WRITTEN IN BLOOD | The Unnatural Brethren | Preview {Unedited}

1. The Weaker Brother

"One, two, three! Again!"

"One, two, three! Again!"

"One, two—"

"Ow! That hurt!" I cried.

Viktor had struck my back hard with the sword's handle before finishing his move.

"What is it, Ivan?" Master Bianchi knelt before me, oblivious to my brother's fiendish scheme.

I remained silent.

"It hurts because you're weak!" Viktor said.

"I am not weak!" I whined, and then I pushed him. His face lit up with anger as he landed on the ground and his eyes gleamed with astonishment. He had not believed I had it in me to fight back – nor did I, for that matter. Not until then.

Viktor growled. He got on his feet quick and lunged at me like a wild beast. My limbs turned into stone.

Seconds later, I lay on a heap of dirt with my brother on top of me. He grabbed me by the shirt's collar and pulled me close to his reddened face.

"You'll pay for this, Ivan!" he said.

The smile on my face was inevitable. Viktor was taller and stronger. The odds were against me, but for a moment, I glimpsed the possibility of defeating him. And this chance –no matter how remote—made me happy.

I would have found out how the game would end, had Master Bianchi not intervened and all but dragged my brother away. Their figures diminished in the distance as Viktor's slithering heels left a trail on the dirt pavement leading straight to the house.

I laughed. I laughed so hard it hurt my belly. At nine years old, this had been the highlight of my brief life.

For the first time, I had stood up to Viktor. He was thirteen years old. And even though my rebellion had been small and unimportant, it filled my heart with pride after years of tolerating his abuse.

I was the youngest of eight children. Five of my brothers died before the age of ten –either from disease or tragedy—thus making Viktor the eldest son. Two years later came my sister Alisa, and a year after that my brother Anton but he died minutes after being born.

A year passed before I sprung into the world.

Being the eldest son, my parents regarded Viktor's future with nothing but the highest hopes. It was expected he would make an advantageous marriage since Father was a man of respectable wealth and Viktor a handsome charismatic young man.

Viktor's strength and quick wit overshadowed the darker side of his mischievous personality. He was tall, blond-haired and had Father's piercing deep-blue eyes.

Alisa and I took after Mother's looks, both of us with pitch-black hair, large eyes, and delicate nose. She had deep-blue eyes and finer lips, whereas I inherited Mother's green eyes and fuller lips. Our mother was Russian, and Father was an English tradesman.

I would very much like to fall into historical details of their romance –if indeed, there was one—but I am afraid I know not how they met or why they chose to marry and raise their family in British lands.

But back to Viktor and his dirt trail.

I followed my brother's footmarks to our house.

We lived in a small town a few miles outside of Bristol. Father's business was successful and we wanted for nothing.

We had a more than suitable home with vast lands to hunt and play. Servants took care of our every need. Tutors instructed us in geography, arithmetic's, and taught us to read and write Latin and Greek upon my father's insistence.