Mark Of A Maker - Chapter 1 Preview

Welp. Here it is.

I’ve been writing this book in my head for months but now I’m deep in the process of sitting my ass down in front of the laptop to write the thing once and for all. I’d love to say I’m currently sat behind a gorgeous antique writing desk, a glass of full bodied red Portuguese wine in one hand, a cat tucked under the other in a flow state… but I’m not.

Writing a book is easy.

Writing a book is hard.

I keep having moments where I’m like… “yeah… I can’t do this, there’s no way I can do this” and then I have to remind myself that I’ve already done it and actually I am more than capable of doing it again. I just have to fucking DO IT.,

So I’m doing it.

Please enjoy, by way of accountability, an exclusive early look at the first chapter of Mark Of A Maker which is coming this Spring. My wonderful editor Clara hasn’t put her magic hands and magic sprinkles anywhere near it yet so it is subject to change and the final product will end up much much better but alas, it’s a work in progress and hopefully satisfies your bloodlust.

Be gentle.

MM x

Chapter 1: Cassini

Tonight is the night I kill my brother.

It’s not like I haven’t ever thought about doing it before. After all, we’ve been bound by blood, siblings in a sick kind of way for centuries. Our past, present and future inexplicably linked thanks to the creature that made us. 

But blood will have blood.

Like a good brother should, I love him profoundly. The thought of him coming to harm ignites something in my marrow so hot it burns under my skin. Even now, after decades apart, it aches. I also loathe him with an equal fervor.

We have fought in one way or another for our entire lives. Bickering over banqueting tables over who gets the last bite. Snarling like dogs in a misguided battle for dominance. All of it stemming from a vicious fight for the love and attention of our maker.

I have thought about killing him almost every day of my unnatural life.

But tonight may be the night I actually do it. 

His immaculate snakeskin loafers barely make a sound on the wooden porch as he moves towards the front door. To be safe, I edge back into the darkness of the hallway. It feels unnatural to retreat. Usually I would be moving toward him, fangs drawn and ready to fight—but not tonight. Not whilst Lily is upstairs sleeping. 

“Are you going to invite me in?” he says with a smirk. “Or should I say… ask the human to extend the invitation?” 

He has no chance of crossing the threshold tonight. Or any night. I need to lure him away—far away—and do what needs to be done. It won’t be easy and I’ll take no pleasure in the act, but it’s a necessity. He’s found me, which means soon the rest will follow, and then there will be a war. 

“Damian,” I grit out. “You’re here.”

He tilts his head towards the porch light, and the yellow glow casts shadows across the hollows of his cheeks. Transforming his usually handsome features into something pointed and ghoulish under the lamp. Highlighting the dark circles that frame his dark, deep set eyes, like fading bruises. He grins but it’s unnatural, like the smile has been painted on to his mouth. 

“Cassini. Brother. How long has it been?”

“Decades.”

“Decades.”

The word leaves nothing but silence in its wake and neither of us bothers to fill it. We never have. Words are meaningless when the language we’re both fluent in is violence.

His eyes drop to my feet, and narrow as they slowly move up my body. Over my bare legs and the sprawl of black and grey tattoos that cover them. The barbed snake with a forked tongue wrapped around the right calf. The veiled woman on my left thigh. His expression doesn’t change until he gets to the creased black t-shirt I pulled on just moments ago. 

He regards it then lifts an eyebrow. “You have been in this country far too long I think. You have lost your sense of style.”

I scoff but he’s right. Once upon a time we dressed to impress. Each other mostly. His tailor made ceremonial garb for cardinals. Mine hand stitched robes for the pope. Both of them family businesses that served us for hundreds of years. Fathers passing knowledge down to their apprentice sons once a generation. Never once questioning our ageless faces. A never ending supply of weathered, practiced hands adding meticulous details with golden threads. They all died, but we never did. 

It pains me to admit it, but Damian was always the more stylish and tonight he’s come dressed to kill. I run my eyes over him, looking for threats and weaknesses. There are no visible weapons. No silver. No crossbow. Nothing that poses an immediate risk. Tonight we’ll be relying on our strength alone.

