Tales of Terion

Crossed Stars Don't Always Fall

2011-08-09T04:38:00.001-05:00

"We're like Romeo and Juliet."

"What?" repeated Darien as he jerked his head up from his book to find Arana smiling sleepily at him from the other end of his couch where she'd been napping. He then frowned, flicking the heavily dog-eared pages in his fingers, and said, "No, we're not."

She laughed at that and sat up, sliding across the cushions to settle next to him. Her eyes flicked over the old and obviously very well read copy of the play in his hands then she pulled it away to set it down on his coffee table. "Yes," she said firmly, "we are."

Darien wrapped an arm around her waist, wondering exactly what point she was trying to make. "I'm not particularly fond of death, Rana. I would make a terrible Romeo."

She tossed her head back at that and let out a silvery laugh. Then she moved, settling herself in his lap and kissed him as she murmured, "I don't mean that bit, O'Connell. Honestly, taking that part of the relationship to mark our own would be something a love-struck teenager would do."

Arana grounded her hips downward into his then, making him groan and grasp at her thighs. "And I'm not a teenager, now am I?" she purred huskily.

"I could swear you're randy like one," growled Darien back a few moments later when he was able to think clearly again.

"You would know, Mister Stuck-At-Nineteen-Forever."

"Not my fault."

She snorted then smiled as she said, "I'd make a terrible Juliet myself so we're even. I mean, seriously, me doing things like she does?"

Darien laughed at that and nodded. "Agreed, Miss Folwns. I could never imagine you as a love-struck teenager." He then leaned forward to peck her lips in a quick kiss as his hands began to slide upwards underneath her shirt. "Obviously you're a sex fiend."

"That's your fault."

He grunted then began tracing an idle circle over her hip bone with his right hand. "So what did you mean? I've read that play several times and I'm not following how we're like Romeo and Juliet."

Arana rolled her eyes, giving him that look she had when he was being particularly stupid. Sighing, she wound her arms around his neck and leaned forward, her breasts pressing into his chest as she kissed him. "The star-crossed bit, idiot," she grumbled with a shake of her head. "Honestly, you own copies of Shakespeare older than the both of us combined and you couldn't get that? You really do have a teenage mind."

"I resent that," grumbled Darien. He then frowned and asked, "So if we're star-crossed, does that mean this is going to end badly?"

"Not every one of them does."

"No, just most."

She hummed at that and slid both hands underneath his shirt to rake her fingernails lightly across his chest. As he growled and tugged her closer, she firmly stated, "And who said we had to follow their example?"

"You started this star-crossed thing, Rana," Darien breathed as he leaned forward to kiss her.

When they came up for breath, Arana answered him with, "I was just going off the fact that I'm three centuries younger than you, Dari. Surely that counts."

"Given the time gap and that this isn't just some fling of a relationship, yeah, I'd agreed. Let's just remember to skip the dying part."

"Duly noted," she purred as she leaned in close again and he forgot all about crossed stars, plays, or dying in favor of the woman in his arms.

From the Journal of Kerim Tarellen: Age Fourteen

2011-07-13T03:07:00.000-05:00

My grandfather hates me. And he isn't subtle about it the way Arick's father is with him.

I guess there's a difference in that Arick is the unwanted sixth child - just another mouth to feed. Me, on the other hand, I've got two strikes against me according to Vald.

One: I'm half elf and he hates elves.

Two: My birth killed my mother, his only child.

Of course Vald Tarellen follows what's apparently old family code: "blood is blood no matter what." That's the only reason he didn't shuck me into an orphanage before my mother's body had gone cold. I've heard how much he wanted to more times than I can count and every time he tells me I should be glad he kept to the family code. How can I be glad when my only blood kin loathes me and only puts a roof over my head and food in my belly because some Tarellen years ago said so?

To the planes with Vald though. Not like he'll have to worry about me much longer anyway and I'm sure seeing the back of me will make him happier than he's ever been. He'll probably congratulate himself on getting rid of me.

Soon as we have enough coin saved up, Arick and me are gone from Mathan. We're going to get out of this nothing port and make our own fortune, take control of our own lives, and anyone that tries to stop us can go to the planes. I'm not going to end up like my grandfather in the back of beyond with a piss poor job.

I'm going to make something of my life.

The Price of Justice

2011-04-22T00:12:00.001-05:00

Merely an attempt at trying to get some things out of my head involving a story for one of my classes. Also a little bit of inspiration via Dragon Age II (but very very minor).

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His mother was dead.

He turned seventeen today and his mother was dead.

Edwin Fell dropped his head into his hands, long fingers lacing into his blond hair, and shook where he sat on the front steps of his house. Yet even as he closed his eyes he could still see her body where it hung from the upper half of the stairwell. The image seemed like it was seared into his brain from the moment he'd walked in the door after school.

What he didn't understand was why.

She had been fine before he'd left in his brand new car, before she'd gone to work. It had been her idea to celebrate his birthday with just the two of them since they hadn't had time together in so long because of her work. "Pizza and whatever movie you want," she'd told him with that same bright smile she gave every morning when he came downstairs. He'd been looking forward to time spent just with her all day too, barely able to pay attention in class.

And now...she was dead.

"Eddie?" A small body dropped next to him on the steps, an arm moving to wind around his waist as the hand attached to the other curled fingers gently around his wrist. "I'm sorry."

Edwin lifted his head at those words, trying to ignore the sharp pinprick of tears that threatened the corners of his eyes, and frowned at the girl next to him. Melanie Stark gave him a look that was far too old for her fourteen years as he asked, "The hell do you have to be sorry for, Mel? It's not like you killed her."

She just kept giving him that look until his skin started to crawl and he opened his mouth to speak. Melanie moved at that moment, throwing her arms around his neck, her sudden weight pushing him back into the stairs until his spine dug into the concrete steps. She buried her face in his shoulder and Edwin blinked a few times before he slowly wrapped his arms around her, his expression edging on worried.

"Mel? Are you...all right?"

"Am I all right?" she gasped into his shirt, voice slightly muffled. "Me? That's not the question that needs asking." Melanie lifted her head then and stared him right in the eye before she said sharply, "I'm not okay. You're not okay. Nothing about this is okay, Eddie."

Edwin attempted a scowl at the nickname but the effort was halfhearted. He then laid his head back against the porch, closed his eyes, and let out a heavy sigh. "I'm not okay," he admitted.

"No," Melanie agreed. She then shivered and said, "Mom's talking to the police about letting you come with us. That's how I got past."

"Oh," he said. He hadn't even wondered how she'd gotten past the ring of officers and police cars that had blocked off his yard from the street and the errant passersby. Edwin was barely even aware of the blue and red lights that still lit up his yard. He then frowned as his chest tightened, something seeming to grow quickly within him. It swelled and he found himself choking on a sob, his arms tightening around Melanie as he lifted his head to bury it in her hair and gasped, "She's dead. My mom's dead."

"Oh, Ed," he heard her breath then he couldn't keep it in anymore. The great monstrous thing growing in his chest demanded release, clawing at his throat and lungs for purchase. For a moment he couldn't breath, couldn't speak...then Melanie's arms tightened around him and it all came bursting free.

For a moment he lost track of time and he was...nowhere. There was no house, no steps, no Melanie, no dead mother. Just...emptiness.

And he wondered if that nothing, that silence, was what death was like.

Then the world caught up - or did he catch up with the world? - and Edwin found himself practically cradled in Melanie's mother's arms. He shook and tried to pull away but Elizabeth Stark held on to him tightly until he went limp again, all the fight gone out of him. What was there to fight for? He had no one with his mother gone; all of her family was dead and his father had left when he was five to have another family. The Starks...they were all he had. And he...

Well, they had always called him their second son. Even after...no, he didn't want to think about that now.

"Officer," he dimly heard Elizabeth say, "please let me take him away. This isn't any place for a child to be."

"Ma'am, I..."

"We live just down the road: number 305." There was silence then Edwin felt her fingers in his hair and leaned into the touch. "I've known the boy since he was seven. He's like a son. Please. He's been through enough today."

A pause answered then a man sighed before saying, "Officer Grady will escort you home, Mrs. Stark. Just bring the boy by the station tomorrow so we can talk to him."

"Of course. Thank you. Come on, Edwin." She was pulling him up then, his hands in hers, and Edwin felt Melanie's hands pulling at his sides until he stumbled upright. Between them and the officer they somehow got him to the Stark home though he didn't remember the trip. After that outburst, he had gone numb in mind and heart.

It was like every emotion had poured out of him and now he had nothing left to allow him to feel.

Edwin was barely aware of being prepared for bed and he automatically swallowed the pills that Elizabeth pressed into his hand. He felt trapped in his own body as she tucked him in, kissed his forehead, then left with a soft promise to come check on him later. There were so many things he wanted to say - thank you, I'm sorry, you don't have to take care of me - but none of the words would come.

Exhaustion caught up with him and the pills kicked in as the stress that had been keeping him going melted away. His eyelids were fluttering despite not wanting to go to sleep for fear of seeing his mother's body hanging again and terror welled in the back of his throat.

Then Melanie ghosted into the room and burrowed under the blankets next to him almost before he was even aware of her presence. Edwin was grateful for the company though, for the comforting press of her arms against his ribs, and shifted across the pillow to lean his head against hers. She kissed his nose and gave him that sad knowing look older than her years again before she closed her eyes.

He wanted to say something about how inappropriate it was for her to be there but he didn't. After the day he'd had...after the year they'd both had...he appreciated the move. Plus, he'd known her since she was four years-old so she was nothing more than a little sister in his mind.

So instead Edwin gave into the silence, the comfort, and the exhaustion, falling into a troubled sleep that was miraculously absent of his mother's hanging body.

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Edwin Fell woke screaming from the image of his mother hanging and stumbled from his bunk. Fumbling in the dark for the door, he staggered into the hallway of his group's latest little hideout and slumped against the wall. His breath came in harsh gasps as he slid down to the floor, fingernails clawing for purchase in the cheap wood of the wall paneling of the old house.

Eighteen years of moving past them and one little hidden file brought all the nightmares about his mother rushing back.

Swiping a hand over his face, he started to get up when a door down the hall opened. When Melanie stepped out and rushed down to his side, he wasn't surprised.

She'd probably been expecting this sort of reaction.

"I shouldn't have let you drink," she muttered as she brushed back his blond hair. Edwin made a noise at that, though he wasn't sure whether it was disagreement or yes, you should have, then lifted a hand to cup her cheek. Her hand was instantly over his and then their fingers were tangled. "Ed?"

"I'm okay," he muttered and shrugged at her dubious expression. "I got over Mom's death a long time ago, Mel. It's...knowing she was trying to stop them, that they killed her to keep it quiet. I just..."

Edwin paused, frowning, then sighed as he leaned his head back against the wall with a hearty thump.

"Is that the price of justice? To fight for what's right only to die for that cause? Is that what I've doomed us all to?"

Melanie opened her mouth to answer then closed it as she turned to sit down next to him. He wrapped his arm around her shoulders and then they leaned their heads together as she whispered, "There's only one question that needs asking."

Eerily he was reminded of that night, of the question of whether he was okay. He knows that isn't the question this time though.

"What?" asked Edwin.

"If that's the price of justice, is it worth fighting for?"

He flinched at the question then Edwin thought of his mother, of her brother, of their friends, their fellow rebels, and so many more. Every innocent life taken because of the technology his mother had developed and then tried to destroy. Had her attempt at justice been worth it?

Was the freedom of the world worth it?

Edwin closed his eyes as he answered, "Yes," and then Melanie's arms were wrapped around him again like they were that afternoon so long ago in a silent acceptance of that answer.

If they got justice for the dead and the living then died, the price was worth it.

Maybe it wasn't pretty. And maybe the way they'd get it wouldn't be right in the eyes of others when their story is told in the aftermath.

Nobody ever said justice was easy though.

Even Rocks Have a Sense of Humor

2011-01-20T02:04:00.000-06:00

"And for another thing, Da'vil, I don't sleep with every man that I catch the eye of!" snapped the red-haired sorceress before she stormed away from the trestle table, deliberately upsetting the lunch he'd been thoroughly enjoying. Da'vil Graymare just blinked after her, a little confused by her outburst, but covered it by looking mournfully down at where his plate now rested on the floor by his boots.

He honestly hadn't meant to set her off but sometimes his mouth ran away from him. Plus he tended to forget that little Koija at-Isant was still nursing a crush on him after three years of traveling together and him...well, being him. It wasn't like he invited women into his tent or room. He just gave them the boyish smile he gave everyone else upon meeting and was too much of a gentleman to turn them away later on.

Next to him the third member of their little group shifted with a sound like a small avalanche and Da'vil turned to arch an eyebrow at the golem. "Problem, Crag?" he asked as the living rock formation had an oddly...uncomfortable...look on his face. Which was impressive given that his features weren't meant to shift into alternate expressions.

"She make me have a rock formation in my pants," said the golem slowly in the perfectly even tone he tended to speak in.

Da'vil's mouth dropped open slightly in shock as his brain fought to process the words as well as the mental image. He was fairly certain that the former man couldn't get that kind of reaction anymore but in the year they'd spent together, he hadn't shown much of a sense of humor either. An unfortunate side effect of the process that had turned him into a golem against his will.

So the mercenary turned...whatever he was now that he was helping people just said, "You don't have pants."

Crag turned his head with the sound of rock scraping harshly against rock, fixing the man with his gemstone gaze. "Irrelevant," he answered matter-of-factly before his attention went back to whatever he had been focusing on. Da'vil opened his mouth to say something but found he couldn't find the words so he just shook his head and bent over to pick up the remains of his lunch with a slight smile.

