Path of the Vampire forum

Posted: **05 Dec 2017, 12:57**

Eudokhia Kuznetsov was bold for her sex; her mother had often said she was meant to be born a boy. Eudokhia would always retort that women were allowed to be as bold as men and that her mother, God rest her soul, might still be alive if she had been a little more like her husband. Truth told, Eudokhia did not miss her mother much. She’d been a weak woman, and growing up Eudokhia had been taught to do as her father and her brothers told her. But the girl had always been headstrong, and it was a great game of hers to defy what was ordered of her. Whatever her mother’s weaknesses may have been, she’d been a beautiful woman and Eudokhia had inherited those looks. Strawberry blonde hair and flawless porcelain skin, and lips so plump they were begging to be eaten.

Men were drawn to the girl’s figure; she was not a stick, and nor did she wish to be. She had curves in all the right places, a regular Betty Boop with all the sex appeal to boot. She did not flirt like that iconic cartoon character, however; she was fierce, and that was one difference between her other’s appearance and her own. Eudokhia’s eyes were sharp and a danger to behold. Any who were caught in her glare felt their souls being rifled through.

It was a mask, of course. Eudokhia had learned that did not wait for power, one must simply take it. And if that meant faking confidence and regality, then so be it. It was a betting game, and she played only so long as it would take to get out from under her father’s heavy paw. Whenever she threatened to leave he would threaten her with something worse. And for all her ferocity, the girl with ice for a heart had fallen in love. She’d slipped up, and it was her brother who’d found her out. Dimitrii was the smarter of her two brothers, Kasyan was mere brute. They were both older, and though they could be protective, they’d been brainwashed by Viktor Kuznetskov. Their younger sister was merely a pawn, a pretty thing to be used to sway the decisions of other men.

Viktor threatened Sergei’s life. If Eudokhia left, then Sergei would die. If she left with Sergei, then Sergei’s parents would die. His sister. His grandmother. His best friend. Everyone Sergei cared about was being watched, now. They were being threatened.

It was the night of the deal that everything went awry, that Eudokhia finally escaped, though at what cost? Her father had brokered a deal. It was all about territory; he wanted to rule all of Moscow, and to do so he had to have Mister Alexandr Sokolov on side. He’d agreed that Alexandr could marry Eudokhia. Eudokhia had no choice in the matter. She’d made the mistake of calling Sergei; strong, naive, stupid Sergei who came to her rescue like a knight in shining armour.

Except his armour had been make-believe, and Sergei had died with a bullet in his heart.

There was nothing stopping Eudokhia; she wept, she agreed, she played the part of a weak woman who’d been beaten into submission. She waited three days before she found her opportunity to slip through the cracks. On the plane, the bruise covering a quarter of her face -- now glowing a sickly yellow -- garnered her more notice than she would like. The coldness of her glare halted any questions that anyone might want to ask.

One week she travelled, bouncing from airport to airport until she found herself in a city as cold as Moscow, and as mysterious. Harper Rock was out of the way; it was lesser known. There was no reason why her family should look here, though she was lost. She knew no one. She had no contacts. She needed a new name. She had a bag full of money because she did not wish to use her cards. She had no phone, no device through which she could be found. She had to find a hotel that would accept her cash payment and would not ask her name.

But for all her efforts, she had not been careful enough. Little did she know that Kasyan had been tracking her. Kasyan, who was in contact with Dimitrii. They were to bring Eudokhia home. Eudokhia was not aware that her brother had tracked her to her little hotel, and that he was following her through the city; she was headed for the border of Newborough and Swansdale. Apparently there was a man there who could forge some papers. Her first step in her new life was to start over as someone new, someone fresh, someone whose name was clean.

WEARING

Posted: **04 Feb 2018, 04:26**

W E A R I N G

It was a quiet night.

A dressed down sort of night.

Freyja wandered quietly through the cool, quiet streets of the sleepy city, the sidewalks a frozen sheet of solid ice, the streets little better in the wake of a week-long onslaught of what many had considered a week of frozen hell falling straight out of the sky.

