The clatter of dishes and murmurs of conversation filled the First-Class Dining Saloon, but Michael's senses perceived far more than the ordinary din. Carlisle's presence at his side was a steadying anchor, calm and deliberate, while Nathaniel watched him quietly from across the table. Hester, as always, observed with a patient gaze.
Carlisle leaned slightly forward, his voice measured, practical. "Michael, the first thing you must understand is survival, not mystical abilities. Feeding requires restraint. You must temper instinct with thought. Any lapse, however slight, could lead to catastrophe."
Michael frowned, his fingers brushing the stem of his glass. "I know restraint is required, but…" His voice faltered slightly, not in fear, but in disbelief.
Carlisle gave him a small, approving nod. "It is unusual," he continued, "especially for someone so newly turned. Most would have succumbed to impulse by now. Your control is… remarkable."
Michael's brow furrowed. "Why? What makes me different?"
Carlisle's pale eyes met his, steady and unwavering. "Nathaniel has observed you. From what he told me your powers manifest differently. Your facial structure, when using your abilities morphs in ways not seen in ordinary vampires, akin to bats and though the room is noisy, I can still hear your heartbeat. That too is exceedingly rare."
"I know I still have a heartbeat… which is unusual for a vampire" Michael frown.
Carlisle gave a small, approving nod. "Indeed. That is unusual for your kind and indicates the uniqueness you carry. But even with a heart, your instincts are powerful, and control is essential."
Nathaniel said nothing, allowing Carlisle to continue, but his gaze never left Michael. Hester's expression remained unreadable, as if cataloging every flicker of comprehension.
Carlisle placed a reassuring hand on his shoulder. "Once we dock in New York, I will ensure you have guidance in navigating your powers. Tonight, we focus on keeping control and safety."
After a pause, Carlisle's tone softened. "I suspect you have questions."
Michael hesitated, then nodded. "I do… why are all these vampires here? And why… are they traveling to New York?"
Carlisle's lips curved into a faint, wry smile. "Well, I would not be the one to answer that," he said, gesturing subtly toward Nathaniel.
Michael looked across. Nathaniel's smile was patient, faintly amused. "Semira and the others are part of a coven in New York," he explained. "She, alongside other coven leaders and the representative of the Lunaris, visited Volterra, Italy to meet the ruling leaders of the vampires—the Volturi. They finalized the treaty of peace between their kinds and ensured proper agreements were in place."
Michael tilted his head, intrigued. "Lunaris? What are they?"
Nathaniel's lips twitched in a knowing smile. "Ah… you have not read the books fully, have you?"
Michael shook his head evenly. "Perhaps not."
Nathaniel's expression softened, his tone patient yet imbued with quiet authority.
"Very well," he began. "I suppose it falls to me to give you the fuller story, since you have not read the book in its entirety. It begins with a certain man. He was not a vampire, nor a werewolf, he was a human, one of very few who survived the great plague that swept the lands long ago. That plague left his blood… different. Immortal, unyielding, and capable of passing on traits that could endure beyond ordinary mortality. That man had three sons. One was bitten by a vampire bat, and thus became the first true vampire of that bloodline. Another was bitten by a wolf, and he became the progenitor of what were called the original werewolves. The third… well he was still a human."
Michael listened intently, his gaze fixed on Nathaniel, silent but absorbing every word.
"The first werewolves were… unlike anything seen today. They could not shift back into human form. Their minds were erratic, their instincts savage. They bit freely, spreading their curse to others, creating chaos wherever they roamed. Civilization could not contain them, and their numbers grew quickly."
Nathaniel leaned forward slightly, voice lowering as he continued. "Then came Lucian. Unlike those first werewolves, he was unique: he could shift into a werewolf, and he could return to human form. His mind remained intact. He was the very first Lycan, the origin of the line we now know. But his birth was not without tragedy. A certain vampire, one who sought control over all supernatural creatures forced Lucian to bite humans, turning them into Lycans like himself. Through this, Lucian became the ancestor of the Lycans, their first true leader."