He's lost his meal because of Koija but it was worth it to hear the normally emotionless golem attempt a joke.

At least he hoped it had been a joke.

NaNoWriMo Character Exercise: Paul Baxter

2010-10-31T01:50:00.000-05:00

I feel in love with Sarah the moment I saw her.

For a fourteen year-old kid from a shitty home who was falling fast into the Dark she was like an angel coming to save me. She treated me like a second little brother from the start and I loved it. I wanted to be a part of their family so badly...but shit happens.

What I know now is a hell of a lot different than what I knew then. Now I know Dev and Sarah are my family. Back then...I still wasn't ready to turn my back on my parents even if my mother was a falling-down drunk and my father was angry at everything for no reason. So when he told me to stop hanging around that do-good bitch (meaning Sarah and Dev's mom), I did it. I cut ties with Sarah too, completely ignoring her because I didn't want him to notice her. Devin he didn't care about so I kept right on being friends with him and he never asked what was going on even though I know it had to bother him.

Sarah...it was agony ignoring her. That's part of the reason why I kept getting further and further lost in the Dark; because I no longer had her to help me out of it. And for some reason she just let it slide, like she knew exactly why I was doing what I did.

After I tried to kill Dev and left my so-called "friends" it was like nothing had happened in the time between when I started ignoring Sarah. That first morning after I slept on their couch, she woke me with the same smile that had been haunting me for almost five years and got me up for breakfast. It was eerily reminiscent of the first (and only) time before that I'd spent the night at their house. And it was peaceful. I spent that entire time just sitting at the kitchen table watching her cook, not even noticing that Dev or their parents had come in. My eyes never strayed from her and all I wanted to do was to just stay near her and bask in her calming presence.

So, yeah, trying to kill my best friend opened my eyes. And they all made me feel really welcome and at home somewhere for the first time in my life.

It was Sarah that made me realize what a monster I'd really become, though.

I'd be nothing without her.

NaNoWriMo Character Exercise: Devin Ridgefield

2010-10-30T02:51:00.001-05:00

I think the sense of a kind of kindred spirit is what first drew me to Paul. Or more him to me as he jumped in to defend me against a pair of bullies at the start of seventh grade. With Sarah moved on to the high school, I'd been the prime target for the bullies she'd once driven off and who I refused to touch. Back then I was still too scared of the need to hunt that would sometimes well up within me, to chase down something smaller and weaker than me...and I knew all too well that I could turn the tables on the bullies who only pretended to be strong.

Paul rose to my defense though. He was thirteen, just barely under the mark that would have put him a grade ahead of me, and he wasn't afraid of the bullies. And where Sarah was my safe place to run to when things got too much, he helped me stand tall and try to face what was coming. Sure, I didn't always succeed (shit, I failed more than I like to recall) but he kept me getting up. He's the one that taught me how to brawl too and got me my first drink two years later (don't tell Sarah about that one, she'd kill us both for being such fools). I owe him...I owe him a lot more than I can ever pay back, though he'd tell you he owes me the same.

Really I'm not sure when Paul found his magic but by the time we met he was descending. He wasn't going down fast (more of a casual saunter downwards) but he was going down. There wasn't anything I could do to stop it either except just sit back, be the best friend I could, and hope (not pray, I'll leave that to Sah) he came back. And he did, holy shit, he clawed his way back out of that darkness like a man who'd been drowning but it took a real kick in the pants.

I mean, he did try to kill me.

Paul, my best friend, tried to kill me at eighteen for spell components. It took me punching him in the face and giving him a black eye I'm still proud of to get his head right but he saw what he'd been doing. And what he'd done inadvertently to his then girlfriend Melinda who'd been through things I didn't even want to imagine and come out scared, angry, and power-hungry. Whatever he'd descended into, he dragged her right down with him and when he came up for air, she stayed at the bottom of the ocean. So he left, just like that, picked up from the condemned building where they and a few others of their group lived and started camping out in our living room on the couch. Maybe it was wrong to run...but I can't say I blame him.

Mom didn't take long to practically adopt him as a second son and I think that helped him. Paul never talks much about what his home life was before he dropped out of school and ran away but I've seen enough to know his parents couldn't touch the boots of the lowest-of-the-low if they were standing on their tip-toes (and that's on a good day). Living with us reintroduced him to Sarah, too, and to finally admit he'd been in love with her since he was fourteen - which was just one of the things he'd been running from at the time. And when Mom and Dad died, he was there to help both of us through it just like we were there for him.

I feel...bad though. The one thing I'm most grateful for about Paul?

He's walked the same dark paths as me.

NaNoWriMo Character Exercise: Sarah Ridgefield

2010-10-30T02:04:00.000-05:00

I remember clearly the night Mom brought Devin home. He was this tiny scruffy little thing that just clung to her neck like she was the last safe place on Earth, eyes wide in a mix of awe, fear, and caution. That impression of him, all of five years old, is one of the clearest memories from my childhood.

Only eight and I can remember every second of that night like it was yesterday.

It never surprised Dad what she did; Mom did things like that. She gave a homeless man fifty dollars on one hand and brought a teenage girl surviving only by prostitution into the house for a simple bowl of soup. Mom was...amazing is the only word I can find to accurately describe her. She had a heart bigger than the rest of her and when she found Devin abandoned on the street she couldn't help but bring him home. Of course, neither of us found out until later that he wasn't officially a member of the family until he was nine but we had the papers to prove it so the how didn't matter.

Mom fought tooth and nail for her family. The only problem was she saw everyone as extended family. That's what got her and Dad killed in the end; she insisted they pick up this hitchhiker and, well...you can only get so lucky with hitchhikers before you find one that's not looking for just a ride and maybe a meal.

That was later though. Growing up...things were good. Happy. We became a family fast and I took to the role of big sister like a duck to water. And, thinking back on it, we both knew there was something off about him even back then. Devin was an unnaturally quiet little boy (and he's still a very quiet man in general) and he always was watching when we were in public, his eyes darting everywhere as if he needed to see everything. Even when he was five and refused to go anywhere without his hand in mine, he was watching, keeping an eye out for me same as I was keeping an eye out for him.

I remember the first time I knew something was really really wrong was three years later when he was eight and I was eleven. He came creeping into my room that night and climbed in with me, not answering me with anything but a whimper and burrowing into my arms. In the end all I could do was curl myself around him and go to sleep wondering what was wrong with my baby brother and how I could make it better. I didn't know until much later that that was the first night he'd really felt the Wild, felt the need to hunt, to kill, and he'd sought comfort and solid ground in the only way he knew. And then the whole thing blew up in our faces with one horny teenager.

Oh, I beat the ever-loving shit out of Aiden Cormac a month after what he tried to do. Not because he tried to rape me, no, I had gotten around that lightning fast. No, I beat him senseless with a baseball bat because of what he did to Devin. He hurt my baby brother and I showed that little snot that I am damn well my mother's daughter.

I never told Devin I was afraid of him that first time he changed. Oh, I'm sure he smelt it with that nose of his but I never let it show on my face that I was terrified. I couldn't, not when I was his big sister or when I saw just how terrified he was, scared of me and our parents rejecting him. We never told Mom and Dad...but I hold out to this day that they'd have understood even if Devin never agreed. It took a lot of practice to figure out how to best hide it from them as well as how to control his hunting urges and both ended up being our start in hunting. At nineteen and sixteen we were the monster hunters of our block, spreading fear amongst the denizens of the dark and letting ignorant housewives sleep safely.

We were such innocent fools then.

Word of the Day, 10/9/10: Roborant

2010-10-25T18:14:00.000-05:00

roborant: a strengthening medicine; a tonic; a restorative

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"Come on, Sarah," urged Paul, fingers massaging his unconscious girlfriend's throat in an attempt to get her to swallow. Fear trembled, half-born, in his belly for a moment then muscles moved under his hand and he sagged with relief as she finally took down the potion that was the only thing keeping her alive. He leaned down and kissed her cheek gently, murmuring, "That's my girl."

As he rose from the chair next to her bed, Paul became aware of a hulking shadow lurking in the doorway of their room. He forced a smile and said to it, "She's still with us."

"I know," growled Devin, his voice carrying a throatier, deeper note to it than it usually did. He stepped forward out of the shadows then and his appearance reminded Paul of how far his best friend had come in the past year.

And just how far he would fall - how far they would both fall - if they lost Sarah.

Instead of his normal rake-thin figure, Devin sported a physique that would have given most athletes an orgasm. His shoulders were three times broader than they had been and his chest and arms were bulked with heavy, powerful muscles that stretched his shirt to its limits. More muscle filled out his legs, tightening the baggy pants he wore, and he was six inches taller than his normal six foot nothing. And that was the end of what the orgasming athlete would notice as good before he wet himself in fear out of the other changes.

Devin's fingernails were gone, replaced by three-inch long black claws that Paul could personally assure were capable of cutting through a solid steel door with the strength of those muscles behind them. Short, dark fur was showing in patches across his skin but could be tucked away by a denying vanilla mortal as just making him a guy with a lot of hair. His hair, which had grown several inches and fell in a bristly mane around his shoulders, covered ears that now ended in a sharp point and were capable of hearing a mouse's heartbeat from miles away. Most obvious, most telling of just what his friend was, were his eyes: none of Devin's face had really changed except to become a little thicker, a little heavier, but his eyes were a bright burnished amber that wasn't possible in humans and full of a fire that was all animal.

Slowly Devin moved over to the bed and knelt, carefully taking his sister's hand into his own that was now over twice the size of hers. He stared down at her for a long moment, a muscle jumping in his cheek, then turned to look at Paul. "Have you figured out who did this yet?" he asked.

Nodding slowly, Paul ran a hand back through his hair before he answered.

"The poison's magical," he explained, "hence why my potions are working on it. It's slowly..."

"Paul," rumbled his friend, the underlying growl in his voice deepening as he spoke, "I don't care how it works. I want to know who poisoned my sister so I can tear them limb from limb."

"My bloody fucking ex, all right?" exploded Paul, running both hands through his hair as he started to pace. He heard something starting to rattle in the apartment as his magic reacted to his mood and continued in a rush, "Melinda Emerson. From back -"

Devin nodded and Paul trailed off as he interrupted, "When you were Dark. I remember."

Paul just snorted at that. "Her signature's hidden amongst the magical body of the poison but obvious enough to someone that knew her. Knew her magic." He shuddered and came to a stop with his hands planted on the back of a chair, fingers clutching at the fabric. God, he knew Melinda's magic all right. How could he not with the spells they had performed together? They had summoned impossible demons, pulled off feats of unimagined complication, and even taken their sex life to new heights because of how well they'd gotten to know each others magic.

There had been a point where they hadn't even had different base magical signatures.

That time, though, was long gone. He'd changed. From what he could tell, Melinda hadn't. And part of him wanted to have that oneness with her again, the connection that he could never have with Sarah or Devin.

Paul felt a heavy hand on his shoulder, claw tips carefully pricking his clothes, and looked up at his best friend. Devin knew. He had ignored Paul's behavior back then, just been his ignorant seeming best friend even though they had both known what each other was. It had been an unspoken agreement back then between them. That and that Paul wasn't to go anywhere near Sarah while he was Dark.

"I can track her," he said after a moment. "We should...we should try and talk the cure out of her first." Paul shook his head, unaware of why he was even saying this but he felt he had to. That he had to give Melinda one chance.

He'd tried to kill Devin for a damn spell component and been forgiven, given a second chance. She should get the same.

Devin had an expression on his face that said he knew both things but that he expected things to go bad. Which was perfectly fine - Paul expected them to go that way himself.

"Tag her," growled Devin, "and we'll go talk to her." He took a deep breath then, his shirt creaking with the strain, and looked over at Sarah. "Will she be okay without us here?"

"Right now my magic is battling Melinda's," answered Paul. "It should hold out while we're gone." He then shook his head, choking out a laugh, and said, "Maybe we should pray."

Devin blinked down at him at that then noted as quietly as he could, "It couldn't hurt." When Paul looked up at him in surprise, he shrugged his broad shoulders and added, "Maybe whatever likes her will listen to two of the Dark who just want something Light to live."

That made Paul smile - an honest, if tired smile - at his friend's much simplified way of looking at what they all were. "Okay," he said, moving over to the bed again, retaking his chair as Devin knelt next to him. His hand found Sarah's and then Devin's curled around both, securing them all together as one, as family.

Then he closed his eyes and made a wish.

Let her live. Please...for me, for Devin, whoever you are that listens to Sarah, that helps her, let her live.

Word of the Day, 10/8/10: Wassail

2010-10-17T13:43:00.001-05:00

Wassail: an expression of good wishes on a festive occasion, especially in drinking to someone

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“Where are we bloody going?” asked Devin as he walked arm-in-arm with his sister. On Sarah's other side Paul walked with her hand in his and judging by the looks they were getting, people were taking it the wrong way.

He didn't care though. It was hard enough for him to get out of their apartment since he'd had no choice but to move in with them. It was annoying, painful, and embarrassing, but he couldn't stand to be away from Sarah at the moment. Even three months after his...ordeal...and he still broke into shakes when she wasn't close by.

And walking close to her, shoulders touching and her arm tucked tightly into his, was the only way he could go out in public.

Sarah smiled up at him and answered, “To celebrate!”

Devin wrinkled his brow at that. “And just what are we celebrating?” he inquired. “Apparently I missed the memo.”

