Damien took himself away from Dream, away from the mansion, and made it so he could not be found by GPS or by magick. He went somewhere he could keep the drunk going, so the hangover and the wall of emotions chasing him couldn’t catch up.

It was night where he landed. And there was a club, but the scene was dying away. The only partiers who remained were there for the long haul. He sat down at the bar and examined the steampunk mixture of oak, velvet, and industrial metal. The stage and stripper poles were empty. The bartenders were pouring out half-full Bloody Marys, and the music was low enough he could hear the clinking of glasses and chatter from the remaining crowd.

The bartender with a black mohawk finally approached him, and he ordered a double whiskey, neat. The lady with the mohawk seemed to sneer at his order, but produced it in a flash.

Damien tried to make sense of his drunken emotions and wondered if he really could make it on his own. Could he use his magick efficiently enough to take care of himself, but discreetly enough to not wake the Fates, wherever they were?

The group in the back, sitting at a roped-off, private booth, fell into a whispering hush, and Damien saw a man approach him from his blurred peripheral. The young blond man sat next to him and waved down the bartender for a Bloody Mary. Damien glanced at him, but said nothing.

With his drink in hand, the young man said, “Welcome to the city, my friend.”

Damien thought this an odd thing to say. He turned and saw the man had long bleached-blond hair, black nails, and eyeliner.

“And what city would that be?”

“Darkside.” The man gave him a curious smile and leaned back in his chair. He was a touch too drunk. His expensive dress shirt with a popped collar was wrinkled, and his black vest was unbuttoned.

“And what makes you think I’m new?”

“This is my city. I founded it. I know my people, and they don’t order straight whiskey.”

Damien noticed all other sounds had ceased besides the music. He looked up and saw all the eyes in the room pretending that they weren’t watching, and he felt like he unknowingly walked into a post-punk spaghetti western bar. “Is that a crime here in Darkside? Drinking whiskey?” he asked.

The young man gave him a big grin, displaying two long fangs, and that is when Damien recognized him. He nearly missed it without the typical velvet blazer and suede top hat he wore in every photo-op. This was Alec VanGarrett.

Alec was running a fingertip around the rim of his glass. “This city was built on blood, by blood, and for blood. This is my blood bar, Mr...?” The Vampire Prince never averted his gaze from the sixteen-year-old looking boy.

Despite the fact Damien could feel Alec boring a hole into him, he avoided looking back. He stared out past the bar to the brick wall at the back of the room. “Parker.” He took a sip of whiskey. “So, is that your town slogan? Because I would kill to see that on the welcome sign. By blood, for blood, and nothing but the blood."

Alec gave him a coy, fanged smile. “Mr. Parker...”

Damien glanced at him out of the corner of his eye. “Mr. VanGarrett?”

“Here’s a little tip.” Alec snickered, and with that snicker, Damien realized the Vampire Prince wasn’t threatening him, though make no mistake, he was dangerous. He was charismatic, charming. He drew people in like a black hole. “The next time you’re in a blood bar,” he said, “don’t order whiskey.”

Alec motioned the bartender, and before Damien could properly protest, a Bloody Mary was sitting before him. Damien became acutely aware that the red in the glass was not tomato juice. He remembered from his spirit etiquette course to not refuse a gift. So, he picked up the drink. He had ingested worse. He took a sip. The vodka and tabasco took the edge off the coppery taste of blood, but not enough. Damien hid his disgust like a practiced con. “Not bad.” He raised his glass to Alec, who waved to his comrades across the room. There was a brief sigh of relief, and all resumed as normal.

Damien laughed the tension away, and Alec turned from him to face the bar straight on. “What brings you to my newfound city?” Alec asked Damien.

Damien found Alec amusing. He had the aura of a prince alright- commanding, endearing, intriguing. Damien decided he’d go with a vague and unimpressive answer. “Looking to wet my whistle.”

“At four in the morning?”

“This was the only joint that was still open.” Damien sipped the vile drink again and regretted it.

“Because we never close. You can wet your whistle anytime. We, the vampire community, made Darkside so that it is always night. We will never be limited by the light again.”

“That is clever. How did you manage that?”

“The witches made their own city, Hawthorne Grove, and the city blocks out all demonkind. We came to an agreement, and they performed a ritual to block out the sun for us. The whole world should do it. There are so many of us here who are rejected by the sun.”

Damien smirked and said under his breath, “You mean you don’t glitter?” He stomached another sip of the Bloody Mary.

Alec smiled. “No. We don’t.”

Damien wasn’t sure if Alec caught the joke, but Alec seemed humored. Damien grasped for small-talk a prince would find mundane enough to walk away from. As charming as the prince was, Damien wanted to finish his whiskey alone. “I... er... I met your sister the other night.”

Alec’s inquisitive gaze did not waver, “Which sister?”

“Uh... ” Damien only knew of Alec what he had read in the mainstream papers. Thanatos did not catch him up on the Netherworlds’ latest gossip. “Josanna, I think was her name.”

“You met Josanna?” Alec bristled.

“Yeah. At the Yuletide ball with your father.”

Alec became condescending. “Victor is my sire and nothing more.”

Damien nodded, thinking of how much he could relate. “Yeah. I hear that.”

“You were at the Yuletide ball? What did you say your name was?”

Damien froze, wondering if he should lie, just repeat his made-up surname, or pretend he had a phone call that was an emergency and he unfortunately had to run, but it was lovely meeting you, Mr. VanGarrett. But, Damien snorted a laugh and said, “Parker. Damien Parker.” He laughed to himself at the reference.

