“You were embraced, in what? The 1500s?” Daeran was asking Claire from where they each sat upon lush cushions out on the balcony of he and Rion’s quite extravagant home.

“Does never asking a lady her age still apply to Kindred?” Rion put in wryly, as he moved gracefully across the balcony to hand them each a wine glass filled with rich red liquid.

“It’s fine,” Claire assured them, taking the drink from Rion’s pale fingers as he reclaimed his seat on the cushion at her other side “And yes, in 1598,” she answered, taking a sip.

“So, you’re over three hundred then?” Daeran graced her with an impressed look at the confirmation. “In that amount of time, I’m sure you’ve dealt with plenty of tragedy, and come through it just as beautiful and strong as ever, darling,” Daeran assured as he raised his glass in a toast before taking his own drink.

“More tragedy than I’d like to remember, honestly,” Claire told him softly. “And beautiful is subjective I suppose, but I don’t know if I’ve ever referred to myself as strong,” her sentence was swallowed up by the delicate glass as she took another sip.

“So tell me, what was the worst thing you’ve ever had to overcome in the last three centuries, and how did you do it then?” Daeran continued with interest.

“Is this your way of trying to get ideas for our next film, Dae?” Rion smirked over at his partner.

“Shh, don’t give away all my secrets, love,” Daeran teased before returning his attention to Claire, expectantly awaiting her response.

“The worst thing?” Claire repeated as she looked down nervously. “This is the wrong drink for those stories yet, I think,” she finished with an attempt to hide her wariness of making any kind of substantial confessions just yet.

“I hear that,” Rion agreed, more to himself, as though he had some tragic events in his past he wasn’t ready to share yet either. There was, of course, the story of he and Daeran’s embrace at the massacre fifteen years earlier, but that, Claire was already aware of.

“We could ask one of our servants to get very, very drunk, and then we could feed on them?” Daeran offered, only half seriously.

“That’s just a typical Saturday for you, Daeran,” Rion teased.

“Lies and slander!” Daeran retorted with over-dramatic, and obviously false offense, “It’s not just Saturdays,” he chuckled playfully.

Rion allowed an amused grin in return, before attempting more seriousness, “Besides, you know how long it took me to tell you all about my... life, before this,” he settled on, “and you and I were even sleeping together by that point.”

Daeran grinned back, “So, are you saying I should sleep with Claire before asking her for any deep dark secrets? Well, I mean, if you insist, love,” he teased, though Rion only smirked, not seeming overly opposed to the idea, despite their relationship. Not that Claire was one to judge, considering how long she had been in open relationships herself. The normal rules often stopped applying after one’s death, it seemed. At least for Toreadors.

“Perhaps you should ask her opinion on that before making any... hard plans,” Rion couldn’t resist a bit of wordplay, smirking through another sip. Though, his eyes did move over Claire as he spoke. That look did do well to make her wonder what else Rion wouldn’t be opposed to either.

“Lovely pun dear,” Daeran smirked, then moved on. “But trauma does have a way of bringing people together I suppose,” Daeran stated thoughtfully, casting the slightest glance at Rion.

“How long before that ends up in a script?” Rion mumbled. He knew Daeran’s creative process well at this point.

“So, how about this; I’ll go first,” Daeran suggested to Claire after another moment.

“Go first?” Claire asked as she gave him a questioning look.

“Not that... yet,” he teased, then reverted to his more serious tone again. “I’ll share my tragic backstory first. I don’t know what’s in your three hundred year past, but I assure you, mine gets pretty dark, itself,” he told her, his tone implying that he actually meant his words.

That tone shift of his did do well to pique Claire’s curiosity, even if she was still a bit wary of sharing certain parts of her past just yet. Perhaps this supposedly dark past of Daeran’s would help convince her to open up. Either way, she was definitely interested in hearing more, though. If for no other reason than that distraction she had been desperately seeking for the last five years.

“Can’t say you haven’t set up a compelling hook to grab your audience’s attention,” Claire smiled, leaning closer to hear those dark secrets he promised.

“It’s what I do,” Daeran smirked and took another sip before beginning. “So, believe it or not, I’ve always been pretty well off. Including before my untimely death, and way before our successful foray together into the world of film. I was always a ‘rich kid,’ so to speak. Shocking I know,” he added wryly.

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“This is a sordid tale, indeed,” Claire teased with a playful sarcasm, though continued to give him her rapt attention.

Daeran wrinkled his nose, but seemed as gloriously unbothered as ever, “It’s not just me. Rion here came from quite the wealthy family too,” he informed with another small smile towards his lover.

“Hey, you’re telling your story, not mine,” Rion reminded, though added no further words of protest.

Daeran leaned over Claire to give Rion an apologetic little peck on the lips before continuing. Rion appeared to have been at least fifteen years older than Daeran at the time of their mutual deaths at the DaCosta party back in 1900. But despite the age difference, as Daeran had been barely twenty at the time, the two gave the impression that they had many things in common, aside from their talents in writing and directing film, and their obvious attractiveness.

