Felix's POV

I rarely have a problem with the dead.

But this corpse is pale and shrivelled, with limbs tied, angled and broken, stuffed into an ornamental bath tub. And it's drained, completely dry of blood. It feels empty. Hollow almost. It feels wrong.

I open my senses. The cords of the blood tie reach out, searching for an echo of the person who used to inhabit the shell, but there's no blood left. Not a drop. Nothing but ash, and the residue is rancid. I feel like throwing up.

I know my kin, every one of them, just by sensing through the blood connection. Behind me, I taste Avari, my brother. If his blood had a flavour, it would be toffee apple and cinnamon honey cakes. Or maybe caramel candies and maple syrup pancakes - something sweet and sticky. But this thing, in front of me, tastes like something burnt, something foul. It's making my head spin, and my mouth hang dry.

The blood gift is a rare gift of our kind. The gift of sensing others. Unique only to Primes and the First Heir. It asserts itself in a personal way. For me it's a taste, sometimes a scent. I haven't worked out all the flavours, yet. Human food fascinates me, despite not needing to eat, that way. Maybe that's how it cornered me, the gift, making me crave it, seek it out.

To taste everything.

My father, the only other of my species, other than myself, to have the blood gift, told me the blood sings to him, changing in pitch and tone depending on the family and the person. For him, it was always music. And the blood gift listened.

I watch him standing over the dead body, eyes closed, most likely listening to some melody. He looks peaceful, relaxed; a younger version of himself even with dark hair greying into white wings at the temples. I can't see his eyes but I know they are a deep, sky blue ringed with lilac, similar to mine. There are faint lines, crevices in his tan skin, smoother now, while he listens.

"Can you tell which family?" I ask. I don't want to disturb him, but we can't stand here all night. I've tried to sense, but he is better at this than me. Not because he's had the gift longer, but because he's Prime. I'm still only an heir. The First Heir, which is something more than the rest, but still an heir. At least until the Ascension. Our species, our kind, evolved like this. One in power, the Prime, and the rest of us, no better than drones. Even the heirs.

Our kind. Vipers. The Visicarii.

I laugh when the humans call us vampires behind our backs. To no one but myself, sadly, I agree with them. It's what we are – if vampires are alive, not dead, and drinking blood is biology instead of magic. Compared to the only other 'meta-cognitive' species on earth, sapiens, we must seem supernatural. Blood drinking (which we don't do anymore) aside, our abilities are beyond human comprehension. We're faster, stronger, and harder to break.

It's no wonder frightening, old world labels, tend to stick around.

"The family?" I ask again, jolting my father, out of his internal orchestra.

He frowns and looks up, gestures for me to come closer.

"Felix, you tell me. Why are you hovering at the threshold? Get over here." He shakes his head like I've already failed. "You need proximity. You won't be able to sense the dead from over there. The living yes, but the dead, impossible."

I hesitate.

Blood doesn't bother me. Blood is life and our species came from life, but what's left after blood, I don't want to know. I certainly don't feel obliged to get close to it.

"You seem pale Felix. I don't think it will bite." Avari jokes behind me.

I sense he's feeling agitated; over how long it's taking me to get my act together, over the wasted evening. We were both wanting to be away hours ago, but a summons to a crime scene by your Prime is not optional. There was no way to duck out of this one.

My lack of attendance to training sessions has not gone without notice. Being here is to keep my dad happy. And if the handover finally happens, to stop him thinking I'm completely useless. I don't have a handle on my unique senses yet. Sometimes they work fine. Other days they shrink into a void – an ache deep in my bones, a pressure in the pauses of my heart – refusing to come out.

I should attempt to train more, but knowing and doing are different as night and day.

"Thank you for the keen insight brother, from all the way out in the hall." I need not look at Avari to tell he's grinning, one foot on the top of stair ready to bolt.

I chuckle to myself and flash a grin at my father. My first mistake. There's a furrow in his brow and his jaw is twitching. The peace in him has broken.

My inappropriate humour has irritated him. I'm not taking this seriously.

I force myself to lower my eyes, wiping that stupid smile from my face – his words not mine, I realise too late. Already his mind presses down on mine – I'm not prepared for it – and a pain so awful sears through me, blistering skin and the blood in my veins, burning me from within. It's not real, it never is, the injuries are all in my head. But it's real enough that it hurts like a goddam lupa.

I lock my jaw, clench my fists, and take the agony. I'm used to it. It's his way of telling me he's unhappy with me. No harsh words or strained silences, like a normal parent. Just his will and my body bending to it.

No wonder I skip training.

He lets me go, leaving me irritated and red faced. In seconds its over and anyone watching wouldn't have noticed a thing. He catches my eye and there's a threat in there. Don't piss me off. I rein in my anger and look away.

Today I'm lucky. Sometimes, like now, he's in control, remembering who he used to be before he was Prime. Sometimes times he's worse. But mostly he's emotionless, carrying out his never-ending duty to our species without complaint. I can take the blind rages. I can even tolerate the cold silences, acting like I don't exist. What I can't accept is one day I will be just like him.

The day I ascend to Prime.

All Visicarii have the genetic material to become Prime, set in a dormant state until active. In my case, the entire sequence has already been, well and truly, lit. Nurtured at birth by a blend of circumstance, nourishment, and blood, my body has evolved to be different, better. Nature's way of ensuring our survival. I should be grateful, my life has always been a position of power and prestige. Well, to hell with that.

