Night Swim

VYM

Istep outside the terrasse and drag my feet toward the pool, clinging to my stupid phone as if Fay could care for me... This heaviness sticks to me, no matter what I do. A long sigh escapes me as I step onto the roof's ledge, standing at the threshold between life and death. I feel old, and I shouldn't. Dead people rest. Certainly not vampires.

The sun went down an hour ago, but I've been up since six in the afternoon, witnessing the aftermath of the chaos Fidr unleashed on the city and, presumably, the country. It goes to say, Fayra and I did not meet.

Thus, Fidr's terrible timing filled me with so much anger that my condo was clearly seconds away from being renovated, if not for Khiva.

My pet stepped into the living room on his two solid legs, cheeks full of color, a detail that was enough to make my anger subside.

Khiva did not awaken as he should have. He slept throughout the day and was roused only by the sound of a piano smashed in two.

My venom has undeniably helped him get back on his feet, but it's not enough. Either way, it was at a cost I do not wish to repeat.

Bzzt.

I raise my phone. Anamos...

Father and I are on our way.

Father... I throw the phone into the bloody void.

What news could he bring, anyway? We all know what's happening. Father's been helping Fidr scheme the whole set-up, and she has executed the first stages of her plan with brio.

Stage 1: Incite conflict among monsters, destabilize the government from within to seize full control of the country, and seal off the borders to block any outside interference.

Stage 2: Vilify magic as being the root cause of social unrest, a pretext to confiscate citizens' magical abilities for her own arsenal. Or in other words, a mass production of wands containing synthesized stolen magic, tightly regulating access to any form of magic.

Now, all that remains are the following steps:

Stage 3: Gain newfound popularity among non-magical monsters by corrupting them, thus giving them access to the magic they've long desired but lacked. Yes, sadly, some remain jealous to the bone, until they're given the very bone they crave. However, there is a catch. For this privilege, one must enlist in the military, which entitles one to receive a wand. I snicker––Fidr and her deals...anything to bolster her forces with fresh recruits and it's my bet she'll be winning...

Stage 4, or what I call old news, chewed and spit out: Enslave the magic disabled as well as the non-magical monsters resistant to her offer, and force them to work in the mageksium fields. And from then on, the same old song will unfold: as she extracts more mageksium, the magic stabilizer, she will be able to craft more magic wands, resulting in greater exports, military expansion, international influence, and economic supremacy.

Stage 5, one I find to be a double-edged sword: Enhance the fighting stamina of her army with Glow. It'll be interesting for sure.

And of course, stage 6: Remove Daki, queen of the Unseelie, from power and conquer the Darfaen nation.

Not one vampire doesn't know how it's going to unravel. Taking advantage of the losing party, Glow business will thrive, as well as vampires. End of story.

Or that's what they think. Little plot twist: it is not Fidr who will be sitting on Daki's throne...

But yes, we are all in the know. The vampire community knows Fidr; she's family, after all. We were there, and even assisted her in poisoning her entire family. Oh, what a show it was... How we feasted after this clever lady poisoned her House, setting the blame on the tribal monsters—the orcs. All the royal heads dropped on their plates during a banquet. It was a delight to witness and even more to feast on. She then appeared on the news, her face smutty as if she had been detained, blabbering about how she had been restrained by evil green beasts. She killed so many birds with that one stone, eliminating any threat to her status and finding the perfect excuse to destroy what she loathes: orcs. Why? I haven't figured that out yet. But for what, that I know: Ego and revenge, leaving an entire Orcana to waste if not for her precious mageksium...

Vampires were given some respite and recognized as citizens of the Faerhan nation for having 'saved' her from the dungeons she was being retained. What a farce.

And now screams and explosions fill the streets. It's going well for Fidr, that greedy little bitch...

Yet, I take a deep breath and look up. Fidr is still searching for her lost daughter, which I find to be a delightful detail.

She. Hasn't. Found. Her.

I have. It is my hope, at least.

A handful of stars twinkle with fragility in the purple smog, but the moon is my main focus. It feels like a calming presence, watching over everything below. But then my pulse quickens at once. I cannot see my father right now. I'm too weak.

I sigh along with the gusts. They blow through me, gilding my bare body with a mantel of warmth. Squalls of it tearing at my hair as if pulling me toward the void I'm edging.

Had I suffered vertigo, this pit beneath me would have claimed me without question. But I don't. Instead, I stand on the skyscraper's top ledge, watching Fidr's pitiful guards go about the streets. They are tiny, yet I see the slightest details, from the trigger a paramilitary soldier is about to pull to the type of diamond the snake woman slithering across the street is wearing.

