Chapter II

Jeremiah Titus

Present day

T he ice was beginning to melt in Jeremiah's beverage, and the last thing he wanted to do was finish it. He already wasn't the biggest fan of coffee, much less iced coffee, but the recommended seasonal flavor had been shoved in his face before he could protest. He considered himself not very good when it came to saying no to his younger brothers. With four of them now situated beneath the safe shadow of the Titus name, that only meant he was at the mercy of four young and rather ruthless dhampirs.

It was an exaggeration, but not by much. With a seventeen, fifteen, thirteen, and an eleven-year-old running around with sharp tongues and equally sharp minds, Jeremiah had come to understand what his blood brother, Dominick von Kraige, must have felt like suddenly acquiring a brother after so many years of being the only child to their father.

Not that Jeremiah could honestly complain about the new additions. They were a lot that brought a brightness into the home in which he lived with his parents, Demiesius and Hamilton, and it was always nice to see them all thrive during these otherwise perfect years.

As for tonight, after waking up from a deep sleep due to the pleas and demands that he do so, Jeremiah now found himself seated at the window of a coffee shop. Across from him sat the first born of his younger brothers: Sebastian.

Seventeen and nearly as towering as Jeremiah who had him beat by an inch, he was yet another perfect offspring born from the womb of Hamilton. With a firm, boyish edge to his features, there was still a light fairness that nestled mostly in his two-toned eyes. With his half black and blond hair cut short to the nape of his neck and lengthy fringe raked out of his face, his attention was noticeably snagged, and Jeremiah followed his gaze across the shop and toward the order counter.

"You stalker," Jeremiah said. His own eyes had landed on a girl around Sebastian's age taking the order of another customer. "You're telling me you drag me here every Saturday to spy on a barista?"

Seeming flustered from being caught, Sebastian tore his gaze from the pretty face and shouted, "No!" He slapped a hand over his mouth then, as the pitch of his voice snagged the attention of other patrons.

Jeremiah chuckled to himself, pushing the plastic cup in his grasp back and forth, the condensation coming off on his palms as he did so. "I'm only teasing," he said. "But why don't you talk to her? Don't tell me you're afraid of girls."

"Like you're not?" Sebastian spat. "I've never seen you talk to anyone in all my life, and you've been alive for, like, seventy years."

Jeremiah's mouth hung open and he blinked incredulously. Neither of his younger brothers had any filters, and were downright ruthless sometimes, but he figured he may have walked into that one.

While there was certainly a moment in his life in which he'd had…partners…the now distant pair was never a topic shared with anyone who hadn't known of them. So, in the eyes of his brother, Jeremiah guessed he did come off as someone with no relationship history.

"Anyways," Sebastian stood and snatched his own empty cup. "Watch me get her number. If I do, you owe me a grand."

"A grand?!" Jeremiah's jaw nearly hit the floor, but Sebastian was already off before he could counter. It didn't necessarily matter if the dhampir demanded a literal grand as payment for his ‘bravery'. Being the sons of one of the four remaining vampire elders, any amount of money may as well sit at the tips of their fingers.

Then again, even with how privileged their lives were, the younger Titus boys weren't a bunch that demanded much. Everything they could ever want was already housed under the roof they called home.

Taking his attention off Sebastian, Jeremiah glanced out the wide window of the coffee shop, and a smile pulled at his lips when he spotted the face of his youngest brother across the narrow path. There was an old secondhand bookstore sandwiched between a floral shop and record store.

Eleven years old and named Lysander, the boy looked thrilled to have spotted Jeremiah and waved happily before showing off a bundle of books in his arms. He was the only son born without the two-toned mutation that'd reached the others' hair and eyes; as his matched their father's, he looked more like Demiesius if the man were sized down to 4.8 feet tall (149cm).

Pleased to see Lysander was enjoying himself, Jeremiah offered the boy a thumbs up before looking over his shoulder.

Having returned in haste suddenly, Sebastian grabbed Jeremiah by his upper arm and hurried them from the shop. "She has a boyfriend," he said, shoving the door open and a chime followed their retreat. "Congrats, we're never coming back here again."

