Chapter 2: Arabella, Henrietta Sterling
The distinct aroma of iron rarely wafted around the mansion and to a vampire, the occurrence often meant that someone nearby, most likely human, was injured.
Silas had already jumped to that conclusion the instant that unique metallic scent tickled his nostrils.
Wood carving was an activity he'd always found most amusing. The way wood separated and rolled like butter, so easily, leaving perfect concave lines after the tool, provided him with immeasurable amounts of satisfaction.
Nevertheless, Silas slowly set the curved gouge down on the table and shut those diamond eyes of his to focus on the newest distraction.
It had been a good while since he'd caught a whiff of such fine blood flowing so freely, since the great war it would seem.
Noble blood, no doubt, and whomever it belonged to, they sure had a long night if not the longest in their short, human life.
Curiosity got the better of him and so, he turned to his hearing in the hopes of pinpointing the origin of that succulent odor.
For that, heartbeats were always the beginning of the thread. Silas assumed that whoever it was, their heart rate must have still been in shambles, and right he was for when he'd spotted the wildest drumming of hearts in the circumference of the manor, it was immediately accompanied by a foreign voice.
A sweet and feminine timbre uttering the words, "Yes, I shall serve your son, my Lady,"
Silas needed not hear who the stranger was conversing with as it was evident the Lady of the grounds, his mother, sat in front of her.
It took him mere seconds to determine their voices came from the closest lounge room to the main entrance and it took him even less time to exit his room, flash through the long corridors and stairs before finding himself at the door of the lounge room.