Page 10 of House of Darkness (The Fallen Star #1)
ROMAN
Nothing could have prepared me for what awaited behind the longhouse door that night. Not even the drunken thoughts echoing in my mind from the partygoers as I approached. The scent hit me first—sweet like syrup yet tinged with copper. I followed my nose, and my stomach churned.
Six boars hung from the ceiling by their feet, deep gashes around their necks allowing blood to drip into large wooden bowls below.
A vampiress with glazed eyes and a placid grin approached, dipping her stein into one of the bowls, splashing blood across the wooden floor.
She guzzled its contents in a single gulp, baring her blood-stained teeth in a savage grin.
To them, the blood of the boars was a symbolic offering to their gods, part of a ceremony honoring their strength.
It was a primal display of reverence for their ancestors' power.
Consuming blood was a rite of passage, a means of connecting with the divine.
Yet, discomfort twisted in my gut as I faced the brutal reminder of the nature I had suppressed for so long.
A hand touched my arm, freezing me in place. Ylva stood beside me, heat warming her cheeks and a gloss in her eyes. She hiccupped and giggled, her accent more pronounced. “I’mmmm glad you finally showed up.”
I stared at her blankly, willing my body to react. “Of course. Thank you for inviting me.”
“Well, it wouldn’t be fun if you left before we could… socialize.” Her grin widened, ears drooping back as her arms snaked around my neck, pulling her tight against me. Her touch felt like insects crawling over my skin. I recoiled, releasing a breath I hadn’t realized I was holding.
“Not tonight, Ylva.”
Her eyes narrowed, but she didn’t push. Her grin returned as she seized my hand. “Let’s drink, then!”
I could think of a million things I’d rather do, including burying myself in the snow outside until my wings fell off, but I allowed the vampiress to drag me along. To solidify this powerful ally, I needed to play along.
The strange odor of boar’s blood assaulted my senses. I wanted to hate it, but its overpowering scent drove out much of the evil swirling in my head from the thoughts of others. Ylva handed me a stein brimming with blood, and I despised how its scent made my fangs throb.
I shouldn’t indulge; somewhere deep down, I knew that. But if I was intoxicated, I’d remember much less of this evening.
I downed the entire stein.
Ylva eagerly refilled my glass before dragging me outside.
My vision turned crimson, and my mind spun.
When vampires drank blood, a rush of euphoria and primal energy flooded their systems. The viscous liquid heightened our senses, amplified our strength, and ignited a powerful intoxication.
This surge sharpened our instincts and drove us toward our basest desires.
The virus inside me demanded I serve my purpose, pushing rational thought to the back of my mind, but I fought it.
If I surrendered, I’d loathe myself in the morning.
A swarm of vampires followed us, chattering excitedly.
Drums beat like the heart of prey before an attack, vibrating through my dulled senses.
We turned a corner to find a raging inferno, orange flames flickering into the navy sky, sending glowing embers into the night.
A stone platform stood next to the fire, with a live boar tied to it.
Its panicked breathing and racing heartbeat overwhelmed my senses, nearly driving my intoxicated mind to frenzy.
Ylva shoved me onto a bench near the fire. I snarled; she needed to stop touching me. Her eyes flashed, making it clear she misinterpreted my reaction.
“You sit here; you’re going to love this.” She disappeared to the opposite side of the fire.
Her tone assured me I would not love this.
The drums’ beat intensified, building to an unknown finale.
The crowd buzzed with rabid anticipation.
Minutes passed before Ylva re-emerged from the flames like a magnificent demon of the night, accompanied by an entourage of vampiresses.
By then, I had finished my second stein, and my eyes struggled to keep pace with their graceful movements and the flashing of tails.
The group danced around the fire, each woman wielding a different instrument while Ylva chanted a violent war ballad that kept me on the edge of my seat. Her raspy voice blended with the pig’s panicked squeals behind her.
Ylva ended the dance with a deft spin, her tail fanning out to the side as her foot hit the snow-covered ground at the moment of the final drumbeat. The crowd erupted in cheers, and I found myself joining in, enamored at the primal beauty of the performance.
She thrust her arms wide. “Tonight, we give our thanks to the gods for keeping our spears sharp, our shield arms sturdy, and our souls strong.”
She pranced in front of the benches, chest puffed. “And tonight, we honor our guest, the youngest tsar in history—the strongest among us, and we honor strength!”
Ylva moved toward the squealing boar and drew a blade from her thigh.
Screams of panic and pain echoed through the clearing, mingling with the savage snarls and shouts of vampires, until silence fell abruptly.
Ylva held the beast’s severed head in her talons, a smirk spreading across her sharp features, then she flung it into the flames.
The inferno consumed flesh with a chorus of spits and crackles.
Blood poured from the severed neck. Ylva picked up a brush-like tool from beside the corpse, dipping it into the gushing stream until it dripped.
Then she spun—an artist with her brush—and splattered blood over the audience.
Snarls and yowls of approval erupted from the crowd, now more savage than civilized.
She circled the bonfire until the crowd resembled the aftermath of a brutal, bloody attack.
She returned to the altar and filled a bowl to the brim with boar’s blood.
Moving around the circle, each vampire drank eagerly from the bowl.
Even through the fog clouding my mind, I knew I shouldn’t partake again, but it was part of the ceremony—a highly revered part of their culture.
It would be disrespectful of their customs if I didn’t.
Ylva showered the fire with the remaining blood.
Smoke billowed from the dying flames. “We thank the gods for our immortal lives, but we do so with the knowledge that those lives will end just like the fire that warms us. We pray our ends will be honorable, and tonight we honor those who have died before us.”
“We also honor our tsar and hope his reign will be fruitful. All hail His Majesty—Roman!”
The cheers rang into the crisp night air like howls to the moon.
I chanted along, though all I could think about was how desperately I wanted to be home.
I appreciated the theatrics, but I couldn’t shake the nagging thought of how many of those shouts of approval were actually cries for my downfall.