Not wanting to poke fun in case of it backfiring, Jeremiah kept his snicker to himself as they crossed the narrow path to the old bookstore. Lysander greeted them at the entry, and said, "Do you think Dominick will approve of these?"

Jeremiah looked over the three books the boy had chosen. They were Horror and about ghosts and monsters.

Some years ago, Dominick had chosen to step away from the job he'd obtained as a university professor. Apparently, it'd gotten a bit risky when a comment was made about him looking like he didn't age after five years of working. Then again, he hadn't been sad to say goodbye to the role. That'd been the same year Sebastian turned five, and Dominick was requested by Demiesius and Hamilton to be their boys' teacher. Since then, his weekly presence at the castle became an even more than appreciated visit.

"Those are just fine," Jeremiah said. "As long as you read what material Dominick brings, I know he won't mind. He read many different books to me when I was little, fiction and his typical histories."

Seeming assured, light eagerness returned to Lysander and he hugged the books against his small-framed chest.

"Where are the other two?" Jeremiah asked then, and Lysander went ahead and led him and Sebastian to the rear of the bookstore. There were a good number of other customers sitting in club chairs and sifting through the shelves that smelled of aged paper and leather, the brothers gaining what attention they typically did whenever they were out together.

It was always the hair that reeled in the curious stares.

Nearing the rear of the store where the graphic novels were kept, Jeremiah curled a brow when it seemed he'd missed something. Looking more like a clone of Hamilton regardless of his two-toned hair and eyes, fifteen-year-old Avery Titus was clearing his puffy face from the tears that drenched his cheeks, thirteen-year-old Gabriel trying to console him with encouragements, but the boy also seemed at a loss as to what had happened.

"Hey," Jeremiah approached, a quaintness in his tone, and he touched a hand to Avery's trembling shoulder. "What's wrong? What happened?"

Avery sniveled and threw himself against Jeremiah, holding fast, and he kept the volume of his cry low. "I left Gabriel to look for something for myself," he sobbed, "and a man came up behind me and…he touched me."

"What?" Jeremiah's stomach flipped, and a sudden heat touched his eyes, his brothers able to feel as a spark of tension burst through him.

Although they were also dhampirs and considered to have the same strength and abilities Jeremiah did, there'd never been a moment when they'd tapped into it much like he had during different stages of his life. In their eyes, every bit of the word malice flooded Jeremiah's veins, and it wouldn't be quelled until the audacity of this stranger was shoved into the dirt.

"Is he still here?" Jeremiah just about demanded. "What did he look like?"

"Pale-skinned and bald," Avery started, still wiping his face. "He was wearing a black skull-patterned shirt and blue jeans."

That was all the detail Jeremiah needed. "Wait here," he said, leaving the four in his wake and he ventured back through the store.

When he came up empty-handed, Jeremiah hurried from the door and into the path. Given that the sun was on its way down at this time, the shadows clinging to the area shrouded many, but that didn't stop him from spotting a pair of blue jeans and a dark shirt littered in skulls from disappearing down a separate alleyway.

Cracks in the Earth seemed to open beneath each step as Jeremiah progressed, stalking the hastily moving man until they were both the only two traveling through a walled off divide.

Picking up his pace, Jeremiah's presence went noticed a second too late and he yanked the man by his collar.

"Hey, hey!" the middle-aged man struggled, apparently noting the familial similarities shared between Jeremiah and the person he'd groped minutes ago, that told by the gape of his eyes upon meeting Jeremiah's. "Look, lad, I'm sorry," he tried, trying to free himself from the unrelenting grip of the dhampir's fist. "I didn't mean it, alright!"

"You're telling me you didn't mean to assault my little brother?" Jeremiah thrust the man back with controlled force, his head knocking against the brick of the building. If he'd done it any harder, he would've risked splattering the man as a whole against the surface. While that was something he definitely wouldn't mind doing right now, the surveillance camera angled into the alley kept him at bay.

Revealing his true self in front of just any mortal wasn't something he thought he should risk, but scaring the daylights out of one wouldn't cause too much of a stir.

"Brother?" The man seemed to question as he struggled and panicked. "That wasn't a girl…?"