“Your recovery,” replied his sister in a tone that said she'd thought it was obvious. “After this month's moon -”

“Ah,” interrupted Devin in a terse voice. He then saw her expression fall and winced, shifting a little closer to her. “I'm sorry, Sar. I don't...I don't have your faith in me for being cured.”

I know better, he added quietly to himself. It had been agony trying to hold back the transformation that had wanted to take over every full moon for the past months. He had never even considered that that part of the werewolf lore was true until he'd met Niamh. And then she'd turned him into the same monster.

“Dev,” he heard Paul say, breaking him out of his thoughts, “your claws are showing.”

Devin looked down at that and clenched his free hand to hide the black claws that had pushed up underneath his fingernails. He was so numb to pain now that he hadn't even felt it.

Closing his eyes, he sucked in a deep, slow breaths to calm his heart. The second Niamh had entered his thoughts it had sped up in response to a rush of fear, anger, and – he was loath to admit it almost – need.

Even after all she'd done, part of him still wanted her, still loved her even. Which made the fear and anger all the worse.

“Thanks,” he said once the claws had slid back into place and he wiped from from his healing nails onto his dark jeans. Paul just nodded in return and they continued on in silence until they arrived at the pub.

Devin balked at the door, pulling their little group to a halt, and his sister's hand found his. He looked down at Sarah's reassuring smile and tried to smile back despite not feeling it. Then he drew in a shuddering breath before saying, “Now or never, right?”

Sarah's smile was blinding. Over her head Devin and Paul shared a look, their long friendship enabling them to silently communicate.

They both knew full well that Devin wasn't cured and that he never would be really. For her, though, they'd both pretend.

Inside the pub they found a relatively quiet corner table and Devin settled himself in the corner itself. Sarah's knee touched his where she sat to his right and Paul ended up almost directly across from him. They ordered their usual drinks and sat in comfortable silence until they arrived.

Sarah lifted her glass, full of a fruity, red-shaded concoction, and beamed the two of them. “To Dev, my favorite little brother,” she began.

“And only,” piped Devin with a laugh as he curled his fingers around his glass of Guinness. She kicked him playfully under the table and they shared a laugh.

“Who I love dearly,” continued Sarah, “and wish only the best. May your troubles be few from now on and you no longer pick up women that hurt you.”

“Hear, hear,” said Paul, lifting his smaller glass of Glenfiddich to clink against Sarah's.

Devin shook his head then lifted his glass to touch the edge against both of theirs.

“To my sister and my best friend,” he intoned seriously, “savers of my life and sanity.”

Paul chuckled. “I'll drink to that.”

“Me too,” agreed Sarah as her other hand found his under the table. That made him smile and he squeezed her fingers warmly in return.

Devin then closed his eyes and sipped his beer, smiling as he reveled in the well wishes spoken and the presence of those who accepted him despite all mistakes. They would die for each other if need be.

And that's what made them family.

Search & Destroy

2010-10-17T13:05:00.000-05:00

Same 'verse as Saturday Night's Alright (For Fighting) and Ain't No Rest For the Wicked; sequel to Howl, Night of the Hunter, and Was it a Dream?

------------------------------------------

Niamh smiled, humming a little tune, as she unlocked her apartment door. It was almost moonrise and she could feel it, her skin tingling as her true self shifted restlessly within her. She soothed it with a half-heard whisper, assuring it that soon they would be true to themselves again.

Still humming, she locked the door and began to strip out of her clothes as she moved across the dark apartment. The French doors that led out to her balcony allowed moonlight to spill across the floor and her belly tightened with anticipation as she moved towards it. Her panties were the last thing she slipped off, kicking them aside before she stepped into the welcoming moonlight. A smile stretched across her face as she stood naked before her mother, her goddess, her world. Niamh felt her true self shift, her skin stretching to accommodate it and she gasped out a plea for it to take her and make them whole again.

Her eyes closed in bliss as her body began to warp then she heard whispered words, loud as a thunderclap in the silence.

“Time to go to Hell,” where the words in an angry masculine voice and Niamh spun. She fully welcome herself, urging it to take her quickly so they could kill the intruder.

Then a circle blazed to life underneath her bare feet and the swift transformation stopped. Niamh gasped and collapsed on legs that were half between human and wolf, the frozen limbs unable to hold up the muscle she'd gained. She sat for a long time, staring at hands that bristled with claws but no fur, in shock.

Because not only had the transformation stopped, she could also no longer feel her true self.

“How?” she growled through a half-formed muzzle.

“I've met other therianthropes before,” answered the voice and with ears now hearing everything she recognized it.

“You...you're Devin's friend. Paul.”

The circle underneath her flared and Niamh screamed as her legs reverted to full human with a snap of bones that cracked the air like a whip. “Yes,” he answered, “and you made a mistake in hurting him, bitch.”

She bristled at the word then snarled, “He had no idea of the power our kind hold. How could I let him be content with only a glimpse at the true wildness of his soul?”

“Oh don't pretend you were doing him a favor!” snapped Paul. “I'm no Jesus and neither are you. What's the saying: like knows like?”

“What do you want?” demanded Niamh.

There was silence for a moment then he stepped out of the shadows enough that she could see his eyes. Niamh recalled then that Devin had vaguely mentioned him being a witch or something and she could feel it. It was underneath her in the circle, around her pressing against her skin, and in her even. And it was there in his eyes, blazing with fury and killing need.

She knew the latter well.

Niamh trembled then and knew fear again for the first time in many long years. And she knew the answer to her question before he spoke.

Paul answered, “I want you to suffer like you've made Devin suffer. You put him from Hell, made him kill innocent people, and I'm not sure his sister and I can piece him back together. He'll be there, oh yes, but he won't bloody well be the Devin before you. You took his control.”

“So what?” asked Niamh. “Are you going to kill me?”

“I'd considered it. But I thought of much sweeter revenge.”

She blinked then screamed as her body exploded with pain. Sobs came pouring out of her as she felt her body changing fully back to her human guise and when it was over she was lying sprawled across the glowing circle.

“H-how?” she managed to stammer out.

“I told you, I've met therianthropes before.” Paul stuffed his hands in his pockets and moved towards her with the smooth hunter's stride of a panther. Niamh flinched as he circled her then laughed before crouching down. He placed a finger on the edge of the circle right in front of her face and flashed a cold smile.

“This,” he intoned, “is a circle of subtraction. One of my nastier former acquaintances liked to use it in fights: lay it down and let his enemy walk right into it. Then he'd activate it and suck all of the magic right out of them.”

Niamh's eyes widened at that. “Wh-what?”

He chuckled. “You are a creature of magic. Therefore this circle can draw every bit of the Wild out of you.”

She was confused as to what the 'Wild' was then remembered that was how Devin referred to his true self. Then she started trembling and asked, “Are you going to take it?”

“Its already taken. This circle doesn't give. It just takes and takes until it's broken -” Paul smiled as he waved a hand in the air, adding, “Then it just goes away.”

“No!” gasped Niamh but she was too weak to do anything.

Paul's smile resembled that of a skull as he growled, “Yes.” She watched his finger start to glow then he drew it across the outer line of the circle. And she felt her soul tear as her true self fully separated and was gone. Niamh started sobbing then and repeating, “You bastard. You bastard.”

She felt fingers on her chin then and looked up through tears at Paul's grim face.

“Devin suffers through the rage of the Wild. And I could never bear the pain of severing that part of himself from him,” he said softly. “So it's only fair that you suffer through the pain of humanity. Of being normal and completely ordinary.”

“No,” she gasped, trying to reach for him but he moved away too quickly. Niamh heard him leaving but she kept reaching and begging, “No, please give it back, give me back. Please. Please.”

There was no answer though and she was left sobbing on her floor, naked and utterly, painfully human.

She had destroyed Devin.

And now his friend had searched, hunted her down, and destroyed her in return.

Was it a Dream?

2010-10-05T12:33:00.001-05:00

Same 'verse as Saturday Night's Alright (For Fighting) and Ain't No Rest For the Wicked; sequel to Howl and Night of the Hunter

------------------------------------------

Devin woke in agony.

A groan of pain slipped past lips that felt cracked and dry, through a throat that seemed to be tearing from the mere effort of expelling the cry, and he wanted to die. There was a rustle of cloth near him, the sound louder than it should have been, and he heard a soft intake of breath as if it was a loud as a freight train. The sound of water in...a bowl, maybe...was like a waterfall then there was a cool cloth on his lips, across his skin, tiny sips of water sliding into his mouth, and he moaned as his body sagged with relief.

At a touch of fingertips on his forehead, all of his senses seemed to explode and his nostrils flared as he inhaled involuntarily. The scent he breathed in was one he knew and in one quick flash the thoughts of home, safety, sister passed through his mind.

"Sar-ah," he croaked out and the fingers moved across his skin to gently touch his lips in a gesture of silence. Just that slight touch, though, was agony against his skin and he hissed as it felt like sandpaper scraping hard against him.

"You're safe," she breathed and her voice was so loud it seemed to be coming from everywhere at once. Devin winced, trying to flinch away from the sound, but his body hurt so much it didn't move very far. "Don't try to talk, little brother, you're still recovering."

From what? thought Devin as he slowly blinked open his eyes. Light seared into them and his throat ached as he moaned in agony, closing them again.

"Sorry," Sarah said and he hear her rise, wincing as her chair scraped across the floor. Every step of hers was agony on his ears and he could only lay there and just try to breath through that pain as well as the rest. By the time she sat back down there were tears welling out of the corner of his eyes and she dabbed them away as gently as she could with the cloth.

"Do you want to try opening your eyes again?"

Devin cautiously fluttered one eye at that and was reward with some pain still but nothing like the agony of before. He blinked both eyes a few times then focused on his sister's face above him, her blue eyes filled with a mixture of emotions that he couldn't even begin to comprehend. After a moment he opened his mouth and mouthed the most important question: What happened?

Sarah's violent flinch and her barely held back sob told him something had gone wrong. But what? He couldn't...he couldn't remember.

He couldn't remember anything from the past few days.

"Do you remember Niamh?" she asked and Devin frowned. The name didn't really ring a bell but...

A pretty little sprite of a woman flared into being in his mind's eye, dark haired and doe eyed with a body most women would kill for. She smiled, sweetly, innocently, then fangs replaced her teeth and she lunged at him with claws out as her body tore itself apart to let a monster loose. He shuddered, closing his eyes to try and will the image away but more just kept coming: her lounging across the couch in his apartment, the memory of her scent, bare skin underneath his fingertips as he explored her back, taste of her in his mouth, her body writhing underneath his as they had wild, needy sex on that same couch. It was the last that snapped him out of it as his brain screeched to a halt when they ended up breaking the back off.

He'd liked that fucking couch.

Devin shuddered again as he opened his eyes and mouthed, I remember.

His sister covered her mouth with one hand for a moment then lowered it so she could speak. "She was like you," explained Sarah. "You really liked her, I think."

Obviously, thought Devin as he sifted back through the revived memories. Otherwise I wouldn't have shagged her like a damn animal in heat.

"But she...she did something. To you."

He arched an eyebrow at that and Sarah said, "You...you changed, Dev. When we found you, there wasn't anything human left. Just the wolf."

That...was impossible. He'd always had control. Always. Even during that first time when it had been activated because Aiden Cormac was trying to rape his big sister. He'd known what he was doing then and every time after that.

That couldn't have changed.

Could it?

Devin frowned and reached tenatively out for that other part of him, immediately slamming the proverbial door shut on it a moment later. He'd felt nothing but rage from that section of himself and this wasn't the time or place to deal with it.

Then he remembered pain, agony, bones cracking, fur spreading across his skin, muscles bulking underneath his skin, anger, rage, and sucked in a gasping breath that tore at his throat. He felt Sarah's hand on his shoulder, skin against skin, and Devin fought to hang onto that sensation as the Wild gave off an impression of stretching as it woke almost lazily. It seemed to smile at him, like predator to prey, then his mind was filled with bloodstained images:

A man torn to shreds, his life bleeding out onto the sidewalk as he gasped out a death rattle.

Woman running screaming in front of him before she looked back and fell. Then he was on her and Devin felt tears streaming down his cheeks as he could suddenly taste her blood and skin as the memory him tore into her flesh.

Stone crunching underneath his claws as he hefted his heavy body through a window into a room where a couple was making love. He wanted to scream, to cry, as he tore them both apart and howled to the heavens later as if he had won something.

Then there was Paul, his expression a mix of fury, revulsion, anger, and sadness as he came sprinting towards him. Devin's throat ached as the memory recalled a roar of rage expelling from him then his eyes fell onto the brass knuckles adorning his best friend's hands. The fight was over before it had even begun as Paul dove under his swift, brutal swipe and he never got another as both fists crashed into his jaw. He felt weightless lying down for a moment as the memory shifted as his body lifted into the air before crashing to the ground in a snarling heap.

"Dev," he heard Sarah saying then. "Devin, stay with me, please. Please, little brother, I can't lose you again." He groaned and somehow managed to fumble his hand upward to grasp hers, opening wet eyes to look up at her.

"Was...it a...dream?" he croaked.

A sob expelled from his sister then Devin was aware of what he thought first was a steady drumbeat until he breathed and caught Paul's scent. Turning his head, he looked up at his best friend and opened his mouth to repeat the question but he never got the chance.

Paul leaned down with a white square of paper in his hand and breathed, "It wasn't a dream." Then he flipped it over, revealing it to be a photograph, and Devin sucked in a agonized breath as he recognized the girl.

"Niamh," he choked.

"Yeah," answered his friend in a voice that was more growl than anything. Then he shifted the photo of Niamh behind another and held it out as Sarah's sobs grew in volume. As Devin stared at the picture, almost unable to believe it, his ears aching from the sound of his sister's cries.

