The elevator opened with a mechanical chime. Rasmus headed towards the garage, his car key in his hands.
The rain brutally hitting his jacket.
"Your highness, where are you headed to, perhaps I should join you," a young man dressed in black said.
"No, Lucas, I think I'll be fine on my own," he said, turning to stare deep at the hopeful dark eyes belonging to Lucas.
"But your highness, I swore an oath to protect you."
"Don't worry, Lucas, I just wanna head out on my own."
Rasmus slammed the backdoor that led to the garage with a huge force. The hinges would probably have cursed his name if they could talk.
In the garage, Rasmus skipped a lot of cars till he reached a Ferrari, latest edition.
A car that had an aura that portrayed the very word,
Class... pure class.
He got in the driver seat and switched on the ignition, after a while he was on the road, his Ferrari tires gripping the asphalt of the road tightly.
His hands were tight on the wheel, knuckles white, blood dried and cracking over his fingers from the bag he'd beaten earlier.
His jaw ached from clenching. He hadn't spoken to anyone since storming out, and the silence inside the car was deafening.
"I should probably head to the night club de Ferrol, I need a vampire on my bed tonight," he thought.
The de Ferrol was a night club strictly for vampires. It was a night club hidden from the rest of the human world.
It was a place for the vampire population to come and exercise their darkest fantasy, their innermost sexual desires.
There were many other vampire nightclubs like the de Ferrol, but it was the most popular due to the quality service they offer.
"I don't want anybody knowing my identity tonight, so I guess I need a mask," Rasmus thought.
He reached for a compartment in his car and brought out a black-colored mask.
The mask looked plain to the eye, but was in reality also a protection against bullets... silver bullets.
Silver bullets. A shot to the head, piercing the brain, even for a royal vampire, was all it took to end their immortality.
But for some reason, silver seemed to be extinct for centuries, only a few had access to silver mines..... very few who keep the knowledge away from others and trades it secretly.
"I heard rouges are more frequent now, so I can't take the chance," he thought, putting on the mask.
He continued on the road, his mind drifting off to his upcoming marriage.
He knew Clara way before this whole marriage thing.
"Overpampered, spoilt brat!" he thought.
Her mother was the Head of the Thornblood coven, one of the most powerful witch covens in existence.
She indulged Clara in whatever she wanted and gave her the best life had to offer, never bothering to disturb her with the duty of being the next in line of the coven.
The next in line were the successors of a coven. Contrary to the way the vampire court worked, the witches do not pass on the mantle to lead their coven through bloodline.
They picked a successor... It could be any witch of that coven, so far it meets the criteria of the current coven leader.
The successors were often picked way before the death of the current coven leader, so they could be prepared for their duties.
And that was almost the case with Clara. She has been picked as the successor of the coven by her own mother.
But her mother never bothered to prepare her.
"Childish," he chuckled. "That bitch expects me to marry such a childish, clingy piece of shit," Rasmus thought.
He let his mind drift away and focused on the road in front of him, at a sharp turn, his senses picked up something.
He tried to swerve, but it was too late, even for a vampire. He could not totally bend the laws of gravity.
He hit something, or was it... someone?
"Aargh!!!" A feminine voice screamed.
The impact threw her sideways, her body skidding across the road till she rolled off, disappearing from view.
Rasmus came out of the car, dread gripping his entire being.
"That could be a child, just like Ariana," he thought.
He walked over, the rain slowly drizzling down, his feet splashing into puddles.
He approached her dreadfully, already expecting the worst.
She lay down across the road, unmoving, soaked through.
Her cleavage was visible as her clothes stuck to her skin like glue. She was at least a B cup.
Rasmus didn't linger on the view, respectfully averting his eyes off her chest area.
She wore white shirt, black leggings, torn sneakers.
"She looks so out of place, dressed in casual clothes by this time of the night," Rasmus thought.
He crouched beside her, running his hand gently beneath her nose.
Still breathing.
Shallow, but alive.
She had a fair skin, a big contrast from his own pale skin. Her lips were parted slightly and a trickle of blood rolled down.
Rasmus' eyes flickered red for a moment when the scent of her blood invaded his nose, but immediately changed back to its normal color.
"Smells like a treat," Rasmus thought, sharpening his gaze on her.
"No ID," he muttered after checking her jacket pocket. He brought out a phone from her left jacket pocket.
"Dead," he grunted in annoyance. He returned the phone back to her pocket.
Without another thought, he scooped her up and carried her to the passenger seat, pushing the soaked hair away from her face.
She looked younger up close, maybe twenty. A small scar sliced her left eyebrow, barely visible unless you looked closely. She didn't stir as he buckled her in.
That's when he noticed it, when he was about to shut the door.
Those honey eyes.
"I have seen that look before," he thought.
The eyes of someone he had not seen in centuries.