Chapter One: Leila

This was the second choice image for this scene; I decided I didn't want to waste it after all. Consider it a bonus image.

Previously: No Bodies 

 

"Name's Leila," the vampire introduced. "And you are?" 

 

"What the fuck are you doing?" Alva rasped, leaning forward.

 

"Oh, please," Leila said dismissively with a snort. She drank from her tankard again. "Have you never been to Riften before?"

 

Alva glanced around herself nervously, hesitant to answer. Leila's eyes widened.

 

"So it is your first time," she said, grinning. "Aurelian owes me a septim. How old are you anyway? You can't be one of the elder ones; they've crisscrossed Tamriel a dozen times over." 

"I'm Alva," the newcomer finally bit out. After a beat, she added, "I'm from Morthal."

 

"I've heard good things about Morthal," Leila said, nodding. "They say it's a good place for our kind."

 

"It was," Alva mumbled, eyes still darting about the tavern. "It's not anymore."

 

Leila's humor dimmed as realization dawned. Alva had "that" look about her, one which only another vampire would recognize.

 

"You come across a hunter?" she asked delicately. Alva noted how her body straightened just a bit before Leila glanced around the room as well.

 

"The Thalmor," she told Leila. "They've taken a special 'interest'."

 

Both of Leila's eyebrows went up. "The Thalmor? In Morthal?"

 

"I don't know why," Alva said, shaking her head. Dust clung to her cloak, and her fingers twitched near the dagger at her hip. She smelled of forests and deep caves. "I'm the last of my coven. The rest were cut down and burned by some Thalmor bitch with a Daedric weapon." She paused. "She called herself the Demon of Northwatch Keep."

 

Leila’s humor vanished. "She survived Northwatch?"

 

Alva was beyond stressed. "I don't even know where that is."

 

"Northwestern coast of Skyrim," Leila said somberly. "It was a Thalmor facility, until a pack of idiots decided to try to raid it on their way to Volki--" She abruptly stopped herself, not that Alva noticed.

 

"Alva, is it?" she started over, setting her tankard aside. "I need you to tell me everything."

 

***

 

They left the tavern. Leila expertly guided Alva through the city, across the town center, under the pillars of the Temple of Mara, until they reached the Riften Cemetery. It was empty, of course, and thankfully quiet. Alva was beginning to wonder how anyone, especially a vampire, could function in such a noisy, chaotic environment.

 

"How long have you been on the road?" Leila inquired, leading Alva through the headstones.

 

"Days." Alva shook her head. "I lost count."

 

"And you weren't followed?"

 

"The Thalmor didn't say anything about Riften, only about Morthal being 'under the protection of the Aldmeri Dominion'. I don't know why they suddenly took interest in us. We were careful. We left almost no bodies, and even Jarl Ravencrone -- a mortal blessed with the Sight -- couldn't tell what we were doing."

 

"Yet you were still discovered?" Leila pressed.

 

Alva tensely swallowed and nodded. "I don't know how."

 

"How long have you been a vampire?" Leila demanded.

 

Alva paused before finally confessing, "Less than a year."

 

Leila sighed loudly, closing her eyes. I seem to be a magnet for fledglings.

 

Colette had been a vampire for seven, Aurelian for just around ten. And now this child had wandered into her midst, with a formidable-sounding hunter possibly in tow.

 

"We have to return to the den before sunrise," Leila said, opening her eyes. "We'll go back to the tavern and get the others. Stay close, and keep your hood on."

 

Alva looked back at her, confused. "What den? What others?"

 

***

 

They seemed like such an unlikely group of vampires. Alva didn't know what to make of them. She'd never met a Vigilant of Stendarr before and had never visited the Reach. Aurelian was tall and brooding; Colette almost childlike.

 

Leila was perhaps the biggest riddle of all... the Redguard who spoke like a Dunmer, whose once-fine clothing was now worn to shreds. Because those were definitely not the clothes of a commoner.

 

Probably looted from corpses, Alva thought. But Leila didn’t seem like the type to leave bodies, and more importantly.

 

They left the city through the front gates, and no one questioned them. It was nighttime in Skyrim. The stars sparkled above, and the two moons were shrouded by clouds. The air was clean, cool, and crisp. For the first time, Alva realized she was relieved to be out of the marshes.

 

"Are you a coven?" she asked her new companions. All of them chuckled, even the tall gloomy one.

 

"No," Leila cackled. "Nothing so clichéd. We just met last year, at Redwater."

 

"What's Redwater?"

 

"It's a skooma den," Colette said almost cheerfully. Her voice was high and girlish, but Alva could see she was no child. "People come, they buy skooma, we drink, and they leave."

 

Alva was shocked. "Isn't skooma illegal in Skyrim?" They laughed again.

 

"That's why it works," Aurelian finally spoke, his voice deep and thrumming. "A den is a place of secrets. Our secret is that we're vampires. Their secret is that they're addicted to an illegal substance. Neither of us wants to be found."

 

 Alva remained unconvinced. "But... their blood...?"

 

Leila flashed a devilish grin. "That's the best part."

 

***

 

They arrived just before dawn. Leila led her through a crumbling cottage and down a trap door. If that wasn't bad enough, the door gave way to a world below of smoking, coughing, moaning, vomiting, and listless eyes staring into the abyss. The place was run by a Bosmeri woman who stank of sweat and cheap mead. Her brother, who led patrons to rooms and filled their pipes, smelled no better.

 

Alva had heard of skooma dens in passing, but never seen one up close. The sight and smell of Redwater Den immediately made her miss her old cave. It might have been filled with corpses, but at least there had been laughter.

 

There was no laughter here, just desperate souls seeking Oblivion.

 

Leila found a young man for Alva. He was sitting on a mattress propped up against some smelly cushions. He was already under the influence; his eyes were barely open. He was a Nord, possibly a farmer judging by his poor clothing. But he was hardy-looking, and as much as Alva wanted to leave the den, she'd been too long without human blood.

 

"Don't take too much," Leila warned. "Just a few deep drinks. When you feel your body start to warm, stop."

 

Alva did not know how a "few deep drinks" could be enough, but complied anyway. She slid her hood back, and knelt on the mattress next to him. Gently pushing his head aside, she leaned in to bite his neck.

 

She could taste the difference in the first drink, the sweetness of moon sugar, the bitterness of nightshade. By the third drink, she understood the appeal; the blood seemed thicker, fuller-bodied. It took a lot to stop after the fifth drink, when her body began to warm.

 

She sank against the cushions, feeling the weight of the world melt away. It was like falling out of herself, through cushions, through the mattress, into the earth. Or maybe she was falling deeper into herself; she couldn't tell just yet.

 

Movarth's face flashed before her eyes, red eyes glowing, his fangs pearly white in the moonlight. He'd come back to her. They were together once more among the nightflowers. The nightmare of the hunter faded, and Alva was safe again.

 

Then the darkness came, followed by blessed, blissful nothing.

 

Next: Coming Down