It was the early hours of morning in the city of Edinburgh, a couple of dogs were feeding off the carcass of a dead cat as Lucinda glided down the cobbled High Street like an animal in pursuit, eyes blazing, mouth salivating. She had her feed of the night and was satisfied, desperately seeking solitude from the others. Jagen always wanted them to hunt as a pack, it had become too dangerous otherwise but Lucinda wasn't like them. Mostly sluts and drug addicts in their former lives, since they found Jagen they hadn't altered that much. They fed and followed Jagen. They all did unquestionably. Lucinda had been different, one of three cello players in the national orchestra, bright, some would say pretty. She still felt hatred and desire. Hatred towards her counterparts; Desire towards Jagen, victims and blood, always blood. Her waking hours were dedicated to feeding her addiction but there were moments, such as this when she craved something else, not her old life but excitement. It had become too easy to lead a man or a woman out of a nightclub, down an alley and to drain them of their life. That's where she differed from the other vampires, there were moments of reflection, of something more, something wanting.
With a quick glance over her shoulder, she slinked down an alley, opened the manhole cover and entered one of the deserted vaults underneath the street. Jagen had first arrived there two hundred years before, when the Old Town was cleared out and the residents were moved to the new part of the city. Some of the pox ridden residents remaining were amongst Jagen's earliest victims.
Grasping onto the stone wall, Lucinda guided herself down the steps far beneath the surface of the streets. Music from a nearby night club reverberated around the area but gradually dimmed as she descended the staircase. As she reached the bottom step, she almost tripped over a bundle which seemed to lie across her path and she automatically grabbed the flashlight, she always kept in her bag.
"Fenwick" she mumbled as if she had a foul taste in her mouth.
The little man lay in a foetal position in filth, a couple of dead rats by his full bloodied lips. Fenwick had been at the service of Jagen for years, not quite vampire but not quite mortal. As a man, he had been attacked by Jagen and was offered eternal life in exchange for servitude. While drinking a little of the master's blood he had never taken enough to be complete like Lucinda and the others. On a day to day basis, he was little more than a plaything for the covenant and a lunatic to anyone that met him on the outside. Over the years he had been in an inmate in the odd hospital or asylum but always managed to escape and find his way back to his beloved master. Lucinda loathed Fenwick as much as, if not more than anyone else in Jagen's group. It was he that changed her life. She had been perfectly content and he had led her to him.
It had been a night in November, rehearsals had been running late and she was struggling up the long steps of Flesh Market Close with her Cello. It was a dark, cold evening and the one lamp post flickered violently. Lucinda was holding her breath as the stale beer from one of the pubs hit her nostrils, when the hunched up figure of Fenwick stumbled out of the shadows. Short and slender in stature with scruffy blonde hair and blood shot eyes, he eyed her hungrily, up and down. Lucinda remembered immediately fearing him as she was convinced he'd either mug or rape her.
"You're pretty..." he whispered, his long fingers reaching out as if he was aching to touch her.
Lucinda ran, as fast as she could up the steps, quickly realising the little man was behind her, hollering for her to wait. She didn't turn around but she could feel his step immediately behind her and threw her bag behind, hoping that would stop him but it didn't. Within a second, she could feel his strong hands around her waist and he span her around, slamming her back against the wall sending her cello flying.
"Please, please..." he gasped "I don't want to hurt you, just don't go up there... I beg you please."
Lucinda wouldn't listen as she tried to escape from his extraordinary strong grip. She wriggled against him but he pressed her, harder and harder against the wall trying to quieten her.
"What's this Fenwick?" a silkily smooth voice said out of nowhere.
"N-n-nothing, sir" mumbled the little man, abruptly letting her go and trembling.
Lucinda pulled her coat together and went to pick up her beloved cello when she looked up and froze to see the most handsome, alluring face she had ever laid her eyes upon. Jagen.
"Holding out on us, were you?" the pale handsome man smiled "Though I have to admit you've caught a rather impressive catch for your first time."
Fenwick's face changed into a distorted, manic grin.
"She's not for me..." he throatily responded. "I thought you would like her... she's a gift."
Jagen was suddenly at her face and her body quivered slightly but stopped as soon as his hand slowly slid down her torso. Fear and cold suddenly vanished as she let him slowly remove her coat and explore her body, edging closer and closer.
"A very impressive catch indeed, I think I might keep this one by my side."
She felt the front buttons of her dress being slowly undone as she looked into Jagen's black eyes and let him take her there and then, offering her blood, her life so she could walk with him for an eternity. She couldn't remember much else. She became one of his many slaves. He had devoured all their souls and took them as companions there after.
Lucinda looked down at the filthy little man as she remembered that night, hating him and irritated she gave him a sharp kick in the stomach.
"Master?" he groaned, his blue eyes adjusting in the dark.
"No, it's me you pathetic little creep" she snapped, lighting a couple of candles. "Can't you find somewhere else to sleep?"
Fenwick looked up with scared doe like eyes as if he didn't know how to respond. With his shoulders hunched he scarpered into the corner like a wounded dog, never letting Lucinda, with her flaming red hair and bloody lips out of his sight. Despite, her evident hatred of him, Fenwick couldn't help but gaze at her as if she was a beautiful porcelain doll. He felt as if she belonged to him, that it was he that chose her not Jagen but him. Strange, despite his loyalty to his master, he wanted her badly. Around Lucinda he felt less of a servant, less the lunatic and more the man he once was, nervous around a pretty girl.
"What are you staring at?" she snarled.
Fenwick's lips trembled but before he could respond she kicked his precious rats into the corner and screamed.
" Jagen told you to stop bringing these things down here! Don't you listen to anything that you're told you little retard!"
"Don't call me that!" screamed Fenwick, shocking both Lucinda and himself with his outburst.
After a moment she threw her head back and let out a guttural laugh, her curls flying and blood stained lips curled. He felt stupid, he always felt stupid but he hated feeling this way around her.
