Potentials: Nikolai

Chapter One: Potentials

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King or not I’m stuck on the midnight train because my dill hole brother wouldn’t pick up the phone to get me an earlier flight. It’s a typical train car. Noxious reds and golds with rows of seats on either side with tables in between.

Nothing first class or lavish about the ride, and Hail knows it.

I would say with how uptight he is, there’s no telling how I’ve pissed him off this time, but my twin has been more than clear about my most recent transgression. Given our host status as leaders of the clans, he’s been after me for a new Head.

More or less a head of household that keeps the mansion and the grounds perfect since his last one quit. It’s not my fault no one can live up to the anal-retentive dickhead’s standards. I’m still the one paying for it though.

I have about eight hours between here and my destination, when I happen to spot a damsel in distress still sleeping after the last human stop on our journey. Not the smartest thing for a human to do, so my attention remains in her direction.

She is something of a mess wearing clothes three sizes too large. Her dull hair falling out of its messy bun with a dozen random pastel colors like rainbow icing through the grime. The tiny thing has circles under her eyes, dirt on her face, and a near paper thin worn backpack on her lap.

One that can’t have more than a handful of items in it.

No doubt she’s been through the ringer, and while thin, we’ve already established my type.

Taking a deep inhale, I’m even more perplexed. I don’t have the best view, and she is at a bit of a distance, but I should be able to get something other than the smell of mutt on her. I feel my brows draw, trying to remember the last time I couldn’t distinguish someone’s base scent.

Sure there are a dozen other vamps and lingering odors from former passengers, but being what I am….. Well, let’s just say she’s caught my interest, and I’m not the only one.

Her being a target was inevitable. I hate to say it, but it’s a long ride, and we’re pretty strict as far as fucking with one another. Don’t get me wrong. I have just as many strict rules against harming humans, but as the only source of blood if not entertainment, no escaping that the human would be singled out sooner or later.

Her opening her lovely purple eyes, obviously aware of the vamps watching her, only to close them again, amuses me. Ill-advised as the behavior is, it’s clear she’s willing herself to disappear into the vomit worthy burgundy upholstery.

We can all hear her increasing heartbeat, regardless of her pretending to be asleep. Without a visible claiming mark, the girl is either suicidal or stupid.

I don’t know why people think ignoring a problem will make it go away. Trying to hide around vampires or showing weakness to anymore predatorial or dominant being is like painting a target on your back or hanging a bright neon sign over your head, begging to be fucked with.

Yes, humans were inferior to us in most ways, but they were at times tasty and amusing for conventional rather than hunting purposes. As long as they understood their place and didn’t cause too much trouble, I had no real feelings one way or another.

I’m also a King on a thirteen-hour train ride barely halfway through my midnight trek.

I’d love to pretend it’s me being noble or something like it that has me beating the others to the punch. Really it’s my own boredom, or maybe curiosity given her perplexing behavior. Nothing more than a snack sitting there utterly defenseless in a car of no less than a dozen vamps with hours to go before we reached Claymore.

“Do you have a death wish Cupcake?” I was unable to keep the hint of laughter out of my voice. If the trip had been any shorter than it was, she would already be a sippy cup.

Rather than presenting confidence or strength, she showed fear. Again that’s just asking for trouble. Presenting calm awareness is best.

Acknowledgment and nonchalance better.

Most of all, a controlled heart beat with even breathing would have kept us away from the small scrap. Her awful smell and a no nonsense attitude may not have avoided any confrontation, but it wouldn’t have allowed what was sure to happen.

“No, I’d just really like to avoid problems for my house,” the lilt in her gentle voice says that the common tongue isn’t her first language.

“So you are claimed?” I say loud enough for the rest. Hoping they’ll avoid putting the kid through any more upset. Far away I couldn’t tell, but up close and personal it’s clear she’s nowhere near old enough to provide the entertainment I was hoping for.

Sixteen may be grown, but it’s nowhere near legal or desirable in my mind. Late twenties to early thirties are my sweet spot when it comes to humans. Old enough to know what they want, confident enough to explore, and young enough to bounce back from our more vigorous style of things pretty quickly.

“Yes, I’m contracted as a servant,” she says a little more loudly. The words are meant to be a defense, but the kid just put a target on both our backs and I groan inwardly.

Servants are different than donors. Both require contracts, but only one guarantees a lifetime commitment. Only what we call potentials can be servants. Humans with the capability of changing. Takes a special gene or set of circumstances, and they are for all intents and purposes human.

Even so, the fact that she can be turned and not go batshit or die from the transition means she’s as rare as she is valuable, and I curse the asshat letting her travel alone. At the very least they should have explained our laws.

Not that it would spare her the torment she’s in for, or would have been if I weren’t here, but at least she’d be informed.

None of the piss ants circling us will truly hurt her, but it doesn’t mean they can’t try. Bribe, threaten or otherwise make her believe that she’s in danger unless she complies with them.

“Yes I am contracted as a servant.” This admittance grabbed all of their attention. She was an unmarked, unclaimed potential, that was given to a house stupid enough to let her travel alone. Servants were much more difficult to find than donors.

Of course, I’m not going to give the rest half a chance.

Luckily for me and unfortunately for her, Mikhail’s bitch fit landed us with a golden opportunity. Regardless of her age, and her smelling like the back alley of a pack house, she could be a familiar if not a bride to the clan when she grew up a bit.

Not my fault her house are a bunch of assholes, and why shouldn’t I benefit from it?

I weighed my options rather carefully.

It’s been a couple of days since I fed, and as a rule, next to our own kind, potentials are generally the sweetest. Any vamp can go a week without blood comfortably. I could also go a few months if I really pushed it, but who turned down a free meal.

Not me.

Taking a bite out of the little cupcake would both fill me up and cement her place in the Dracule clan. Then again if she’s not used to it, she might be less inclined to come home with me and get Hail off my back.

True, we didn’t trust anyone, and I was not about to claim anyone for myself, but again, the whole one in fifty female thing is a pretty large factor in the situation.

Why every single one of the prats are circling. Working it out between themselves before seeing who’s gonna get first dibs at the attempt.

No one, not even me, can bite a potential without their express permission.

It’s pretty clear she’s unaware of that, and I doubt there’s any contract made that Hail can’t break. So I might as well get something out of the trip, and make sure my dill hole of a brother doesn’t have any reason to pull another stunt like this again.

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