In the beginning

It was his eyes that did it. It was his eyes that enraptured her. Shehad heard of eyes like these, but she could not remember where. Eyes like two gleaming silver coins, like the half arch of a crescentmoon in the sky just before she had to start the Moon dance.

It was his eyes.

The man in question had shoulder length hair. Dark, very, very dark. Hair that shone with oil. Even from across the room, Khloe could smell it on him, the sweetness of scent that no man had the right to be wearing.

But this man was. And it made Khloe want to bury her face in the side of his neck and inhale, even when it would have be more prudent if she sunk her teeth into his neck instead. Prudent, because she was tied in a chair before him, silver manacles attached to her legs and hands, holding her to the chair. The cuff were tight. Almost too tight, such that if she squirmed or moved even the slightest bit, they cut into her wrists and ankles. Prudent, because there two men standing guards at both sides of the chair, watching her like hounds, watching her like she was a hound. Prudent, because the man with the sliver eyes was looking at her like she was something to be studied, to be picked apart and examined, his gaze two moons burning into her skin with an intensity that the moon did not have.

Khloe knew that look, she had seen it a time too many at home, in the West, amongst her own people. Some looked at her and spat, disgust ill concealed by their features. Others on the other handlooked at her like the man was doing. People who showed their hate and anger were often like barking hounds, the sage had once told her: it did not matter how loud they howled, they never bit. But people like this man, with the beautifully gaunt face and the thin fingers, they were often more lethal. Khloe had learnt earlier not to trifle with the latter. She had long since learned to evade them. Except when they refused to be evade.

The moon-eyed man had refused, by all indications.

He was standing over her seated and bound figure, running his thin pale fingers over a blade. The black was black, oily black just like his hair and clothes.

'What is your name?' He asked. His tone was just as black and dead as his garbs.

She stayed silent, watching him warily.

'If you do not tell me, my friends here may have to beat it out of you.' He said, gesturing at the two enormous men standing stoic at her sides. 'We do not want that now, do we?'

The man made the threat without so much as a glimmer of anger,or a trace of menace. In fact, he could have been talking about sweettea how he suggested violence with ease.

Khloe shook her head vigorously.

Her throat was dry and parched. She could have asked for a drink of water, but the man and his 'friends' did not seem like the type to honour such a request. At least, not until she had given them what they wanted.

She licked her lips and said, 'Khloe. My name is Khloe. Khloe Hamilton.'

'Khloe Hamilton,' the man let the words slid over his tongue. Khloe shivered. In his mouth, her name sounded different. Exquisite. Everything about him was exquisite. Even the room they was in. She had never seen the like.

'What is yours?' She asked.

The silver-eyed man and my bulky guards seemed taken aback by the question. They were not used to this, she surmised. Nobody could be. It was not everyday someone bound bound hand and leg thought themselves in the position to make demands. She was surprised too, that after two days rotting in a cell with little water and less food, she still had some defiance left in her.

'That is not how this works.' The man said smoothly, cooly. He did not bristle as another man would have.

She said, 'It is if you want me to answer your questions. Is it not courteous to introduce yourself on your side of the boundary?'

'So you did come from the other side.' His moon eyes were in full bloom, shining with an unnatural light. Khloe kept herself from squirming under that unnervingly steady gaze.

'Is it such a surprise?'

'I suppose it would have been a surprise at all about a hundred hears ago,' he said, looking at her meaningfully. 'You are the first to cross the fold in over a hundred years, Khloe Hamilton, if what you say is true.'

Khloe gasped. That could not be right.

Seeing the shock on her face, the man smiled for the first time since their meeting. It was part smile, part smirk, that grin of his. As malevolent as a smile could be. Yet, he was beautiful. His feature transformed when he smiled, and the moon in his eyes became stars, twinkling.

'I am Melvin,' he introduced himself. 'Melvin Asgard.'

Melvin Asgard. She knew that name. She tried to remember, and for a short time her memory stalled. Then it came to her in a rush. Melvin Asgard, son of Oreburn Asgard, king of Asgard.

'No,' Melvin said now. He was so close tha she could smell the scent on him properly. Almonds and vinegar. 'My father died a lifetime ago. I rule Asgard now, Khloe. So you do well to answer my questions.'

Khloe recoiled. It was as though he had plucked the thought out of her mind.

It was his eyes in the end. It was his eyes that confirmed it. Eyes like the half arch of the moon, like beaten silver. The eyes of a vampire. Eyes that now belonged Melvin Asgard, a vampire who could worm his way into a person's mind and poke around if they stared into his eyes too long.

Khloe realized too late. She shut her eyes. But she could still hear the swishing sound of his knife as he played with it.

Fear curdled in her stomach.