The argument

The argument
Jean

The gothic chamber in Dracula’s Castle was a fitting stage for the game I was playing. Flickering torches cast an unsteady glow, their flames dancing across tapestries frayed by centuries, the air thick with the scent of wax, dust, and something faintly metallic, blood, perhaps.
I stood by a tall, narrow window, its leaded glass distorting the moon’s pale light, my hands clasped behind my back as I waited for that idiot Wladimir to grace me with his presence. Every second of delay stoked my impatience, but I kept my expression smooth.
I needed to know where we stood, how far his incompetence had derailed my plans.

A chill slithered through the room, the air growing heavier, and I felt it—the fetid presence of the vampire king. Ian Wladimir emerged from the shadows, his jet-black hair cascading past his shoulders, catching the torchlight like liquid obsidian.
His face wasn’t the mask of fury I’d come to expect; instead, a false smile curved his lips. But I could sense the storm beneath it, a roiling rage barely contained, his pale eyes glinting with menace.
This was no ally, and never was one. Wladimir was a beast on a leash, and I held the chain, for now.

“You took a while.”

Wladimir’s smile didn’t falter, but his eyes narrowed as he stepped closer, his movements fluid, predatory. “I was feeding myself,” he drawled, his voice low and silken. “I wanted to make sure I wouldn’t attack you if I was hungry.”

“I’m not afraid of you, Wladimir,” I said coolly, “and you know that our blood is poison to you.”

“Oh, but it’s worth the fun,” he purred, licking his lips, a slow, deliberate gesture, his fangs glinting faintly in the torchlight.

“We’re not playing around here,” I snapped. This wasn’t a game of taunts; it was a chessboard, and I needed Wladimir to move where I wanted him.

His facade cracked, the furious expression I knew so well surging to the surface, his eyes blazing like twin moons. “No? Oh, what a shame! What would your pathetic game of tricking me by offering me the sun be, then, huh?”

I tilted my head, feigning curiosity, though my pulse quickened with the thrill of the challenge. “It’s possible. I’ve seen it happen in another life.”

Wladimir’s laugh was harsh, a bark of disbelief. “Oh, yes,” he said, his voice dripping with scorn, “in the Middle Ages, when an erupting volcano in Finland threw so much ash into the atmosphere that the sky became cloudy. Dimitri told me about it, I checked, and it did happen.”

I snorted, seizing the opening to twist the knife. “And that’s why you killed him?”
“Family matters, none of your business,” he said, his voice low and edged with menace. “Take care of your daughter, by the way, where is she?”

My heart slipped, a cold jolt of fear slicing through my composure. “If you do something to her…”

Wladimir’s lips curled into a mocking smile, his fangs glinting. “Oh, I don’t know anything about her,” he said, his tone dripping with false innocence. “It seems that Dimitri hid her well.”

I stepped closer, my eyes boring into his. “They were supposed to arrive here yesterday, Marcelo and Diana. Where are they?”

He shrugged, his smile widening, infuriatingly casual. “I have no idea…”

“Don’t make me angry!”
With a flick of my finger, I summoned a surge of magic, the air crackling as I threw Wladimir against the stone wall. The impact echoed, a dull thud that rattled the tapestries. Since killing the queen, my power had grown, a dark well of strength that thrummed in my veins, making me more dangerous than ever.
Wladimir slid to the floor, his eyes flashing with surprise, then fury. He got the message.

“If I wanted to fight…” he began, his voice a low growl as he rose, dusting off his cloak with exaggerated calm.

I cut him off, my voice icy. “Do you see what you did? Everything was perfect, the lycans would take the blame for the queen’s death…”
My plan had been flawless but Wladimir’s reckless killing of Dimitri had muddied the waters, casting suspicion on his son instead.

Wladimir’s laugh was sharp, cutting through the tension like a blade. “I made a deal with you to support you for a place on the Council,” he said, his tone laced with contempt. “We prefer to deal with men, women are temperamental. I never told you that I would cover up the death of a queen. You are not of royal blood. You are too ambitious for a mortal.”

His words struck a nerve, my cursed bloodline a wound I’d spent a lifetime concealing. I clenched my fist, my nails biting into my palm. “And now you have made them believe that your son may have done it.”

Wladimir’s expression darkened, but his laugh was cold, devoid of grief. “What matters to me is that he no longer exists, he has already been punished,” he said, dismissing Dimitri as if he were nothing.

“You!” I snarled, stepping forward, magic crackling at my fingertips, ready to strike again.
The callousness ignited something in me—a fury I couldn’t fully name. Was it because he’d derailed my plan, or because his disregard for his own son? I couldn't even tell anymore.

Wladimir held up a hand, his voice cutting through my rage. “You have until tomorrow night to get out of here alive,” he said, his tone deadly calm. “Convince your people and leave. Don’t provoke me.”

“We will have to have an audience with the royal covens, or you will become the target of the wrath of the witches linked to the queen.”

He repeated, his voice a low growl, “You have until tomorrow night to get out of here alive. Convince your people and leave. Don’t provoke me.”

I straightened, my mind racing as I saw an opportunity. “I have prepared something better for tomorrow. We will have an audience with the Supernatural Council, and your witches will be able to watch.”

Wladimir’s eyes narrowed, suspicion flickering in their depths.
“What do you want from me, Wladimir?”

“Nothing now,” he said, his smile returning, sharp and predatory. “But wait tomorrow, and you will see the price of trying to deceive me. And don’t you dare run away. All the doors are sealed from the inside now, no one leaves, only the council enters.”
With that, he vanished into thin air, a swirl of shadow and malice, leaving the chamber colder than before. I stood alone, my heart pounding, my mind a whirlwind of strategies and contingencies. Wladimir was no fool—he’d seen through my lies about the sun, and now he held the upper hand, locking me in this castle with a ticking clock. But I wasn’t finished. I had hours to turn the tables, to use the audience with the Supernatural Council to my advantage.