The air trembled after that furious roar, and from above the tree line a figure descended with slow and terrible weight.
Cain lifted his eyes and saw him clearly.
An old vampire with a nearly bald head that shone faintly under the moonlight. What little hair remained clung to the sides of his skull in thin gray strands. His mustache and beard were not separate but merged together in one long, flowing mass that reached down to his chest, swaying as he floated.
His skin was pale even for a vampire, stretched thin across sharp cheekbones, and his eyes burned with a deep crimson light that carried age, pride, and unchallenged authority.
Cain's lips curved faintly.
I'm sure this old vampire was not in the Blood Tower yesterday.
He must have been one of those elders still traveling back after the blood ancestors alerted them to come back.