"You don't even deny it?" Jeremiah unhanded the man and drove a solid fist across his face, a wad of blood shooting from the man's mouth as well as a tooth. The slam of Jeremiah's foot connected next, the pressure at which the kick landed cracking a handful of ribs.

"Ah!" The man hollered and writhed, breath struggling to enter his lungs from the prominent sting that met his chest with each inhale. "P?Please, I'm sorry!"

Deaf to the appeal, Jeremiah's nose locked onto the scent of blood rising from the man's mouth, the crimson whirling into the air tangling with the angry passions weaving into his core.

There had once been a time when Jeremiah Titus would have thought twice before putting his hands on anyone, a mortal, but with the ever-present wrath he couldn't consider himself a stranger to anymore, and the added distress he'd seen upon Avery's face, the punishment of pummeling this man's face into the ground went unchecked until—

"Hey!" a feminine voice called then, the quick approach of a single pair of footsteps. "Stop what you're doing! "

When Jeremiah's bloodied fists froze and he glanced up, he met the defensive-turned-astonished stare of a young woman well into her twenties. Black-haired and blue-eyed, there were dark specks of freckles under her eyes and over the bridge of her nose. As she looked him up and down, her skin seemed to turn an even more ghostly white.

Jeremiah didn't recognize her one bit, but from the sudden bewilderment gazing back at him, it was clear she'd unraveled who he was at a mere glance.

As if by instinct, she went for her belt, and beneath the flap of her coat sat a glinting tool with a finely pointed tip. Jeremiah scoffed and heaved the man in his hands from the ground. He was wobbly and groaned, nearly in and out of consciousness.

"If you ever put your hands on another in all your life," Jeremiah whispered against the man's ear, "I'll hunt you for sport, rip your windpipe from your throat and shove it up your arse. Do I make myself clear?"

"Y?Yes, please," the man nodded, vision half blurred from the puffiness of his eyes. "I'm sorry! I'm sorry!"

With a shove, Jeremiah released the man who stumbled from the alley until he was gone.

Jeremiah kept his eyes with the young woman who seemed to come out of nowhere. From the silver stake in her possession, there was no mistaking the fact that she was indeed a member of the Slayer Public. Though still very much in operation, they were an organization under strict control of the local government, more heavily monitored these days given their involvement with the death of a vampire elder.

There'd been an attempt to dismantle the organization as a whole, but still the highest mortal heads that governed their regions refused to unfasten their want to keep it afloat. At one point in time, it was understood what role the Public played within the human and immortal underground, but with past ties severed and no prospect of ever re-administering that relationship, the mere idea of the Public was seen more as a looming threat than anything else.

Given that vampires were far tamer under the control of their respective leaders and the remaining elders, every coven once documented around the world had been relocated, and the shadows immortals lived within were far more shrouded in darkness; the Public was…in layman's terms…useless.

"You're especially useless if you think that toothpick would have any effect on me," Jeremiah said, knuckles popping, and he rolled his wrists. "How do you know my face?"

"Everyone knows your face," the woman seemed to warn. "Ever since you and that brother of yours ransacked the old headquarters. Jeremiah Titus, Demiesius Titus, and Dominick von Kraige. Everyone who comes up with the Public in these parts knows your names and faces. It's best you leave before I make a report of your assault on that man."

Jeremiah scoffed. "Was that your idea of a threat?"

Just hearing Dominick's and his father's name leave this woman's mouth made Jeremiah's blood boil hotter than it already was. He knew Dominick's home over in Romania was completely off any Public radar, his own home was undocumented, and the only reason the Public had been able to claim the life of an elder was due to the assistance of a lycan from years prior, but the mere idea of this woman bringing mention of him and anyone in his family back to whatever Councilmen she ran beneath—that didn't sit well with Jeremiah at all .

"You can take it however which way you want," the woman said, her eyes staying with Jeremiah's as he neared in an unruffled manner. "If you touch me, you'll regret…it."

Unable to finish her threat with as much venom on her tongue, the pull of Jeremiah's potential seemed to come through in his eyes alone, and she quieted her tongue. There was a tremble in her veins, a fear she'd been trying her hardest to control until it crumbled into pieces around her.

Before she could consider stepping back, Jeremiah seized the pure silver stake for himself. She gasped and flinched away, never letting her eyes leave this otherwise ordinary-looking young man.

