Chapter Thirty-one

40.8K 1.1K 784
                                    

1994 — New Orleans, Louisiana

   The man let out a blood curdling scream as pulled away from her mouth, some of the skin on his neck ripping. He ran away from the vampire, his hand on his neck as he screamed for someone to help him. Eleanor Fraser let out a sigh and licked her lips, tasting his blood on her tongue and teeth. She watched the man run away for several seconds, then pushed her hands deep into the pockets of her leather jacket and ambled towards him. He let out another scream late in the night, one that would be deaf to vampire and human ears.

   "Since when do you let your food go?" A voice said, breaking her train of thought. She turned towards where the voice came from to see Harunaga Oda leaning against the wall. He was unwrapping a cherry flavoured lollipop, smiling down at it with amusement.

   A quirked smile formed around Eleanor's lips. "Since I enjoy playing with it," she said, tilting her head slightly to the side to get a better look at him. Haru was a handsome man of twenty-four, with long black hair always held up in a pony tail and deep brown eyes that reminded her of a deep hickory, with a mischievous glint that seemed to reflect from the corners of his mouth.

   He was turned in 1582, by a man that disguised himself as a Buddhist monk to get close to his father. His father was the famous Nobunaga Oda, a powerful feudal lord in the late 16th century who attempted to unify Japan. His mother was a concubine named Kitsuno, whom his father loved more than his own wife. In total, he had twenty-three siblings and two adoptive siblings, all whom he loved and watched out for after his apparent death.

   He died in the summer, when his father was at the height of his power. His father had been sending generals into all directions to continue his military expansion when one of them led a rebellion against his family. The general was sent west to assist another general, but ignored his orders and assembled an army of 13,000 soldiers. Haru, his father, and eldest brother's were in Honnō-ji, a Buddhist temple in Kyoto, when the army arrived and eventually set it on fire. Haru and his eldest brother, Nobutada, fled to one of their family castles while their father stayed behind, and was eventually killed by the hand of the general. The general found Haru and Nobutada several days later, and they were forced to commit seppuku on themselves. To Haru's contentment and ode to return for vengeance, he killed the general eleven days later in a battle history liked to call the Battle of Yamazaki.

   "You shouldn't let it get away," Haru said, pointing the lollipop in the direction of the stumbling man. "It's making a commotion; it might wake the dogs."

   The young vampire let out a chuckle as she looked up at the sky. The moon was high, just one more spin to the Earth until it was full. Haru meant werewolves, the other reigning species of supernatural creatures that resided in New Orleans. There was one werewolf in particular that was hellbent on murdering her, Gabriel Guerrera. He appeared a few days before the full moon, threatening her in every way that he could. But, the vampire had no humanity and thought of the threats as empty words. 

   Eleanor waved a hand in the air and shrugged her shoulders. "Let the dogs come out," she said as a smirk grew on her lips. "I have a bone to pick with one of them." She sent him a wink and sped towards the stumbling man, immediately grabbing him by the neck and pushing him against the wall. Before he could let out another scream, she bit into his neck and continued to drink the blood. Weakened by the loss, his grip on her wrist began to loosen, until it fell limp to his side. The vampire continued to feed, until the head fell off and the body fell to her feet. 

   She took a step back and wiped her mouth with the sleeve of her jacket, inhaling deeply the dark air around her. Eleanor Fraser with no humanity could be defined as a daemon, a supernatural being of a nature between gods and humans. She was the personification of the wrath of man, never holy and rarely justified. In the past twenty-eight years, she had killed many just because she felt like killing. The excitement made her feel alive, as if each kill gave her a specific set of thrills. 

White Blood | Klaus MikaelsonWhere stories live. Discover now