November 1st. 00:32am. The Black Forest. Germany. 

“Finally.” Sylas moaned, his lips glossy, crimson, and wet from his bride’s jugular. He feverishly licked at his lips so he didn’t waste a single drop. Cassandra’s blood was a precious gift he would relish. He rolled his red eyes back from the land of euphoria to look down at the divine corpse in his arms. “My bride.” Cassandra was beautiful. Her frizzy blonde hair was hung down over his arm and she looked peaceful. Her lips were parted ever so slightly, and her makeup was smeared from her crying and thrashing around. Even so, Sylas thought she was perfect. Perfectly dead, cold, and in the icy grip of her Underfolk transformation. Sylas lowered to one knee and laid her across it, his left arm holding her body close so his right hand could aid in his inspection of her progress. White as marble. Her heart isn’t beating. Sylas used his thumb to push down her chin and open her mouth. With two fingers, he pushed up the left side of her upper lip and was pleased to see the telltale bulging of her gums over her canines. Perfect. You’re coming along nicely, Cassandra. 

Already, her fangs were developing beneath the surface and would force out her human canine teeth before she awoke to her new eternity. The blood of his undead heart had tainted hers successfully, and the bond made in blood was brimming within them both. I can feel her. Sylas swept her up into his arms and carried her like the bride she was. He raised an amused brow at the remains of the stage stairs and the breeze from above tousled his shoulder-length black hair. The roof had been torn off moments ago by a dragon. He was lucky it wasn’t raining, at this time of year. The VIP room was a husk of it’s former glory, and Madam Vaculik would no doubt complain about the renovation costs once she was finished with her own sireling. We have plenty of time before next Halloween to worry about making the VIP room ready for the next round of interns on the creator programme. 

Sylas chuckled and jumped down with such grace that it appeared as if he was gliding. He landed without jostling his precious cargo and took the nearest staff exit. A brief five minute walk and one of Nora’s portal doors later, and Sylas was happily in his light-tight home. Our light tight-home. Sylas stepped out of his gothic steel-toed boots by the front door and used one heel to shut the door behind him. 

Up until around 50-100 years ago, the transformation of a mortal into a vampire’s spawn was nothing but traumatic. It was unlikely that they knew their sire before the moment they were bitten, so a stranger held them as their bodies underwent an unholy metamorphosis. Vampires were one of the few underfolk that closely resembled humans, even in their true form. Yet their transformation was nothing less than excruciating. First the spawn-to-be would die and their mortal life would end. During this process, blood extracted from the heart of the sire would be ingested by the spawn. Most of their blood would be drained by the sire. This began the transformation from corpse to vampire spawn, but completing the transition was another matter entirely. Blood was the key. To fuel the transformation, Cassandra would need more of Sylas’s blood. Her organs wouldn’t rot, and would instead become far more resilient to damage and immune to disease. She would gain the ability to regenerate herself, if well fed, and transfer everything her body needs, from nutrition to life force, from blood. The fresher, the better. Her senses would become superior, as would her speed and strength, and her reflexes would put professional athletes to shame. Cassandra would become the perfect predator of humans. In time, she would develop other gifts as well, but not for a few decades just yet. “We’re home.” Sylas carried his bride to the biometric security door that led to the basement. He meticulously prepared for his bride in a way that most vampires would have dreamed of when they were turned. Instead of being smuggled out of civilisation and out to the middle of nowhere and buried deep under ground so no one could hear the horrifying screams of the spawn’s transformation, Cassandra would lay on a soft bed in a sound proof room. Instead of being alone in a coffin, if they were lucky, Cassie would be in Sylas’s arms and reassured every step of the way. Instead of being dug up every few hours to receive some of their maker’s blood before being buried again, Cassie could sink her fangs into Sylas whenever she wished. To keep up his strength throughout this process, Sylas stocked up on blood packets from his blood bank contact and had four full mini fridges surrounding the bed. He preferred his blood warmed up in a microwave, when it wasn’t fresh from the vein, but that wasn’t a luxury he could afford during Cassandra’s transformation. The more she fed, the less she suffered. The more she fed, the more Sylas would have to feed to keep up with her unholy appetite. 

He carefully laid her in the middle of his plush queen-sized bed in the middle of the basement floor. Red, silk sheets would feel so good against her sensitive skin when she awoke. Ravenous and feral with the need to feed. Sylas laid her in the middle of the bed and carefully removed each item of her clothing, like it was his honour to dote on her. Once she was bare, he stripped off, held his smart phone in one hand, and tore off the stopper in the cap of a blood pack with his teeth. He’d made sure to feed well before the VIP show began, but he would need to keep his blood levels up for the next 24-48 hours. The urge to kneel over her body and enjoy the sight of her was great, but Sylas was a gentleman, and consent was sexy. He removed her clothes so he could keep wiping her clean between feedings. It was a matter of hygiene, not voyeurism. When we fuck, it will be because you’re moaning and demanding for sex. He ignored the interested twitch of his cock, and slid a second silk sheet over her lovely body. He lowered himself to lay on his right side, on her left, so he could offer his still jugular to her needy fangs whenever she needed to bite him. Sylas squeezed the blood pack and glugged down the cool blood to load up ahead of her first waking moment as a vampire. He slid his right arm under her neck and his right hand tapped away at the screen. He checked in with the Madam to confirm he was in his lair with his spawn and wouldn’t be available for the next week at least. 

My spawn. Sylas let his cell slip from his hand, close enough if he needed it, but his attention was totally on Cassandra. Her chest started to rise and fall beneath the sheet. Not because she needed to breathe anymore, but because it was a habit the body found difficult to forget. He smiled at the way her lips started to purse together in discomfort, and her hands twitched. My bride awakens. Sylas sucked the last of the blood from the pack down and gulped deeply. He tossed the pack behind him and cupped the back of her head. He normally fed neatly and licked his lips clean right after a feed. Having the smell of blood fresh in the air would help his spawn, so Sylas made sure his smile was still bloody for her when her eyes finally fluttered open. At first, they were light blue, and then red streaks bled out to fill her irises. If he’d needed to breathe, she would have taken his breath away. “Hello beautiful. Welcome to eternity.”