On the outside, Jeremiah Titus looked like any other human being, but the tales that'd been spun about him made him far more monstrous in the eyes of the Public. The footage that'd been collected from the merciless massacre had shown Jeremiah in all his terrifying glory, highlighting the bloody trail Dominick left behind; even the grisly death of the head Councilman at the time, done away with by Demiesius' hand, was seen and spread and studied.

Never did it fail to bring far more awareness to what potential lay within a vampire when provoked.

"Believe it or not," Jeremiah said, looking over the weapon, and he twirled it nonchalantly in his grasp. "I used to have such an unwavering love for humans. Nowadays, I can't help viewing most of you as a waste of space, moreover; those like you who think claiming a spot within the Public will bring about anything other than…"

His words halted, and he looked her over. Without a true enemy given any open conflict between vampires and slayers was practically nonexistent, what exactly did she want out of being a slayer? Could she even call herself one without ever having taken the life of an immortal deserving of the permanent death? These days, the Public was made up of nothing but benchwarmers, all of which were led astray and convinced a mark of their own would be left in the world for joining such a useless organization.

At least, it was useless now.

"How easy it would be to wipe the ground with you," Jeremiah mumbled under his breath as his nerves itched, an image of what the fragments of her skull would look like plastered across the stone beneath them in his mind.

Getting rid of her would mean one less Public carny, one less mindless fool of a mortal out there in the world. But, when Jeremiah turned his gaze in the direction of one surveillance camera pointed directly at him, and the fact that he couldn't leave his brothers alone for much longer, he looked her over in disgust and dropped the stake.

"It would be in your best interest to forget this evening," Jeremiah said, the rattle of her weapon silencing as it rolled to the side of the building, and faster than she could react, Jeremiah grabbed the front of her coat and pulled her closer. She yelped and held her breath, heart hammering within her chest as his words grazed her ear. "Tell whomever it is you plan on returning to, you've been spared. For now. Approach me again, and you're dead."

Released with a strong shove further down the alley, the woman's knees scraped through her jeans, palms tearing as she caught herself, and she trembled almost violently.

Jeremiah infiltrated her thoughts. They overflowed with calls to her God, and she shook in jittery fright. After a few seconds, she stood in haste and darted from sight.

As the knuckle of his right middle finger popped back into place from the beating he'd administered, Jeremiah wiped away the blood staining his hands using the sleeves of his hoodie. The smell of it was sure to carry to some extent, but at least no one had to see it.

Rejoining his brothers in the bookstore, Jeremiah leveled out the tension in his body and gathered Avery into an embrace. Though he was known in their household as having the sharpest tongue of them all, and an attitude that caused physical clashes with Sebastian, Avery was also considered quite delicate.

"There, there," Jeremiah smoothed a gentle hand against Avery's back, touching his nose into the top of the boy's hair. "I'm sorry that happened to you."

"Did you kill him?" Avery asked then.

"I wanted to," Jeremiah huffed, and he took his brother's face in his hands, wiping away the last tears with a run of his thumb. "Too many eyes, but I can promise he'll be feeling what I left him with for a good long time."

As it seemed everyone was ready to head home now since the sun would be below the horizon once they returned, Jeremiah purchased everyone's books and they trekked through the shopping strip to an SUV. They traveled out of the city-limits and into the seclusion of which they lived.

Leaving the densely populated city in their wake, the vehicle seemed to be swallowed whole by the darkness of the multi-acre woodlands. With a paved road that led further and further away from society as a whole, it always began to feel as though they were leaving the world once the grand, ivory castle began to peek from the trees.

Still so regal and impressive after hundreds of years, the castle they called home went untarnished by time. The towering spires and steep, dark roofing was immaculate, carvings of guardian figures perched atop high ledges, and countless windows were shielded by iron, that is, until the last touch of the sun left this side of the Earth for another twelve hours.

Stalling the SUV at the head of the curved drive in front of the castle's entry, the doors flew open as Avery, Gabriel, and Lysander hurried out and into the castle. With the iron guards of the windows coming open now, and the solar-powered lanterns coming to life around the perimeter of the foundation, the boys were no doubt racing to give their parents a ‘good evening' and show off the things they'd chosen from the bookstore.

