An Old Enemy

The room was dimly lit, the air thick with a potent mix of old wine and fresh blood. Lord Izcacus lay sprawled on a satin-draped bed, his dark hair cascading over his shoulders like a waterfall of ink. His eyes were closed, but not in sleep; they were shuttered against the world, lost in the memories that haunted him.

Beside him, Kali, a raven-haired beauty with eyes that sparkled like sapphires, stroked the hair of a human boy who lay between them.

The boy was pale, his pupils dilated, and his breathing slow, almost as if he were drifting in a dream. His chest rose and fell in shallow breaths, the only sign of life in an otherwise lifeless form.