She had been right; there had been nothing human about him when they'd gotten him back. And he remembered now, being that...that...thing.

That monster.

He wasn't aware that he was sobbing until Sarah wrapped her arms around him and laid her cheek against his. Devin clutched at her, trying to claw for support as his world had suddenly been turned utterly upside down, and he realized she'd always been that. She'd been the first who'd found out what he was, had even known something was wrong before he had, and had always accepted him. His big sister was his rock, his shelter, his safe place, and he suddenly wanted nothing more than to be the little boy again who'd go running for her room during a lightning storm to hide under her sheets as she whispered stories in his ear until he slept again.

Devin knew though that now, more than ever, he could never be that boy again.

He was broken.

He was a monster for real now, his form twisted by a woman he'd thought had loved him, a woman he had loved and who had been like him.

And there was no going back.

Night of the Hunter

2010-10-03T15:52:00.000-05:00

Same 'verse as Saturday Night's Alright (For Fighting) and Ain't No Rest For the Wicked; sequel to Howl

------------------------------------------

"What the bloody fuck are you doing just sitting there?" demanded Paul as he stormed into the apartment he and Sarah had shared for nearly four years. She was just sitting cross-legged on a cushioned footstool with her head tilted back, eyes closed, and her fingers clasped around the cross she'd worn since he'd met her so many years before.

Sarah's serene expression didn't flicker as she calmly responded, "Praying."

"Praying," repeated Paul coolly. He snarled and a burst of wild magic caused the flour and sugar containers on the kitchen counter to explode to puffs of white. "You're praying while Devin is out there?! The hell are you praying for that's more bloody important than your brother?"

"Revenge," answered Sarah, her voice dropping into a cooler octave that signaled she was getting angry. "He's gone and that woman has to pay."

Paul scowled then stormed across the room, gripping her face in both hands and hissing, "Look at me, Sarah. Look at me." When her eyes - the pretty blue eyes he'd fallen in love with, the eyes that had given it away that she wasn't related to Devin with his amber gaze and their parents matching blues - opened to meet his, he was torn between screaming and crying. He gathered himself though, settled into calm, and spoke in an even voice.

"He's not gone," he insisted in a rough voice. "Not yet. Maybe he's gotten lost but he's not out of our reach yet and you know that. There's nothing to avenge yet."

"How do you know?" asked Sarah as she stared up at him. Tears stared to well in her eyes as she continued, "You didn't fall asleep every night when he was little and started crying because he wanted to kill something. Or see him that first time!"

Paul shook his head and answered, "No." He was aware of the first time Devin had let what he called the Wild take over though and he completely understood wanting to protect Sarah when some fucking bully was trying to rape her. "But I think I know my best friend since grade school."

Then his hands slipped from her face to fall to her hands where they rested in her lap. He could feel the chain that held her cross pressing against his skin as he folded his larger fingers around hers and added, "And this isn't something you need to pray for."

Sarah stiffened and Paul lifted his head to meet eyes now glaring at him angrily. She tried to pull her hands away from his as she snarled, "So what am I supposed to pray for?"

"Getting Devin back. For Niamh to get her dues. But not for revenge."

As she continued to glare, he shook his head and said, "Sarah, the reason I fell in love with you, the reason why Dev wants to protect you so badly, is because you're the gentlest person we know. You're what kept him sane all those years when he didn't know what he was and thought he would be rejected by his family." Paul paused then finished, "And you're what kept me from going off the magical deep end a few times."

She just frowned at him and he sighed, looking for a better way to explain it.

"Love, Dev's a werewolf and the general consensus is that's a bad thing. Most people would rather see his head mounted on their wall than on his shoulders." Paul paused to see if she had gotten it but judging by her frown she still hadn't yet so he continued. "Much as we might pretend otherwise, we all know the proper term for me is warlock and that doesn't tend bring up happy feelings. I'm a little too willing to walk the darker paths to be a wizard."

"You're what holds us together," he kept on, tightening his grip on her hands as he prayed that she saw what he was trying to say. He didn't believe in God like she did but he hoped that whatever answered her prayers and gave her her power might lend an ear to a warlock just once. "Dev would have lost himself to the Wild a lot time ago if it weren't for you. And I'd probably be worse than dead from going too far into the Black. You're our connection to what's good, Sarah. It's you and only you that keeps us steady and let's us fight against our own nature."

Sarah's frown deepened at that and she intoned softly, "Everyone can fight against their own nature."

Paul sighed at that and shook his head. "They need a reason to though. Trust me, love, I know what I'm saying. I've given in to the darkness before and it doesn't let go once you've gotten a taste. I can pull back because of you."

"And you think Devin can fight off the Wild because of me."

I hope so, thought Paul but he didn't want to say that. Instead he squeezed her hands and said, "If anyone can bring him back, it's you. Niamh may have opened the door but you can close it...maybe not all the way but back near to where it was before."

She nodded slightly then asked, "And how does this all add up to why I shouldn't pray for revenge?"

He laughed at that and leaned forward to kiss the side of her mouth before he breathed, "Because you're all that's good in the world to us and we don't want you to walk the dark paths we do."

"What if I want to?"

"You don't," assured Paul as he rubbed his fingers against the back of her hands. "I've been in love with you since I was fourteen, Sarah, and I know that isn't the place for you. You're too...good...to be there."

Sarah frowned and leaned her head against his as she breathed harshly, "Then who will hurt that bitch for what she did to my little brother?"

Paul felt anger swell in his chest and heard the containers rattle in the kitchen again. He moved one hand to grip her chin and tilted her head up so he could catch her lips with his own before he promised, "I will. And I swear to you on my magic, my life, and my love for you that she will pay dearly for what she's done."

Sarah's lips crashed against his then in a kiss that mingled need, thanks, and relief all into one giant ball of emotion. He could feel his skin tingling when it ended and smiled as he gently tugged her hands apart and pressed his fingers down on her cross.

"Pray for him back," he whispered. "Pray for Dev home and safe."

She nodded slightly then her eyes met his as she growled viciously, "Let's go find my little brother. And kick the ass of anybody that thinks they can take him for a trophy."

Paul grinned and began quietly going over every spell he'd ever come across or created in his head as he lifted one of Sarah's hand still holding the cross and pressed a kiss against her knuckles.

"That's my girl," he murmured before he pulled them both to their feet.

They had work to do.

Howl

2010-09-23T04:22:00.003-05:00

Same 'verse as Saturday Night's Alright (For Fighting) and Ain't No Rest For the Wicked

------------------------------------------

He could feel his skin rippling, flesh roiling from the thing underneath it that was trying to get out. Teeth bared, he clenched his fists and fought down the simple need to let loose, to give in, to just release everything. It was freedom singing through his veins, burning like wildfire, and causing the beast to howl for release.

That freedom, though, came at the price of lives. It was the price of blood and he wasn't willing to pay it.

Not for himself, Paul, nor even Sarah was he willing to go through that. And he especially wasn't willing to pay that price for that bloody bitch.

Devin screamed through clenched teeth as he doubled over as his spine and back attempted to shift. As vertebrae tried to stretch out, the muscles across his back and shoulders swelled with power that had nowhere to go, turning him into a grotesque, hunchbacked monstrosity. Then, just as quickly, it was over and as he straightened with a gasp he was glad he'd refused to share a house with his sister and best friend. He loved them both but -

There had always been the chance of him getting out of control. And he didn't want them to be the first in his reach if he actually did.

He started to take a step towards his kitchen and his legs buckled with the gut-wrenching snap of bone, sending him sprawling facefirst against his floor. Fingers curled in the carpet for a brief second then Devin twisted and began fumbling at his jeans as he felt his legs begin to shift. That bitch had urged him to give in just a little bit further to the Wild and he'd let her play him. Oh he had put paid to the relationship real quick once he realized what she was doing but it was already too late by then.

He'd let the Wild in...and it wasn't letting go of what it had gained.

Bones cracked and shifted around, twisting muscle and skin into new designs, and he just managed to kick his jeans off before the change caught on in his feet. Devin clenched his teeth and howled involuntarily in pain as claws grew before his feet began the agonizing shift to paws.

Let it in, he swore he could hear her sultry voice whispering in his ear as he laid on his floor like some freakish wolf version of a satyr without fur. The memory of her voice and words made his blood sing with the Wild and he wanted wanted wanted to let it loose, let it pour out of him. He knew better though, knew better than to listen, but You are freedom, you're the wind itself when you let the Wild in, nothing can touch you was in his ear now and it was so hard to block it out.

Devin hissed as a shiver tore through his body and was chased by a tickling sensation that he knew well. Fur, thick and dark brown, sread across his legs and paw-feet then began to inch it's way up across his stomach, muscles distending, swelling with each inch covered. His spine cracked and stretched again, this time not reversing itself, and he knew he was losing.

Let go, let it in, we were meant to be free, Dev.

“No,” he croaked hoarsely, shaking his head in a futile negation even as he lost to the Wild song filling his veins. His entire torso was swelling now with heavy muscle piling up as the fur grew higher and higher, shoulders bunching before the change rippled down his arms. A scream tore from his lips as claws erupted from beneath his fingernails, blood everywhere, then the damage was lost as his hands twisted into weapons of destruction, fur hiding the blood.

Suddenly he wanted Sarah, wanted Paul, hell, he even wanted his mother and she'd never done a damned good thing for him except give him up for adoption. Probably because of the Wild, because she knew that someday he'd discover someone else that heard it, that felt it in their soul, and he'd come to this. Bitch. Why did he want her when she'd never loved him enough to take the risks? Sarah did.

He breathed his sister's name before his throat thickened, before vocal cords shifted from human to animal as the change continued it's upward climb. Devin wanted to laugh suddenly at what he must look like right now: heavily muscled, lupine-like body topped by a tiny human head. His throat quivered with the effort and the noise that came from his throat was more canine whimper than it was a laugh.

The change over took his jaw, fur tickling briefly before bones cracked apart and began to painfully reform. He tried to scream but his jaw was broken and shifting all at once so the howl that came from his throat was strangled and muffled. Then he could feel the haze, blood red and pulsing with blind feral need, starting to claw at the edge of his consciousness and Devin knew he didn't have much longer. There was no holding out against this, no fighting it; the Wild was taking him over, body and soul, and there was nothing he could do to stop it.

As bones snapped into place, he flexed his clawed hands against the floor and began to push himself up, heavy muscles rippling underneath dark fur as he gained his feet. He drew in a breath, lungs filling deeply, broadened chest puffing outward, then released it as the feral haze began to cloud his mind. Half blind rose in a crouch and moved to his kitchen counter, delicately picking up a fragile looking glass wolf filled with shifting mist that Paul had given him years ago. A precaution, his best friend had said and now it would come in handy. It would warn them that he was gone and maybe...maybe they could find a way to bring him back.

Or they'd kill him. It wasn't the way he'd wanted to die, brought down by friend and sister, but it was better than living as a real monster.

Devin felt his ears shift, crawling up the side of his head as they became pointed, then flung the little wolf across the room with a deep snarl. It shattered against the far wall of his apartment and then his entire body shuddered, muscles quivering violently as the change became complete. The Wild roared in his veins and he had time enough for a single thought, recalling a song he had heard recently that fit just right, before the blood haze took over his mind.

If you could only see the beast you've made of me, he thought towards her, the bitch, flame-haired Niamh.

Then Devin was gone.

Questions Asked in the Night

2010-09-06T16:03:00.004-05:00

Strangely, out of the two of them, she was the one that stayed up late and watched him sleep. Arana had always thought only guys that did that – then again none of her exes had done it but they were all bastards anyway.

Maybe it was because Darien was so much older than her. No, thinking again that couldn't be it. He had openly admitted that their relationship was the second real one he'd ever had; all of the others didn't count because of his state of mind at the time and the only other that did was long dead.

Perhaps it was her own worry about them that kept her awake some nights watching him sleep next to her. Worry for what would become of them: would he watch her die or beg her – plead with her – to become like him. Honestly Arana wasn't sure how she would answer if he asked.

Turning her head, she looked down at Darien as he lay on his side next to her, one arm stretched out to curl around her waist and his face buried into his pillow. With his bangs falling messily across his closed eyes and the overly hawkish nose he had never been able to grow into silhouetted by the white pillowcase, he looked all too much like a child.

Arana always felt like a cradle robber at times like these when she remember how young he looked. Beside her Darien shifted closer and her cream colored sheet slid down to his waist, revealing skin and lean muscles that only heightened her realizations.

He was far too lean, muscles almost hidden underneath his skin, waist and shoulders too narrow, facial features never fully filled out. Oh, he looked like a twenty-something now to the unaware but she knew that he'd been Turned at nineteen. Those features always gave his youth away to those that knew.

The one that hurt Arana the most were the shoulders. She loved them but then she would remember her brothers and how their shoulders had gotten so broad as they grew older. Then she would look at Darien again and wonder what he would look like if he'd been allowed to grow older than nineteen. He wasn't that much taller than her but she could see the potential in him to have been a fearsomely built man.

Everett, his sire, had taken that opportunity away from him though. Just thinking about it made Arana want to weep sometimes for the Darien that could have been.

Then she wondered what would have happened to her if he hadn't been Turned. She hadn't been on her way to having a happy life before the case involving him had fallen into her lap. And while it wasn't a safe life...she was happy.