“You’re Thanatos’s son?” Alec perked up, and Damien shrank. “I’ve heard about you.”

“Well, that’s- He’s my father, but-” Damien reminded himself to be uninteresting, and he wanted to avoid the topic, but it was too late. He classified his relationship status with his father as ambiguous. “It’s complicated.”

Alec smiled. “I can imagine. He’s a very demanding man.”

Damien cleared his throat and shook his head. “No. I mean, he’s not demanding. He’s-”

“Complicated?”

Damien chuckled and hazarded another glance at the prince. “Yeah. Complicated.”

Alec met this with a sympathetic look. Then, he glanced over his shoulder at his group to make sure they were fine with him entertaining his guest a bit longer. When he turned back he settled into his seat. He gave every indication that he was there to listen.

This made Damien want to run to take that imaginary emergency phone call, but he felt the gravity of Alec pulling him in. And he stayed.

Alec said, “Our fathers’ generation is... idealistic, and for those who don’t fit into their proper ideal- Well, let’s just say you better fit.”

Damien let out an agreeing chuckle.

“Because, hiding underneath that veil of propriety is something truly monstrous.” Alec grinned at the irony.

“That’s everywhere and in every time,” Damien said.

“No. It’s not.” Alec strongly disagreed, but softened his tone with a, “...or, at least it doesn’t have to be.”

Damien’s brow pulled together. Alec’s tone was authentic, wistful, but Damien had been around enough princes and young politicians to recognize the hook for what it was. A hook was a hook no matter how much Alec meant what he said.

Damien guffawed and licked his lower lip. “What is it you wi-want?” He almost said wish. To shake off the feeling of that word catching in his throat, he took another swallow of the bloody drink and had trouble masking his disgust.

Alec didn’t look offended like Damien thought he would, and he said, “My agenda isn’t a secret, Mr. Parker. It’s blatantly outlined in every major publication, and it’s the talk of New Bedlam, but I shouldn’t be surprised that you don’t know... You did order whiskey afterall.”

“It shouldn’t be available if it’s not on the menu,” Damien scoffed.

“This world is long overdue for a change. The old regime is... antiquated, cowardly. Our fathers are the type of men to stack the deck so no one else can compete. New ideas threaten their precious, romanticized lie.”

Damien raised his eyebrows. “Harsh.”

“The truth is rarely comforting,” Alec deadpanned.

“Ain’t that the truth.” Damien nodded. “He does like to play house.”

Alec let out a sharp laugh. “So does Victor. A vampire coven is the farthest thing from a happy family that one can imagine, and yet, he cannot let go of the fantasy. Vainly masquerading on, as if he were human. It’s delusional and absurd.”

“Thanatos likes to pretend he is a schoolmaster and guru, and that I was sent unto him as his pupil so as to be bestowed with his wisdom. But, this is only after torturing me in his basement for months.” Damien wandered off in thought then said, “I had an entire life before him...” That life only came back to him in bits and pieces, a jigsaw puzzle scattered and hidden around the abandoned haunted house that was his mind.

Damien hadn’t asked for Thanatos’s help. It was part of the bargain they made when Damien was still trapped in the basement; therefore, he shouldn’t be made to feel guilty for staying. But, maybe he had tricked himself into staying. Like Thanatos said, he could rarely do something of his own volition without tricking himself into believing he had been wished or commanded. He had even tricked himself to this bar. Thanatos wanted him gone. So, poof! He was gone...

But it was the not being wanted that was poisoning him the most. He entertained the idea of leaving this new life behind. He never could stay in one place very long without something bad coming along to end it all. Maybe it was time to move on, but he’d be alone... in the dark. His chest tightened. Even when free, he had to choose between the torture of his mind or the torture of the world. And maybe life wasn’t an either-or. Maybe it was both tortures all the time. Maybe there was no escape.

Alec disrupted his thought process. “I had an entire mortal life before I met Victor, and even some time before he sired me. I was with him for a long, long time before he turned me.”

Damien nodded to indicate he was listening even though he seemed far away.

“But, all that is behind me now.” Alec continued, “The past made me, but I will not let it define me. All there is, is the future, and the future... is mine."

Damien liked the idea of making his own future. He had never had that option before. He could go back to Thanatos, or he could not. He could make his own reality like he did for so many others, but nothing extreme or vapid. Over-indulgence is met by an envious universe. Something simple. A house in the woods away from people and their... complications. Damien raised his glass. “I’ll drink to that.”

Alec did the same. “To the future.”

They toasted, and Damien finished off the Bloody Mary, and he forced himself to like it.

“I like you, Damien. I see you have-” The vampire’s eyes narrowed as he took Damien in, “...fire.” Alec’s tone became soft, but serious. “They will try to dull that fire of yours. Don’t let them. We make our own destiny. The future is coming, and they... They aren’t equipped to handle it.”

“That’s a bold statement,” Damien said.

Alec put his hand on his chest. “One that I would stake my life on.”

Damien laughed at the pun Alec didn’t realize he had made.

Alec continued, “What are you doing for the rest of the night?”

Damien licked his lower lip and thought fuck it. “What do you have in mind?”

Alec rose from the bar stool. “Come meet my people.”

Damien thought again, fuck it. He stood and followed Alec to the group of vampires in the roped-off corner booth.