Dista stood at the rear of the amphitheater wearing one of her skintight leather outfits, a blouse, and capris. Today the outfit shined white; the blouse owned a deep v-cut. She enjoyed being the center of attention.

Inside were Twenty-one Rakshasan, led by her son Rashala and fifty-eight wolf spirit walkers led by her other son, Hubaire. Her armies.

Rocsa walked up and nodded at Dista. She wore her black cowl and cape. “Another kissing ceremony? Only you could pull off, making ‘the turning’ into a reward system. Work hard, prove yourself and receive Dista’s kiss and ‘the turning’ as the reward for all your hard effort. I like this one even more. You telling them you were the chosen by a prophet hundreds of years ago to lead them into a new age.” She burst into laughter. “I don’t know which is worse, you making it up or them buying it.”

“Watch it, Rocsa. You are walking on a borderline there.”

“Sorry, sorry. It’s just fun to watch. You turned me hundreds of years ago. I thought I had seen you do it all. But this…” She waved her arm across the amphitheater crowd. “Is a new level, even for you.”

Vocair joined them. She could have been Rocsa’s twin, except she wore casual, frumpled clothes with never brushed hair. Her eyes stood out of sync. Anyone seeing her felt things were not quite right. She jingled with excitement. “Can Vocair have some too?” She smiled. Razor-sharp teeth and fangs showed. Most vampires had fangs, but Vocair filed her teeth every day to get extra sharpness.

Rocsa rolled her eyes. “It is a kissing ceremony. No one is eating right now.”

Vocair pushed out her lower lip. “Vocair is thirsty.”

“That’s enough, you two. We will drink afterward. Stay here, both of you. Rocsa, watch her.”

Dista made her way through the center of the rows.

The crowd cheered and whistled as soon as they saw her. The amphitheater’s crowd was divided in two. To her left were the Rakshasan, and on the right were her spirit wolves.

I have done well raising my militia. Each branch and member having personal ties to me. We are one big happy family. A dysfunctional one, perhaps, but a happy one. But this divide needs to stop. They need to integrate. How do you get a dog and cat to play nice?

She made her way to the front stage and to the podium. Her two sons stood nearby. They had each received ‘her gift’ and had adjusted better than she had hoped.

Dista asked Hubaire, “Is she ready? What is her name?”

“Chalcoala. She risked her own life for the pack and almost lost it. She is ready.” He motioned towards the side stage.

A small woman with black hair and a pale complexion, Chalcoala, walked forward. Her gait—unsteady.

Two others brought forth a throne chair made of metal to avoid any stains.

Chalcoala sat tall, beads of perspiration formed on her forehead. Her uniform, the dark brown of her group, had several stripes she had earned sown into it.

Dista strode to Chalcoala, smiling in hopes of comforting her. She smelled the fear and excitement rolling off her. “Do not be nervous, little one. It will hurt at first. Yet, afterward, your new life begins.

Chalcoala closed her eyes. A single tear fell from her left eye.

Dista bared her fangs. They protruded several inches, then stabbed them deep in her neck as she pumped her venom.

Chalcoala screamed in agony.

Dista stepped in front, hiding her from the rest of the group. She waited a moment to be certain her venom started spreading.

Her skin around the bite mark looked black and made its way further into her body. Satisfied, Dista motioned for her sons to take her Chalcoala away. “My children, three days from now, you shall witness once again the miracle of our kind. Chalcoala joined our upper ranks today. Work and train hard; you could be next.” She smiled her radiant smile.

The crowd started chanting. “Dista, Dista, Dista.”