To say that Rogan had been glad that Draven felt no interest in joining Caidir Olc would be a laughable understatement. The shadow-shaded bastard did not strike the red-haired prince as one who wanted to rule; Draven carried himself too languidly, cared too little about the world, to stand as a monarch even if he did possess the barest shred of ambition for himself. This hedonistic monster among monsters appeared to concern himself only on his next meal… the next poor unfortunate victim to sate his bottomless thirst for violence and blood and sex. Rogan did not fear that Draven would want to take over Caidir as alpha in the least; what had thrummed warningly through his mind was the possibility that the First Vampire would insinuate himself into the territory Rogan meant to build as a sanctuary for Diosa just for the pleasure of tormenting the bloody heiress. The nasty threat the onyx dragon had snarled at the merlot drake still had Rogan gritting his teeth with the desire to bite. How dare Draven threaten Diosa? What had the gentle night princess done to deserve Draven’s malevolent intentions? Absolutely nothing…

But Draven had not offered to add himself to the ranks, nor did he express any immediate plans to antagonize Rogan’s nascent kingdom. The maroon male had nearly chuckled with giddiness - all too happy to keep his precious sweoster safe and far away from that evil madman’s attention. Besides, even if Draven had declined any chance to strengthen Caidir Olc, a lonesome lass named Printesa had recently joined… and with her, a creature of impossible colors and an inviting scent which called to Rogan so strongly the vampire thought his guts might tear into a hundred pieces. The strange male - Yuka - was an Arcus Irae; apparently Rogan’s reaction to that agonizingly mouthwatering cologne was fairly normal for vampires. The burgundy warrior had yet to puzzle out why he wanted to feast upon Yuka so intensely. Other than the boy’s pretty palette, he looked and sounded like any other wolf. He fascinated the newly crowned Vampire Alpha. And the fact that there were more beings just like Yuka out there - each with their own delicious perfume - was what had Rogan out traveling from the edges of his home.

He knew this mission was dangerous. If Diosa had known what Rogan planned, she may have ordered him to remain in Caidir… and as her loyal saidu, the crimson soldier would have complied without a second thought. The first time he’d even brushed the signature of an Arcus Irae, it had been in the context of a savage battle with his hated enemies: the Tempests. Those heartless bastards had each worn traces of a delicious rainbow in their fur - Rogan had detected it even through the harsh reek of spilled blood and slavering saliva and dripping foaming sweat. At the time, driven to torment by the loathing the Tempests inflicted upon him, the fiery hessian had hardly registered the effect that even these minute threads awoke within him. Hunger, yes. But also smoldering whispers of desire, a promise of pleasure and fulfilment so deep the vampire could happily drown in it. The Arcus Irae were like a drug… or a cure, offering light to beasts crafted for darkness. Although Yuka was a sniveling stranger, Rogan felt happier when he hovered in the lad’s bright presence. And he knew that Diosa had to sense this soothing goodness as well. Why should those damned Tempests have sole access to the healing aura of the rainbows?

Large paws carried Rogan efficiently over the flowered fields stretching away from the mountain foothills. He knew that he traveled closer to Tempest territory with each step, and yet he pressed on bravely anyway, knowing that he possessed the upper hand at night. Maybe he would get lucky, and happen upon an Arcus Irae alone? Or perhaps he could take down a Tempest and steal their vibrantly painted ward, dragging the delicate faerie back with him to Caidir? Well… “drag” was a harsh word. Rogan didn’t want to hurt any rainbows. He just wanted to collect them all within his rainforest landscape where their beauty might heal the ache in Diosa’s heart and bring joy to the other vampires. And, yes… feed from them. But not hurt them. He’d try his best to explain his plans if he were fortunate enough to meet one. “Hello, my name is Rogan.” Gruff words muttered under his breath as the lurid devil practiced his inviting speech. “I see that you are an Arcus Irae… my pack needs you. Won’ you -”

It happened again, just like before: a jarring switch from lucid to murderous, as if someone had reached inside his brain and turned off every circuit except those involved with rage. Without realizing where he’d been going, Rogan had passed into a zone where a Tempest lurked - and vampiric instinct demanded he seek out the blue-eyed shit-eater and end them as soon as possible.

Fangs sliced down to their full length, beads of venom collecting at their fatal points and dripping down Rogan’s chin. His hellfire eyes blazed bright as red stars, slashing the shadows ahead of him with gleaming rays of blood. Muscles pumped tirelessly under bristling rust-hued fur. His alert senses dragged him closer to the site of the soon-to-be-battle - except his ears heard that there already was a battle taking place, because the starry atmosphere quaked with the crescendo of screams and snarls and ripping roars. A familiar taunting voice carried across the plains and spurred Rogan even swifter. Draven? Again? He disliked and distrusted the Vampire King, but Draven was still a vampire, still one of HIS kind, and Rogan would always take the obsidian demon’s side. Powerful limbs churned like pistons until Rogan broke over a hill - the scent of death quietly leaking over the veil of blooming blossoms - and he saw a female Tempest fall like a downed swan where she stood - and Draven was streaking like a dark comet up the foothills hot on the tail of a young rainbow fae -

Her fur rippled as she rain, every hair plucked from a sunset sky -

He could taste the flavor of her blood even from here, the sweetest nectar dribbling wastefully down the side of her neck -

The flame prince was mere yards behind Draven when another Tempest burst into view, a brindled teenage rebel who screamed defiance at the bloodsuckers as they rapidly closed the distance between their teeth and the object of their lust -

Leaving Draven to deal with the little blue-eyed bitch, Rogan stretched his columns out as far as he could, muscles straining with exertion, air jumping jaggedly from his lungs, and he leapt to either knock the Arcus Irae down or cut across her path and force her to swerve.