The Brethren Of Tavish [Vampire Coven Book 1] Page 2

  A long time ago Mercy remembered vaguely trying to pleasure herself. It was simple inquisitive innocence and happened by accident. Her breasts had grown round and itched at times. One of those personal times they had itched she had soothed the itch with a vigorous rub. The rub had changed to a gentle squeeze of self-exploration. The tips of her nipples hardened; she didn’t know they would do that. Why would they do that? She had felt something when her hands had explored her body and strove toward the pleasant feeling until she had been caught by her father. Mercy had been beaten severely. Sex of any kind was evil. Thoughts of sex of any kind were evil. Mercy had been horrified to learn her father would kill her himself if she ever had impure thoughts or touched herself inappropriately again.

  “Your father is waiting,” Jarrod reminded her.

  Mercy sighed. “Fine.”

  The young pair walked back through the winding icy hallways of their home, carved out over decades. Jarrod urged her ahead of him. The torch light flickered shadows across the frozen walls making it appear she was being followed by a huge upright bear. They entered into a larger, more open area strewn with furs. Furs sat atop chiseled ice furniture. Ice chairs and ice tables, ice stools covered in hides sat in various places discreetly apart so limbs of occupants didn’t touch by accident. Beds were cut into grooves in the ice, piled high with furs, enough for each individual in a separate place. Husbands and wives could reach to hold a gloved hand but no more.

  Situated atop a pile of large rocks, a fire burned. The smoke spiraled high above and dissipated by the time it reached the twenty-four-foot-high ceiling. A stew bubbled over the fire in a double-thick rawhide. The bottom barely seeped, just enough to keep it from catching fire. Off to the side, a bowl of melted fat sat in a large turtle shell. Mercy saw her mother glance up at her; she looked relieved. Her mother then added more chunks of frozen cubed meat to the stew.

  Mercy’s grandfather smiled from a fur-covered chair where he played checkers with David, her oldest cousin. The flat wood board they used was dyed black in varying boxes, the other half was wood-colored. Grampy used small flat rocks; David used small, flat pieces of wood. The game was older than her grandfather. Grampy winked and sent her a snowflake kiss. He had scooped a small amount of snow he had made by scuffing his feet on the icy ground into his fur mitt and blew it her way. The twinkle in his eyes was a gift of love. Her cousin David playfully tossed more scuffed snow at Grampy and smacked his lips together in a teasing fashion, making her aunts and female cousins who watched the game chuckle and smile.

  “Mercy,” her father thundered.

  Grampy crossed his eyes and made a face. Mercy giggled, but sobered quickly at the approach of her father.

  “I’m here, Father,” she said quietly.

  Her father came and stood before her. She looked up at him. Her father was a big man, the largest man in their family. He had the same white-blond hair as she, but she sported the gray eyes of her mother. He was made to look even larger in the polar bear fur he and his hunters wore. The entire skin of a polar bear was utilized. His face could be seen from inside the bear’s wide open mouth. Massive paws sat atop his hands and bulky fur feet. The hunters blended in better with the snow when outside and moved like bears when possible. A flying vampire could see their movement from a distance and think nothing of a group of bears wandering and hunting on all fours. It was the humans they lusted after.

  Dante, her father, looked ferocious in the furs he wore. The other hunters were shrugging off the added fur padding. Her father slipped part of his over his head to his waist, sliding his hands through a slit in the fur belly. He was still huge. In Mercy’s opinion, he was the most handsome man in their dwelling. Mercy’s mother came and took his bloodied spear from him. Her mother looked at her father in adoration. For a fleeting moment their gloved hands touched but nothing more. Mercy could see very few red dots spattered on his hunting outfit. He was an efficient huntsman.

  Mercy wasn’t afraid of her father; she loved him. His one and only threat had stemmed from his fear that she might break a law, commit treason. When he bloodied her face for self-exploration, Mercy was surprised to see he cried harder than she. Afterwards, he had sat her down in a private tunnel and told her of the dangers of the cruel beasts that roamed the earth. Beasts that would force her to breed to provide them with food. He hinted they would do something foul to her body and make her cry. Her father insisted it was for the best as he wiped tears and blood from her face and held a cold piece of leather to her swollen eye and cut lip.

