Vladimir realized with his second Queen that he was onto something very good. He was surprized to see that the ancient cultures of our Lord's creation had not only room in their hearts for darkness and allegiance but knew power and respected power and desired power above all else...

Bestet, Egyptian born, royal born, daughter of the desert was no different. Raised in power, around power and with power - she naturally expected her due. She would, if she chose have the most powerful and strong as her own. Male or female they served her, desired her, had only her as their first concern.

Until her father fell.

And then they mayhem of cruelty and vengeance swept through the palace like a scirocco - Bestet and her court were hunted and found and tortured by the nomadic tribes that collectively threw off the yoke that her father had used to bleed the free people of their wealth.

And one night, a curious stranger parted the opening to the tent of her captors suing for refuge from the coming storm.

And Bestet was made to serve him. And their eyes met. And for the first time since the whips pelted her flesh she allowed herself to feel...

Vladimir's gaze was a soothing salve, his countenance a shield, Bestet stood with head high under his protective, powerful and dangerous ire and her captors were wary.

The tribal war chief saw opportunity in his guest's fancy. And food and wine flowed as winds and sand slashed the canvas - the war chief called for his best warriors to dine with their mysterious guest. And Vladimir was honored with goat and wine and Bestet.

She didn't mind washing his hands, it felt reverent. She didn't mind feeding him - it brought her eyes to his. And it happened - her heart caught. And she willingly embraced his power.

And the ferocious winds tore the tent away into the desert storm and the warriors were stripped bare and their skin was shredded from their bones and their tribe was blown from the earth, blown from history, blown away as if they had never existed.

And Bestet was untouched as she cowered in Vladimir's arms. And he held her as the desert claimed its due. As the storm calmed at his command, she released herself from his grasp and pouted. "You have taken what was mine." And he smiled with mock curiosity for her and knew he had chosen well. "Yours? But my lady, I have vanquished your captors, you are free, neither they, nor their sons, nor the sons of their sons will hunt for you, so great was their sin."

"Yes, my lord and benefactor, but I will never have their blood under my nails. I will never see their plead for mercy denied by own heart, never enjoy the vengeance for each lash and pelt."

"Oh, sweet desert bloom, why stop there? There is one way to wreak your vengeance on all those who aided your fall. Revenge thy father's death and re-establish his legacy."

"I would do anything for this. Anything. My father's fortune, my family's name, all that you ask. "

"Oh, child, I care not for the gold of man - All I ask is for one little kiss..."

And the Clan of the Scarab rose from the sands of the desert - and they tithed handsomely to the Vampyre King. But true to his word, it wasn't gold he was interested in, as he said, but human blood and souls.

And Bestet took back all that was lost of her father's empire and more. And the sands were stained red even as her palace was gilded with gold. And she ruled with hatred and dread. And none opposed her, and she grew and blossomed in the one thing that would have to be a substitute for revenege...

Power. And Vladimir King watched and smiled as his control of the desert was wielded by his Scarab Queen. And he was pleased.