He’s not concerned with blending in. If he was, I doubt he’d have picked a lime green snakeskin suit, but he wears it well. Sharp hemlines and structured shoulders hang off his lithe frame fastened by an ornate gold button at the navel, revealing his bare, pale chest underneath. 

He appears to have dialed down at least some of his usual theatrics and left his garish collection of jewellery at home. There’s only a fine gold hoop in his left ear and when he scratches his freshly shaved chin absently, I catch a glimpse of the signet ring on his pinky finger. The one that’s etched with our family crest and decorated with his ‘birth’ stone—an emerald. The one my father gave him after he was turned.

He catches me looking, then drops his eyes to search for mine. When he finds nothing he shakes his head and tuts. “Naughty, naughty.”
“You came alone.” I say. It’s almost a question but I have the answer already. If the others were here I would have picked up a scent. It’s uncharacteristic but it makes sense. My father hates to travel, and my youngest brother Raef has never been one for dramatics. So unless Damian is hiding a small army out of sight, I can only assume he’s telling the truth. 

But old habits die hard, and whatever goodwill and trust we once had is gone. So I take another deep sniff to confirm but there’s nothing to suggest an ambush. All I detect is the smell of Damian’s oud spiked cologne mingling with the polished leather of his loafers and the pomade in his hair. 

My shoulders drop half an inch. If it's just him alone I could probably end this right here and now. I'm stronger than Damian, but not by much. Our father made us two decades apart but when you're as old as we are, the fine margins count. It will break my heart. It will make things worse in the long run. But if it means I can protect Lily tonight, I'll do it.

He glances over his shoulder. And then the other. Like he’s checking his own alibi. “Cassy! Why don’t you trust me? Of course I’m alone,” he says, mock offense etched on his face. “It’s just me frate. I want to talk. That’s all.”
“Talk?” 

His face softens, “Yes. Talk. No fighting. I bring news from Rome.”

“Sure,” I scoff. “And I’m the new pope.” 

He gasps, “you’re the new pope?” His long fingers reach for mine as he drops into a mock bow. “I’m so sorry, your holiness. I didn’t recognise you without your big silly hat! Let me kiss your ring.” 

I take another step back, slipping deeper into the shadows of Lily’s little home. I need to put some more distance between us.  At least whilst I think of a plan. 

He glides closer to the threshold and my fangs descend and press against my flesh. I clench my jaw and the points drive into my bottom lip, slicing into them like warm butter and flooding my mouth with the tang of warm blood. This is just perfect. I’m already bleeding and we haven’t even started yet.

“Such a strange little place this is,” he says as he cranes his neck to examine the inside of the house. He scans the hall until he lands on the ceramic swans that adorn the old coat rack in the hallway. “What the hell is that?” he says wrinkling his nose.

“None of your business,” I snap, feeling oddly defensive about the collection of strange, eclectic antiques that Lily loves so much. 

“Oh no no no. I mean no offense,” Damian says furrowing his brow. “I think it’s cute. Charming even… but it’s just not to your usual tastes is it?” he runs a slender finger up the door frame and surveys the cluttered hall, his eyes darting around as they catalogue the quirky colourful framed slogans and artworks dotted on the walls.  “A little too small, I think. Not so regal. Oh how you must be suffering in America.”

“You know nothing about suffering, Damian.”

He folds his arms and leans against the frame, “then why don’t you tell me all about it? I’ve been so curious about how you’ve been living all these years. We have so much to catch up on.”

“I have nothing to say to you.”

“I think you have plenty to say. Why don’t you come out here and say it like a man?”

“I’m fine where I am.”

He throws his hands up in exasperation. “Ah you’re no fun. You know that? You never were.”

“And you always had enough fun for the both of us.”

His eyes glaze like he’s remembering something beautiful. “It was fun, wasn’t it? It could be fun again if you like. I have a proposal for you. A way for you to come home.”

Home. What a concept. 

“I have no home,” I say. 

Damian’s face drops. His grin temporarily replaced by something that could pass as sincere. “That’s not true. You’ll always have a home, Cassini. Even if you run from now until the end of time there will be something to return to. All you need to do is face reality. Own up to who you really are.” 

“And who is that, exactly?”

His eyes soften, “your father’s son.”

