Disclaimer: I do not own FMA.

AN: So, here is my first vampire-werewolf fan novel. I was wanted something different from the Twilight-esque series, and wanted to construct a bit of The Vampire Chronicles into this, so I hope it fit well. Anyway, have fun reading and I have written down a full summary below for dramatics' sake.

Summary: After a truce that lasted over several centuries, a single event leads two superhuman races into a re-ignited war that could spell doom on both. When a high vampire official is killed, the evidence of the murder all point to the vampire's ancient enemy: the lycanthropes. Under the vampire king's command, the bloodsucker army attacks the fey lupine creatures, forcing the lycanthropes to retaliate. When the war grows out of hand and secrets are revealed, can the vampire king Roy Mustang and the leader of the lycanthropes, Elizabeth Hawkeye, mend the wounds of the past and unite their race...or will they be destroyed by their greatest enemy: death?

Chapter 1

With a kind of speed that bordered on supersonic and an elegance that not even a formidable ballerina could exceed, Riza leapt from the top of the Empire State Building and across the chilly air. Her blonde hair flying out, and the white dress she wore flapping madly, Riza concentrated on the structure hurtling towards her. She saw the white color of the walls, the glass windows and steel panes. She saw the bright lights of the city at night pass by like flashes of light as she descended with dangerous speed.

At the last second, before she would hit window, Riza extended an arm and caught the rails by the side. Like a cat, she held it firmly and settled on the ledge softly, as if the extreme velocity she had jumped with had suddenly slammed and slowed down in seconds. With her free hand, she quietly opened the window. Once it had left a large gap for her to enter, she silently slid in, mentally praying that Lady Evita was asleep. She had no such luck.

"Riza! Where have you been?" Lady Evita, the curator of the Muse Hall, one of the world's most outstanding museums, thundered from across the long luxurious room. Though the woman appeared as if she was around her forties, she was centuries older. Being a lycanthrope like Riza, a fey creature that could transform to a lupine form through will, she had lived the world many times over.

After climbing down the window, and dusting the dirt off her white dress, Riza entered from the gaps in between the periwinkle draperies and looked at the elder lycan before her. She had honey-brown tresses, curled beautifully like the hair of the Greek goddess Aphrodite, and vivid green eyes. She had a strong jawline, a straight nose and soft cheeks despite her centuries. She was also dressed in a simple nightgown made of silk, the color of lovat, and it pooled around her on the carpeted floor.

"I wanted to see the stars. In a bright city like New York, one can never see enough stars. So, I went out and watched from the top of the skyscrapers." It was true, though. At night, the lights of the City were too bright for anyone to see the stars from the ground. Riza had no choice but to deceive her guards and sneaked away to innocently peer at the cosmic bodies that dot the night sky.

"You could have told me, Edward or Alphonse that! You didn't have to run away and make us believe that you were abducted by God-knows-what!" Lady Evita reproached as her vivid green eyes flashed lupine amber. It was quite common for lycanthropes, while in their human forms, to leak supernatural abilities, like changing the color of their eyes, while feeling some strong emotion. Riza had her fair share of doing the same.

"Yes, I would have but I wanted to watch the stars alone. Edward and Alphonse would have followed me like tails to a dog!" Riza reasoned as she threw her hands up. Edward and Alphonse were her personal bodyguards. Both were competent lycanthropes, very vigilant in their duties and were also brothers. Both had the same blond hair, and had light brown eyes, with flecks of gold. Edward became a lycanthrope at the age of twenty-one, his younger brother at the age eighteen. Riza cared for both greatly, but their banter could be annoying.

"And if you could have been kidnapped, or killed, in one of your escapades? What would you have done, then?" Evita retorted as she stalked closer, her eyes now amber with protective rage. Riza almost rolled her eyes.

"No one will kill me, Lady Evita. Not even the vampires festering around the city." Riza answered.

"Your overconfidence in your strength will be your downfall, Riza. I thought I taught you better than that, thought that I instilled in you the principles of being a true lycanthrope!" Evita countered. Her words, though said in blind anger, hurt but Riza did not let it faze her. Instead, she showed a warm smile that denoted the affection she felt for her surrogate mother-mentor.

"The lessons you have taught me have always served me well, Lady Evita. You need not worry, I will always be cautious." Riza softly said, each word honest and sincere.

Lady Evita was silent, her eyes still flashing gold. Slowly, the amber color faded and was replaced by vivid green eyes as the older lycanthrope took in a deep breath. Then, the woman moved towards the arch doorway. "Tomorrow evening will be the Atlantis Ball at the Tepes Palace. I have sent your dress to your secretary. You will have it by morning. Now, good night."

