Chapter 1: Vampyrus

1

~ Mortem Academy ~

“But I don’t want to go!” I firmly, declared.

Planting my hands resolutely upon my hips. Standing tall. I knew I represented a proud, determined young woman. Regardless of my maturity. My sudden demand, doesn’t fault my father’s decision.

“Too bad, the money has been paid and you’ve been accepted,” he evenly stated. Strangely enough, he doesn’t mind talking about what it would be like when I end up there and not how I feel about it. Obliviously, he refused to see the major problem I faced. And this, was being stranded on a five hundred acre block of land with a bunch of night students.

Something, I never expected. I’ve always gone to school during the day, so this was new to me. According to my stubborn Father, “It’s not only adults who study at night in order to complete or further their education.” I glared at the annoying memory and heard my father’s voice ripple through my involuntary flash back. “Now, what’s the matter?” I regarded him, as he watched me from over his thick newspaper of yesterday’s events. Did I mutter out loud or something?

“What makes you think that?” I asked, not entirely confident I could hide my surprise. My father sighed and placed the paper softly in his lap. As usual the tabloid was silent while he continued to regard me from behind his thinly framed glasses, which guarded those black eyes. Eyes that pierced mine in an intellectual manner. Motivated to examine, every aspect of my movement, my tone and above all—my posture. The annoying power of psychology.

“The scowl on your face, says it all dear.” I turned away from him and exhaled nosily. Wondering why my father had to be a psychiatrist.

Storming to the kitchen, down the hall. I faintly heard the sound of my father’s muffled laughter as I pushed open the kitchen door that swung back in place. As a form of privacy for the chef within—in this case, my mother. There she stood, bent over our oven. Searching for the cooked desert, with her poker dot mitten that covered protectively her right hand.

The steaming batter of her brownies were welcoming as it made its way to my nose in a calming and all too acquainted routine. I slipped into a bench stool tucked beneath a single stretch of island, there was within this modern day Russian household and patiently waited for my mother to finish. Reluctantly she did, as she placed the tray on the pearly white benchtop.

“Hello sweetie, care for a Brownie?” I nodded willingly and expelled my hand.

Instantly, my mother placed her now uncovered mitten hand over mine. I felt her warm fingers and met her warm but soft gentle eyes that spoke of ancient wisdom I wish I could only possess. “They just came out of the oven, give them time to cool down. I don’t want you to burn yourself.” I retracted my hand and shifted myself in a comfortable position.

“Mom, can you tell dad?” I asked.

“Tell your father what?” she asked interested.

I watched carefully as my mother continued to stack the recently divided brownies onto the same plate. Her black hair fell in wavy curtains down to her narrow waist which contrasted nicely against her pearly pale skin and deep black eyes.

“That I don’t want to go to Mortem Academy!” I exclaimed. My sudden outburst caused my mother to freeze in place with the same exact motivation my father had previously, to examine me with that same intellectual gaze.

I felt my body tense. “It’s one of Russia’s most prestigious academies. I believe it made it last year into the top ten in the world. Why wouldn’t you want to go? It appears to have all the clubs and facilities you need to accomplish your dream,” articulated mother in a smooth mature voice. “Even Curt thinks it’s a great idea.” So our family friend was against me, too. Figured as much.

Not before long my mother wrapped the batter in cling wrap. Before tucking them away into our large commercial fridge, to cool. I didn’t notice how fast time flew until I saw my father advance confidently and elegantly, into the kitchen. Unbeknown it to him, he was the last person I wanted to see.

“What’s cookin’ good lookin’?” my father greeted my mother. I contorted my features into revulsion as he strode to his wife.

“Ew! Dad! I’m right here!” I called as mother returned dad’s peck on the lips. Wrapping my arms around my face. I fiercely buried my head into the bench, only to note it had very little effect as the sound of my parent’s light pecks bounded around me.

“Honey, Cecelia doesn’t want to go,” my mother purred against my father.

Silence filled the room and I held my breath as my father unnecessarily but nosily sighed. “Cecelia?” he demanded in a deep brusque voice.

I knew that tone. That was the “I’m serious” tone. Knowing this, I snapped my head up and curled my fingers together concluding I would pathetically resort to begging. Something I knew my level headed father had difficulty handling. Pros of being daddy’s little girl.

“Please! Dad! I’ll do my chores without pay for a whole month.” I pleaded—knowing that suggestion was a bit much as pulled my lips up into a pout. An underhanded move I knew he couldn’t handle. My mother gave him that all too familiar “be careful” glance as he regarded me with both fear and concern. “Please don’t make me go to some desolated place that I don’t even know!” I begged. My father transcended a blank expression, managing to firmly fold a single arm around my mother. Pulling her beside him. His eyes were analytic as ever and I knew he was sorting through his mind. Attempting to find some way on convincing me.

