The old pub in the town of Oakleyeast was a fairly popular spot, and so hosted a whole hoard of varying characters- ranging from the young, strapping farmers of the fields nearby, to the old vicars from Oakleyeast St. Patrick’s Church. The middle-aged landowner was used to the differences in characters and had become accustomed to odd patrons, but not a lot could have compared with the customers that appeared in the doorway on the night after Daeht and Eyran knocked the old cottage down on Barrier’s Way.
Silent as snow- and just as cold-looking, Daeht and Eyran stepped through the doorway and stood, menacing and foreboding, peering around at the customers through heavy sunglasses. The landowner, taking a hearty sip from a tall glass, choked on the conhaque and stared at the two new men in the doorway, skin like alabaster, bodies powerful and muscular, faces… beautiful faces. She was entranced.
Ignoring the staring faces, the two brothers stepped past the tables to a small alcove at the back, away from the general mass. Daeht was trembling violently.
Neither seemed to be breathing.
Once they were seated comfortably- although both sat straight and awkward, as if they’d rather be anywhere but here, Daeht turned to Eyran.
“Why did you bring me here?” he hissed. “I can’t stand it. Look at them! It’s mouth-watering. God, it’s… it’s torture! How can you stand it?”
Eyran laid a calming hand on Daeht’s knee. The contrast was startling- Eyran’s white hand stood out like a pale aranha against the black material of Daeht’s jeans.
“We’re here for information. It’s hard for me too,” he whispered. Daeht tensed suddenly.
“A waitress is coming,” he breathed. Eyran nodded.
A tall, blonde woman walked hesitantly up to them. She was confident but cautious.
“Can I get you gentlemen anything?” she asked. Daeht clenched his jaw and looked down, his eyes focussed on a watermark on the table. Eyran flashed the puzzled waitress a dazzling smile. She looked momentarily dazed.
“Thank you, but we’re fine,” Eyran said. The waitress nodded and tottered away. Daeht breathed out slowly.
“That was close,” he murmured. “I nearly jumped her.” Eyran grinned.
“See, you can do it,” he teased. Daeht snorted.
“Just.”
Eyran frowned and looked out at the many people gathered at the bar. Most of the women were looking in their direction, but quickly turned away when they saw Eyran’s pale face pass over them.
One man boasting loudly in a corner suddenly caught Eyran’s finely tuned ears.
“Yes,” he was saying, “the house just collapsed. No explanation. Must be the weather finally got to it. The Hunters never did bother to renovate it when they lived there. ‘Specially…” He paused, belched and leaned towards his audience. ”Especially that Irina. Good for nothing, really.”
Eyran and Daeht were suddenly on their feet. If they had had working hearts, then their hearts would have been pounding. They made their way swiftly over to the large man, easily avoiding the watchful patrons. Presently, they reached him. He was obviously drunk; clutching a cerveja and swaying. He looked up when he heard their approach. Eyran glanced at Daeht, who flashed a large amount of money under the man’s nose.
“Follow us,” Eyran breathed. The man looked hungrily at the cash, and struggled to his feet. He followed the two strangers from the pub, while the customers watched silently.

Using the money as bait, Eyran and Daeht led the drunken Irishman to a side alley and stopped. The man nearly walked into them.
“Oh, watch where you’re going,” he slurred. Without warning, he suddenly found himself hurled to the floor, the two brothers leaning over him, their faces identical masks of excitement and hunger.
“Tell us everything you know about Irina of the Denali,” rasped Eyran. The man trembled.
“I really… I mean I don’t…” he began. Daeht growled and slammed him against the cold wall.
“Ah, that’s a shame because if you really don’t…” Eyran warned, showing his white teeth in an evil snarl.
“Alright, alright!” gasped the Irishman, struggling against Daeht’s ice-like grip. “Irina Hunter lived in the old cottage on Barrier’s Way. She had one child- a young girl, a daughter, but she died an old maid. She never married-“
“How did she die?” demanded Daeht. His throat was burning. He hoped this would be over soon, so that he could quench his thirst.
“Nobody knows,” gasped the man. “She vanished and left the house to the child, Penelope.”
Eyran and Daeht glanced at one another, excitement lining their elegant and terrible features.
“Where is her daughter, now?” asked Eyran, turning back to their quarry.
“Died, died years ago.”
Eyran and Daeht growled in unison.
“Is that it?” spat Eyran, his impatience getting the better of him.
“No, no!” cried the man, realising he was fighting for his life. “No, she had a child. Her name is Maria Hunter. She goes to Oakleyeast High.” His beady eyes flicked between his two captors, sweat pouring down his forehead.
“Ah,” breathed Eyran. “Excellent.” He stood up, slowly, savouring each moment of revelation.
Daeht was breathing quickly, his eyes bright beneath his glasses.
“Can I, brother?” he whispered. Eyran glanced at him.
“Since when have you bothered asking my permission?”
With a shriek of glee, Daeht dived for the man’s throat, pressing against his jugular to prevent him from crying out.
“Why?” was all the wretched man managed to rasp before the blood drained from his face.
Eyran laughed harshly. “Why?” he repeated. “Because, my dying friend, he’s a vampire.”


aleatório blah #2:

I suppose you may have guessed, clever lot that you are, but Daeht and Eyran’s names are actually anagrams. I was struggling to come up with names and I thought: what about names that reflect their personalities? Words that represent who they are- just twisted and rearranged? I wonder if you can guess which words Eyran and Daeht come from…