Every breath was a small cloud of vapor, every word accompanied with the physical vestige of the breath that was required, every sacrifice for the sake of communication was made manifest by the chill that clung to the air. The tall Dane had long ago forgotten her coat at her bar, stumbling out into the night without the means of her own small form of disguise that she required. At present, she appeared merely a woman unfazed by the bitter cold; and that wasn’t too terribly far from the truth; her Nordic blood still coursing in her veins long after her own death.

She welcomed the Winter. She loved the cold.

It showed in the light dress she wore, too, the long sleeves of her thin tee hanging loosely from her thin figure, arms tucked neatly against her side as her fingers rested neatly inside of the snug embrace of her pockets.

She’d left Violet in charge of the bar, sure that the more responsible of her thralls was more than capable of keeping an eye on the Pixie Parlor, the woman having exhibited a very practiced control over herself and the world around her. Frey had been impressed with the woman from the start.

She’d never know what it was like to age as the other had; to know the meaning of life’s weight on her shoulders like a mortal might. Violet had aged well; far more beautiful than anyone her age had any right to be. It made Freyja envious to look at her, to know that the woman could age and still retain her beauty, something that the vampire would never know.

She made a loud huff to her own thoughts, the quick, violent expelling of her breath forming a stream of thin vapor in the icy air as she walked, cold blue eyes sweeping the evening streets. It was quiet for a weekend, the sidewalk all but empty except for a lone figure at the far end of the street. A long figure moved with a singular purpose, her head ducked against the wind as she hurried through the chill night on a mission.

Freyja paused in her step, standing still as stone as she watched the woman move, crossing the narrow street to avoid contact. She was attractive, a sort of beauty that hovered in an ambiguous state that left her mysterious and all the more intriguing. To look at her, Freyja could have placed her age between twenty and forty, between youthful innocence and a jaded experience. The ambiguity intrigued her. The possibilities piqued her interest. It was, however, the full scope of the scene that unfolded in front of her that really gathered the Allurist’s attention.

It was clear that the other had her mind on her mission, that she was focused on the task she had before her, and that she was entirely unaware of her shadow.

The man that trailed the woman was nearly a block behind, his distance well kept from his quarry, the small woman moving along the frozen sidewalk with the gait of one accustomed to the frozen weather. The corner of the Amazonian Dane’s lips twitched in a smirk as she watched the woman navigate the icy surface with expert footing, though her focus and determination left her entirely unaware of her shadow.

Freyja paused, moving to stand quietly in place as she watched the pair move along her path, the attractive blonde working her way swiftly toward the mouth of an alleyway as the man behind her swiftly moved with a silent step that carried him ever closer to her. The entire situation caused an eyebrow to rise, the woman instantly suspicious of the stalking figure as it loomed over the woman like some sort of predator on the prowl, like it was hunting her down, seeking for a corner to trap her in.

The vampire kept her distance for the moment, intrigued by the intricate relationship between hunter and prey. She wanted to see how the pretty woman would react to confrontation, her attention captivated.

It was rare enough that she found such entertainment for herself, outside of her own hunger and its sedation. Quietly, she let her hand slide along the waistband of her tight-fitted jeans, feeling the firearm that she had tucked neatly into the small of her back, where it waited, patient and silent, a predator of its own at rest.

Who was this woman that had snagged her attention?

What would she do with such a small scrap of essence? She was, however, drawn to the way the woman carried herself, the air that surrounded her.

Perhaps that was what caused her to stop, what caused her to simply watch. She was a judge in the woman’s unwitting trial for her future. It was Freyja’s decision what happened to her.

The power was hers, to create or to destroy. What would she do?

