Carrying the Vampire's Heir

"Come on, Sandra! Just feel the beat!"

Jenna dragged me through the pulsing, flashing lights of a Paris club. We shouldn't have been inside in the first place, they were under eighteen's only, but Jenna always knew how to talk her way through things. Fake IDs, smooth lies, and enough cash to get through any door locked against you.

"Are we going to get caught?" I asked, my voice quiet.

"WHAT?!" she yelled over the blare of music, laughing.

"I said...!"

"I CAN'T HEAR YOU!" she cut me off, pulling herself into the pulsing mob of people.

I sighed and took a gulp of the cocktail she'd ordered. I never really knew how to say no to her; she always paid, always planned and always somehow managed to make everything seem like a game she could win.

I was just a second year student from a village named Auvers-sur-Oise who had gotten a scholarship and decided to leave to live in Paris on my own. My parents were back home and wanted me to come home and succeed; that was my whole motivation.

I just wanted to graduate. I wanted to come home and be successful. I wanted to make my parents proud.

"Sandra! I'm just going to the comfort room!" Jenna yelled suddenly.

"Don't be long!" I answered, watching her with a shake of my head as she swayed slightly through the dancing masses.

Jenna was French. I was half British and half Filipino. I grew up bouncing between both countries for a while before my parents settled back into the countryside while I moved to America for five years to go to school before coming to France on a scholarship to university there. English was my first language but as it got later I kept falling into Filipino, my mother tongue.

Minutes passed.

The club grew louder and louder, as if to spite my isolation. Flickering colors of light danced across the other patrons while smoke wafted lazily through the air. They looked beautiful, carefree and completely free. I clasped my fingers tighter around my glass, feeling strangely out of place amidst the dazzling dresses and confident smiles of Paris's high society.

A man sitting by the bar seemed to catch my eye and offered a tentative smile; I averted my gaze.

This was exactly why I hated clubs.

Everything felt so uncontrollable.

"Miss, here is the key to the room your friend has reserved for you," the bartender said, sliding the heavy silver key across the polished counter.

I blinked at him, my head swimming a little, and reached for it. "Th-thank you," I managed to murmur, the heat of the cocktail starting to work its way through me.

I didn't usually drink this much; I only ever did when Jenna persuaded me to. Everywhere I went I got so nervous; the club was too loud and too crowded and far too easy to lose your sense of self here. I should have waited for Jenna, but my whole body felt sluggish, my thoughts slowed by the alcohol and the effort of maintaining a facade of excitement. I looked down at the key. Room 919.

Maybe I should just rest for a while...

The corridor leading towards the private suites seemed longer than I remembered. My feet stumbled on the carpet, my vision slightly blurred. Music began to fade from hearing into a gentle vibration thrumming through the floors and my hands trembled as I stumbled along the gilded walls, lined with enormous gold-framed mirrors reflecting the golden light of crystal chandeliers; the whole corridor smelled expensive. Perfume, alcohol and something else I couldn't pinpoint underneath.

'"What did I even drink...?" I whispered, pressing a hand to my forehead.

I tried to send Jenna a text but my fingers were too clumsy to navigate the screen properly; a dizzy feeling was building up inside my stomach. Maybe I was just tired. Between school, my job, the overwhelming amount of homework and studying that took up all my nights, I had been running on zero sleep for weeks now. Jenna kept telling me I worried too much about my scholarship but she had no idea of the consequences if I didn't maintain my grades.

If I lose my scholarship, my whole future collapses.

A couple further down the corridor laughed; the sharp sound of their door slamming shut echoed through the quiet, making my stomach clench tighter with anxiety. I missed my mother’s food and my father’s constant rumpled newspapers. I missed Auvers-sur-Oise after dark, after the streetlights turned on and everything became familiar and peaceful. Paris was beautiful, but nights like these just reminded me of how very alone I was in a city that clearly had other priorities.

Room 919.

It was already unlocked when I got there.

I stumbled through the door, didn't bother turning on any lights, and threw myself down onto the bed. It felt impossibly soft and cool against my overheated skin and for a moment I just sunk into the mattress, trying to get the buzzing feeling in my head to stop. The music from downstairs was distant, just a faint thrum vibrating through the walls and I could have sworn I was drifting into a warm sleep.

Until something touched my arm.

My breath hitched in my chest. I was too groggy to move and the feeling didn't feel unpleasant at first. I tried to snap my senses together, but the drink had made everything so distant and dreamy it felt impossible. Warmth began to spread from the point of contact, too much and too overwhelming for me to decipher. It felt as though I was stuck between being awake and still dreaming, unable to distinguish the one from the other.

My heart pounded weakly in my chest and I fought to open my eyes properly. A tall shadow moved just past the side of the bed and I could make out no feature but it looked like it was sitting at the edge of the bed. Fear, real, sharp and pure cut through the fog that clouded my brain.

I tried to speak but all I managed to croak out was, "Jenna...?" I didn't get an answer.

Silence filled the room, broken only by the rasp of my own breathing. Then, something moved and I felt fingers begin to brush my hair back from my forehead. It wasn't rough or hurried, it was gentle, almost caring and I was suddenly far more afraid than before.

I tried to shift my weight away, to roll onto my side, but my body wouldn't move; my limbs felt numb and heavy under an invisible weight. My eyes burned from frustration and fear; who was this person? Why is he here? He, because I can surely see that he was a tall man. I couldn't move. The person leaned closer, and for just a second I caught a distinct aroma... something like rain, something like cedar wood and something else like smoke; then darkness fell over me like a heavy cloak.

Everything went blurry.