  He had explained when the humans were all gone the beasts would soon succumb, the madness must end. Humans were so much more than food. He loved her so much he couldn’t bear the thought of her being used and abused and afraid. Her father had asked Mercy to try and understand. It was for the best. Mercy had readily agreed, especially when her father offered her a rare and gentle show of affection by hugging her and running a tender hand down her long white-blond hair. She had heard his breath catch in his throat and knew she was important to him. Every day he told her he loved her, but that day he had hugged her in private, a tender kiss was placed onto her forehead. She had craved more human contact once having a taste but no more was forthcoming, from anyone.

  “Where were you?” her father asked.

  “Hiding.” There was no point in lying to him.

  Her father chuckled and cupped her chin with affection. His gloves were off and his large hand was warm. “Always when there is food to flay, my dearest little one.”

  “It’s only when you bring in the baby seals. The fish stinks, but the sweet little white-furred creatures look so harmless.” Mercy would have liked to touch his hand, to feel his warmth when warmth was so rare, but she didn’t.

  Mercy had never seen a live baby seal, or even a furred carcass. The animals and fish were all skinned and drained of as much blood as possible away from their home. Only sections of meat to slice were left. The gutting was done quickly. Hunting was fast and efficient and seldom done in the same place where the beasts could surprise them. The hunters wanted no enticing blood to breadcrumb the way back to their home.

  “We need to eat, my littlest love.” Her father’s eyes were filled with warmth. His thumb trailed back and forth over her chin. “Never feel sympathy for your food, little dove. If you allow compassion to fill your heart, you will be doomed.”

  “You learned that from the vampires,” she accused.

  “We kill with certain empathy, but we kill.” His hand fell from her face. Mercy noted the others watching. David was scowling. She knew many thought her father showed her too much favor and attention. But she was the youngest, the most fussed over. She knew she was coddled. She knew she was loved.

  “How does that make us different?” Mercy honestly wanted to know. It was a fair question, not a challenge to her father’s authority. She was allowed to ask a fair question and the others were no longer disapproving but listening attentively. There was no privacy in the dwelling. All knew each other’s conversations. It was something they were used to.

  “A beast has no compassion, no remorse or empathy, my little love.” Mercy knew her father would be honest, but by his tone she knew he sought to temper his harsh words. “Do you think a polar bear would care if it ripped your guts out and feasted on your entrails while you were still alive?” Mercy wasn’t the only one who shuddered as he created a mental image in their minds. “Our prey is mercifully dispatched, I make sure of it. To make something suffer is cruel. As hunters, we must be fast and efficient. We have a duty to our prey.

  “A beast has no soul, child. It’s no better than a carnivore. In fact, it’s far worse. A carnivore kills, the vampires, once human no less, feed off you over and over until you are weak and drained and useless to them.”

  Mercy cocked her head up at him, he seemed worried and she knew it wasn’t her questions. “You saw a polar bear today didn’t you?” she asked. It was the one thing that her father feared more than the
beasts he spoke of. The vampires could smell blood and the beating of a heart and warmth, but the bear could smell the humans’ flesh. Human scents easily flew to their sensitive nose on a mere gust of wind. Mercy had heard polar bears hunted man.

  “A storm is beginning. With any luck, our home will shift in the wind,” Dante replied evasively.

  A shifting wind didn’t matter to Mercy, neither did a blizzard. They were buried in hundreds of thousands of pounds of ice and snow. Humans who chose to stay where there was even a modicum of warmth outside were picked off first in the early years. The human population had no choice but to migrate as far north as possible over a hundred years ago. It was difficult for the vampires to detect warmth under so much ice.

