Bloodbound

The air in Count Druid's ancient hall was thick with the scent of aged wine and the palpable fear of his guests. Shadows danced, thrown by flickering candelabras, as hushed murmurs filled the vast chamber. At the head of the table, Count Druid swirled the crimson liquid in his goblet, his gaze sweeping over the assembled sycophants.
A human server, her pulse a frantic drumbeat that only he could hear, approached to refill his cup. He caught her chin, lifting her face to reveal wide, terrified blue eyes. “Pretty thing,” he murmured, releasing her with a dismissive flick of his hand. She fled, skirts rustling.
Just then, the great doors creaked open, admitting a gust of wind that snuffed out several candles. All eyes turned as heavy boots struck the stone floor. His brother emerged from the darkness, a grin of malice on his face. "Late as ever," Druid drawled. The evening, it seemed, was just beginning.