Posted: **17 Feb 2018, 09:42**

The little piece of paper in Eudokhia’s pocket crumpled and crackled as she fingered it, pulling it out to double check the address. She’d paused on the sidewalk, unaware that she was being followed not by one shadow, but by two. The address was clear; Eudokhia’s light eyes glanced up ascertaining the street name, and now she just had to find a number…

Number 1201. The door was clearly marked and it was unlocked as she walked through it. There was no bell to mark her arrival; she expected warmth to flood over her, that whoever worked inside would have the heaters on. But it was just as cold inside as it was outside. She expected a desk, even if modest. She expected a small balding man – stereotypical, but besides the point. There was no desk. There was no man. There was just a vacant space; the floor was wooden and scuffed, lighter where there was once a desk, but where now there was none. The walls, too, had garish wallpaper that had faded, only stark in places where pictures might have hung. A cockroach scurried across the floor, and it was so quiet inside that she could hear its tiny insect legs skittering across the hard floor, before it disappeared under the crack of an adjoining door. Perhaps she had to go in further?

She tried the light switch by the front door, but nothing happened; she pulled out the burner phone she had purchased, allowing the dim light from the screen to light her way. She should have turned around and gone back to the hotel, but she had come this far…

Through the second door was another empty room, though she couldn’t seen into the shadows of its corners. A draft fingered at the hair at the nape of her neck; the window was broken. Was it the wrong number? The wrong office? The wrong place? Eudokhia turned around, wanting only to get out, but she ran headfirst into a solid body. She gasped and stumbled backwards.

”Kasyan!” she snapped, hand immediately dropping into her bag, the other clutching at her chest. ”No… just let me go,” he said. She didn’t have to ask him what he was doing there, or how. How didn’t matter. He was here. It couldn’t change.

”I’m taking you home, sister. Where you will be in big trouble,” he said, his voice rich and rugged. It was a set up. This place, without its cameras with no witnesses – it had been his plan all along, clues dropped like bait. No, it would not have been Kasyan’s plan, he was too stupid for that. It was Dmiitri, working from afar.

No, Kas. I am not coming home,” Eudokhia said with brutal confidence. Her brother lunged at her, grabbing her wrist. A car was now idling out front; he was ready to manhandle her, to throw her into the back seat, tie her up if he had to. No effort would be wasted; and they clearly had no qualms about hurting her. So long as she lived. He twisted her wrist, his other hand reaching for her neck. But there was a knife in her bag, the hilt of which she now grasped. If she waited any longer, he’d be behind her and out of her reach. She acted on instinct, out of fear; she held that fear close, felt it rise in her throat but it didn’t freeze her. The blade plunged into Kasyan’s torso, sluiced between ribs, puncturing his lung. He gasped, eyes wide with disbelief.

His grip tightened as he pulled in air, ready to shout which would summon help. The knife was yanked free, before Eudokhia plunged it into Kasyan’s neck. No shout was uttered, only a gurgle as he spat blood, droplets scattered across her seemingly innocent features. Her brother. Her big brother. She’d thought she loved him once. She’d thought she had to, no matter what. But did it really matter who their parents were, or that they were the same? What did that really mean in the end?

It meant nothing.

Posted: **12 Mar 2018, 20:52**

The setup was a simple one. One she’d seen used time and again, one that had been tried and true on countless occasion that she herself could recall.

Bait had been laid, and a trap had been set. The poor, unwitting woman stepping into the lion’s den, to have the jaws snapped tight about her throat at the moment she least suspected.

The mountain of a man should have been more than a match for her. He should have been able to manhandle her into the car that pulled up alongside the abandoned office building and have been gone before the woman could manage to scream for help. Instead, as the Amazonian blonde stepped up to the car’s passenger window, pistol in hand, she watched the altercation inside.

The small woman had reduced Meat Mountain into a bloody heap in what had ultimately culminated in but a few seconds of real effort. She stood there, over the bloody corpse of the man that had cornered her, and with that, she had sealed her fate.

The [url=https://fn57sale.com/wp-content/uploads ... FN5701.jpg]Five-Seven[/i] was steady in her grip, and barked but a single order through the open window to the man in the driver’s seat. The command was simple. Die.