  It was rumored a giant polar bear aided a certain large vampire coven. It was said the coven sire was a monster, a man with no compassion or pity for females of childbearing years. It was said the vampire forced his females to breed. An escaped man, from years prior to Mercy’s birth, estimated the vampire to be one of the oldest coven leaders at seventeen thousand years, perhaps even more. The coven consisted of many vampires who had no regard for human life. Sadly, the escaped man was delusional. He had died of internal injuries and nothing more was learned.

  “Was your hunt a success?” Mercy asked politely.

  “Yes, thankfully, my sweet,” her father replied. Dante trailed his thumb gently down her cheek once more before clearing his throat and going from father to leader. He then glanced about at all thirty-nine of his family members who had his rapt attention. When Dante, their ice leader spoke, the dwellers listened. “There will be no hunting for a month. No one is to go outside for any reason. We will take turns at the time counting.”

  Thirty-one people were chosen to count. Mercy was grateful she wasn’t one of them. All day the person sat alone, uninterrupted, not even to eat, and calculated the seconds, then minutes then hours, carving grooves into a long piece of ivory to mark the passing of time while the family remained sequestered below the thick ice. You were forbidden to allow your mind to wander during the tally. You were forbidden to think any thoughts except to count out twenty-four hours. Mercy watched as her father settled into a far corner on a mound of furs. He always took first count. Mercy loved him, she respected him.

  Mercy followed the others to a large back room where they would flay the pieces of meat into small strips to ice over. Other solid chunks would be left whole and would easily freeze in roast-sized pieces that could be thawed later and skewered over a fire. Walrus tusks and other ivory, tooth and bone made up their tools. Blubber stored in bone bowls with dried seaweed wicks gave them ample light. When grouped together there was much camaraderie and laughter. It was a cold life with little touching, and yet much love through words, and it was all Mercy knew.

  * * * *

  Tavish took the great beast’s head into his hands. The animal dwarfed him. The polar bear growled and grunted a series of noises to her master. Both beast and vampire had the clear white eyes when they communicated. Tavish listened attentively.

  Humans, Master.

  Tavish nodded while listening. Finally his eyes settled back into light blue, and his black-and-white vision faded. Tavish looked at the others in the room. Nineteen strong male vampires gazed back with rapt attention. Twenty more were left behind at their coven far to the south, to guard their assets and wait for the hunting party to return.

  As leader of the coven, Tavish ruled all. He had turned all. No one was allowed to turn anyone, except him. It was one of his laws. He ruled The Brethren of Tavish. Many of his men had been with him for thousands of years. Only the biggest and strongest and most loyal were chosen for his line. Tavish had gained the respect and fear of the other covens. He had come a long way from the alone, frightened vampire he once was. He placed an affectionate hand on Ursus, his polar bear friend—his very first best friend. She had been a big part of the reason he was so successful. She was the only female he had continued to love throughout the years.

  “My friend here has done well,” Tavish said and smiled. “She spotted a hunting pack and trailed them back to their iceberg. There was a small scent of women. They are deep inside the ice. They will be hard to find.”

  “Ursus can help,” one man said.

  When he stepped forward, Tavish gazed at him with fondness. Laken was the first human Tavish had turned. Both men looked so much alike they could be mistaken for brothers. Like Tavish, Laken had shoulder-length, thick, dark hair. He also had pale blue eyes. Their builds were identical, huge, muscular. Tavish had first spotted Laken hunting his Ursus.

  Tavish had been tempted to rip the man’s throat out. Instead, he had watched as the hunter became the hunted. It was amusing how Ursus had turned the tables. The look of shocked disbelief on the man’s face had been priceless when she was suddenly behind him, slicing his back. Tavish had allowed Ursus to maul him. She had enjoyed the play. The man was strong and hadn’t succumbed quickly. He even managed to run a few times as Ursus toyed with him in a game of cat and mouse.

  Tavish had admired the man’s strength and will to live. When the man lay bleeding and helpless, Tavish ceased Ursus’ assault. Laken hadn’t begged for help, he knew immediately what Tavish was when Tavish had flown to him. Tavish had summed him up and offered him a choice, die or offer him undying fealty. Laken swore on his life he would follow him into death. Tavish had laughed at the irony of the words. They became fast friends and even Ursus learned to enjoy Laken’s company.

