Page 31 of Mistletoe

“Not too short. You don’t look a day over one hundred and fifty-five.”

Draven’s lip curled at Hal’s quip, flashing a bit of fang. Hal reciprocated, displaying his own mouthful of pointy teeth.

“Vampires are easy targets. We must feed on people. We can never stray too far. The beasts can live as hermits, alone in the wilderness. No one will know unless they attack people. Witches were completely undetectable unless they chose to use their powers.” Draven spoke quickly, almost excitedly. “They could sense and manipulate the Nexus energies. The more powerful crafted weapons that used the Nexus. They were extraordinary things. Deadly, wicked things. They fancied themselves as monster slayers and drove themselves to extinction. Nearly. I haven’t seen or heard of a truly powerful witch in a century.”

Draven moved toward the bars again, back into Hal’s reach. The blood dried and flaked off his skin as he spoke. “You have your answer. The colony arrived and collapsed. Two centuries later, humanity adapted and survived. That’s what humans do best.”

Silence fell between the brothers. The noise of the base waking up and getting on with its day filtered into the building. Time was running short.

Hal slowly clapped, the noise echoing in the warehouse.

Very rousing. Very motivational. He wasn’t falling for it.

“If you want forgiveness, you’ll have to wait another two centuries,” Hal said.

Draven flashed his fangs, this time baring his teeth as a threat.

Hal circled the cage, inspecting its construction. The bars were thick and the welding smooth and even. “How did you wind up in that box?”

“I surrendered.”

“No. I don’t believe that.”

“I was betrayed,” Draven said. His voice darkened, hinting at emotion. “The gate was breached, and I could not hold the Aerie. Not without a substantial loss of life.”

“But why surrender? What’s a human life worth to you?”

“Considerably more now. Surrendering was the best way to distract the invaders and allow my people to escape.”

A sacrifice. How unexpected.

The Ethan he remembered would never have cared about the people he hurt if they got in his way. Hurts then were categorized as cutting jabs, insults, and generally rude behavior. Benign behavior in contrast to the ruthless Draven that Hal knew. Sentimentality was a weakness. No one stood in Draven’s way. Not his brother, not the people who worked for him, certainly not a love?—

Well, maybe.

“That woman. She’s the reason for this change of heart,” Hal said.

“Her name is Charlotte.”

“I remember.” She had spoken to Hal like he was a real person and not a monster chained up in the dungeon.

Weak sunlight now spilled across the warehouse floor, slicing through a corner of the cage. Draven moved to one side, avoiding the sun.

“Will that be a problem?” Hal asked, pointing to the puddle of light.

Draven looked up at the windows and then at the door. “No. The advantage of my advanced age is that sunlight is no longer a concern. My captors do not have this information, and I’d prefer to keep it that way.”

“Are the myths true? Do you have a reflection?”

“Do you really need to know?”

“Curiosity.”

“Some. Silver, for reasons I do not understand, causes dermatitis. Simple, brief contact is tolerable, but prolonged exposure…well, you can see.” Draven held up his hands, displaying his swollen red wrists.

“Avoid silver.”

“Your skin is thicker. Perhaps you have a higher tolerance. I would avoid being stabbed with a silver dagger, though. I shouldn’t imagine it’d kill you, but it’d ruin that fetching coat.”

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