His head burst in a shower of wet, red meat. What had been his brain a moment before was splattered across the window, a neat hole in the glass where the round had exited the vehicle and hit the building. Without so much as a word, not a glance at the man she had so callously murdered, the Danish woman stepped around the idling, parked car and stood in the doorway of the office, her figure silhouetted against the indirect light of the car’s headlamps.

She ran her thumb idly along the slide of her pistol, her icy blue eyes unseen in the shadowy figure that the woman would see before her. Her tall, slender frame was enough to block enough of the doorway to provide a sense of entrapment, though she had seen how well that had gone for the man lying in the pool of his own blood in the floor.

She made a sound in her throat as she let the pistol rest easily against her thigh, its modern design and black polymer a stark contrast against her pale flesh. She couldn’t keep the taut pull of her smirk from her voice as she spoke. “I think you would be perfect.” Her voice was clear as crystal and as cold as solid ice. Had either of the men that had thought to execute this cowardly excuse of an ambush been alive still, their blood would have turned to ice water in their veins. Bladders would have felt unnaturally full, and their knees were likely to quake.

She expected more of the girl, though.

With an idle flip of her hair, she let her gaze move over the woman in question, appraising her like an item up for auction. She was an investment that Freyja was committing herself to. She didn’t sire often, many of those that she did, didn’t survive her expectations, but something about this woman struck her as strong. Something told her that this one would make it.

This one would do her proud. This one would be one of the ones that survived.

She nodded to herself, and cleared the slide of her weapon, ensuring that it was primed to fire, that there wouldn’t be any surprises. She hefted the pistol in her hand and pointed it at the woman’s chest, from where she stood in the doorway. She would drop the blonde long before she had a chance to reach her, that much was more than clear. She gave her lips another twisted smirk and cocked her head to one side. “You have any last words? They’ll be important, later. You’ll want to remember them.”

Posted: **24 Mar 2018, 05:44**

The consequences of her actions had not yet set in. Eudokhia had killed her brother. For one moment there was relief and freedom; she would be free of her family’s clutches. But the moment passed when she remembered Dmitrii and her father. If either of them stopped what they were doing in Moscow, dropped everything to come here and find her, then there would be no stopping them. Kasyan had wanted her alive, but now that he was dead, there was no way she would survive. Any marriage prospects would be moot. No marriage could save her now.

Neither Dmitrii nor her father would be so simple in their designs to capture her. Unlike Kasyan, they would have pre-empted the knife; they would have dodged the attack, or taken away her bag before trying to capture her. As it was, she doubted they would get close enough to capture her. A bullet from a gun would find her before their hands could.

Another moment and she realised she would have to keep running. She couldn’t stay here. They knew where here was, and that it was the last place Kasyan had visited. She would have to keep moving, and she would have to be smarter. If Dmitrii had been able to track her erratic movements to this far away outpost, what more could she do to avoid him?

No answer was forthcoming; Eudokhia released a short yelp at the sound of a gun outside, her eyes lifting and attempting to adjust to the darkness as a lithe silhouette filled the doorway. A woman. Eudokhia had forgotten about the driver, and that he was someone she would have to contend with next. But perhaps the driver had not been a he, but instead a she. And any thought of escape was rendered useless. As suspected, her death would not come from a man’s hands, but instead from the barrel of a gun. Her knife was ineffectual at this distance. She took a step back, shaking her head.

”Nyet,” she said, the word blunt. She didn’t want a die. There were no last words as she did not intend for any word to be her last. Not for many years, yet. She was too young to die, and she hadn’t even had a chance to properly live. And what, exactly, would she be perfect for? How could she remember anything, if she was dead?!

”You are crazy. Whatever he has paid you, I will pay more. You are a woman. We must stick together to overthrow the patriarchy,” she said, the words coming in a rush. She knew she should feel fear, but instead she clung to a sliver of hope. This woman could help her, not hinder her -- she just had to get them on the same page.

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