“This isn’t about Ryan?” he asked, his tone grim but curious. I froze.

Ooh, I think I’m in trouble. I gulped. He repeated once again, this time removing his hand from my mother. I watched as he sternly crossed his arms firmly over his chest. His eyes clouded with such suppressed rage that I was fearfully aware if Ryan were here, he’d probably kill him on the spot for being one of my many reasons for wanting to stay. “This isn’t about Ryan.” It wasn’t a question this time.

I remembered the previous night where he managed to set me down and talk about my future plans and what he wanted for me. He even played the whole mother will be proud card. Wasn’t she already? I was top of the class in my year and have excelled in all my extracurricular activities. As a result was presented an award for my hard work.

“I know that.” I added quickly.

“It better not be. I don’t like you dating at a young age!” he warned in a deathly tone, “Regardless of the peer pressure or what others tell you. You’re still my daughter and you’re still getting a future. Even if it means having you travelling across the opposite end of this vast country than you will.” He did it. He put his foot down. I deflated in defeat. I often get what I want so why not now?

The doorbell rang. Jumping from my seat I headed straight towards the front door. I knew who it was. Ryan! He’s here to see me, I mused happily, as I fixed my hair in the hallway mirror. Once satisfied, I continued en route for the ingress, attempting to calm my racing heart. The bell rang again and I slowly opened the door. There he stood, tall, proud and beautiful as ever. His black hair cascaded around his features, emphasising his pale skin like mine but with piercing bright green eyes, I wish I had, rather than my parent’s dark ones. Those green eyes I’ve heard were the rarest of them all. “Morning.” he greeted.

“Morning,” I replied.

“Ready to go?” he asked.

“Wait one moment, I left my bag in the kitchen.” I confessed, opening the door wide enough for him to enter. As I knew it would be one: rude to leave your boyfriend waiting for you and two: I knew I desired his company whilst in the cluster of my parents’. With my father there, I was certain, we both needed to support each other in his deadly presence.

As we roamed the halls, slowly. He gently whispered in my ear, plans of our dinner date tonight, something I predicted would be as romantic as he was. I could feel his warm breath against my ear this only made me question if we were taking our time and hoped not, I didn’t want to give my father any more reason to despise Ryan.

Pushing open the kitchen door revealed, my mother and father. My parents froze in place, immediately they turned their attention wholly on us. The bench top I noticed was cleared and wiped by the cloth under my father’s taught fist and whitened knuckles, something that often occurred when my father laid his eyes on Ryan. “Hi Mr and Mrs Rusakova,” Ryan greeted.

My father relaxed, soon after my mother cleared her throat and moved around the bench and over to us. Her features morphed into a pleasurable yet calm mask. She was known to be a good actress especially when she was forcing kindness for my sake.

Both of my parents trusted him to a degree but felt as though he may be a distraction. I understood their reasons but it was my life. The only reason why they allowed him to see me is because I was still a virgin and according to mother they prefer to keep it that way until I was twenty one.

“Hello Ryan,” welcomed my mother in a gentle tone. My father moved to my mother’s side his eyes never leaving my romantic interest. So I aimed to keep Ryan by mine. “You’re here to take Cecelia to school?” she sung, warmly.

“That’s the plan,” he joked. I fought the urge to face palm myself.

It was the start of a new school year and I was required to go to school for this whole week. To hand in assignments that I never really had a chance to finish as well as clean out my locker on top of that. I was required to tell the SRC (Student Representative Council) that I was no longer available for the position. After I finally managed to receive a decent amount of votes, once, nominated by the student body.

“Well drive safe, you know how some drivers and pedestrians are in Moscow,” stated my mother in a gentle tone. Her plump red lips pulled into a convincingly gentle small smile upon her youthful model like features.

“Will do Mrs Rusakova,” confirmed a relaxed Ryan.

Ryan was a year older than me but in the same year something about him not being born before the cut off month to be pushed into year eleven. We were finally seniors and I was proud. But before Ryan could begin another courteous conversation with my mother. I paced over to my bag and slipped it over my shoulder. Turning around I grasped his hand and dragged him out of the kitchen. I called out my “byes” to my parents fast enough for them to not thread another word into my silenced sentence and feverously raced out the door with Ryan in tow.

*Thank you for reading this far. If you like this feel free to visit my website. Looking forward to meeting my new readers."