The Romanians

1988 July

They arrived in Romania in early July. By this point, Alana could safely say that she hated planes. The mode of transport was possibly worse than using a portkey and took far too long. Customs, while a necessary evil, was still an evil. She looked forward to learning to apparate once her core matured. Azrael had found a small hostel in Bucharest, and she had gratefully face-planted into the prepared bed with a sigh. She hadn't booked any jobs for the next month, instead opting to spend the time with her vampire. Romania was renowned for its myths of Transylvanian vampires, and she was curious if there was any truth to the legends. Azrael had been unusually tight-lipped on the subject even when she was pressing herself against him suggestively. Because of this, it was no surprise she perked up at the knock on their room's door and dashed to answer it. The raven-haired youth that greeted her was not what she expected.

"Marius Mardare," Vincent intoned as he placed a hand on her shoulder and guided her away from the door. She complied easily and observed the man curiously from the side as Azrael invited him into the living room. He was barely nineteen in appearance but had the unmistakable air of a vampire. It was the first time she had me one other than Azrael.

Alana observed the man who reciprocated the attention with equal, if not greater, interest. Marius hid his shock well. A child barely eleven years in Vincent de Azrael's home was more of a jolt to his system than his expression suggested. Had the years turned the old man senile?

"Vincent," he greeted the vampire in return and settled into the offered seat. The girl settled in one barely two metres away. Perhaps, she did not know what he was then? Vincent made a rather strange noise as he sat and the girl seemed to still. She glanced at him attentively before standing and repositioning herself closer to the elder vampire. More specifically, in his lap. He did not bother hiding his surprise this time. His expression was a far improvement from gaping at least.

"Marius, this is my dear, Alana. Alana, this is my friend Marius." The words sent him reeling. 'Friend?! What friend?! When had he ever agreed to be familiar with this fiend?! Who was dear?!' The girl didn't even blink at the endearment and offered him a friendly smile. What was going on here?! He was starting to regret knocking.

"Nice to meet you. I've never met a vampire other than Azrael before."

Ah, there went his dead soul. The conversation stilled after that and Alana eventually removed herself from Azrael as she left to read. Marius' eyes followed her as she left, but they were unreadable.

Two days later, Marius visited again. Vincent had already left that morning to take care of some business, so it was Alana who answered the door in pyjamas.

"Oh, it's you." The disappointed eyes seemed to dismiss Marius with ease. She opened the door, and he felt his body entering despite his better judgement.

"Azrael is not here?" He already knew from the lack of presence in the apartment but asked out of politeness.

"He's out." Short and curt. He was beginning to see how the two could inhabit the same breathing space so harmoniously. There were a few seconds of silence before he asked the question that had been weighing on his mind for some time. The answer could be potentially dangerous, but he had a propensity for danger, so he went for it.

"If you don't mind me asking, what exactly is your relationship with Vincent?"

"I could ask the same of you."

Hesitation and then, "He sired me millennia ago." 'If you could call being bitten on the battlefield by the enemy siring,' he thought bitterly.

"I let him drink from me," She offered and gracefully took a seat. Meanwhile, Marius choked silently.

"A vampire-muggle bonding?" He asked incredulously. What strange circumstances had lead to such a thing? Surely, Azrael would not bend so low as to bond with food.

Alana frowned at the tone before she replied evenly, "I'm a witch, not a muggle."

The silence was crippling as Marius processed that bit of information. He took a seat shakily and found a glass of whiskey being placed in his hand. The noise of surprise was silenced when he saw the eleven-year-old with a drink of her own already half down. Alana knew most vampires could tolerate alcohol quite well, although it was no blood substitute.

"You… Do you even know who you made a bond with?!"

That was how the conversation had started, and it would not end until some hours later that evening. Marius proved to be a wealth of information and more than willing to snitch on his sire. Vincent de Azrael had been born in France millennia ago. Though he was most recognisable for his service as a Spanish conquistador, he had also partaken in the French Inquisition and a number of older wars. He had played a major role in the formation of the still rigid ties between the French, Spanish and Italian vampire covens. The triumvirate of Europe as it were. His departure had shocked everyone as much as his destination, the British Isles.

He had practically been given immunity by the three covens, and most vampires steered clear of the country out of either respect or fear. It had been millennia, but stories were still told of the man's accomplishments. Alana had absorbed the information quietly, secretly cherishing the tales of her companion's life. Vincent certainly wasn't the vampire he once was, but the past had made him who he was today. She had eventually told Azrael of her childhood, so she didn't feel nearly as bad as she would have hearing about his private affairs. The conversation ended abruptly with Azrael's return that afternoon. He walked in on the pair and found his arms full of Alana before he could manifest the anger that had flared at the scene. Alana herself had felt no need to explain the words shared by Marius and had instead opted to express her joy at his return in a more physical manner. Needless to say, Marius had left quickly.

1988 July

Alana could see why so many vampires flocked to Romania. It truly was a beautiful country, though its resources were a far more noticeable advantage. Fertile lands, forests, the Black Sea coastline and mountainous ranges made up its topography. The temperate and climate also suited her well. It was a shame, though, that the two covens inhabiting the area fought so frequently.

There were two very distinct groups in the area as Azrael understands it. The first was the coven of the Wallachia plains whose territory they were currently in. They were the older group and more conservative than the other. This was the coven which Marius belonged to. The second was a younger coven situated in the Apuseni mountains on the edge of the Transylvanian Basin. The conflict between the groups had been going on for centuries and seemed unlikely to end soon.