Taking his time along with Sebastian, Jeremiah closed the doors behind them as they entered the massive home and gradually started through the wide, furnished corridors. He could tell there was a question sitting at the tip of the young dhampir's tongue, and while he didn't quite want to address it, Jeremiah stalled before the lofty stairs, and said, "What is it?"

Looking Jeremiah up and down, Sebastian wrinkled his brow and eyed his brother as if he were already lying. "You said you didn't kill that man. Why do you smell like blood?"

"I didn't kill him," Jeremiah affirmed, tugging his black hoodie up and over his head, two-toned hair streaming down his back, and the faint presence of blood clung to the material. From what he could see of his hands, there were also specks present under his fingernails. "Go say ‘good evening' to Father and Dad. I'm going to take a shower."

When Jeremiah went to step away, Sebastian blocked his retreat, the answer to his next question already confirmed given how much it looked like Jeremiah didn't want to continue with this conversation. "Have you ever killed anyone? Sometimes I feel like I know more about Father, Dad, and Dominick than I know about my own blood-related brother. Ever since I was little, you've always danced around topics like you hope nothing elaborates on who you are or things you've been through."

"It's not a very interesting conversation," Jeremiah interjected, stepping around Sebastian again who closed a hand around his wrist to hold him back.

Jeremiah pulled away, not meaning for the reflex to seem as though he was building a defensive wall…even though he was.

Through the years since Sebastian's birth and the others that followed until Lysander was the last, a sort of agreement was made to leave the past where it was. Sebastian himself had been viewed as a point in his family's lives to start over so that the hurt and stress from past events wouldn't taint what peace everyone had found again.

Of course the children knew their father was an elder, they knew Hamilton was once a slayer in the Public, and of the tragedy that was their parents four decades of separation, but there was never much detail of Jeremiah's involvement in the follow-up events. There were too many details woven into the past he knew his mind would dwell on if he talked about it. Always, he would find himself snared by the memories evoked by two identical faces, near identical voices, and the remembrance of what they'd smelled like. After all, his memory was immaculate. There wasn't a memory in Jeremiah's life he couldn't recollect in detail. Entire conversations, intimate, intense moments played much like movies in full color. The quiet ones were the most distressing.

Sometimes he hated the strength of his memory.

"You know more about Father and Dad and Dominick," Jeremiah said, "because…they've lived far more interesting lives than I have."

He couldn't help but lie. He didn't want to share his troubles. Not only did they not seem worthy enough to sulk over with how much time had gone by; Jeremiah couldn't help thinking someone with a youth so untouched by any morsel of grief could understand. His brothers had lived such perfect lives thus far compared to him.

Misery wasn't a competition.

"So, you're telling me," Sebastian sharpened his gaze, "You've been cooped up in this castle since you were born?"

Leaving it at that, Jeremiah was finally able to step around Sebastian and carried on up the stairs. "I never said I don't do anything," he said. "My life isn't that boring."

"What do you do for fun when you're not with us?"

Things that weren't necessarily fun to begin with.

They were distractions.

Jeremiah waved the young dhampir's words away, at last alone after trekking to the wing of the castle in which his bedroom was. Unlike his brothers, he stayed on the opposite side of the castle while their rooms were closer to Demiesius' and Hamilton's. After the birth of Sebastian, Jeremiah took it upon himself to put a little distance between himself and everyone else. It wasn't for the pure desire to be further, more to give himself a sense of independence.

He could so easily take up living beneath the roof of a coven again, perhaps start his own, or even find a place and live alone, but being alone wasn't what he wanted either. Just some space.

Knowing he wouldn't be alone for long either, Jeremiah cleansed the evening from his body before redressing in dark jeans and a black T-shirt.

Now that his parents were awake, yet another typical night for the Titus household would take place. Laughter and good spirits would fill the halls, perhaps a bit of bickering amongst siblings, and maybe a visit or two from familiar and very much welcomed faces, but a change in Jeremiah's comfortability was coming, a change that would thrust him onto a path he wasn't quite ready to walk.

His heart, however, would be what led the way.

All he had to do was trust it.