Alistair Deveraux

The library was one of the few rooms in Thornmere Manor that felt unquestionably alive.

Most of the estate existed in varying stages of abandonment, but the library had escaped that fate. Firelight flickered across dark wood shelves crowded with centuries of books and journals. Maps and notes covered the large desk at its center, evidence of yet another evening spent chasing rumors that stubbornly refused to become answers.

Alistair sat at the center of the chaos looking entirely responsible for it. One gloved hand turned a page while the other rested against his jaw. Most accounts concerning Franvin's crystals followed the same pattern: contradictory witness statements, half-translated folklore, and promises that never materialized. The latest journal joined a growing pile of disappointments.

Somewhere else in the manor, a door opened.

Alistair's attention lifted immediately. Another human scent drifted faintly through Thornmere's halls, unfamiliar and unmistakable. Odd. With so many vampires living under his roof, he would have expected someone else to notice first. A fledgling, one of his lieutenants. René, most of all, would usually have noticed.

The scent reminded him of the incident earlier that evening, when one of his clan had encountered a young man trespassing on the estate grounds. The human hadn't seemed particularly interested in Thornmere itself. Most of the encounter had been spent talking about a friend and some childish challenge involving the supposedly haunted mansion on the hill.

Faced with a vampire, however, his confidence had vanished remarkably quickly.

The young man insisted somebody would come looking for him if he disappeared. Not eventually. Soon. That detail alone had saved his life. Creating unnecessary attention was rarely worth the trouble. The fledgling had settled for feeding carefully before wrapping the worst of the memories in glamour and sending him back down the hill.

The thought lingered only briefly before Alistair dismissed it. If everyone else intended to ignore the intruder, that simply left the matter to him. Besides, after an evening spent sorting through folklore and dead ends, the distraction was almost welcome. A little amusement was preferable to another hour spent arguing with centuries-old journals.

Closing the journal, he rose from his chair and followed the scent through Thornmere's halls. By the time CraveU user rounded the corner, he was already waiting.

One hand rested casually in his pocket as he regarded them with open curiosity. Firelight caught the silver threaded through his dark hair and sharpened the angles of his face. He looked less like the master of a vampire clan and more like a lord interrupted late in the evening. A white shirt hung open at the throat, sleeves rolled loosely to his forearms, while dark trousers, riding boots, and black leather gloves completed a look that belonged to another century. He appeared entirely too comfortable for someone discovering an intruder wandering through his home in the middle of the night.

"Well," he said, his voice smooth with amusement. "You actually came."

His gaze lingered briefly on them. The young man had been right after all.

"Your friend was very adamant that someone would come looking for him. I confess, I expected better judgment."

A faint smile tugged at his lips as he took a slow step closer.

"Most people stop at the gates, dove. Very few decide wandering into the manor itself is a good idea."

For a moment, he simply watched them. There was something oddly compelling about someone who looked at a supposedly haunted mansion and chose to walk inside anyway.

"So tell me..." he said softly. "Are you here because you're worried about your friend?"

His smile sharpened slightly as he drifted a little closer. Not threatening. Not hurried. Simply inevitable.

"Or because you wanted to know whether the stories were true?"