Bang!

Mmm, curfew isn't to be taken lightly.

Despite a tail spasming as life drains from the naga woman, her dazzling black diamond remains. Fake, like everything this city breathes.

It makes me think there is one thing Fayra and I have in common: our disdain for this place. But the Night Reign is upon us, and I'll ensure it is mine, with Fayra, my queen. The simple thought of her in royal garments ignites my fangs. And a wince ripples across my face.

My gums keep itching at the memory of her. Passing my tongue over them won't take the discomfort away, but I do it anyway.

The point is, it's useless, and I'm painfully aware of that. Nothing works. No amount of my toxin-coated licks or blood can remove this nerve-inducing sensation. And gods know I fed.

My ears perk, and my body stiffens. Dark wings sway nearby, the tip of one close to brushing my face.

A harpy, and a brave one at that...

The truth is that my ears perk at pretty much anything close to a fluttering sound. At every wing flap, my eyes despair to recognize a folk of the air with golden hair and crystalline wings.

There's no sense in it.

Like every black space and gap between smoke and towers ablaze, it is filled with seeds of hope—the hope of seeing her.

My eyes cling to the skyline. Something cold and small refracts from it—a glint of a star. And it wraps around my chest, constricting it because it's appalling. Fayra is everywhere she isn't. This feeling doesn't go well with me. I know it is not a result of the breeze, but of my own poisoned heart.

I shrug off this pity and hiss.

Is this what I've become? A slave to her scent, to her touch, to her sight.

I chin down, and the skin on my back begins to crack.

Wings are dying to spring out as an impending shift lurches at me.

I want to go for a night flight—to turn into a bat, land on her window ledge, and watch her.

I can't do that.

Not anymore.

As much as I love drowning my gaze in her reflection as she stares in her mirror, my last unannounced visit nearly ended in catastrophe.

Twice, I landed on the edge of her window and made myself as small as a bat can be. Last Thursday and Saturday...

Of course, the corner of my lip had turned up at Fayra sitting on her stool, constantly pressing the same leg against her chest while she brushed her hair softly, looking at her reflection but never really seeing. She always seemed so far out of reach—enough for my smirk to sag on both occasions.

It slanted toward the sadness I perceived in her eyes. They shimmered so intensely that I ended up behind her.

It's proven hard to control because I was beaten by this urge every bloody time.

The first night, Fayra fought me with fists and curses. Naturally, I thought, crushing this ball of fingers pounding at my chest, but her legs soon buckled under her.

Her weight lumped in my arms as I seized her, and something lumped inside me, too.

I was violating her space, her intimacy. I don't usually care much about such trivialities, but I saw her secret face she tries so hard to hide. This vulnerability...

I ended up compelling her, asking her to stay silent, to close her eyes, and to trust me.

I carried her to bed and laid down next to her. It was impossible for me not to touch her, be it a thread of hers. And stroking it gently, I forced an invitation for her to share what brought her joy in life. Why? Disgusting mystery... Among the praises for Officer Tyke, a three-headed dog was mentioned.

I did not face any resistance from her on my second visit. She just stared at me, tears running down her cheeks.

Again, almost as a tic, I coaxed her to talk about what made her feel good.

Twice the same name came up—and it wasn't this green trash. It tingled in the knot of her voice as she drifted off to sleep.

Quince. The little brother not many know about. The ghost of her life; one she won't let go of.

She whimpered because of it.

And I ended up cradling her.

Twice!

Too often, her throat jumped at my fangs as she convulsed in my arms. I could have told her not to—I could've asked her to stop, to forget everything at once and have a taste of her sweet ichor—but I didn't.

For some reason, I wanted to stay with her until she closed her eyes.

There is no doubt that my presence soothed her because I never forced her to fall asleep. Unfortunately, only one of us will remember the secret we share: me.

Perhaps I shouldn't have visited her. Because ever since our nightly encounters, she's been entering my sleep uninvited, hanging around my dreams for as long as she pleases. Even though I cannot control anything, I do not want her to leave it, either.

Each dream begins the same way, with Fayra straddling me, her palms flat on my chest. She seems expectant, her feline smirk at the ready, yet no words ever come out of her. Her ice-cold blue eyes speak for her. Unconcerned by her long, undisciplined strands waving in front of them, they trap me, narrowing into a smile with evil intentions. From that point, I am thrown into a stalemate.

I need to evacuate this tension...

