The Brethren Of Tavish [Vampire Coven Book 1] (2 page)

Chapter 1

Mercy was hiding; the solitude was a small
blessing. The farther back into the polar ice cap she went, the darker it
became. She looked around at the sleek walls and ceiling of blue ice that was
her home; it was home to forty family members. Mercy was the youngest at
twenty-two. The oldest man was her grandfather at sixty-three. Almost everyone
else was considered middle aged.

Mercy could see her breath with an expelled
puff of air. She couldn’t remain hidden for too long, eventually she would get
chilled.
But not yet.
Her entire outfit was made of
fur.
Protection against their family’s cold way of life.
Not often was she able to leave the safety of the iceberg. On a rare occasion,
her father would allow her to peek through holes in the ice to gaze upon the
stars. It was the older men who went out to hunt the polar bear, seals and to
fish. No woman of childbearing years was allowed outside without good reason.
It was law.

The rule had been in place as long as Mercy
could remember. Mercy was the last of her family to be born. Her father, Dante,
the leader of the ice home, had demanded no more births. Though it had pained
him to do so, to know he alone would be responsible for his line dying out.
Mercy and the others were forbidden any type of sexual pleasures. Hugging was
permitted in full view of everyone. A tender kiss was acceptable between
husband and wife—as long as it was done in full view, fully clothed and went no
further. Nudity was treason. Mercy and the two women and four men born before
her were all virgins. Mercy had never had a first real kiss.

Mercy spent little of her time thinking about
it and waited anxiously for her blood time to stop, for her to age faster, so
she could be free of the ice home, even if for a little while. She could count
on less than one hand the number of times she had been allowed to set foot
outside the iceberg; it had only been to help bring in particularly large
kills. The area was a vast wasteland of white nothingness.
Boring.
Cold and unexciting.
But freedom was freedom, even if
for a little while.

Her father was a martyr. He refused to breed
any more of his people in case they fell into enemy blood-thirsty hands. Vampires
now ruled the virtually snow-covered barren world when Earth had slipped back
into an ice age in the late twenty-first century.

“There you are,”
came
a sharp, disapproving male voice.

“I don’t want to flay meat,” Mercy grumbled,
guessing her father was back from their hunt.

“Your father is looking for you,” answered the
tall attractive man.

“My father is always looking for me, Jarrod.”
Her father was a hoverer. Mercy just knew the man would will himself to live
until Mercy and her womb were safely old and decrepit.
Unappealing
to the vampires of the world, who were desperate for human offspring to feed
their lust for blood.

Mercy got up from her hiding place and moved
closer, into the light of the torch. Jarrod towered over her five-foot-five
frame. He filled the tunnel and without the light, he would have darkened the
small crevice Mercy had sought her short reprieve in. She imagined he weighed a
ton but wasn’t certain, it wasn’t that he was fat; with all of his bulky furs
he looked like a brown-haired brown-eyed hybrid bear. She thought he was very
handsome but nothing more. Never once had she seen a man nude. Though curious
as to what their genitals looked like, it was considered an act of treason to
just be curious. She had trained her thoughts to go no further.

A long time ago Mercy remembered vaguely trying
to pleasure herself. It was simple inquisitive innocence and happened by
accident. Her breasts had grown round and itched at times. One of those
personal times they had itched she had soothed the itch with a vigorous rub.
The rub had changed to a gentle squeeze of self-exploration. The tips of her
nipples hardened; she didn’t know they would do that. Why would they do that?
She had felt something when her hands had explored her body and strove toward
the pleasant feeling until she had been caught by her father. Mercy had been
beaten severely. Sex of any kind was evil. Thoughts of sex of any kind were
evil. Mercy had been horrified to learn her father would kill her himself if
she ever had impure thoughts or touched herself inappropriately again.

“Your father is waiting,” Jarrod reminded her.

Mercy sighed.
“Fine.”

The young pair walked back through the winding
icy hallways of their home, carved out over decades. Jarrod urged her ahead of
him. The torch light flickered shadows across the frozen walls making it appear
she was being followed by a huge upright bear. They entered into a larger, more
open area strewn with furs. Furs sat atop chiseled ice furniture. Ice chairs
and ice tables, ice stools covered in hides sat in various places discreetly
apart so limbs of occupants didn’t touch by accident. Beds were cut into grooves
in the ice, piled high with furs, enough for each individual in a separate
place. Husbands and wives could reach to hold a gloved hand but no more.

Situated atop a pile of large rocks, a fire
burned. The smoke spiraled high above and dissipated by the time it reached the
twenty-four-foot-high ceiling. A stew bubbled over the fire in a double-thick
rawhide. The bottom barely seeped, just enough to keep it from catching fire.
Off to the side, a bowl of melted fat sat in a large turtle shell. Mercy saw
her mother glance up at her; she looked relieved. Her mother then added more
chunks of frozen cubed meat to the stew.

Mercy’s grandfather smiled from a fur-covered
chair where he played checkers with David, her oldest cousin. The flat wood
board they used was dyed black in varying
boxes,
the
other half was wood-colored. Grampy used small flat rocks; David used small,
flat pieces of wood. The game was older than her grandfather. Grampy winked and
sent her a snowflake kiss. He had scooped a small amount of snow he had made by
scuffing his feet on the icy ground into his fur mitt and blew it her way. The
twinkle in his eyes was a gift of love. Her cousin David playfully tossed more
scuffed snow at Grampy and smacked his lips together in a teasing fashion,
making her aunts and female cousins who watched the game chuckle and smile.

“Mercy,” her father thundered.

Grampy crossed his eyes and made a face. Mercy
giggled, but sobered quickly at the approach of her father.

“I’m here, Father,” she said quietly.