My whole life my body has been the one in charge. Giving me the power to feel everyone else's crazy, unwanted, scarred emotions; and know things, dark thoughts, the kind I'd like to carve out of my head. The rest of the time it hurts. A well-made prison of tissue and bone – one I can't escape from.

It would be easy to pass all this, my inheritance, to my brother. But I can't do that to Avari, or my family.

There has to be another way.

I roll my shoulders, tired all a sudden, and move closer to where my father is, right on the edge of the tub. He's watching me like I might mess up at any moment. Dad can be such a stiff, pompous ass.

The face of the dead twists into a silent scream, dry and cracked at the edges. Like every drop of moisture is gone, stolen. It's wearing a dress, a long blue dress with pink flowers on the skirt and white cuffs. My father reaches over and places a hand on the corpse's chest, his eyes closed again. After a few minutes, he opens them.

"It's faint but I can trace the tie back to House Amora. Here, now you try." He offers me the corpse. It's a command, not a suggestion. There's a part of me that dislikes being told what to do, even from my father.

I think it's the Prime in me.

"That's ok. I take your word for it."

I hear Avari snort a laugh, changing halfway to a cough, behind me.

"Felix." Father warns. His voice is soft, but the vein in his neck flares. His face a mask of disappointment and mounting exasperation. I used to be such a good son.

But you used to be a good father.

I grumble under my breath and grit my teeth, quickly reaching over to put my hand on the corpse. I've no idea what I'm doing but I try, anyway. We may not leave here until I do.

The body feels like wicker beneath the fabric. I swallow my disgust and close my eyes and feel for the blood that used to exist. My heart slows, and the world falls away. The ties to my kin fall into place like a deck of cards around me, relative to distance and location. Each one a unique flavour caressing my tongue. I linger on a few dishes, savouring the promise of power behind each. I could easily take a sip or drain them dry if I so wanted to.

Instead, with reluctance, I drag my sense away and focus one just one, the female in front of me. I use my own reserves of energy, not wanting to draw from another, to search for a drop. Just one drop.

I feel something... a lingering taste where there should be none, like gum, chewed too many times. I roll my tongue in my mouth and taste... ash.

"No, nothing." I pull my hand away and absently wipe it on my jeans. It tingles. "There's nothing left." I feel tense, wanting to leave.

"Your strength and skill is a joke. How can you be so pathetic, so weak?" His eyes question me, searching for an answer. "I wonder if you are even my son at all."

Glaring by way of response, I understand him well enough to say nothing at this point. His blood tastes of disgust and disregard. It's like battery acid. I lower my eyes but it's a struggle.

I'm sick of looking down. One day I won't have to.

"You don't have long to mature your gift."

"Three months to be precise," Avari chips in.

I shoot my brother a warning scowl. Avari rolls his eyes and sticks his thumb between his fore and middle finger at me. I suppress an urge to punch him in the ribs with my mind (not that my gift is working that well today).

"I'll be strong enough," I say, making my eyes meet his, my father's.

There's a determination in my eyes, and an edge of annoyance in my voice. I don't hide either.

"Let's hope you are. If you're not, you will not survive the Ascension."

With that, my father walks past me, out of the room. I fall in line behind him, Avari bringing up the rear. He doesn't acknowledge Avari at all. The Prime genes disable parental affection for any other heirs until after Ascension.

Avari says nothing but I can sense he's hurt by it. I would gladly pass all this to him if I had a choice.

You do, you just need to die. Like Tiana.

I stare at my father's straight back, rigid in his navy, fitted suit. He's the only one with the ability to sense my feelings. It's a wonder he's not figured me out. Every single thought of the day is about not being Prime. I stare irritably at the back of his head. He must sense. Or maybe he doesn't. The one thing I've gotten good at, around him, is shielding. Ironic really, the only skill I excel at and it's useless when I ascend to Prime.

Do you know how much I hate this?

I let those words float to the surface. The resentment and hatred of it all, I let it fester in my mind, openly. Usually, I push everything I think and feel down, hiding them, shielding manically, but lately, I've been so strung up. I don't care. Images and thoughts, of ending it all, swim in and out of focus. All the ways I could do it; painless ways, quick ways, deaths I won't even see coming. My shields are thin, scattered. My mind is open, pouring it all out into the ether. He can't ignore this.

When he doesn't react, physically or mentally, I find myself seething in silence. Even Avari's jokes as we walk do nothing to bring me out of my black mood. Downstairs, Magnus, the head of the Ebora family is waiting. My father walks over to him and they discuss what they will do with the body, and how they will appease the Amoras. I glance at my father, who looks right through me, as though I'm not there. I get the feeling we're dismissed.

Fine. I'm done here. I gesture to Avari and we both head outside to the auto.

"I'm thinking a stiff drink could cure wonders?" Avari asks.

I nod at my brother's suggestion. We both get in, my brother in the driving seat. He switches the vehicle to manual mode, preferring to take control. It helps keep his mind off things.

I send Magnus a mental image of us leaving and we do just that. The blood connection works only one way, towards those lower in the hierarchy. My father is the one person I can't sense or send images to, so I often use those around him as a proxy. I sense the surprise in Magnus that we are leaving. I ignore the question, the one lingering in his thoughts, in everyone's, even mine.

Are you strong enough to be Prime?

***

Thumbnail image credit - the the gorgeous Greg Nawrat