Which begged the question: Why had Fernand settled into this stinking country? With its religious fanatics and its constant wars with the Alanqian Empire over land that was lost eons ago, it was not exactly a safe Heaven.

Maybe Paul had the right of it. Fernand Polites was an adrenaline junky. If he wasn’t one, he wouldn’t be trying to tug the tail of a Boliarin.

 He passed by a man who was hunched over on a bench and was feeding the doves. The brunet didn’t seem scared of him, even if Fernand felt the slight touch of scanning mana on his skin.

The vampire sat down next to the downcast man, very young, he noted. Couldn’t be older than twenty. A nice light snack. But there was something off about the youth. He was suppressing his mana, but there was a dangerous edge to it.

“What got you down?” Asked Fernand in a chipper voice. The man turned to look at him and raised an eyebrow when Fernand dug his hand inside the seed pouch and took out a handful. He sprinkled it generously on the ground, and the doves went closer to him. The little fools.

“I… I nearly. No, you don’t need to know,” Fernand finally noticed that the man’s hands were shaking. Whatever it was that he did, or nearly did, must have been horrible. Fernand liked the bad. They were fun to toy with.

“Come on, you can tell me! I know, we can play truth or dare. I dare you to speak the truth!” Fernand’s finger poked the man on the chest, and he let out a chuckle.

“You remind me of a friend of mine. He, too, is a vampire,” the man turned back to feeding the doves without another word. Fernand huffed.

“And who might that be? I might know him,” He was a little sighed at being found out so quickly. Not that he hid his mana. But then again, he was not hunting now. Just having a chat.

“Hadrian Deranges. Although he is naturally good-natured and doesn’t need to fake good cheer, unlike you,” Fernand’s eyes widened. Well, well, well, he was truly and utterly found out. His smile fell and he scanned the man again.

Necromantic mana was there below the surface. Suppressed so much that the barest whiffs of it came out. Ah, the Boliarin. Lady Luck was smiling at Fernand.

“I can offer you freedom, you know. I heard a bit about you. You are not a half bad practitioner,” tried to flatter his prey, Fernand. The man emptied the entire sack of seeds on the ground and stood up.

“There are tourney grounds not too far from here. I think that no matter the outcome of the fight, if there is property damage involved, the mayor will have the hide from the winner.”

“You don’t want to give me a chance?” People gave Harry, precious kind Harry, a chance constantly. But not to Fernand. Was it too much to ask for a chance, even if he was going to slit the throat of the one who gave it, just for once?

“Vampires are evil,” was his answer.

“Then why travel with Harry?” Snapped Fernand. He was going to teach that runt that there were worse things than death.

“In the beginning, to keep an eye on him, so others were safe from him. Now, to keep an eye on him to make sure he is safe,” there was a slight smile at the word play. The Boliarin led Fernand in the dark. The vampire could take someone who was ten times his junior. Fernand could already taste the man’s blood.