This is very important
Their eyes met and the Englishman felt a sudden flush of not fear, but something else entirely. It caused a shudder to run through him, staring into those stunning blue eyes. The vampire was, well, incredibly handsome. Though Arthur had come across his fair share of attractive men, (and though vampires themselves were usually quite attractive themselves,) this man was different. He had an air about him that was entirely different and for a moment, Arthur actually believed what he said.
And then the memories came back, flooding his mind and forcing him to refocus. Vampires use their charms to get what they want. They don’t make deals. They don’t care about the innocent. They don’t care about anyone but themselves. His mother taught him that.
"Sorry, love," the Englishman replied, his sarcastic smirk returning, "Last time I made a deal with one of you types, ten people lost their lives. So, you’ll forgive me if I don’t take your word for it." He slowly raised the stake, twirling it between his fingers.
The vampire would have sighed if he had air in his lungs to breathe. He stepped out of the shadows and crossed the room in polished shoes marred only by the dust of the catacombs and a well tailored suit of clothes that seemed so out of place in this era, one would think he stepped out of a movie set of ‘Gone With The Wind’. His clothes shaded in blues and whites only accented his sparkling blue eyes, and his pearl white skin that almost glowed.
"Before we kill each other, at least give me the honor of knowing your name. And, if you do manage to turn my body to dust. It would be nice if someone was left that knew mine." He held out his hand like a gentlemen to the hunter to greet and smiled. "My name is Alfred F. Jones and I am the last of the pureblood vampires. I was born in the New World now known as America. I am not even sure of my age, but if tonight is to be my last night, then I am glad I have gotten to share it with you."
The voice bounced off the walls with an ethereal quality and the Englishman stood his ground, torch still held before him. He knew trying to find the vampire by shining it around would be useless, so he kept the beam focused on the far wall, his eyes narrowed as he stared in the inky blackness. This vampire was smarter than the other’s, Arthur’d give him that much. But the ventriloquist trick was an old one, and the Englishman had fought enough vampires to know when he was being toyed with with.
"Trust me, love," the Englishman replied, his voice echoing through the stone catacombs, "There is not enough money in the world to get me to lay with one of those frogs." His trained green eyes searched for the flutter of cloth, the distinct shining of their eyes. The bastard was still in here somewhere. "And though it’s none of your bloody business," he snapped, "I’m twenty-three." He might as well humour the creature; the damn fool wasn’t going to live much longer anyway.
"That is quite a young age to be hunting. Most hunters I kill are quite older and more experienced. I imagine you have a dramatic reason for becoming a hunter. I am willing to listen if you wish to share it. A tail that makes all of my kind evil and treacherous. Am I correct? Or did you simply sell your life to the church? They probably paid off your debt for you or you owe them a debt. The church can be tricky that way." Alfred stared deeply into the hunter’s eyes and smiled. "Your eyes are the most magnificent I have ever seen. I find myself lost in them."
He watched as a soft breeze waifed through the hunter’s blond hair tussling it a bit and through his clothes. He was indeed heavily armed. The vampire’s smile slowly melted away. He was likely going to have to fight the youth.
"I have what I came for and I will leave your fair city behind and never return. I can even promise I shan’t touch a soul till I am gone. Go home boy, I don’t want to hurt you tonight."
The unmistakable stench that seemed to carry with every vampire he met wafted through the air. The Englishman wrinkled his nose. It was musty and smelled far too much like old wood that had slowly been eaten away by the decays of time. Honestly, it was rather disgusting. He heard the slight fluttering of a jacket, the crinkling of parchment, and the Englishman felt his shallow breathing catch. Was the vampire writing something down? Arthur wasn’t sure, but he was positive it didn’t matter once the damn thing was turned to ash. Despite the idea that vampires were regal, imposing figures, many of the ones that wandered around this area were stupid, immature. Freshly turned or no, they had no idea how to deal in hand to hand combat and Arthur was quite certain this new vampire was just the same.
He smirked at the menacing voice, his grip tightening a bit on the stake in his hand. ”It’s also impolite to break into locked catacombs and carry as many unregistered weapons as I do, but yet here we are,” the Englishman commented. He found that banter, when he could get it was well worth the extra effort when dealing with these things. Honestly, the citizens didn’t give him enough credit. Protecting their damn necks every night from becoming denizens of the undead or worse, becoming just another snack.
"Why don’t you show yourself so we can get this over with?"
When Alfred first laid eyes on the hunter his eyes widened in pleasent surprise. ‘What a lovely young lamb.' He licked his lips lightly. He had already fed that evening, but he wouldn't mind sampling the youth's neck. Alfred smiled from his shadowed void, and then threw his voice like a ventriloquist, to bounce off the wall on the other side of the hunter.
"My my the English used to be so respectable and well mannered, well that was long before they began cozying up to the French again. When you lay down with frogs you get flys." The candle’s flame sputtered out leaving the room filled with more inky blackness, where the hunters light did not shine. "So brave hunter how young are you?"
This was a pretty easy job, all things considered. From what his Intel told him, a new abomination had appeared in the old catacombs outside of the city and Arthur Kirkland, self-proclaimed and specially-trained vampire hunter was wandering through the dark, stone corridors with a torch in one hand, stake in the other, crossbow slung over his shoulder, and a machete at his side. His footsteps were soft, near silent, his breathing even and slow. He knew these corridors all too well and the twenty-three year old would have no trouble taking down the next bastard that crossed his path. After all, he’d been doing this since he was sixteen. Slashing the heads off of these monstrosities was almost second nature to him now. The sooner the bastard showed his un-dead face the sooner Arthur would be able to go home and get back to his tea.
Alfred was busy looking through the scrolls now as fragile as crisp leaves in the fall, that had been hidden in the walls of bones but monks many years ago for their protection. Though the monks craved knowledge this knowledge was most dangerous in the wrong hands. Alfred’s hands were the wrong hands. The vampire smiled as he scrolled down the information. They had written it in code and Alfred had nearly already deciphered it. Soon, Alfred would have the ability to walk among the living in the daylight. He dipped his quill into the well once more and finished writing the verses, and then pressed his hand down onto the aged parchment and watched it as it crumbled. He tucked his prize into his inner jacket pocket, pressed the well closed and put it away, followed by the quil.
Alfred heard the soft footsteps padding down the corridor along with a practiced shallow breath, he had company. The vampire smiled and dusted the remains of the scroll from the table and they blew away with the smoke. The beam of light came into view long before the visitor. Alfred quietly stepped into the shadows and wrapped himself in them leaving the small candle burning it’s remaining moments away.
"It is not polite to come unannounced."