Michael's brow furrowed. "So the original werewolves… what became of them?"
"Vampires hunted them down relentlessly," Nathaniel replied, voice steady. "Many perished, some were locked away. By the time the Lycans rose to power, only a few of the original werewolves survived, scattered and feared."
Nathaniel's eyes brightened as he shifted to the Lunaris. "Far from here, in the kingdom of Norvagia. A land of dense forests, jagged mountains, and old superstition, the surviving captured werewolves fascinated a certain king. Their strength and resilience inspired him to breed them as weapons, to create warriors from their blood. Initially, he tried traditional methods, forcing them to mate with wolves, but no offspring came."
Michael leaned forward, curious.
"Then one day," Nathaniel continued, "one of the king's sons had a bold idea: to use a human woman to carry it's child. A peasant, forced into this role, became miraculously pregnant. The child born was normal in appearance, but as it grew… adolescence revealed the truth. At the rise of the full moon, the child transformed. Like Lycans, this new werewolf could return to human form but their power was tied not just to instinct, but to emotional growth. Late bloomers were common, and each had distinct traits: fur of various colors, often not black like the Lycans, and importantly they could not spread their strain through bite. Their line grew slowly, only through reproduction. This was the origin of the Lunaris, a lineage apart from the Lycans, bound to Norvagia and its traditions."
Nathaniel leaned back, letting the weight of the story settle. "So you see, Michael… the Lycans, the Lunaris, even the vampires, they all trace back, in some way, to that one bloodline. And your reading of the book… well, it has only scratched the surface of this history."
Michael exhaled slowly, comprehension dawning. "So the Lycans were not part of the treaty?"
"No," Nathaniel said. "The current Lycans' leader remains unknown, so they could not be included and much more the covens in America has a certain hatred for there kind."
"Who was the representative of the Lunaris then?" Michael asked, curiosity sharpening in his voice.
Nathaniel's smile deepened, faintly proud. "Well… you are looking at him."
Michael's gaze shifted, realization flickering. "You're a Lunaris?"
"Yes," Nathaniel replied simply.
"So… that is why that vampire keeps calling you a hound," Michael said, understanding dawning.
Nathaniel laughed softly. "Yes. That fellow has a foul mouth."
Carlisle's calm voice interjected. "I suggest we step away from First Class for the evening," he said. "There are too many eyes. We should find a place to move where distractions are… manageable."
"Agreed," Nathaniel said. Hester's soft inclination of her head confirmed her consent.
Michael followed Carlisle without hesitation.
As they walked toward the grand staircase, Michael excused himself briefly, passing Rose's table. Only the women remained; the men had drifted to another table to discuss matters proper to gentlemen. Rose's eyes lifted to him.
"Michael, must you go?" she asked quietly.
He bent slightly toward her, a gentle smile playing at his lips. "I have duties, but I will see you soon."
He leaned over and took her hand, slipping a tiny folded note into her palm. Then, with the utmost propriety, he kissed the back of her hand.
Rose watched him walk away across the enormous room, her eyes following him until he melted into the crowd. Once he was gone, she surreptitiously opened the note below table level.
(Make it count. Meet me at the clock.)
Her lips curved in a faint smile as she carefully tucked the note into her palm.
Minutes later, Rose crossed the A-Deck foyer, sighting Michael at the landing above with the three companions who had accompanied him.
Overhead, the crystal dome caught the evening light, casting patterns across the polished floor. Michael had his back to her, studying the ornate clock adorned with carved figures of Honor and Glory. Its soft chimes marked the hour.
Rose ascended the sweeping staircase. Michael turned as she approached, their eyes meeting, and he smiled. He offered his arm, which Rose accepted, and together they moved toward the throng below, their steps weaving seamlessly into the chaos of the Third-Class festivities.