Though Arana wondered sometimes if he was happy. Not about being with her, oh no, she knew he loved her all too well. What she wondered about was if he would rather never have been a vampire – no, that wasn't right, she knew he wanted that but he had long ago resolved himself to being unable to have that. No, she wondered if he would rather have that girl from before, Kay of the red hair, of whom he named his dog for, whose name he still sometimes called out in his sleep during a nightmare.

All too suddenly the need to talk to Darien rose up within Arana and she twisted slightly to begin shaking him. “Darien,” she hissed loudly but he only burrowed closer to her, mumbling in his sleep. She shook him harder then, digging her nails into skin that was still warm from the blood he'd drank during dinner, and he finally stirred.

“Whassit?” he mumbled sleepily as he lifted his head, green eyes still lidded so they appeared black in the darkness of her bedroom.

Arana bit her lip, suddenly feeling silly that she'd woken him, then gathered her courage. “Do you regret it?” she blurted out too fast, her voice shaking. He frowned and opened his mouth but never got a chance to speak as she suddenly snapped, “Nevermind. Forget it,” in a sudden fit of not wanting to know his answer. Rolling away from him, she burrowed under the blankets and wished that he'd just go back to sleep.

She knew him better than that though.

Darien scooted across the bed, spooning his body behind hers, and laid his arm across her waist with warm fingers sliding underneath her worn shirt to splay across her belly. Then he brushed back her hair with his other hand and Arana shivered as he kissed the back of her neck.

“Rana,” he said softly in a voice still rough with sleep and more flavored with his native brogue because of it, “talk to me.”

“It was stupid,” she muttered into her pillow, wishing he'd let it be at that.

Darien grunted in the tone that said he didn't believe her and sighed against the back of her neck. He then moved slightly, the tip of his nose nuzzling her ear, and rumbled, “Gr á mo chro í , I can smell your worries.”

That brought a snort out of Arana and she growled, “No you can't.” He'd told her some time ago that emotions didn't change a scent, they merely heightened or lowered it.

He chuckled, the sound vibrating through her where his chest met her back. Then he said, “True. I think I know you well enough now though, Rana, to know when something's wrong.” Darien shifted behind her then, pushing himself up on his elbow, and turned her face to look at him. She couldn't help the tears that welled in her eyes as all of the earlier thoughts came rushing back as the shadows playing across his face made him look so young and he frowned. “Rana, grá mo chro í , talk to me. Do I regret what?”

"Everything,” she answered as his fingers splayed across her cheek, skin so warm against her own. Arana's eyes were blinded by the tears and she couldn't see him anymore but that didn't help any. She knew every feature of his face all too well because it never changed.

Rough fingertips gently wiped at the edge of her eyes then Darien's lips pressed against her own. “Us?” he questioned against her skin, his breath warm and smelling (thankfully) more of their steak dinner than blood. When she nodded slightly, he answered. “Originally I regretted pulling you into my world but never being with you.” He kissed her again as he paused to wipe more of her tears away. “I don't know what I would do without you. What else?”

Arana opened her eyes then and breathed out, before she lost her courage, “Would you have chosen this life?”

He pulled back at that, eyes wide in shock, and she wanted to take the question back. Then Darien's fingers were curling in her hair and he said, “If it meant meeting you, yes, I'd like to think I would have.”

"Even if it meant leaving Kay behind?” she asked. “Of watching her die?”

“ Grá mo chro í ,” he murmured lovingly though there was an old ache in his voice, “I realized a long time ago that Kay and I never would have lasted. Not with the quarrel between her father and mine. She was...she was nothing more than my high school sweetheart.”

Arana frowned at that, wrinkling her nose. “Some guys actually marry their high school sweethearts.”

That brought a laugh from Darien and he nodded in agreement. “Yes,” he said, “and I might have. But I've lived long enough and looked back on my life to see that it wouldn't have been a very happy marriage.”

"How are we any different?” she asked, feeling tears coming on again. “How are we -” The words choked off in Arana's throat and she shuddered before twisting around on the bed to bury her face against Darien's chest. Both of his arms wrapped around her, drawing her to him with a strength that belied his slight build, and she finally managed to finish. “Are we going to have such a happy life?”

"Don't we already?” he asked, voice rumbling through her as he rested his chin atop her head.

Arana frowned then whispered, “I'm going to die one day, Darien.”

That silenced him for a long moment then he pulled away from her, fingers groping for her chin. As he tilted her head upward so their eyes met, she saw that he had an almost frightened look on his face.

"Arana,” he said slowly, his use of her full name showing how serious he was, “I never want to push that on you. Gods, I want to spend the next centuries with you by my side and show you the world and it hurts to think that I might not.” Darien then leaned his forehead against hers and closed his eyes tight. “I don't want to force you to make that choice though. If you decide that, I want it to be your choice, because you don't want to leave me, not the other way around.”

His fingertips stroked roughly across her face and then his brogue thickened almost to where she couldn't understand him as he continued, “I never want what happened to me to happen to you. You will chose, grá mo chro í . Not me, not Everett, not anyone. But. You. ”

"Oh, Darie,” she breathed and burrowed into his arms, suddenly wanting nothing more than to be held there. He obliged all too willingly, holding her almost painfully close with his strength, and Arana began, “I -”

"Gods, don't give me your answer now,” he hissed, shivering against her. “Just...just know whatever you decide, I'll accept it.”

Arana nodded but she knew that if she did decide to make that leap into the unknown, to truly step into his world, she had to do it soon. She was in her middle thirties now and waiting too much longer would only widen the gap between them. Darien didn't consider himself to be young since he had seen three centuries pass but she knew how youthful he looked. Her growing too much older before she – if, if – she agreed to be Turned would only widen the gap between them. Not that appearances mattered all that much between vampires and it was only a minor thing in itself.

It bothered her, though, that gap between them.

"Okay,” she finally muttered into his collar bone and he suddenly relaxed, his whole body loosening up. They just lay there after that, doing nothing more than holding each other, until the morning sunlight started to peek into her windows and Darien buried his face into the pillows with a groan.

"It can't be morning yet,” he moaned with his voice slightly muffled. “Make it go away.”

Arana smiled at that and moved a hand to rest against the back of his neck, fingers playing with the fine wisps of hair there like she knew he liked. He leaned into the touch, purring like a cat, then flinched as sunlight hit his face and buried himself again.

"Foul wench,” hissed Darien as he pulled her close, using her to shield his sensitive eyes from the ever brightening sun. “You did that on purpose.”

"Can't prove it,” replied Arana with a smirk as she kissed him. He responded eagerly, growling into her mouth as his hands slid downward to her hips and jerked them across the few inches that separated their bodies. As his hands then began to make their way to the buttons of her shirt, she gasped out, “I have to be at work in two hours.”

Darien chuckled at that. “I'll have you to work, Rana, don't you worry.”

"Without any obvious bite marks?”

He kissed her again at the question then trailed a line down her throat before he ever so lightly raked his fangs across her pulse point, causing her heart rate the jump and her need for him to heighten. That was one thing Arana could never have predicted from their relationship: that she would like and even welcome the feel of his fangs against her skin. Darien only rarely ever actually bit her and it was never for long as he stated her being unable to reciprocate made it only half as fun.

Then he lightly kissed her pulse point and purred against her skin, “You know I'd never leave any obvious ones.”

"Oh no,” said Arana as she tilted her head back to allow him better access at her throat even as she wiggled out of her now unbuttoned shirt, “you only leave them just where I think they might show if I'm not too careful. And in places that make me blush when I feel them later.”

Darien smiled against her throat at that. “I do love making you blush.”

"Far too much.”

"Mmm, we can argue about that later,” said Darien as he rolled on top of her, fingers trailing down her sides until his hand found the curve of her hip. “If we don't hurry, I won't get you to work on time.”

Smiling at that, she worked to ignore the blinding fire burning in her for him and hooked a leg around the back of his knee. “I could go in early,” she mused, looking thoughtfully up at the ceiling. “I mean, I did have all of that paperwork I had to complete.”

"Paperwork!” he growled and shifted just so to draw a gasp from her. Then Darien smirked and bent his head to graze his fangs across her throat again. “Now you're just baiting me, grá mo chro í .”

Arana's need for him increased only further at the second sweep of his fangs and her hands found the back of his neck, drawing him down closer so she could breath heavily in his ear, “Shut up and make love to me, Dari.”

He just grinned at that, the motion obvious as his lips pressed against her throat, and she lost track of time amongst the rhythm of their bodies moving in time with each other. There was only the sensation of skin against skin, nails clawing for purchase, soft touch of lips everywhere, and the bittersweet pinprick of fangs drawing blood after that mixed with the light and growing warmth of the rising sun.

Arana woke atop Darien's chest, her head tucked underneath his chin and one arm wrapped around her. The other arm was thrown over his eyes as he dozed beneath her and she smiled before starting to shift to get out of bed only to discover their legs were tangled and his refused to move, only tightening when she moved hers. “That's cheating,” she said accusingly as she laid back down and tapped her fingers against his sternum.

He snorted lightly and lifted his arm just enough so she could see one green eye as he smiled. “I'm not above it,” he intoned in an honest voice. “Besides, you have almost another hour before you have to go anywhere. Stay.”

"I'd like breakfast before I go to work.”

"I'll get up and go cook in a minute. I just want to lay here for a moment.”

Arana frowned at that and asked, “Are you alright?”

Darien's smile went away at that and he let his arm fall to the bed as he tilted his head to look at her. “Shouldn't I be asking you that, Rana?” he said with an arched eyebrow. He then moved his arm, hand reaching out to cup her cheek as he frowned at her. “What we talked about...it's been bothering you for a while, hasn't it?”

She bit her lip involuntarily, not wanting to answer, but that was all that he needed. With a sigh, Darien untangled their legs and shifted, pushing himself into an upright position even as he pulled her closer. When Arana was settled between his legs, her back against his chest and his arms around her, he rested his chin on her shoulder and sighed.

"What?” she asked, feeling worried now.

"There's something you still haven't asked me,” he answered, “something that's still bothering you. Those things before, they've been bothering you for a while but now you've asked them and the need's lessened. I know the feeling, I've felt it before.”

How this man, this... vampire ...that she had come to love knew her so well after only a year mystified Arana. Darien did know her though but perhaps that was because she was little more than a child in his eyes. She knew him too but...not so well. Knew he loved her, oh yes. That he wanted her to say 'yes' when – if – he ever asked her to stay with him forever. He knew her past though, knew what drove her, what had shaped her.

She only had hints of the things that had shaped him. Oh, Arana knew who his sire was and she had met both of his bloodsiblings, Malloy and Kaeli, as well others of what he called his family. What she didn't know anything about really was his life before them except for his being born in Ireland and having loved Kay. The brogue was blatantly obvious when he got emotional or was still half asleep. Kay...he'd had a nightmare about her their first night together – actually together – and screamed her name. He hadn't been able to hide her after that.

Everything else was still a mystery though. And while she understood him wanting to hide the bloodstained part of his past from her (she'd dug that little tidbit out of Paul one night at Beoir Aite), she didn't understand the rest.

Frowning, Arana leaned back against him, noting that his temperature was cooler than it had been before absently in her mind. Tilting her head back, she nuzzled the line of his jaw then asked softly, “Do you hate her?”

Darien sat silently for a long moment, his arms around her and no sound but their own breathing. Then he said quietly, “Everett.”

"Yes,” she answered even though it hadn't been a question.

For a moment she didn't think he was going to answer then Darien sighed. “Once,” he began, “I did. I lost...I lost too much because of her: my life, my father, my brother, Kay. Because of what she did to me, maybe even because of how she did it, I spent a century as a monster.” He flinched then and his arms tightened around her. “I never wanted you to know about that.”

"I wheedled it out of Paul one night,” said Arana, causing him to jerk in surprise. “He didn't tell me much,” she added quickly to defend his addle-brained friend who hadn't known she was playing him until it was too late, “mostly just that you were someone to be feared. That you and Malloy painted too many cities to count red with blood.”

"And we laughed about it,” Darien spat in a disgusted voice. Shaking his head, he then said, “You asked about Everett though.”

"Yes.”

He nodded and was silent again. Then he said, “After...after I came to, back, whatever you want to call my awakening to what I was, I hated her. But in the decades after that I came to realize that she wasn't some monster like I'd been. She killed, yes, gods, she killed with the best of them and still does.” Darien bowed his head against Arana's shoulder then and she felt him breath against her skin, “But she loved the three of us, her children. Kaeli always argued with her and they had these great rows that made wherever we were staying shake...but Everett tore the heads off of two slayers right in front of me when they had her cornered without pausing.”

"Malloy,” he continued, “he was always getting us in trouble by taking girls and Everett screamed at him for it whenever it got us ran out of a city or town. When he was caught drunk on blood and alcohol by an angry mob looking to avenge three he'd taken, she dragged his ass out of the fire even though after she said she should have left him when he kept the girls anyway.”

He stopped talking then and Arana lifted a hand to his cheek. “What about you?” she asked quietly.

Darien shook then with what might have been a shudder or a contained sob before he answered, “She held my leash when I was...wild. Kept me from going too out of control or completely losing it and becoming a threat to be put down by Cyclaryn. She ordered Malloy to never leave my side and he obeyed – mostly because he liked the bloodshed.”

"When...when I attacked her later, after I had my awakening,” he continued slowly, “she didn't fight back. Not really. I know her, Rana, gods, I do know her and she could have killed any of us with a flick of her wrist. Even me and she's always said I'm the best of us. She's stronger than Malloy, smarter than Kaeli, and faster than me. My three centuries are nothing compared to her five millenia but she let me almost win when I attacked her.”

