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A n abundance of metal scraping against fine China provided harmony and rhythm accompanied by the uproarious chatter of the thirty-plus people around the table.

Most devoured the meal rapaciously, filling their gullets with the servants' food: roasted pig, sauteed vegetables, buttered knife-cut pasta, and more. In contrast, nine in attendance ate only the vegetables and warm bowls of fresh pig’s blood soup, including himself.

Amaros cut his meal into one small, precise bite at a time, slowly consuming the delectable fare.

Not because he had to, but because tonight, eating felt tiresome.

As did the constant noise within the house.

Evening was always lively, especially dinner among his people and their prime.

The truth of that fact did not stop him from wanting to yell, ‘Shut the fuck up,’ to them all.

However, it was not their fault that the world felt too loud for him.

He blamed his poor attitude on his lack of sleep.

The day usually brought solace and quiet; everyone in the house was asleep except the day-shift servants and guards.

Yet, even as he lay in his bed, heavy brocade curtains drawn, it seemed that the insects, rodents, and the few birds who had managed to survive flying within the tainted air after the human’s global nuclear war were on a new level of chattiness this day.

It seemed as if every fucking one of them was swarming around his house and squawking like they had when the half-dead humans roamed the Earth.

During that time, those damn vultures and ravens, because no beautiful and majestic fowl had survived, the ebony scavengers found sport in diving and picking off the rotting flesh of humans even as they struggled through their last painful breaths.

His kind did love beautiful things, which was why they built their home in the southern area of what had once been central Canada.

When the world had become a wasteland, everything on fire, flooded, or iced over where it should not have been, all breathtaking sites had ended, and only over the last twenty years had life begun a rebirth on the land.

Hell, during the time following the Great Catastrophes, when ten percent of the human population had hidden beneath the ground and left the rest to die trying to fend for themselves, he couldn’t blame the ugly winged beasts for gorging themselves on the walking dead, because his kind, and some wolves, had feasted, too—detrimental to all of them in different ways.

It was how his coven had gained their extensive body of servants and their prime.

But today, he did not want to hear their chirping or their many whispered thoughts that filled the soft winds and tortured his mind. Peace. He wanted fucking peace of mind.

He sighed as he reached for his goblet of wine and washed down his last spoonful of the thick soup. It had started to congeal in his bowl because he’d taken too long to eat it. His actions drew glances from his coven members closest to him. And Marceline, his Vice.

What concerns you, Amaros?

It had been Marceline’s question in his head for the one hundredth time today.

When he’d turned down her invitation to take the morning rest in his bed, ordering her to find a prime to provide her company, she’d been startled, not because they always had slept together or had sex, they didn’t.

But, over the years following the catastrophes, since all the vampires had united to become one coven, like in the old days, Marceline had grown to know him.

She knew when his darker side demanded more than the prime could give him.

Yes, because of the primes' connection to a vampire by the smallest drop of serum given to them at the time of their claiming, the fragile humans would heal slowly, but they would heal.

Only another vampire could genuinely withstand the level of nefarious desires of another vamp.

If they changed any of the prime, rougher sex could happen, but it was impossible since none of them held the genetic makeup that matched a vampire, so the attempt to change them would kill them.

The thought of change guided his mind to the last council meeting, where, once again, the marked human sacrifice, as his kind liked to call it, wasn’t meant for them. As a Leader, Amaros desired to grow his territory. Not the space, it was sufficient enough, but the members within.

Frustrated by the thought, he bit into his lip, piercing his flesh and causing a trickle of blood to run down his chin.

More than a few prime heads snapped in his direction and zeroed in on the droplet. However, the needy ‘familiars’ knew better than to act on their covetous yearnings. The primes craved vampire blood, as much as they could consume, in hopes of becoming one of them. Never.

Swiping one of his thumbs over his chin, he collected the rivulet and brought it to his mouth.

No matter how much a prime wanted the change, it wouldn’t happen.

Vampires could only turn a true mate. Regardless of the myths humans propagated about his kind, blood-suckers were the nasty slur they frequently used to scare their children.

Yes, they did drink blood, but they were more than what they consumed.

They enjoyed the finer things in life: music, food, art, literature, and dancing.

Hell, the ungrateful human government forgot how they made bargains with vampires, just like other shifters, to rid the world of evil dictators.

Usually, human governments disguised shifter and vamp actions as successful covert military operations. However, that was the cover-up because the massive human population supposedly could not handle knowing what entities really walked the earth among them.

Amaros, talk to me. Marceline demanded from the other end of the long, forty-person dining room table.

He kept his shield up, blocking her. He was the Leader of this coven, and if he chose to keep his own council, it would be his right. His Vice would get the hint to fuck off, or eventually, he’d tell her to. Thank the Great Spirit vampires were a thick-skinned bunch.

Even from the distance that separated them, Amaros saw Marceline arch a brow at him and glide her tongue over her teeth, her fangs slightly lowered as always. His Vice was always ready to sink them into something, vamp or prime.

Amaros shook his head and let out a small chuckle, knowing she heard it with her keen hearing. His small action let her know he knew she was pissed he wasn’t responding to her but didn’t care.

“May I, Sire?” The servant stood on his right side and gestured toward his half-eaten soup.

Setting down his silverware and goblet, he moved his hands out of the way. “You may clear it all for me.”

The servant nodded and then did just that.

“Will there be dessert tonight, Marceline?” A female servant stood to the left of the coven’s Vice and inquired as another servant cleared Marceline’s empty dishes from the right.

“No, Juli, not tonight. You may have the table cleared.” Marceline waved her away.

The head chef nodded and headed back toward the kitchen without another word. His Vice ran the household servants since he didn’t have a mate. Not because she was female but because it was the function of the position. As it had been for centuries.

Marceline rose from her chair.

When the chatter quieted, she smiled and glanced around at all the anxious faces awaiting her announcement. “I believe tonight’s game should be red light, green light.”

Games . Vampires did love to play with their food and lust. At least three nights out of the week, Marceline ended dinner with a naughty twist on some human playground game.

A few nights ago, it had been hide and seek.

When a prime got caught, they got fucked anally or orally, or both; if two vampires located them, then they were out.

The last prime discovered got to pick which vampire they would bathe and sleep the daylight hours away with.

He was the Leader and, more often, was the first choice of a female prime. He didn’t mind fucking them unless his lust was too dark and demanding, and he’d gift the winner to someone else, and Marceline or another fem vamp would accompany him.

Vampires didn’t do large bodies of water. However, they loved a hot bath, not to bathe because they didn’t carry odors like humans, but simply soaking and feeling the warmth seep into their skin was marvelous.

“The rules are as follows: The primes will each draw a piece of paper out of a hat, with one, two, or three written on it.” She held up a finger.

“But they must keep it in their hand during the game. The prime will line up against one wall and race to the other end of the room, dodging furniture when I call out green light.” She paused, allowing the suspense to build.

“When I say red light, they will halt in their tracks, and anyone caught still in motion will have to open their paper and announce the number on it.” Marceline allowed a salacious smile to spread her apple-red painted bow-shaped mouth.

“That is the number of members who will fuck them right where they stand. The game will continue once they are done, but the other players must remain still.” A wicked gleam flashed in her eyes.

Vampires could fuck for a long time, and it would be more of a challenge for those frozen in space to remain motionless.

“The first prime to make it to the wall wins and may choose which three vamps they would like to feast on them as dessert on the dining room table.” Marceline waved her hands, indicating the cleared table before them.

Cheers and lascivious comments erupted around the table.

“To the parlor where we have more room, and the servants have already set up the space for play. Let the game begin!” Marceline bellowed.