MY SUGAR MUMMY IS A BEAUTIFUL VAMPIRE

The grand council chamber radiated an aura of power and tension as the elite vampire lords gathered. Damien felt distinctly out of place among these ancient, formidable figures as he took his seat at the long obsidian table.

Lord Marlowe sat stoically to his right, Dravena to his left. She shot him a disdainful look as if he didn't belong. Across the table, four elderly vampires exuded an almost palpable force - the dreaded High Lords who transcended normal rankings. They were the ultimate judges and legislators of vampire society.

As the others filtered in, Damien noted the lords of Houses Vardanian and Von Nat were conspicuously absent, their seats vacant. However, two lesser nobles had been sent to represent their houses' interests. It seemed everyone understood the gravity of the situation at hand.

Once all were assembled, the High Lord Magister called them to order with a wave of his ancient, bone-thin hand. His voice rasped with a chilling reverb as he spoke.

"Lords and ladies, we convene this emergency council to address the unfathomable - a breach upon our very walls. An assault launched from within our own ranks."

A tense murmur went around the table as all eyes turned to the young knight who had survived the attack. He swallowed hard, clearly unnerved under such intense scrutiny.

"Speak, Sir Vardyn," the Magister commanded. "Tell this council what you witnessed."

The knight wet his lips nervously before beginning in a shaky voice. "It was chaos, my lords. Over a hundred of our finest men were felled by...by poison of some foul craft."

He shuddered, no doubt replaying the horrors in his mind. "The few of us who remained standing sought answers from the rogue sanguines carrying out these treacherous acts. But they...they refused to speak their leaders' names before..."

Vardyn trailed off, closing his eyes as if to block out the memories. When he continued, his voice held a hollow edge.

"Before taking their own lives in displays of butchery and mutilation. Not a one would utter who commanded their betrayal."

A swell of tense voices broke out upon this revelation, the gathered lords clearly shaken by such depravity from their own kind. Dravena leaned over to murmur in Damien's ear.

"You see, Damien? This is the reality we ancients must grapple with. Perhaps it's too much for a fledgling lordling like yourself to grasp."

He opened his mouth to retort, but the Magister's gravelly voice cut through the din.

"Enough! We will have order and answers. This council demands to know who is responsible."

The accused silence that followed was thick with accusation and distrust. No one seemed eager to speak first, though eyes flickered about suspiciously.

Finally, the elderly Lord Lorath cleared his throat and leveled his piercing gaze across the table. "Well? Which of us had the audacity to orchestrate such treachery? Do not attempt to deceive this council—the price for betrayal is dire."

One by one, each of the vampire lords met his hardened stare and shook their heads in denial. When Lorath's merciless eyes found Dravena, she arched one shaped eyebrow haughtily.

"Really, Lorath, you cannot think I had some hand in this debacle. I've no use for brute force when subtle persuasions serve me so well." Her lips curved in a dangerous smile.

Lorath scowled deeply but said nothing more. Damien watched the exchange with dawning comprehension - these lords were all suspicious of one another, yet no one dared make overt accusations without proof.

The stakes were simply too high to point fingers recklessly. These ancient beings all wielded unimaginable power and influence. To offend one was to court annihilation.

Seeming to sense the rising tension, Dravena slouched back in a theatrical display of disinterest.

"Oh, do go on and trade veiled insults and mistrust all you like," she drawled lazily. "I for one am quite convinced this was the work of some upstart malcontent seeking to sow chaos from the shadows."

Damien frowned at her disingenuous dismissal, sensing there was more calculated intent behind her words and pose than she let on. As expected, her comments drew the ire of several of the other lords.

"You speak far too lightly of matters which could undo us all, Lady Dravena," the wizened Lord Syrus bit out harshly.

Dravena's smile only widened a fraction. "Come now, I'm simply trying to introduce a modicum of pragmatism here. Rampant suspicion and bickering suits no one in this chamber."

Damien felt her eyes slide towards him mockingly. "Why, even our dear Damien here looks quite out of his element amid such weighty affairs of state."