Riza smiled, knowing that the matter was now done and over. Her gaze followed Evita's fleeting form, before proceeding to close the window she had entered through. Looking around the quiet sitting room of the large penthouse, Riza shut the lights off and went to her own bedroom. She tossed her shoes to the side and smiled as her feet felt the soft carpet underneath them. Eyeing the expansive room, with its powder blue walls and large gaping windows, Riza sighed.

She didn't even bother to take off her dress as she climbed to her bed, the light of the shimmering city below reflected on the window glass. In her large king-sized bed, Riza felt alone as she drifted off to sleep. During some time later, she would expect her lycan guards to patrol outside.

In the quiet stillness of the night, the Death Agent swept through the wind as if flying with it. Feeling the great gust of air, he maneuvered himself properly to land on the rooftop quietly. In a matter of seconds, with his superhuman strength, the Death Agent silently landed on the steel rooftop. He looked around, and knowing that nobody saw him, he made his way down the roof.

Using his hands to level himself, the Death Agent grabbed a ledge and landed on the ladder by the side. He slid himself down until he came in contact with a large gaping glass window. Peering inside, the Death Agent curiously eyed the blonde woman sleeping in her bed. It seems the rumors were true: that the adoptive daughter of the curator of the Muse Hall was a lycanthrope, and one of the strongest of their kind. She was probably their Sentinel, the fabled lycanthrope who was unmatched in strength.

When the blonde woman turned in her sleep, the Death Agent quickly pressed himself into the shadows. Sentinel or not, one vampire was no match for a lycanthrope. He'd be mauled into shreds. Quietly, stealthily, the Death Agent took a peek down, taking in the fact that there were no guards in the lower areas. Without hesitation, he jumped off the ladder and into the cold air. The wind bit at his skin, his cloak flapping loudly as the ground came closer fast. Then, with acute strength, he landed gently unto the ground, as if he did not fall from a hundred feet.

Looking around, the Death Agent noticed that his presumption was wrong. There was a human guard by the closed gates that led into the New York Palace. The man was dozing off. The Death Agent smirked. It was only ten o'clock and yet the man was already tired.

"The Palace may need to hire a new guard, someone far more efficient and dutiful." The Death Agent murmured as he suddenly appeared by the man's side and grabbed him by his collar. The man came awake, stuttering and about to shout for help before the Death Agent threw him against the walls of the hotel. The man grunted as he came sliding down, his eyes clenched shut at the pain.

Before he could take a breath, the Death Agent was already there, gripping him by the neck. He lifted the man with one hand overhead and just kept on throwing him against the wall, the guard's skull giving off gut-wrenching noises as it was repeatedly slammed against concrete and stone, his moans cut short as his jaw was broken. Blood began pouring out of the guard's mouth, and a large tear appeared by the upper left side of the skull. The blood began to cake the wall, its excess dripping into pavement. When something cracked, and the man gave out a low grunt, a whitish solid lump stuck to the wall, covered in red. The Death Agent faintly noted that it was bone. When something pinkish erupted out of the side of his head, the Death Agent realized it was part of the man's brain.

How interesting, when the man was still gasping in pain.

Before anyone could come to investigate the dull thumping noises, the Death Agent ripped the man's collar away with his hand. The sweet fragrant of blood made the canines of the Death Agent elongate, his brown eyes turning neon blue. He opened his mouth wide, fangs exposed and extended, and bit the man's neck. Blood gushed out of the puncture marks, trailing softly down the guard's neck. Impatient and quite hungry, the vampire tore the neck apart with his teeth, revealing the severed carotid artery. Sweet-smelling blood blasted like a small fountain and the Death Agent lapped hungrily at the small flood. It began to soak his clothes and pool on the floor, but he didn't care. The blood tasted so sweet, so addicting; a forbidden form of wine.

When his hunger was sated, the vampire let the blood flow. He watched as the red liquid of life leaked out of the dead man's body, draining it of all function. When he was sure that none would come, the vampire gripped the man's head in one hand and ripped it from its body. He let the body collapse into the pool of blood, while his now-brown eyes observed the man's face. It was now slack, mouth open and eyes wide in his last scream of horror. Smirking, he threw the head against the blob of blood on the wall.

Turning his sights away, the vampire leaped into the night and vanished amidst the shadows.

Roy Mustang sighed as he flicked a Knight off his side of the chessboard. Inside the great throne room of his palace, amidst large curtains of red and gold and crystal chandeliers hanging above, Roy was bored. Sighing again, Roy threw away a Queen, watching as it rebounded off the wall and unto the floor. He turned his gaze back on the chessboard and glared. Yes, Roy Mustang, King of the Vampires, Prince of Darkness, Lord of Hell, Fiend of the Living, Heir to Count Dracula, God of the Undying, was ultimately and irrevocably bored. So bored that he pulverized the chessboard by his will alone.

