Slave To The Fang

11, Whose rightful place?

Kyryaan's POV

The old witch stepped out of the room but I could still hear her heartbeat beating outside. She was waiting for me. My skin was glistening in sweat from my strange dream and I was shirtless seeing as I had not bothered with a shirt after my bath. I put on some dark pants and a white shirt. I contemplated putting on a jacket but I changed my mind and ran my hands through my hair instead.

My hair was getting long. Unlike my brothers Lucien and Dalkyr, after a while I preferred to keep my hair short, buzzed even. It was just another of those things that I could not be bothered with. I had to remind myself to get a haircut soon. With ginger red hair that I had inherited from my father and light green, almost aquamarine eyes that I had inherited from my mother, I was no stranger to coveted looks from both women and men at court but it never meant anything to me. Dalkyr had almost the same features and used it well to his advantage. He was what one would call the player of the family.

Lucien used to be the cold one. Well he was still cold to an extent but that woman, Camilla had changed him, thawed most of the ice in his heart. Dalkyr was the player and it had gotten us into big trouble with very important deities and important species over the past centuries. I was supposedly the playful one, the jokester. Ironic isn't it. That I could make others have a good time but I couldn't make myself have a good time.

I walked to the dresser in the room and picked up the covered glass of blood. A servant had brought it in before I had fallen asleep earlier. Removing the cover and placing it on the silver tray the glass had been on, I brought the glass to my lips drinking down the blood in four large gulps. I felt the blood rush over my tongue, tickling my fangs and giving me flashes of a time when I used to get the blood directly from the source. I quickly dissipated said thoughts and wrinkled my nose as I swallowed the rest of the blood.

It had been a personal choice to stop using blood slaves. I didn't see the need for the contact anymore. Replacing the glass on the dresser, I put on my shoes and left the room. I gave a curt nod at the witch for her to lead the way. I had been right. She was waiting at the door for me. She shifted with a start and moved along the lit corridors.

"Not all the coven heads could be invited here on such short notice My Lord. Duncan tried his best to bring as many as he could. We weren't expecting your arrival." The witch said in a crackly voice. I barely lifted an eyebrow. So they said. Many times. I wondered why her heart rate sped up though. She was shrouded in magic but there were some signs that couldn't be ignored. Like how her wrinkled fingers were agitated like Duncan's had been, except hers were a little more subdued.

We passed a few more corridors and staircases only to end up in front of magnificent double doors. It was not as impressive as the door leading to the hall back in my mansion, but it was large, beautiful and made of magic. Lines, and spells had been carved into the acacia wood in a centralized pattern and the two fire torches that stood on the wall on either side of the doors seemed to dance in welcome.

Two witches stood on either side of the door beneath the torches in black ceremonial robes and a hat. They bowed to me when I came close to the door and went to push open the door.

The old witch walked ahead of me as we entered the itches' meeting hall. It was a big room with round walls and a small podium smack in the center of the room. The podium had a witches' circle ingrained on the stone along with other carvings. All around the room right from the door, were large chairs places, on most of which, a witch or warlock sat on. It was a circular arrangement given that the room was circular and the chairs were placed across the wall. It was another form of witches' circle. Itches and tradition.

Witches gained power from the strength of the coven. The stronger the circle was, the stronger the powers. My mother and aunt had taught me this. A larger chair stood on the opposite side of the door at the very end where the two sides of the circle of witches met and on it sat Duncan as the head of the coven. Behind him, a very large, orange fire burned in a chimney a few meters behind Duncan. The big ceremonial fire.