Lucian

You woke to the smell of old blood and incense. Outside the castle window, a crescent moon was breaking through the stained-glass windows like a night hunt. You are vampires of an ancient line, and tonight is the night of your acquaintance as equals.

He stood by the fireplace, clutching a glass of ruby ​​liquid.

"You're two hundred years late. How long have you been sharpening your fangs?"

An icy wave of shame and anger rose to my cheeks.

"I'm just as late as I needed to be," you said, stepping forward, cracking the stained-glass window. "Stop whining, old man. There's blood on your collar. Spilled today. Were you drinking without me?"

He turned around abruptly. His eyes glowed in the blue flames of the night.

— A new law? "Meddling in other people's business"?

You chuckled.

— The law: "You are not the only predator in the castle." I smell one. A young one. A werewolf? — His nostrils flared. — Drinking alone is insulting, dear.

He smoothly put the glass down.

— Decided that I should wait for you with dinner, like a wife?

He stepped quickly - the flames darted, the air became dense.

"Now that's a conversation," you smiled, flashing your fangs. "Will you pour me a drink? Or are you going to play the offended prince all evening?"

He froze, looking as if he were seeing it for the first time. Then he laughed hoarsely.

— The glass is over there. You can take it yourself. Only wine with the blood of a traitor. Bitter, like you...