** Could an undying love blossom in the ruins of a shattered world? **
And so the world of men was lost
and a new one, our world,
was born.
- Morrígan
Goddess of the Battle
of the Túatha Dé Danann -
4th cycle anno Bellum.
The Second World War...
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„Damn it," Myreille hissed, her eyes darting around frantically. It would be impossible for Zane to get past the exits in a few minutes because they were swarming with guards. If anything was sure, it was that trolls were hard to get past. And Myreille doubted that her jewelry would be enough to pay the necessary 'toll.'
Her thoughts were racing. Her gaze glided over strange and familiar faces. Could she use connections? No, that would be too risky. Zane was worth too much and...
"Mademoiselle Myreille, where have you been? I've been looking everywhere for you..."
Oh no.
Myreille's head flew around this time and got stuck on ... Casimir. The vampire's eyes widened as he recognized the Caith-Sith behind her.
At that moment, time seemed to stand still. All around them, people walked more slowly; the clinking of glasses and the music drifted into the background.
Myra's thoughts were racing, her fingers twitching.
'No... Damn everyone but him!'
Silver-white snowy landscapes, framed by black darkness, stared back at the vampire spawn. Casimir stared back, and she could see his muscles tense. Beneath her hand, still holding Zane to the wall, she could feel hard, war-steeled muscles tensing - ready to transform and leap at a throat.
It was as if she was watching sparks fly on gunpowder, waiting for the moment they would ignite and escalate the situation.
Like a lightning bolt, Zane shot forward, grabbed Casimir by the collar, and slammed him against the wall. She heard the back of the blonde's head thud against the light-colored brickwork, and the vampire grimaced but quickly recovered. He opened his mouth, but large fingers gripped the wriggling offspring's throat so tightly that only a gasp escaped. He stared wide-eyed at his mistress, who made no move to come to his aid.
„I'm sorry, Casimir... but you're just in the wrong place at the wrong time," the bloodhunter's voice hummed instead, as cold as a winter's morning, far from any warmth.
„Please," the vampire croaked, his claws grasping the Caith-Sith's arms, desperately trying to prise them from his throat. All Zane had to do was grab it once, and his neck would snap as quickly as a rotten branch. Even the accelerated healing wouldn't be able to help the vampire then. He was young and weak. There was no comparison to the old ones, who were much harder to kill. Casimir knew that, too.