Rion had chin-length curls so light as to look white in certain light, and eyes such a rich shade of brown, they appeared red at times. Daeran also had light colored curls, though his were a more golden hue, and fell to his shoulders, accenting eyes that were an even brighter green than Claire’s pools of emerald. And both men had physiques that would make any Toreador turn an appreciative eye toward them. Of course, their outward appearance, added to their creative talents could also be seen as a curse, when considering those were likely the very reasons why they had been invited to Marina’s massacre to begin with.

“Very well, back to me then, for now,” Daeran continued. “But yes, my family had plenty of money, and they chose to spend it on one of the most expensive homes they could find. However, expensive homes often tend to be old as well,” he then glanced at Claire warily.

“Go on, I’m sure I can correct you on the age of any homes in the city, considering none of them were even here when I first arrived,” she smirked, showing that she hadn’t taken any offense to the word.

“Beautiful and smart,” Rion interjected. “We picked the right partner after all.”

Daeran smiled again before continuing, “And the one they picked was old indeed. And, if hindsight is any indication, it had a more than colorful history in its walls,” he took another sip, as if to prepare himself to share what he had promised was a truly dark tale.

“And now we get to the fun part,” Rion added, “which, ironically, wasn’t anything resembling fun.”

“Now who’s trying to tell whose story?” Daeran teased.

Claire had to speak up then, “So, you’re saying that you childhood home was haunted or something like that?”

Neither Daeran nor Rion could hide their slight scoff, but Daeran was the one who replied, “How I wish that were the whole story.” Then his light green eyes turned downwards, as did the volume of his voice. “But this was much, much worse than some spirit rattling chains in the attic.”

“It wasn’t a spirit at all, actually,” Rion added, his tone just as quiet, as he took another sip of his drink as well.

Claire looked between them with interest, “What was it then?”

“I guess ‘demon’ would be the most accurate term,” Rion stated, looking to Daeran for confirmation.

“As fitting a word as any, I suppose,” he agreed, his usual jovial tone much more subdued as he began this tale.

“A demon?” Claire raised a brow.

“Don’t tell me the three hundred year old vampire who’s dating a mage, sometimes, doesn’t believe in demons?” Rion asked her wryly.

Claire looked down slightly at the reminder of her missing paramour. After all, his latest prolonged absence was the main reason she had decided to even try cultivating a more personal relationship with her two fellow filmmakers. “It’s just the first I’ve heard anyone actually claim to have encountered such a thing. But I know better than to rule anything out anymore,” she allowed, looking back to Daeran to hear more of the story.

“Well, as I said, ‘demon’ is the best word I can think of to describe the thing that was in that house. I was only ten when it showed itself to be much, much more than some restless spirit. Something much deadlier,” Daeran added more quietly as he finished his glass in one large swig and reached for the rest of the bottle, which had been sitting on a polished oak stand nearby.

“Ten?” Claire repeated. “And, deadlier?” she asked, her eyes widening slightly.

Daeran tried to manage a smile, but failed somehow, “Where do you think I got all my money? I was the only one left after this demon showed my family what it truly was.”

Claire audibly gasped, “This thing killed your whole family?”

“He did say dark,” Rion stated, almost too quietly to be heard.

“First, it went through all the servants throughout the years. One strange and random accident after another. Every time my parents hired anyone new,” he clarified, his eyes staying on the balcony floor now.

It was becoming clear that Daeran’s normally upbeat personality was quite the well crafted, and much more comfortable façade than peeling back these painful layers was. And understandably. But he had offered to tell her, so tell her he would.

“Then, after years of that, my parents were scared and desperate. They eventually gave into the idea of trying to have an exorcist come to the house,” Daeran took another sip, this time straight from the bottle, as if hoping it would actually get him drunk, despite knowing it would not.

“And I’m guessing that did not go well,” Claire said, her words steeped in sympathy for what this young man must have went through.

“Another understatement,” Daeran sighed. “The night the exorcist came to the house, was the very same night I happened to become an orphan, though a very rich one, at least,” he scoffed to cover any pain that may have crept into his voice.

“Please tell me you didn’t actually see this thing murdering your family,” Claire asked worriedly.

Daeran sighed, “I only remember finding them,” he admitted. Then his voice dropped again, as did Rion’s eyes. “But I’m not sure that’s the blessing it sounds like.”

Then confusion was added to Claire’s concern, “How do you mean?”

“I mean, there’s a reason it let me live, and only me,” Daeran managed, his voice a whisper, as Rion moved to cover his hand with his own.

“Do I really want to hear this?” Claire asked, her voice almost as quiet.

Another deep sigh from Daeran as Rion squeezed his hand. “See, it could do whatever it wanted there, on the land we owned. It was bound to it, like a regular spirit. However, it wanted to expand its horizons, so to speak. And it needed a body to do that...”