"She saved me then,” said Darien seriously, “by sparing my life when she could have taken it. And after Sweyln scarred me -” He paused as Arana touched the puckered flesh along the outside of his arm, made by the slayer blade his kin had wielded long ago. “- when Omcha and Cyclaryn came to see I was punished for attacking her, she defended me. I hated her saving my life then but...”

He trailed off and she pressed, “But?”

"That's when I realized she loved us like a mother. Like my mother loved me. Everett shielded all three of us, protected us, and by the gods, she would die for all three of us if it came down to a choice between her life and one of ours. We're the children she never had in life and if there is anything she takes seriously, that responsibility for us is it.”

Darien sighed heavily then before saying, “So, yes, once I did hate her. Now...now I understand her. I don't necessarily love her but I do care for her.” Turning his head, he smiled down at her as he added, “If she hadn't Turned me, I wouldn't be alive still to have met you, grá mo chro í .”

"That's true,” murmured Arana, a little awed by how much information he'd just revealed. Then she looked over at her alarm clock and said, “I have half an hour before work now. And someone promised me breakfast.”

That brought a laugh out of him that, while a little strained from the previous conversation, was real enough. “So I did,” said Darien, “so I did. Okay, you get yourself ready and I'll go make you breakfast. Pancakes?”

"Bacon,” answered Arana with a smile as his arms loosened and she scooted away from him to climb out of bed. “Eggs too. You can make pancakes for yourself if you really want.”

"But pancakes are no fun without a certain someone to share them and smear syrup across their cheek,” he said with a cheeky smile. Sliding off the bed, he caught her wrist and drew her to him for a quick kiss. “Only so as I can lick the syrup off later, of course.”

The purr of his voice started to kick up the fire inside her again but she quelled it and slid her fingers across his lips. “I'm going to be late if you keep that up,” she growled.

"And what, Rana, did you think my point was?”

Arana glared up at him then said, “You can cook pancakes tomorrow morning. I have the day off then.”

Darien grinned at that, the movement lighting up his entire face, and she saw again how painfully young he was. “Syrup?” he queried as he leaned closer to her.

"Dari, tomorrow you can do whatever you want with the syrup. Just get me breakfast now .”

"Mmm,” he purred as he leaned down to kiss her cheek, the sound rumbling against her skin distractingly. “You might regret that in the morning as I'm going to hold you to it.” Then he spun away from her, swept his boxers and shirt from the floor, and headed out of the room with them in hand. Before he passed the door frame, he looked back at her and winked, saying, “And you're so sexy when you order me around like that,” then disappearing.

Arana heard him whistling as he strode through the house and had the presence of mind to shout, “The kitchen blinds are open! Don't flash my neighbors! ”

"Even if they like what they see, they can't have it!” he bellowed back and she sighed in exasperation before heading for her closet. As she dressed for work, she felt...surprisingly lighter. She had finally asked Darien about things that had been bothering her and he'd answered her honestly. The only thing left was her own unease with their age differences and yet, somehow, even that was lessened.

By the time she entered the kitchen, the scent of meat and eggs cooking filled the air and Darien had both the blinds closed as well as his clothes on.

"Twenty minutes,” she intoned seriously as she perched on one of her bar stools and rested her elbows on the counter-top. His head bobbed in accordance with what she had said and then, still whistling softly, he presented her with a plate of steaming eggs and bacon a moment later.

"Done,” he purred as he stole a piece of bacon and kissed her cheek before he disappeared back to the bedroom to get himself dressed. Arana smiled after him then dug into the food quickly since it was a ten minute drive to get to the station and she was going to risk running late as it was. It was a shame to have to eat it so fast since Darien was an excellent cook (taught by three separate master chefs as he liked to brag) but she finished and slid from her seat.

"I'm leaving!” she shouted over her shoulder as she headed for the door. When she was suddenly jerked to a stop by arms around her, she hissed, “Dari, I'm going to be late .”

"Leave your car, grá mo chro í ,” he purred in her ear as he laid a bacon-scented kiss on her cheek. “I can carry you there faster and I know how you hate morning traffic.”

Arana squirmed in his arms and asked, “And how am I going to get home ?”

Darien chuckled as he answered, “Who said anything about you coming home? You promised me pancakes and syrup in the morning...you didn't say where we'd have to be.” He nuzzled past her collar and grazed one fang across the curve of her shoulder, making Arana shiver in his arms. “I'm going to take you home with me tonight and treat you like a queen. And, in the morning...”

He paused to spin her around and she met his goofy, cheerful grin with laughter and, “Pancakes?”

"Pancakes!” he exclaimed joyfully. As he scooped her up, hefting her in his arms, Darien asked, “Do you want to?” with a tiny petulant tone in his voice that begged not to be let down.

Arana couldn't say 'no' to him. Not when he was so cheerful.

"Yes,” she answered as she leaned down to peck a kiss against the tip of his nose. Then she swatted him across the shoulder and hissed, “Now get me to work. You've got fifteen minutes.”

Darien laughed at that and let her drop to the floor before steering her to the door. “Plenty of time,” he assured and as soon as she closed the door behind them, he swept her legs out from under her and Arana clutched at his neck as the rest of the world became a blur of colors and sounds. She buried her face against his chest, unable to stomach watching everything move around them so fast, and didn't let go until he said, “We're here.”

"No need to throw up, right?” asked Darien warily as he set her carefully on the ground, forcing Arana to recall the first time he'd carried her like that. Well, not the first time of carrying her, honestly, but the first time at his full speed. She'd spent the next hour throwing up after that trip and he'd apologized so often that she'd wanted to strangle him.

"I'm fine,” she assured as she pulled him down for a kiss. He responded willingly, fangs lightly grazing her lips as he drew away, and she saw his pupils were dilated. Hers probably were too and she drew in a deep breath to calm her racing emotions.

"Tonight,” he growled, hands possessively going to her waist, drawing her closer.

Arana nodded and laid her hands on his chest, keeping her from closing the last inches with him. She knew well enough if she did, they might just do things right there in the alley behind the station. “Tonight,” she promised. Then she smiled and added, “After all, you're my ride today.”

Darien's eyes twinkled at that and he said, “I could come up with so many naughty things to say to that but I'll save them for later.” Smiling, he bent his head to kiss her again, this time more calmly, and breathed, “I'll see you tonight, grá mo chro í .”

"You will. Now get going to do the shopping I know you're going to do for tonight.”

He laughed at that but left reluctantly, hands lingering on her waist as long as possible. Arana watched him go then let out a ragged breath as she fought down the renewed need their kiss had brought to life.

She was ridiculously in love with him.

Shaking her head, Arana headed into the station through the back door and moved towards her desk, ready to face the day. And when she saw she had something that would lead her around in Brooklyn near Beoir Aite she made a decision.

Today she'd go talk to Elizabeth for a few minutes, ask her about what it meant to be Turned, what she might need to know. Maybe even who the bartender might suggest to do it. She still wasn't sure if she'd go through with it...but she was closer to a decision than she had been when she'd been awake watching Darien sleep. If she was going to do it, she needed to know these things.

Like he'd said, it was her choice.

And if Arana was going to chose anyone to be with for centuries, it was Darien.

Oh the Things We Survive

2010-07-22T02:34:00.000-05:00

Beoir Àite was eerily empty of its usual patrons but there was a reason for it this time other than the customers avoiding the wrath of the bar's owner. Now all of the windows were covered and the door was locked to keep anyone unexpected from coming in.

Only three figures were currently in the bar, two sitting at the counter with the other behind it since it was still her bar.

Elizabeth frowned as she refilled the glasses of the two men sitting before her and softly said, "Whatever he did, it's not Edward's fault."

The younger of the pair - Cyclaryn, sire of her own Line - looked up and frowned before commenting, "I thought you hated the fledgling for causing you to driving off customers some time ago."

"Edward's too sweet to hate," she corrected. "And it was my own fault, continuing to rage at him like I did." Her eyes flicked to the other man and she continued, "Sir, please -"

"Lizbeth," said the dark-skinned man softly as he curled his fingers around his glass, the nickname making her go quiet. He lifted his dark eyes to meet hers and smiled gently as he explained, "I am not going to kill the boy the moment he's brought through the door, I assure you. But this meeting...it must happen because of what he has done."

"It wasn't his fault!" exploded Elizabeth suddenly. She ignored her great-grandsire's hissing of her name and barrelled on. "If anyone is to blame, it would be that sire of his!"

"Elizabeth!" snapped Cyclaryn. "I thought Kaeli taught you better than to snap at the First!"

The Welsh vampiress whirled on him then, wagging a finger in his face, and snarled, "Don't you give me that psuedo serious bullshit. Every single one of our Line know exactly how you are and it isn't some bootlicker, so don't pretend you are!" Turning back to the other vampire, she leaned on the counter and hissed, "This isn't fair, Omcha."

Omcha, the First, nodded his head slowly before saying, "The boy has broken none of the Laws. All he is responsible for are the deaths of these women." Looking at Cyclaryn, he asked, "What was the final count?"

"Thirty-four," answered his child. Cyclaryn then said to Elizabeth, "And we would have done something about his sire if we knew who it was."

"Cael Ward," said a voice from behind them and the trio turned as Darien let himself in with the key Elizabeth had given him once upon a time. That earned surprised looks from both older vampires and he shrugged. "Yeah, big joke from the universe with that one."

Omcha nodded in agreement then asked, "And what are you here for, Darien?" He then smiled and answered himself, "Ah. Support."

"Eligius is a friend," Darien confirmed with a nod. "Besides...if anyone of us should be here for Edward besides him, it's me. I know exactly what it's like to lose control like that." He didn't add that he had a tendency to kill more people indescriminately as they all knew that fact well enough.

Cyclaryn gave Omcha a questioning look but the First just shrugged and picked up his glass as he nodded towards the door Darien still held open. As the younger vampire turned to look, he observed, "Here they come," and everything went quiet.

Eligius came through the door first, nodding at Darien before he turned his gaze to Cyclaryn and Omcha. The Roman blinked then said softly, "Kivana didn't come."

At that Cyclaryn coughed and said, "My sister...she says she can't claim the actions of any of hers that are like this. I apologize on her behalf."

"Unacceptable. She -" Eligius sighed and bowed his head before saying, "No, I won't lose my temper. Not today." He turned, clapped Darien on the shoulder, then reached an arm up the outside stairwell. "Come, Mico. This must be done."

It took a few minutes for a shaking hand to reach down to take his and then Edward came into view, his entire body trembling so much that he missed a stair and tumbled into his lover's arms. Eligius lowered him to the floor as Darien pushed the door shut and turned the lock again with a finial click that made the youngest vampire flinch. It took a few minutes but Edward slowly lifted his gaze to the pair seated at the bar and a whimper left his lips.

"I didn't -" he began but Omcha lifted a hand to still his words. Edward flinched back, pushing himself further against Eligius, and the First blinked before lowering his hand with a sad expression on his face.

"Tell me what happened," Omcha said gently.

Edward looked nervously up at Eligius then over at Darien who had moved to stand next to the couple. While his lover merely hugged him tightly, Darien laid a hand gently on the younger vampire's shoulder and said softly, "Tell them. It will be all right." The blond gave him a look that said he didn't believe that but nodded before drawing in an unneed breath with a shudder.

"I-I was going to work," he began slowly. "Just walking along, thinking about what needed to be done today...and then I heard him."

"Who?" asked Cyclaryn.

"Cael," answered Edward in a tone that said it should have been obvious. " 'Oh, how you've fallen,' he said. 'Here I saved you, made you this marvelous killer...and you go falling from grace. Do you know how that hurts me?' " A strangled, hysterical laugh tore out of the young vampire's throat and he gave the two eldest vampires in the bar a half-mad look. "Hurts him, he said. Him. The one that did this to me, that-th-that ra -"

"Shh," breathed Eligius, fingers slipping over Edward's lips. "We talk of him now, not then, Candeo. Tell them what he did next."

The young vampire nodded at that and began again.

"He said then, 'It looks like I'm going to have to reteach our lessons.' And I told him no, that I was happy, that I was with someone that loved me, that I didn't need him. He laughed. Laughed. Said 'You don't know what you want, child. This life they all lead - it's just an illusion they think they can live. Now Voschlaq...Voschlaq and most of his know the truth I know.' Then he moved towards me and I wanted to run but I couldn't. He...he touched my cheek and said, 'The truth you know deep in that wicked little heart of yours.' "

Edward shivered as he continued, "I told him I wasn't wicked and he laughed at me again. Told me that if I wasn't, then why did I do what I did after he Turned me? Said, 'You know you love what you did then. Love the blood. Love the hunt, the kill. I doubt that soldier so smitten with you even let's you that far off the leash. He doesn't want you to be what you really are.' "

A growl rumbled out of Eligius and Edward paused to touch the taller vampire's face, looking up at him as he breathed, "I called him a liar. Laughed in his face. Told him you were far more my sire than he ever was." He then looked at Omcha and said, "Cael grabbed me then in a rage, dragging me back into the alley he came from. He...he did the things he d-did to me before. And I...I got lost."

"It's all blood after that. And those women's faces," finished Edward softly, closing his eyes. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to -"

"Shh," hushed Darien, touching his shoulder again. He then looked at Cyclaryn and Omcha, eyes narrowed as he snarled, "Isn't that enough to go after Cael without Kivana's permission? We all know she won't give it."

"She's terrified of him with good reason," explained Omcha. "He stalked her across Europe for a century in the 1400s. Didn't stop until Jifar managed to knock him unconscious and locked him in some cathedral tomb in Italy."