Alana's smile was carefree as she strolled in Herăstrău Park where the Colentina River formed a gorgeous lake. Her heart became calm with the scenery, and the restlessness that usually afflicted her limbs vanished. She had not been so close to nature since the death of Alexis, and the thought pained her some. Her mind was filled with thoughts of the soothing waters and memories of her time spent with Azrael in the recent week. It was inevitable that the peace wouldn't last so she cherished while it was there.

She returned from her morning walk with a smile adorning her face. Whatever youth had deserted her seemed to have returned with the excursion. Envisioning Azrael's reaction to her joyful aura, she cackled wickedly in her mind. Perhaps, he'd think she'd been possessed? The hotel manager didn't bother to greet the girl, so she entered without any interruptions.

The wooden door revealed a sight that made her stiffen in alarm. Broken furniture was strewn across the floor with the obvious signs of a struggle. Azrael hadn't left with her after that morning's feeding but the idea of anyone lasting long enough in a conflict with him to cause such chaos, even if he was in a weakened state after feeding, seemed impossible. She picked up a fractured plate and tried to quell the panic the room invoked. 'More than one assailant. Vampires most likely and no magic used.' Finding her rationality, she analysed the situation. The shard of the plate was digging into her palm, a reminder to stay focused. What had happened here?

Marius fidgeted as he approached the girl from behind. The earrings he had finally realised to be black tourmaline, did little to hide the waves of barely restrained rage and panic that rolled off of her person. Azrael was already gone. He froze as she whirled on him with livid, condemning eyes. If the reaction speed was any indication, he had underestimated the length of time his sire had been bonded to her. A chill ran down his spine. Vampire-wizard bonds were not to be trifled with, he knew that much.

"I didn't know this would happen," He stuttered. "I was to inform the coven of my sire's presence. It's mandatory, you see. But they…" He couldn't put what he had seen into words. The coven leader, Consus, had dismissed him quickly to convene with his council. But he had witnessed the calculated glint flashing in the man's eyes. They had struck after Azrael's feeding, the time when a vampire was at their weakest acclimating to the new blood. The effects would have been worse with witch blood and the magic it carried.

The male had put up a hard fight, but he was outnumbered and at half strength after feeding. They had dragged him to Poenari cliffside castle, the original home of Vlad the impaler and headquarters of the coven. Marius had fled barely two minutes into the ritual when he realised what was happening. He was only a lower member in the coven and hadn't had the strength to halt the others. Azrael was damned.

Alana shoved the vampire into the nearest wall with a burst of magic when she heard his words.

"Where. Is. He." She bit the syllables out, barely noticing his lack of protest.

"Poenari Castle. They…" The rest of the sentence was drowned out by the pain that racked her body. It was excruciating and turned her vision white. Loss, anger, betrayal. A vision of severed limbs, blood and magic had her crashing into the floor. She could feel the weakness that came from a recent feeding, the blood still coating her throat. She was gasping now as tears poured unchallenged down her cheeks. Her cries were mournful, denying the truth. Every fibre of her being protested the images in her mind until she burned with the knowledge. A sob and she was wailing with emotional pain. Her hands gripped the carpet as the bond that had held her to Azrael frayed with effort. He was breaking it! He was tearing it from her soul, and she knew, even if she could move, she could have done nothing to stop it.

Marius watched the heartbreaking scene with wide eyes. He was unaware of what was happening in the girl's mind, but he knew the vampire-wizard bond would allow neither to pass with the peace of the other. Images of bloody runes resurfaced from his memories. A body was writhing at the centre of an intricate configuration. Then it burned. A vampire was weak to fire, but these flames were not meant to kill, but cause immense pain. A weaker man would have screamed at the torture.

Alana twisted in pain as a limb was torn from her - no Azrael's - body and brought to the fanged mouth of a vampire. She shook with rage, pain and sorrow at the vision. She felt weak and drained as her body failed to keep up with the demands of her mind. The arm was passed around like communion, and each vampire took a bite. Blood trickled darkly from their fanged mouths as she burned their faces into her memory. The ritual was tearing Azrael's soul apart in offering to the immortals.

Marius remembered the pages on which he had seen this ritual. It seemed an eternity ago when he had been perusing Azrael's collection and found the notebook written by Victoria Frankenstein. A modified dark ritual rumoured to allow a vampire to consume the soul of another. The stolen soul would manifest as a magical core according to the scripts. Azrael had called it foolish as it would only enhance and existing core and not create one. If a vampire had a core already, they could just as easily restore their magic by feeding on a magical. Such was the practice in Russia where vampire-wizard bonds were the social norm.

Marius had been sick to his stomach when he recognised the ritual. It involved burning the victim to keep them on the brink of destruction while their body was slowly devoured alive. An act of cannibalism sacrilegious to a race that prized the sanctity of blood. A vampire could tell a murderer and magical from just a sniff of their blood so long as it wasn't cloaked as Alana's was.

Alana felt her mind jolt when the connection was suddenly severed. He was dying. He was destroyed and refused to drag her down with him. Her eyes were mirky, and her body numb with disbelief. She felt empty as the presence of the bond vanished. It felt as though someone had ripped her soul out and shoved it back in. A cold void crawled at the back of her mind. She wondered if Death was laughing at her agony.

"Azrael." The name passed through chapped lips, but the call sounded hollow even to her own ears.