All eyes turned to scrutinize Damien then, silently judging whether this relative newcomer even merited a voice among such august company. He sat up a bit taller, refusing to be cowed by Dravena's needling belittlements.

"With respect, Lady Dravena," he replied evenly. "I may be new to the proceedings of this council, but I am not so naive as to misunderstand the catastrophic implications of what has transpired."

Her mocking smile faltered somewhat as he met her gaze steadily. "I comprehend that we face a terrible betrayal from a bad actor working in the shadows, as you say. The only uncertainty is their identity and extent of ambition."

A contemplative silence followed Damien's words. He could sense several of the older lords nodding in consideration of his assessment. Dravena, however, appeared momentarily ruffled at being so deftly countered in front of her peers.

The calculating look soon returned to her emerald eyes, however, as she rallied with a light laugh and dismissive wave of her hand.

"Well then, it seems the boy lordling has some grasp of statecraft after all. How darling."

Damien bit back an exasperated retort, recognizing she was needling him intentionally. Allowing her to get a rise would only prove herpoint about his emotional immaturity.

Thankfully, Lord Marlowe chose that moment to interject in his trademark gruff, no-nonsense manner.

"Enough of these juvenile barbs and power plays. We have a grave crisis of potential treason on our hands." His steely gaze swept the table, quelling further bickering before it could arise. "We would be wise to pursue every avenue to root out this threat, not squabble over slights like petulant infants."

There were mumbles of begrudging agreement around the table, even from Dravena who seemed to sense further goading would only undermine her position in this delicate situation. A grim tension settled over the council as talk turned to investigating their own ranks and houses with utmost discretion.

As the meeting finally adjourned hours later with no concrete resolution, Damien found himself falling into step beside Marlowe through the dim corridors. He got the sense the older vampire wished to have words.

Sure enough, Marlowe slowed his pace to better match Damien's stride before speaking in a low undertone.

"You cannot allow Lady Dravena's disparagements to rattle you, boy. That's precisely what she aims for."

Damien gave a tight nod, consciously not allowing his irritation at being called 'boy' to show. "I suspected as much about her thinly-veiled insults and insinuations of incompetence."

"The woman is a viper," Marlowe said bluntly. "Her barbs carry specifically calculated venom based on oneself. You mustn't let them find purchase."

They walked a few paces further in brooding quiet before the older lord spoke again.

"Tell me plain, Damien. Who do you suspect could be behind this unspeakable betrayal?"

Damien was silent for a long moment, weighing his response carefully.

"Based on the scant evidence," he said at last, "I can only surmise it was an act committed by one with tremendous power and influence over the vampire hierarchy."

He met Marlowe's piercing stare head-on. "An insider of the highest order, whose reach extends even to sanguine lackeys willing to die keeping their leader's identity secret."

Marlowe held his gaze for several heartbeats before giving a slow, grim nod of affirmation. "My thoughts mirror your own. Which begs a deeply troubling question..."

His voice took on a hushed, grave edge as they came to a stop before a yawning window looking out over the moonlit castle grounds. "Which begs a deeply troubling question - if this betrayal was orchestrated by one powerful enough to command such fervent loyalty...then who among the ancient elite could be behind it?"

***************

As consciousness slowly reclaimed him, Blake stirred, his eyelids fluttering open to the dim light filtering through the canopy above. Groggy and disoriented, he pushed himself up from the ground, his head throbbing with each movement. With tentative steps, he navigated the forest path, the ache in his skull a constant reminder of the ordeal he had endured.

As he stumbled forward, his thoughts drifted, fragments of memory swirling amidst the fog of his mind. The name "Rose" echoed within him, a persistent refrain that danced on the edge of his awareness. Who was she, and why did her name linger like a haunting melody?

Despite the confusion that clouded his thoughts, one thing remained clear: he needed to find his way back to the beach. With each faltering step, he forged ahead, driven by the instinctual need to seek solace and aid for his injuries.

"Rose..." The name escaped his lips in a whisper, a question without answer, as he trudged onward, determined to unravel the mystery that lay buried within his fractured memories.