I dive in, beginning a series of laps to burn off this untoward obsession.

Can I even at this stage... this dream! I can still taste iron while pain flared up in my mouth. My mind was at a blockade with my body. Everything that could be twisted, tightened, or lashed out was coiled, twisted, tensed, and bit. Mainly an urgency to throw my attention elsewhere besides her sparkly freckled pelvis...

I strained my eyes away from her. It was torture. It was incomprehensible and unnatural.

This dream... a nightmare that goes beyond everything I am: impulse.

Yet, I was craving, holding back, squirming inside, and loving, adoring, worst idolizing, every part of her.

I awoke, ashamed for even considering a flutter of this emotion possible. It haunts me every waking second...

And this damn bite... It is as though her blood has weakened me.

I didn't want to.

I had to.

And it's something I regret.

That bite wasn't a claim, it wasn't a marking; it's a cloak. A shield from my family, my brothers, my father.

No matter how thin it flows in her bloodstream, my venom will deter any of my kind from touching her. If I had known as my fangs sank into her thigh that she was not only claiming and obscuring my senses, but also poisoning me with her absence.

One more lap.

I flip-turn flawlessly, pushing my feet against the pool's wall for momentum. My head breaches the surface, and soon, my eyes capture the moon beaming above. My startled pupils instinctively contract to it, partially dimming its radiance. Indeed, clouds keep shrouding this giant pearl. It's a game of hide-and-seek that leaves my eyes in a constricting frenzy.

I could switch on the outdoor and pool lights, but the electricity went off... In all cases, I prefer to swim like this, in the dark.

My ears catch, "My lord," among my crawl's splashes.

In the stillness of my chest, there is nothing for a response but a faint groan drowned out by the water.

I know what Khiva wants—my venom—but he can wait.

I still hold a grudge against him, and as far as comfort is concerned, he's not missing it.

I took measures for us. To be at the highest point in the city, at a finger's touch from the wide dark yonder, at least high enough to feel this sensation. And this penthouse meets our requirements. Shame I have to leave it so soon...

That's all right. Throughout my life, I have seen the beauty of Nix in more ways than can be counted. Mortals can desiccate their world with artificial lights, chemicals, and plastic. We will assist them with what we are best at—crafting wars.

My father believes he will still stand when the world is nothing more than a dusty heap of bones and waste. Being filthy rich isn't enough for him, king of a vampire house, a mild satisfaction; boss of the most feared crime organization, a hobby. My father wants something else, and it is as old as the world—something to do with his Bloodsinger, the very queen of Seelies, Fidr. He's losing her favors and will do anything to win them back. That is why I need to get to Fayra first. Initially, I had targeted her to become an ingredient for Glow, but the minute I saw her at the Restless, I knew she wasn't like the others. I knew it from how her wings glinted, from this unnatural suspension in the air, not just flowing dust, it was as if they were behaving in sync to her emotions, readying at an order. Sudden goosebumps assault me with a thought. Now that Fidr has executed the first stages of her plan... If Fay has been chipped—a detail I completely forgot about—it would change the game significantly!

An intense rush of rage brings about a desire to kill. There is a noticeable speed increase in my swim, the urge to protect her frustratingly present.

No one will land a hand on Fayra. Again, I'm winding myself up, affected by even a thought as small as this one.

"My lord!"

My jaw clenches. Ignore...

Air bubbles fill the black waters at each of my strong blows. They ripple and race throughout my body, fluidly swirling around my thrusting legs.

Fayra's there again, filling every corner of my mind while my hallucinating self fills her with something soft yet brutally hard.

I moan.

And then, with almost no breath left, I swallow hard—the water bubbling with a tiny choke of mine.

My cock is as afflicted as my brain is because, like a daggerboard, it's barely cooling to the resistance of water.

"Vym!"

I fist the waters, my growl making the water buzz.

A warm breeze fills my working lungs with every second pull-through. Lungs that shouldn't have to work hard—they should expand evenly. My endurance should not require me to exert myself in any way when swimming...

Pausing mid-lap to regain my breath, I tread water to keep afloat. I'm not sure what is happening to me. I've never felt this way—air tastes of puss, dust, and rot at best. Nevertheless, I have a vague notion.

Ever since this fairy bloodsang at me, any single effort is a strain and an effortless move, a thing of the past.

A grunt escapes me when I swirl to face the pool's edge.

Khiva's on his knees, hunching over the pool, blood dripping down his throat. Coughing and clenching it!

And as I try to keep calm, I lift my eyes to find my father and brother standing beside him.