  “Ursus will be a great help; she always is. But we must move carefully. We all know men have murdered their own women and children to keep us from them. If they are cornered, we could lose a valuable breeder female. No, this will take some deep thought or we will be the ones to suffer the loss.”

  “Was Ursus spotted?”

  “Unfortunately, Rhett, yes.”

  Tavish noted the sly look on Laken’s face. “What are you thinking?” Tavish asked.

  “Oh how I crave foreign virgin blood,” Laken said and grinned.

  “So do I,” another replied.

  “As do we all, Ryker,” Tavish said. “Tonight we go hunting.”

  The men cheered. Tavish motioned Ursus forward from a large cave the vampires were in. Furs were piled high for comfort. Flasks of synthetic blood hung from sharp rocks. The contents were mostly unpalatable, but it didn’t freeze in the extreme temperature and was construed a necessary evil. The modern day vampire trail mix. The cave was the place they stayed when they hunted. If their hunt was a success, Tavish and his vampires would take their prey back to a place where human women could roam nude without fear of freezing. Only the strongest human men were allowed to breed with the women they captured. Tavish wanted only healthy offspring to feed his coven.

  Tavish and his men took flight into the sky. A blizzard raged all around them. Once cornered, there would be no escape for the paltry humans. They would be trapped by vampire or snow. The vampires would make certain the humans were all accounted for before striking. Tavish wanted no daggers to find human female flesh. Tavish wanted all the females. He hoped there were women of childbearing years. He hoped for strong young men who would not whimper or cower at their feet; if so, they would be given to his men for sport. Though somewhat more mildly tempered with age, there was one rage in Tavish that had yet to be forgiven. He hated human males who weakly attacked from behind, those without courage, the stealers of his family, his father and mother. Tavish wouldn’t make the same mistake. He knew enough not to turn his back on a simpering human male. If one was found amidst the bunch, his men would make short work of him.

  Tavish needed no son to carry on his line. It was true all of the men of his coven shared blood ties once bitten, but they had not been chosen as babes. These men were brothers. He had no desire to watch a child of his heart perish to famine—or anything else. No son of his would wander alone and afraid if Tavish were to be killed. There was no need to turn a woman. They lived only to breed. When
they were used up they were useless to him.

  There had not been a woman born in his thousands of years that had turned Tavish’s head for more than a short time. Tavish doubted there ever would be. To love was to lose.

  Chapter 2

  By the light of an oil-filled bowl, Mercy sat hunched over a tattered book filled with short stories. She had read it thousands of times. Each one was engraved on her memory. The one story was published right before the ice age, one of the last. It was about the end of time. Tornadoes and earthquakes rocked the earth. A tidal wave, named a tsunami, bombarded coastlines. The author explained these events in graphic detail. In some areas it grew so cold so fast people froze instantly. In others, the temperature rose so high fish boiled in ponds.

  The human race faced extinction in this story; they needed to learn to adapt to survive. How ironic. Almost three hundred years later and they were facing extinction again, but it wasn’t due to weather conditions. The people in the story were survivalists. Trailblazers. They chose to live, to fight. Their survival seemed as tenacious as Mercy’s and her family’s. You could no more battle a vampire than stop a tornado. Where would you run from a massive wave? Marcy wondered if an iceberg could stop a wall of water.

  Mercy blew out the wick and set the oil bowl to the side so it wouldn’t spill by accident. She lay back in her bed of furs. The interior of the ice cave was cool. It had to be cold to keep the ice from thawing. More importantly, it needed to be chilly to keep the vampires from discovering warmth. Mercy was used to the cold; all she knew was cold. In her story there was warmth; she wondered what it would be like to be warm. Mercy tucked the book under her leather pillow. It was a gift from her mother, given to her by her mother and so on. The story of survival weighed heavily with her on this night.