Cyclaryn coughed at that. "Santa Maria del Fiore in Florence," he supplied. At the First's look, he explained, "She didn't want to go back there again and he was taking care of her so he asked me to go check if Cael was still there. If he had been there when I arrived, I would have killed him him just for daring to stalk an Elder, let alone my sister."

"So," said Darien, "after that he escaped and just roamed around killing freely?"

Omcha just nodded and Darien continued in exasperation, "And we just let him? He's nothing more than...than...me! He is the embodiment of everything that I was and more! Gods, we're damn lucky I never met him back then."

"The world would have gone up in blood and fire," intoned Cyclaryn. He then looked at Omcha and said, "I am of the mind we hunt him down, whatever Kivana may say about leaving him be. He crept into this city like a ghost to merely torment his own child and caused the mindless slaughter of thirty-four humans. Should that not be as much a crime as child attacking sire?"

"It is as of now," answered Omcha. He moved from the bar stool then, slowly crossing the room to where Edward still huddled in Eligius' arms. As his eyes met the Roman's briefly, the First touched the young vampire's shoulder and said gently, "I know that this will haunt you for the rest of your life, child, but this was not your doing. There will be no repercushions from this, not for you. You are safe."

Edward had first flinched away from the touch then had stared at Omcha, his eyes filling with tears as the oldest vampire spoke. He slowly nodded then turned in Eligius' arms, burying his face in the older vampire's chest as he let out a sob.

Eligius inclined his head respectfully to the First and Omcha returned it before saying, "Come, Cyclaryn, if we are to find him, we should begin now."

"I'll meet you outside the city," answered Cyclaryn as they unlocked the door and left the bar together. "Tehran isn't going to let us leave without her after I tell her what happened."

"You know I always welcome your sister's council and aid," those left below in the bar heard Omcha say before the two older vampires drifted out of range. There was silence amongst them except for Edward's sobs until they finally stopped and the blond turned in Eligius' arms.

He smiled at Darien and said, "Thanks. You didn't have to be here."

Darien shook his head at that and smiled at the younger vampire. "Yes, I did," he assured. "Eligius has been my friend for some time before you came into his life, Edward. And I felt you needed someone here who'd been through something similar."

Edward blinked in confusion and the Irish vampire said, "I've given Eligius permission to tell you later. Right now I think you both need to go back home and relax."

"Which is exactly where we are about to go," rumbled Eligius. "Darien, Lizbeth, we shall see you later." He then gently guided Edward out of the bar, the young vampire waving over his shoulder before they disappeared.

Darien closed the door behind them and sagged against it before breathing, "Gods."

"You didn't honestly think that Omcha was going to kill him, did you?" asked Elizabeth as she poured out something into a shot glass and held it out towards him. As he staggered over and threw back the liquor, she said, "You did."

"I've seen two like him be killed before with kill counts at ten," hissed Darien as he sat down on the bar stool Cyclaryn had abandoned. "Plus I didn't know why Edward had gone over the edge - Eligius didn't tell me anything except when the meeting was." He ran a hand over his face and shrugged as he continued, "I didn't know what to expect."

"Darie, if Omcha spared you, I think he will spare anyone."

"That doesn't make me feel any better given what I was, Liz," he grumbled, grabbing the bottle to pour another shot. After he downed it, Darien said, "And I'm the exception, remember? The only reason I got spared was Everett begging for my life on her hands and knees."

Elizabeth's eyebrows went up and he said, "Kaeli told me that after. Said it proved how much she cares about the three of us." Then he coughed and continued, "Anyway, I think the real reason was Eligius."

"Why?"

Darien gave her a level look before he answered, "You don't have to know anything about them to know that Eligius would do anything for him. If Omcha had brought down the death sentence, there would have been a fight."

"Could he have won?" asked Elizabeth.

"Against Cyclaryn at least." At her surprised look, he chuckled. "Trust me, I've seen them both fight. Cyclaryn may have some practice at hand-to-hand but you need to remember that Eligius was a Roman legionaire. And he keeps in practice."

She smiled at that and said, "I seem to recall you becoming fairly good with a blade yourself."

He snorted and shook his head. "Fencing. I showed Eligius the only sword I kept from a duel - you remember the Frenchman that nearly gutted me? He looked at it and laughed before asking me if I really called that a blade."

Elizabeth laughed.

"What did you say in response?" she asked.

Darien gave her a sideways grin as he answered, "Told him that, no, I called it Isabeau and she didn't take kindly to not being considered a blade."

They both had a long laugh at that and fell into silence after, Darien fiddling with the shot glass in front of him and Elizabeth frowning at the counter top. After a moment she lifted her head then reached across to rest her hand on top of his wrist, stopping his movement. When he lifted his eyes to meet hers, she asked, "Will he be all right?"

He stared back at her for a moment, thinking of a time when she had asked him that same question, then smiled.

"Given what he's already survived," he replied in a quiet voice, "and who he has on his side, I think Edward is going to be just fine, Liz."

Breakdown, Part II: Truth Behind the Delusions

2010-07-20T00:20:00.002-05:00

Eligius gathered Edward up in his arms slowly, trying not to think of how long it had taken him this time to hunt down his wayward lover. They still weren't certain what had caused the fledgling's break this time but he had been loose for two days in the burroughs, killing at any whim, until he'd finally been spotted. Contacts in the police departments throughout the city were reporting that he had killed at least twenty-seven women in those two days; those were the reports so far that they had confirmed were him. There were over two dozen more possibles still needing investigating.

"Jove, Mico," rumbled the Roman, pausing to brush back the glitter encrusted blond hair. "What happened?"

"Will he be okay?" asked a voice from behind him and Eligius turned his head to look at the brunette he'd asked to assist him.

Sighing, he slowly stood up and pulled his unconscious lover in close to his chest, as much an attempt to protect him as keep him from getting away if he woke. Then Eligius looked at the young she-wolf and answered, "I don't know, Mary. This time...I may not be able to get him out of trouble. The First has heard of what happened - he's come to investigate."

Mary Halvar's eyes widened at that and she breathed, "But...he's not a Rogue. I thought they only killed Rogues."

"Any uncontrollable vampire," he corrected with a heavy heart. Two thousand years he had lived but he couldn't think of how to protect Edward from that.

She frowned at that and looked sadly at the unconscious Edward. Mary knew them both pretty well as she'd been one of the few to actually get up and sing karaoke the night Edward had talked Elizabeth into letting him set it up at her bar. They had become friends after that and Eligius had treated her with the kindest respect.

After a moment she wrapped her arms around herself and asked, "Are they going to kill him? 'Cause I'll speak up if they say they are." Shaking her head vigorously Mary added, "I know Edward and that...that thing that assaulted me wasn't him."

"No," agreed Eligius, "it wasn't. But this isn't the first time that side of him has gotten out...nor will it be the last."

"Eli," she breathed, tears already streaming down her cheeks at his words. She knew them to be true though - Eligius had warned her of Edward's 'problem.' "There's gotta be something."

The Roman sighed and fixed the she-wolf with a sad gaze. "Right now," he stated slowly, "we don't know what will happen. It will take some time for the investigation to happen as there are still reports of him killing women coming in."

Mary bit her lip then said, "If you need me -"

"I will call," promised Eligius, forcing a smile for her benefit. "Now go home, cagnolina. You know I will do all in my power to keep him safe."

"I know," she whispered. Stepping forward, she gently touched Edward's arm then turned and fled, Eligius able to smell the salt of her tears and hear the sobs she tried to swallow. He wanted to follow her, to comfort the little she-wolf who was a friend both himself and his lover but he couldn't.

First he needed to get Edward home and cleaned up for the inevitable meeting with the First.

Then Eligius had to begin the task of picking up the pieces of his lover again.

Breakdown, Part I: Glittering Delusions of the Mind

2010-07-20T00:19:00.000-05:00

Sunlight reflected off tanned skin, bouncing from pinpricks of glitter that clung almost desperately to bare flesh. The young man was covered in it from head to toe, glitter even disappearing past the waistline of the tight jeans he wore as well as glimmering in his blond hair. From a distance he was nothing more than a lean twenty-something male wandering the streets.

The key words being 'from a distance.'

Up close it became apparant that there was something very wrong with the young man.

The fact that he did not merely walk was the first thing; instead he moved with the smooth, stalking strides of a predator who is at the top of the food chain and knows this fact. Then there was his smile, which was stretched wide to show off white teeth in a feral grin that could send shivers racing up the spine of even the most hardened. His eyes were cool pools of blue-green, like a peices of frozen sea water, and shone with only one emotion: hunger.

Most noticeably up close, of course, were the flecks of blood that clung to the side of his mouth and were spattered across his chest and shoulders.

He was barefoot, walking down the busy sidewalk in broad daylight, but he didn't care. A stacatto drumbeat filled his head and he occassionally whistled along with it, drawing strange looks as his tune drifted from nonsense to a song of his birth decade and then on to something more recent. Most, once having looked, quickly turned their heads and hurried on, either disturbed by his smile or having noticed the blood drying on his skin.

Let them call the police on him. He could tear through them in the time it took one of the poor little bloodbags to breath and not leave enough of them behind to fill a thimble. So let them come - let them just try to take him down.

He was of Kivana, the weakest of the Elders who had passed that on to her children, but he was not weak. No, his sire had showed him how to not be weak like the rest of their kin, Line and extended blood included.

And the police were only human.

Was it not their duty as vampires to cull the herd? To keep their weeping, crawling, miserable population from completely overrunning the world? That was what they had evolved to be, wasn't it? What the world had willed their creation for?

He stopped whistling, throwing back his head to laugh, drawing furtive looks from those on the sidewalk around him, and then he saw her. Pretty. Tall. Slim. Brunette. Oh, most importantly, brunette.

She had to be his. He wanted, no, needed to taste her, touch her. Taste her skin with his lips. Feel her blood flowing across his tongue. Touch her trembling muscles as she was frozen in terror. He needed that - now. Even with his belly already full of blood, he needed her.

A smile stretched his lips as he moved towards her but he was frequently forced back from her as she darted here and there amongst the crowds. Slowly his smile began to fade and a growl rumbled in his chest as he shoved past a man to try and catch up with her. He could push through them all and catch her with no difficulties but that would make the chase all too easy. And he didn't want that.

When she had to stop at a crosswalk, he caught her. Slid close up behind her and wrapped an arm around her waist, tugging her tall frame harshly against his before resting his chin on her shoulder. "Hello there," he purred, flashing his teeth in a predator's smile. When her eyes widened, he laid his other hand on her hip and applied just a little pressure with his fingers, rewarded a moment later with a gasp of pain. "Now don't scream," he warned, "you and I...we're just going to have a little chat. Alone."

She nodded and he smiled as he led her back down the street towards an alley that he knew had a little alcove that would be just perfect. He could feel her trembling already and wondered what she was thinking. Did she believe he was going to merely mug her? Rape her? Could she even imagine what was really about to happen?

Well, he mused with a little smirk, he could rape her. It had been far too long since he had felt the soft skin of a woman against his. Far too long. Oh. Oh yes, the idea was growing more tempting by the moment.

He smiled as they moved down the alley, ready to shove her against the wall when they reached the alcove, to tear down all her defenses and leave her broken when he was though. That was what his sire had taught him to do, wasn't it?

However, he didn't get the chance.

Before the alcove she suddenly twisted - changed - in his arms and slipped from his grasp. He didn't quite catch it when it happened and turned around in shock, eyes widening as he saw a dark brown she-wolf before him now with her fangs bared. She lunged at him and he took an instinctive step back, light reflecting off the glitter on his back and shoulders as he went through a patch of light -

Then someone stepped out of the dark alcove and swung a tire iron at his head.

His last thought was to curse his weak half and his filthy lover.

Lesson Five is on Repeat

2010-07-06T22:59:00.003-05:00

Sequel to Lesson Four Comes Before Lesson One (Sometimes)

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“So let's run through this again,” said Lyri, gesturing across the table with her spoon at Cavan. He groaned at that and next to her Marik smothered a laugh in his sleeve before focusing intently on his plate. The pilot gave the teenage apprentice a brief glower then looked at the blue-haired mechanic with a pleading gaze.

Cavan wheedled, “Can I not eat breakfast in peace just this once, Illyri?”

Lyri frowned and tapped the edge of her spoon against the surface of the table in a slow, rhythmic pattern. After a moment she drawled, “Not when you're about to take my baby into battle again after two months on the off-duty roster.”

“Your baby?!”

“Yeah, mine. I'm the one that's pieced her back together every time you've tore her apart these past six years. You want to argue with me on that, Cavan?”

He met her gray eyes, flicked his gaze up to her slightly arched eyebrows, then lowered his gaze back to his food. Grumpily he pushed potatoes around on his plate with his fork before he grumbled, “No.”

“Good,” said Lyri with a brief scowl. She ceased tapping her spoon against the table then and reached across the table to flick him across the nose with it. As he yelped and batted it away, she repeated, “So let's run through this again. Lesson Five is repetition, repetition, repetition, remember?”

With a frown and a roll of his eyes, Cavan sat down his fork then pushed his plate away so he could fold his arms along the edge of the table. He knew well enough by now that when she started demanding rote and roll from him that he wasn't about to get anything else to eat. “So what first, Battlemaster?”

That earned him another flick across the nose and a snarl of, “Don't call me that.”

As Lyri settled back into her seat, she flicked Marik on the ear and scolded, “And don't snicker at him. You'll make him think he's actually funny.”

“Oy!” exclaimed Cavan. “I'll have you know I am quite funny!”

“Well it's not your towering sense of humor that I'm after,” she shot back. “I want to hear how you're going to take care of my baby.”

