text: The infirmary was permeated with the disgusting odor of expiring flesh. The door was left open in a vain attempt at some ventilation, and groaning could be heard across the entire west wing of the Castle as a result. I desperately attempt to save who I can. My family's name is Lazarus, and it is my duty to protect the coven. I drape bandages over my hands which had been submerged in healing liquid for the past hour. It wraps around the young Vampire’s stomach -- coaxing one of the silver bullets to the surface. “Uh... uh... ahh... AHHHHHHHHHHH!!!” He screamed instinctively, causing the room to shake. “Calm down boy, I know it hurts.” I say with reassurance as I try to maintain my bedside manner. “This is the last one, then you will be *fine*.” His black blood oozed from the wound and congealed as it left his body. Our blood was not like human blood, and anyone unaware of our physiology would think I was extracting some kind of tar pudding from him. I assuaged the final bullet out, catching it in the cloth. I dropped it into a tin nearby, and it fell with a satisfying clink. “There, all better?” I said warmly to the poor suffering boy. “Yes, thank you madam.” He managed a smile through the pain. I appreciated his efforts, and rested a hand on his shoulder. I stood up, allowing one of my attendants to deal with his recuperation. I wiped some of the blood onto my apron and went to the washing station. All of my emotions came forth at once. A potent mixture of sadness, despair and confusion flooded my mind. I have been a nurse for almost two hundred years, and I have never seen an attack on my people from outsiders with this severity. From other Vampires? Of course. The constant struggle for supremacy in our hierarchal system was a given. The dead bodies from warring covens in the Tudor wars numbered in the tens of thousands. The silver bullets, religious incantations, and ceremonial burnings however? These were new. Never had human beings been very successful in murdering Vampires. There had been a few cases throughout history, but these were extraordinarily rare. Yet here lay three of our kind, on the brink of death -- two were unlikely to survive. \_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_ Micah and I pushed our way through the many iron doors that lead from the King’s keep with a force that nearly removed them from their hinges. “Can you believe this?” I called behind me. “Nah.” Micah grunted. I wouldn’t believe it if they didn’t call this fancy meeting. “Such timing.” I whispered, attempting to cover my mouth with my hand. “We were on the brink of something great.” “Well. Maybe we can see this as an opportunity to get closer...” Micah looked around quickly “To the others. See where there loyalties lie.” Ever the optimist. I smiled inwardly as I pressed on. He was right, of course, we could turn this situation to our advantage, no matter how dire. I turned the next corner without looking forward and felt myself immediately propelled backwards. I caught myself before I fell, bracing with the crumbling sidewall. I looked up to see what caused it. “Wren scum.” A rotund laughter shook the already crumbling walls around us. Sam Tilian stood in front of me, flushed as ever. He was flanked by one of his companions from before, but this time their demeanor wasn’t so inviting. “Sam, I see you didn’t leave any food for the others.” The corners of my mouth turned upwards in a wicked smile. “Always were the funny one, ay, Rathiel?” This time he wasn’t laughing. I turned my head to my right -- A claw caught the side of my face. “SIT. DOWN.” Came a blood curdling scream. His taller companion who was reserved in the dining hall showed no signs of pacifism now. He hit me like the hilt of a two handed blade, straight in the right side of my cheek. I fell to the ground in a daze, nothing escaping my mouth except a decompressing groan. In the next second, they were on me. I braced myself for impact, my forearms crossed above my eyes. Then, in an instant -- he was on them. I saw the plume of smoke appear behind their shoulders, Micah must have noticed the commotion ahead and waited, drawing them in, using me as bait. I couldn’t help but be impressed. He let out a guttural roar as he placed one hand on each of their heads. Their eyes widened as their senses caught his presence, too late. He slammed them both to the ground. Seizing the opportunity, I rushed to my feet. I stood at his side, claws raised. There were no weapons permitted in the castle, save the Royal Guard. But our family was one of dirt and mud, proficient in brawling out of necessity. Our fangs protruded with our mouths agape, and we let out a simultaneous *hisssss* that signaled our combat readiness. They returned the stance, save their backs being slightly arched, resulting in a much lower center of gravity. Micah charged first. He locked arms with the taller one, grappling fiercely. I closed the gap and threw a right hook at Sam, glancing him on the side of his face. Before he could recover, I raised my boot and delivered a kick to his chest, submerging him in a column that decorated the hallway. I turned immediately and saw my brother pinned. In a swift step, I was behind him, arms locked under the taller man’s armpits, holding him up. Micah took the lead and delivered blow after blow on his chest, as he screamed out in pain. Micah’s muscles pumped with adrenaline, his veins bursting through his forearms. After a minute of punishment, the Tilian started to slump -- I noticed the flash of Micah’s emerald encrusted brass knuckles on his hands. I smiled. Nothing needed to be said. Sam was still slumped on the pillar, and his companion was a crumpled mess on the ground. We wiped our hands of it, dragging their scotch imbued bodies to the side of the hallway where they wouldn’t disturb anyone. We make our way down the hall with renewed vigor. A scrap with some of the young bloods was always good for the confidence. “Tut. Tut.” A familiar voice confronted us. “Layla..” She held a gloved hand up to my lips. “I won’t tell if you won’t, boys.” She winked, her blue eyes sparkled beneath her crimson hood. She had the most wry, all-knowing smile. It was best to just drop the subject. “So...” She kept walking, beckoning us forward. “My birds told me you had a meeting with the King?” “You always have an inkling of everything, don’t you night owl.” I said in a tone that dripped with annoyance. “Yes, we met with the King. Yes it is confidential. No I won’t speak about it.” “Funny. My Birds also tell me about a wounded clan burdening the infirmary. Some might not make it, they say...” We were nearing the Wren quarters now. With one final look at Micah, I opened the door and beckoned them both inside.