Masqueraded in Golden Lips

Galia has a brief encounter with a well known creature from his past.

The mask clung to his face, like a glittering façade of some inhuman beauty. Eyes scanning the room, Galia shifted from one foot to the other, nerves sparking beneath his pale skin. His stomach had been in knots since he set foot into the manor, since the blinding lights had filled the room and people had begun dancing and drinking. He knew he had to be here, somewhere, in the crowd, masked just like all the rest.

            Galia reached up, tracing the gold mask, accented with fake violet gems and green lace, a mix of purple and green feathers sticking back and into his long black curls. He wondered why the family throwing this party had insisted on a masquerade theme, why the wretched masks had been necessary in the first place. He wondered more why he had agreed to come, why he had bothered trying to please his older father and his new, young wife. The wretched creatures.

            Taking a sip from his wine glass, his deep brown, almost black eyes scanned the room once more. Yes, he was here for political reasons only. He was here as a representative of his family, to show good will. And in return, he was only hoping to make sure his father didn’t forget his youngest son when he finally keeled over dead and the witch he now shared his bed with faked her tears.

            But he had other things on his mind. Like the recent barrage of disappearances he’d been hearing about, the bodies that seemed to turn up every night. Drained dry, they’d say, dry to the bone. And he knew why.

            Just then there was a crash, the sound of glass shattering on the ground, spraying out in millions of pieces. The room grew much dimmer, and Galia looked out to see a chandelier had fallen, shattered beyond recognition. People were quickly rushing away, some cradling arms that had been cut by the shrapnel.

            More terrifying, though, was what began to rise form behind the mass that had been the chandelier’s bulk. A slender figure, a curvy shadow, and as voice smooth as silk against naked flesh.

            “Found you.”

            The figure stepped forward, the soles of his black boots crushing glass as he walked. A black jacket was open, showing a silk red shirt, stitched in gold, unbuttoned partially. The pale skin of his upper chest and collar bone gleamed. Galia swallowed the lump in his throat.

            As if those two words had woken them from a slumber, more figures began stepping from the crowd. A mix of males and females, all with a ghostly presence that made the skin crawl. They seemed to swarm around this central figure, who was smirking, rosy lips turned up against smooth, pale skin. He stopped in front of the crowd, reaching out and twisting the red strands of a woman’s hair around his finger.

            “Hello there, darling,” he said, voice eerier. Galia could see she was shaking, and he wanted so badly to rush up to the front and bat the fiend’s hands away, but his legs felt frozen to the floor. “Is your daddy home?”

            The figures in the center of the room, his own crowd of shadow, snickers to themselves. The girl squared her shoulders, and silently Galia praised her bravery, but cursed her stupidity. She was the daughter of the manor’s master, the one who threw the party. A long time “friend” of Galia’s family, a powerful man who could run half the city on his own if he ever so wished it.

            “Of course,” she said, lips pulled tight. “But a man of his high esteem would never come down to entertain obvious degenerates like yourselves.” There was a soft chuckle from the crowd, and the man’s lips curled up into a grin, hiding teeth. His hand darted forward, so fast that Galia wasn’t even sure it really happened, and there was a suck, wet ripping sound of flesh and tissue. Then the girl was nothing but a crumpled, bloody mess on the floor, and he was holding a thick organ that Galia knew had been in the woman’s chest just moments before. The room went dead silent as the blood dripped to the floor, echoing.

            “Does anyone else have anything to say?” the man asked, squeezing the heart in his hands. Blood flowed down thicker now, over his pale hand. He threw it down on the ground, on the lifeless body, then stooped over and dared to wipe the blood off his hand on her golden silk gown. When he came back up, he was smirking, teeth showing, canines set to a long, deadly point.

            That was when the hysteria set in. The people knew what he was, as if there really could have been any doubt after the moment he tore through her chest and ribs with his bare hand. He was the cause of the missing people, the drained bodies. He and his kind. The vampires.

            People began running amuck, screaming and crying, trying to find a way out. And the vampires that waited in the center of the room finally moved, lashing out into the crowd after their possible victims. And he was yelling above the crowd, “I want him alive! Bring me the man alive!”

            Her father, Galia knew. But why would he care so much about getting him, and alive? Unsure, Galia stood, motionless for a moment, just watching the panic around him. The blood felt like it had left his body entirely, and when he did take a step, his legs felt heavy and lifeless. Shock was a powerful thing.

            He was heading towards the stairs. He needed to warn the man, to interrupt his private party with the young girls he was known to socialize with. Even if he was not a very noble man, Galia couldn’t leave him to the hands of a filthy blood drinker…

            Could he?

            Running towards the stairs, he knew he’d never be able to leave another human being to these monsters. Grabbing the ornate railing, he hopped up a few steps and continued his sprint. Half way up, Galia almost breathed a sigh of relief, sure he would get there-

            When suddenly he was there, the man, the monster. He grinned at Galia, fangs showing, dark eyes gleaming. Frozen, Galia couldn’t bring his body to move as he stepped down a few steps, stopping inches from Galia. Reaching out, he ran his cold fingers along Galia’s jaw line, then up his cheek, along his mask. The vampire’s own gold mask was accented in ruby red, a crimson matching the blood that had soaked his hand only moments before.

            “Did you think you were going to warn him, beautiful?” he asked, leaning in close. His lips were glossed in gold, an eerie combination with his pale skin. Galia didn’t move as the vampire’s hand trailed down his neck, running over his Adam’s apple. “Do you know why I’m here? Do you know what that monster up there has done to my kind?” Snarling a little, he leaned in even closer, breath ghosting over Galia’s lips. “He slaughters us like pigs, that b*****d. He hunts us down and kills us for his sick since of sport and fun, and I’m simply here to return the favor.”

            Then he kissed him, a crashing and melodic movement of soft lips that made Galia’s mind flood with memories of the familiar man, of his lips tasted once before, his skin explored in the dark of night many times before. Galia knew this vampire, and he knew him well, but every time he saw him part of his consciousness wished so badly that he didn’t.

            “Can you stand by and watch as he kills us?” he asked, fingers tracing Galia’s lips, tinted gold from the kiss. “Can you watch as lives are taken?”

            Confused, Galia cried, “You take lives too!” The vampire snickered.

            “Yes, but only to sustain our own. This is not sport, this is not fun. This is life; we do what we must to survive. He does what he can to enjoy his sick twisted pleasures.” Again, another kiss, before Galia could speak, and the vampire’s arms were around him, holding him close. “I’d like to take you with me,” he mused, stroking the human’s hair. “I always want to take you with me…” Sighing, he pulled Galia’s mask off and tossed it away, studying his face one last time for the night.

            Then with an inhuman speed he had turned and was bounding up the stairs. The layers of his short black hair framed his face when he turned in response to Galia yelling, “Arkadi!” Smiling, he pulled his own mask off and tossed it aside.

            “Remember this face,” he said, grinning, “because someday it will be the last you see, lover.” Then he turned and was gone, and moments later the hysterical cries of the old man above were heard, mingling with the cries and sobs of his guests below.

            Galia stood on the stairs, frozen, unsure if he should move or not. Unsure if he should wait for Arkadi to return, or disappear into the night and wait for him to come for him another time. Either way, he knew he would see him again. Either way, the vampire had been right. Arkadi’s face would be the last Galia ever saw, he was sure. And he was sure a death by the vampire’s hands would one day be sickeningly sweet.

Author's Note

There is bound to be typos, as all my work is raw. I have no editor, and I'm more interested in your thoughts on the plot, as I can fix grammar and spelling issues at any time :)