“If he’s the one offering this so-called proposal, I don't want it.” I spit. “ So unless Notte’s himself is giving me his own head on a silver platter or a stake through his rotten heart I suggest you leave.”

His eye twitches, but his smirk is back. “Come on Cassini. You know better than that. You’re no good at jokes. Especially when it comes to our dear father. You should leave that to the professionals.” He gestures toward his chest with his thumbs. “Like me.”

“Very funny.”
“That’s more like it.”

Somewhere above us, a bed creaks, and we both look up towards the source of the noise. To the bedroom upstairs. 

Fuck.

That can only mean one thing. Lily is stirring. Her heart, which I can hear clear as a bell, is still beating steadily, but it stutters occasionally. Her breathing, which had been unwavering, catches in her throat. Her sleep, once deep, is fracturing as she floats to the surface of her dream, seeking out the light. 

“It sounds like your dinner is still breathing,” Damian muses. “I’d love to meet her. Shall we wake her nice and gently? Then we can share her like old times, perhaps? Bury the hatchet over a nice warm meal.” 

The thought of this animal sinking his teeth into Lily is like ice water on a raw nerve. Every muscle in my body screams to leap over that threshold and end him, but I practice restraint and arrange my face into something that could pass for neutral. 

The rage hits me like a rising tide, but brings a fresh wave of clarity in its wake. Damian always had a taste for the finer things and if I want him to move away from this porch I’ll have to tempt him with a good time.

“Fine,” I say, holding my voice steady. “I’ll hear your proposal, but not here.”

“What’s wrong with right here?” he asks.

“Nothing,” I lie. “I just think we can do better. I’ll find somewhere worthy of our lineage. Somewhere we can break blood in a more opulent setting. A reunion like this deserves a little ceremony, no?”

“Perhaps.”

Damian’s eyes drift past me to the empty stairwell—the one that leads to Lily’s sleeping body—and he cocks his head to the side like he’s listening for something. 

“Damian—”

“Shhhh,” he soothes as he puts his finger up to his lips. “Listen.”

The bed creaks again. The springs of the mattress squeak. And the bed covers rustle. She lets out a tiny sigh, and then I hear her voice. Hoarse and thick with sleep as she searches for me on the cold side of the bed.

I force a tight smile. It doesn’t reach my eyes but I hope it’s enough to convince him I’m genuine. “You win brother. You win.” I say. “I’ll meet with you tomorrow. Why don’t you come out with me and I’ll show you a good time? Then once you’ve had your fill of wine drunk women you can tell me your proposal.”

He narrows his eyes but they stay fixed on the stairwell. “I hear the wine in this country is like horse piss,” he says. “The Americans have such terrible palates. Their blood is nothing but Coca Cola and cheeseburgers.”

I shift back into his eyeline, blocking the stairwell with my broad shoulders. My voice comes out fast. Too fast. “You just don’t know where to look.” I blurt. “I know this town. I can take you to all the finest clubs. Places where the bleeders willingly offer their necks to men like you.”

He studies me. “You’ve changed your tune,” he observes. “Moments ago you wanted nothing to do with me, and now you’re promising me the world. What is all this?”

The bed creaks again, and I stiffen. 

“Cassini,” Lily breathes. “Where are you?”

Fuck.

Lily, don’t come down here. I think. Do not say anything else, my love. Speak only with your thoughts. Stay very quiet and I’ll be with you soon.

Her voice fills my head instantly but it’s quiet. She sounds uncertain. Scared. I close my eyes for a moment to focus on the sound. Cass? Are you okay? Where did you go?

I send a message back into the void. My darling. I’m right here. But you cannot come down. You have to promise to be very still for me fiore. Please.

Damian’s grin widens.“Cassini. Where are you?” he taunts. “It knows your name? Fascinating. Don’t tell me you’ve started playing with your food?”

I take a step towards the doorway, eyes scanning the hall for something I can use as a weapon but I land on nothing. There’s no convenient pile of silver to grab. No super soaker filled with holy water. No stake rack loaded with pointy objects. Just a few ceramic swans mocking me from across the way. 

“Tomorrow night,” I blurt. “11pm. VIP service. No weapons. No back up. Just us brothers. How about it?”

“No,” he says, his fangs glistening in the porch light. “No, I think I’m going to stay right here.”