As the remains of his chessboard, one made of pure gold and silver, scattered on the intricately designed floor, Roy lifted his hand and snapped for a servant. A woman came in, brown hair elegantly curled and wearing a tight red dress. She bowed, her curls falling unto her chest, forcing Roy to gaze on her large mounds.

"My lord?" The woman asked once she had stood. Roy gazed upward and into her face. She was pretty, that he could say and from what he had seen on her chest, packed quite a package. But he was in no mood for liaisons, and instead he asked.

"What are my plans for tomorrow?" His bass voice echoed inside the cavernous throne room. He could see the woman's left eye twitch for a second at his question.

"Tomorrow will be the Atlantis Ball, and it will be held in the palace, my lord." She answered. Roy nodded.

The Atlantis Ball was a celebration of the arts that the Tepes family, and now the Mustang family, held every one-hundred years. In truth, there was a deeper meaning to the ball than what meets the eye. The Atlantis Ball was actually a cover for the celebration of the Treaty of Ordoghaz, the millennium-year old truce between the vampires and the lycanthropes. Five-hundred years before Roy was born, the vampires and the lycanthropes had clashed in a great supernatural war. After seeing the massive casualties on both sides, the leaders at that time met in secret in the ancient castle of Ordoghaz to discuss a ceasefire. The Queen of Vampires and the Sentinel agreed on a truce, and from there on out, their descendants came together every century to celebrate the peace.

Now, Roy finally realized why the whole castle was in a state of optimum perfection. Sometimes, he thought that he was being a very bad leader, forgetting important events and such, but he can be rarely faulted for not remembering. Once, he had forgotten that it was daylight and walked out, only to be badly burned by the sun's harsh glare. Oh, he shuddered as he remembered the wild rage his mother had let loose at his delinquency.

Turning his gaze back to the servant, he raised a hand and shooed her off. Once she had gone, Roy stood from his gold and ruby throne and approached one of the large gaping windows. He watched the Transylvanian mountains in the moonlight as he contemplated on the ball tomorrow, and the future of his country. His thoughts suddenly landed on a matter that one of his subjects, one of his best friends actually, brought up: marriage. It was required for every King to be married. And in all vampire history, there had been no record of a bachelor ruler.

After Jean Havoc carelessly brought up the subject, it was difficult for Roy's mind to let go of it. He had once considered courting a noblewoman from the high court, but all he had seen in them were ill-fated, social-climbing, double-faced sycophants. They only flaunted themselves at him so that they may have the chance to become Queen and bask in the splendor and attention the wife of the King of Vampires receive. Such poor wretched souls really.

He sighed again as the feeling of loneliness crept on him like a spider on its web. He was three-hundred and twenty-two years old but he had still to find the perfect mate. He longed for the one that could warm his heart and give him life, but it seemed that such a woman did not exist. Sad really, he had been quite sentimental about it. When Roy was young and his father alive, he would often see the man alone by the fireplace, his face stormy. But when his mother, in all her grace and beauty, came into the room, Roy always watched with mesmerized awe as his father's face brightened and his eyes sparkled at the sight of his mother.

It had been a deep secret, a quiet longing, to have the affection that his father shared for his mother. And for such affection to be returned equally and unconditionally. Roy sighed again as he turned against the window and crossed the throne room and into the hallway, the torches lighting the way. As he entered the lighted hall, the carpet a thick red fur, portraits of his ancestors decorated the walls. Some of them vampires, some human. When he passed a certain portrait, Roy stopped and turned.

The portrait had been and will always be his favorite. It was a depiction of an extremely beautiful woman, with long shimmering golden hair and warm, effervescent caramel eyes. Her face was round, and demure-looking and it gave off a kind, caring demeanor. She must have loved the painter, for she had smiled softly and lovingly in the portrait, her eyes framed by thick eyelashes. She was wearing a deep brown dress lined in fur, and small choker-necklace enclosed her throat. A shining emerald was in the choker. Roy always loved this portrait because it always given him the greatest drive when he was down. Whenever he felt tired and weary of un-life, this portrait made him stand straight, chest out and head held high. Smiling in spite of himself, Roy stepped close to the portrait and read the plaque below it.

'Elizaveta, Countess Hawkeye. Circa 1263'

"Well, well Elizabeth. You seemed to have inspired me again. Well done, fair Countess." Roy muttered quietly, sadly at the portrait. He raised his hand a caressed the canvas, wishing it was the actual woman's flesh. He stayed there for a moment, and then he was off to his quarters.