Her father came and stood before her. She
looked up at him. Her father was a big man, the largest man in their family. He
had the same white-blond hair as she, but she sported the gray eyes of her
mother. He was made to look even larger in the polar bear fur he and his hunters
wore. The entire skin of a polar bear was utilized. His face could be seen from
inside the bear’s wide open mouth. Massive paws sat atop his hands and bulky
fur feet. The hunters blended in better with the snow when outside and moved
like bears when possible. A flying vampire could see their movement from a
distance and think nothing of a group of bears wandering and hunting on all
fours. It was the humans they lusted after.

Dante, her father, looked ferocious in the furs
he wore. The other hunters were shrugging off the added fur padding. Her father
slipped part of his over his head to his waist, sliding his hands through a
slit in the fur belly. He was still huge. In Mercy’s opinion, he was the most
handsome man in their dwelling. Mercy’s mother came and took his bloodied spear
from him. Her mother looked at her father in adoration. For a fleeting moment
their gloved hands touched but nothing more. Mercy could see very few red dots
spattered on his hunting outfit. He was an efficient huntsman.

Mercy wasn’t afraid of her father; she loved
him. His one and only threat had stemmed from his fear that she might break a
law, commit treason. When he bloodied her face for self-exploration, Mercy was
surprised to see he cried harder than she. Afterwards, he had sat her down in a
private tunnel and told her of the dangers of the cruel beasts that roamed the
earth.
Beasts that would force her to breed to provide them
with food.
He hinted they would do something foul to her body and make
her cry. Her father insisted it was for the best as he wiped tears and blood
from her face and held a cold piece of leather to her swollen eye and cut lip.

He had explained when the humans were all gone
the beasts would soon succumb, the madness must end. Humans were so much more than
food. He loved her so much he couldn’t bear the thought of her being used and
abused and afraid. Her father had asked Mercy to try and understand. It was for
the best. Mercy had readily agreed, especially when her father offered her a
rare and gentle show of affection by hugging her and running a tender hand down
her long white-blond hair. She had heard his breath catch in his throat and
knew she was important to him. Every day he told her he loved her, but that day
he had hugged her in private, a tender kiss was placed onto her forehead. She
had craved more human contact once having a taste but no more was forthcoming,
from anyone.

“Where were you?” her father asked.

“Hiding.”
There was no point in
lying to him.

Her father chuckled and cupped her chin with
affection. His gloves were off and his large hand was warm.
“Always
when there is food to flay, my dearest little one.”

“It’s only when you bring in the baby seals.
The fish stinks, but the sweet little white-furred creatures look so harmless.”
Mercy would have liked to touch his hand, to feel his warmth when warmth was so
rare, but she didn’t.

Mercy had never seen a live baby seal, or even
a furred carcass. The animals and fish were all skinned and drained of as much
blood as possible away from their home. Only sections of meat to slice were
left. The gutting was done quickly. Hunting was fast and efficient and seldom
done in the same place where the beasts could surprise them. The hunters wanted
no enticing blood to breadcrumb the way back to their home.

“We need to eat, my littlest love.” Her
father’s eyes were filled with warmth. His thumb trailed back and forth over
her chin. “Never feel sympathy for your food, little dove. If you allow compassion
to fill your heart, you will be doomed.”

“You learned that from the vampires,” she
accused.

“We kill with certain empathy, but we kill.”
His hand fell from her face. Mercy noted the others watching. David was scowling.
She knew many thought her father showed her too much favor and attention. But
she was the youngest, the most fussed over. She knew she was coddled. She knew
she was loved.

“How does that make us different?” Mercy
honestly wanted to know. It was a fair question, not a challenge to her
father’s authority. She was allowed to ask a fair question and the others were
no longer disapproving but listening attentively. There was no privacy in the
dwelling. All knew each other’s conversations. It was something they were used
to.

“A beast has no compassion, no remorse or
empathy, my little love.” Mercy knew her father would be honest, but by his
tone she knew he sought to temper his harsh words. “Do you think a polar bear
would care if it ripped your guts out and feasted on your entrails while you
were still alive?” Mercy wasn’t the only one who shuddered as he created a
mental image in their minds. “Our prey is mercifully dispatched, I make sure of
it. To make something suffer is cruel. As hunters, we must be fast and
efficient. We have a duty to our prey.

“A beast has no soul, child. It’s no better
than a carnivore. In fact, it’s far worse. A carnivore kills, the vampires,
once human no less, feed off you over and over until you are weak and drained
and useless to them.”

Mercy cocked her head up at him, he seemed
worried and she knew it wasn’t her questions. “You saw a polar bear today
didn’t you?” she asked. It was the one thing that her father feared more than
the beasts he spoke of. The vampires could smell blood and the beating of a
heart and warmth, but the bear could smell the humans’ flesh. Human scents
easily flew to their sensitive nose on a mere gust of wind. Mercy had heard
polar bears hunted man.

“A storm is beginning. With any luck, our home
will shift in the wind,” Dante replied evasively.

A shifting wind didn’t matter to Mercy, neither
did a blizzard. They were buried in hundreds of thousands of pounds of ice and
snow. Humans who chose to stay where there was even a modicum of warmth outside
were picked off first in the early years. The human population had no choice
but to migrate as far north as possible over a hundred years ago. It was
difficult for the vampires to detect warmth under so much ice.

It was rumored a giant polar bear aided a
certain large vampire coven. It was said the coven sire was a monster, a man
with no compassion or pity for females of childbearing years. It was said the
vampire forced his females to breed. An escaped man, from years prior to
Mercy’s birth, estimated the vampire to be one of the oldest coven leaders at
seventeen thousand years, perhaps even more. The coven consisted of many
vampires who had no regard for human life. Sadly, the escaped man was
delusional. He had died of internal injuries and nothing more was learned.