“Fine, fine...gods, don't hit me again! I'm about to start talking, woman!”

Lyri smiled serenely as she leaned back in her seat, lowering the spoon she'd been about to flick him with again to the table, and waited. Cavan scowled at her then closed his eyes and let out a breath as he settled his mind. When he opened his eyes again, his thoughts were completely focused and his expression had gone starkly serious.

“System start-up with my code followed by checking that all systems are working. After that I can bring up the loadouts to make sure the armor is set right, limbs aren't sticking, and everything's in the green.” Cavan paused for a moment and asked, “How far do you want me to go?”

“To getting your ass and hers back in the ship hangar in one piece,” answered Lyri, flicking Marik on the ear again as he snickered.

The pilot frowned but didn't roll his eyes as might have been expected. Then he continued, “If all shows up green, I'm clear to move out with the rest of the squad on the mission. Group of thirty raiders is the target and I am – by order of the Commander – to run as Colonel Treize's wing-man when he goes after the fuel supplies we know they have on surface. If all goes well, the supplies will be in our hands; worst case scenario, they blow them in an attempt to flambe and/or blind us and we proceed to light up their sorry asses like the cowards they are.”

Cavan paused, scratching the back of his head, then finished, “All going well with the other members of the squad, we should have the camp neutralized in minutes. If they actually manage to get some of their Mechs up and running, maybe an extra ten to twenty depending on how many they get going. After that it's back home.”

“Now it'll just have to actually go like you plan,” mumbled Marik, earning another flick about the ear from Lyri. “Ow! I'm just sayin'!”

“That's jinxing the whole damn mission,” she growled in response. “Superstitions, Marik, you've got to remember mercenary superstitions! You can't just say something like that when we're about to send a squad off on a job.”

“Sorry.”

“No harm done, honestly,” said Cavan with a shake of his head. He grinned at the apprentice then rose from his seat, picking up his plate as he went. “You believe too much in the old superstitions, Illyri. Keep a gun underneath your pillow too?”

The blue-haired mechanic just grinned at him before replying, “And a knife.”

He laughed at that then said, “I'll be fine. Trust me.”

As Cavan walked away, Marik leaned over and asked softly, “I...I didn't actually jinx the squad, did I, Lyri?”

Lyri smiled fondly at him and pulled the teenager into a hug, ruffling his hair.

“Don't you worry, Rik,” she said as her eyes followed Cavan as he left the mess hall, swallowing her own fears. “He'll be fine. And he'll keep my baby in one piece if he doesn't want to get shot when he comes back.”

Ain't No Rest For the Wicked

2010-07-04T05:10:00.002-05:00

Sequel to Saturday Night's Alright (For Fighting)

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“Never seen a man look so all alone,” purred the brunette as she leaned in close. She batted her eyelashes as she added, “Could you use a little company?”

Devin eyed the gorgeously buxom woman up and down, taking in all of her delicious curves as he resisted the urge to drool. She was perfect. Absolutely everything he could ask for in a woman – even if she was a prostitute.

The aura he projected as a werewolf tended to make vanilla humans skirt around him for the most part though, so he couldn't give her the benefit of the doubt. It was likeliest that she was some kind of beastie. And probably one that was looking for a meal.

Smiling, the brunette leaned closer and trailed her hand down his chest, drawing a line of delicious fire in her wake that gave him hints as to what she was. When he hand settled over his crotch and the raw need came to life in his loins, he knew.

Sighing, Devin shook his head and dug his pack of fags out of the back pocket of his jeans, enjoying her look of surprise as he nonchalantly lit one up. As he blew out smoke above their head, he gave her his best smile and moved her hand from his crotch with his free hand.

“Sorry, love,” he purred, “but I'm afraid I can't ask you why you do this to yourself because I already know exactly how.”

Surprise flashing through her dark eyes for a moment then she tried to draw a reaction out of him again. Devin drew on his own supernatural side, cloaking himself in the wolf's mind, and let out a rumbling growl of a laugh at her sudden wide eyes. Oh, yes, she sensed him now.

“Hello, succubus.”

“Dog!” she snarled and scrambled back from him, looking at the hand that had touched him as though it had betrayed her. He took offense at that and affected a hurt look before even going so far as to lift an arm and sniff at himself. In response she sneered and spat, “Your kind would smell foul to mine no matter what, dog.”

Devin just laughed at that and took another drag on his fag before saying, “You weren't saying that a minute ago when you hand was on my crotch.”

“A mistake. I will leave you.”

She turned to go but froze at the sound of a shell being chambered, the sound itself echoing through the alley behind the pub like a cannon going off. The succubus slowly turned her head to look back at Devin and he smiled in false apology as he pointed the double barrels of his sawed-off shotgun at her.

“Sorry, love,” he remarked as he held the fag between his teeth and gripped the gun with both hands, “but I'm afraid I really can't just let you wander off. You might come across some other bloke and seriously bugger up his night.”

“I must ,” she hissed, eyes turning from a rich chocolate to red. “Surely you understand.”

“Oh please don't try to play on my sentimentalizes,” snarled Devin with a roll of his eyes. “I may be something that stalks the night like you but I don't hurt innocent people. And you can't really argue with me on that as I've been watching you for three days now so I've seen that you don't care.”

The succubus let loose with a rattling hiss at that, lips drawing back from suddenly needle sharp teeth, and then she was rushing at his throat in a blur of motion. If she had been hoping to catch him with his pants down, she had another thing coming.

Devin had been hunting things like her since he'd first changed and Sarah had found her calling.

As the shotgun blasted the succubus back against the opposite wall of the alley, making a mess of her face and chest, he hopped down from the trash can he had been perched on. Calmly, he reloaded the shotgun as she slid down the wall in a whimpering heap of only half-alive flesh down and paused to shake the ash off of the end of his fag. She looked up at him, her beautiful face half torn away, and tried to beg through a mouth that was no longer there.

“Sorry,” he said as he pressed the end of the barrels into her chest where her heart would be and pulled the trigger.

Paul found him there in the alley an hour later sitting on the same trash can again and staring at a pile of slowly evaporating ooze as he smoking idly.

“Got one?” he asked.

“Succubus,” grunted Devin. “You?”

“Ghoul tried to bloody mug me. She tried to work her magic on you?”

“Tried.”

Paul snorted and slugged him in the shoulder, saying, “Well you don't have to be so glum, mate! C'mon, let's head inside and have a pint. I'll even buy.”

Devin arched his eyebrows at that. “I thought my dear sister had disallowed you beer buying privileges.”

“Mate...I ain't that emasculated.”

“Could'a fooled me.”

At that Paul took a swipe at his head but Devin ducked the blow this time and landed one of his own in his friend's gut as he slid off the trash can. “Okay,” he said as he tossed away the end of the spent fag, “if you're buying, I'm willing.”

“Bastard.”

“Wanker.”

They looked at each other then burst out laughing, playfully punching and slapping at each other like kids as they made their way to the pub's back door. As soon as Paul pulled it open, Devin went still and earned a confused look. “What is it?”

“Blood,” growled the werewolf in response, his nostrils flaring with the coppery scent. His eyes took on a golden sheen as he added, “Lots of it.”

Paul cursed and reached into his pocket, pulling out the brass knuckles he favored in a fight despite Devin's soft, “I don't think you're going to need them.” Together they slowly made their way from the back of the bar and by the time they reached the front, Devin was holding off a full-on transformation by only the skin of his teeth.

“Jesus bleeding Christ,” breathed Paul as he took in the whirlwind carnage of the pub. There were no bodies, just shreds of flesh and guts amongst all of the blood, and yet the music as well as the television played on through it. “What sodding thing did this?”

“Bugger if I know,” growled Devin in response. “We're not getting that pint though.”

“Shit.” His friend ran a hand back through his hair before nodding. “Yeah,” he added. “Let's get out of here and call the bobbies. Christ. I'll try and perform a tracer spell before we leave.”

Devin nodded as they turned to head through the back again then snorted. As Paul gave him a curious look, he said, “Ain't no rest for the wicked, eh?”

“Not till we close our eyes for good,” answered the warlock with a shake of his head.

Together Into the Unknown

2010-07-04T04:24:00.002-05:00

Sequel to I Will Not Bow

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Alendan's fingers slipped from his handhold on the rocks above his head, causing him to let out an exclamation of surprise and pain as one of his fingernails tore away and he slid downward. When he caught himself again, he hugged to the rocks for a moment, just breathing then looked to his right at a scrabbling noise.

Sharin pulled herself up next to him, the claws on her paw-like hands far more versatile than his own at clinging to the rocks. Her blue eyes blinked at him before she asked, “Are you all right?”

“Slipped,” he grunted, aware that he was still shaking. Alendan closed his eyes as he added, “Just...just give me a minute.”

The Beastling made a noise in her throat that was a mix of growl and cough before saying, “You have already stated that we cannot waste time, charas. They will be aware of us having left the city by now, yes?”

Alendan nodded against the rocks then slowly pushed himself away from them, trying to control his shaking since he knew she was right. “Some of my people will be laying false trails for them to follow over our own,” he explained. “So while the King may be aware that we've left Karnath, his guards won't be sure which trail to follow.”

She frowned at that, ears flicked back, then purred and flicked her tail slightly. “I see,” she rumbled softly, “that is why you wished to make imprints of my paws, yes? So they could make trails.”

“Right. And you're right as well that we should keep moving.” He frowned as he reached up for a handhold and tested it twice before he began to pull himself up along the rock face again. “Eventually the King will bring in trackers and I want to be past the eastern border before then.”

A hiss answered him along with a softly growled, “The War Lands. The Quisla and Draim will not be pleased to see me again let alone you, charas.”

Alendan would have shrugged if he had been able to. Instead he tilted his head slightly to the side before saying, “Well, they'll just have to deal with it, won't they? I'm not letting you go home alone after what you told me about how your traveling party was killed.”

“What makes you think you can do better than those I had with me?”

“Because I'm a sneaky southron.” He turned his head to grin down at her as best he could and found Sharin looking up at him with an unamused twist to her muzzle, her whiskers twitching up and down with irritation. “Plus,” added Alendan, “I'm not afraid to knife someone in the back if it means my survival. From what I know of your kind, Sharin, you're too honorable for that.”

His answer to that was an immediate growl.

“There is no honor in such fighting,” she hissed after a moment. “No glory. My kin cannot see the sense in such action.”

Alendan tried to think of a way to explain it and settled for saying, “Trust me when I say I don't go around stabbing anyone in the back. I only do it if I have to, Sharin.”

“Mmm, when your tail is under your foe's paw.”

He frowned at the Beastling proverb for a moment, pausing to test his handhold on the rocks, then nodded. “Exactly what I meant...if I've got the translation right.”

Sharin rumbled out an amused growl before she said, “Well enough as your weak ears hear it, charas.”

That brought a laugh out of Alendan then they both fell silent as the wind picked up, too busy hugging to the rocks to keep from being blown off as they kept moving. There was no noise but for the scrabbling of flesh and claw against stone until they reached the top. Alendan dragged himself up, crawling on his belly, and lay there as he heard her coming up behind him. She let out a snort as she crested the edge and then settled down next to him, her tail flicking across his back.

“So,” began Sharin, “why do you so want to come with me, Alendan?”

Frowning, he pushed himself onto his elbows and asked, “What do you mean?”

“You have risked the wrath of your king to escort me. Surely after this you will not be allowed back within this kingdom?”

Alendan shrugged at that – he had thought long and hard on what would happen since the day he had rescued her from her death. “Probably. I think it was time to pick up and move though, anyway. Some people were starting to get suspicious of my work and I was itching to get away myself. So...perhaps it's for the best.”

He tilted his head back to grin at her wryly before he added, “I've got traveling in my blood as my mum used to always say. Too much northern influence from my grandfather...he and my father could never stay for long at home on the coast.”

Sharin frowned for a moment then said, “So we are both to be without our blood kin.”

Alendan looked at her sharply and she explained, “I and my guardians were fleeing when we were captured upon your King's lands. There had been an usurpation amongst the Pride-Lords and it was seen best that I leave to preserve the bloodline.”

“Oh.” He frowned at that and slowly sat up, folding his long legs together before he leaned his elbows on his knees. Out of the corner of one eye he could see her watching him and finally asked, “Is there any reason for you to go home then?”

“Not without support. It is likeliest that my kin are all dead.” Sharin flicked her ears back and bowed her head as she continued, “I apologize for not speaking of it sooner.”

“It's fine,” waved off Alendan. He gnawed on his lower lip then said, “We should keep for east for now but head north before we reach the border. I've got a few contacts and kin up there that we can rely on for some shelter along the way. Once we cross over into North we'll be safe; they're plenty fine with Beastlings and other non-humans up there. Even heard a few tales from a Northman of his cousin marrying a canine Beastling.”

“I have heard of such unions,” rumbled Sharin, her whiskers twitching again. Her ears flicked back and forth several times before they settled again as she said, “It is...unseemly...for my kind to do such.”

“Looked down upon, you mean.” Alendan smiled slightly. “You don't think much of humans, do you?”

The Beastling shrugged at that, the tip of her tail tapping against the rock.

“Your kind are barbarians to us.” She paused to smile, showing only the slightest bit of her bright fangs, before finishing, “At least those of you we have not met are.”

He grinned at that and asked, “Am I to take that to mean that I'm not a barbarian?”

Sharin purred in response, her eyes lidded in amusement, answering, “Perhaps.”

Alendan chuckled then got to his feet, resettling his pack against his shoulders, before he reached out a hand down to her. “Well then,” he said, “shall we continue on, my Lady? Together?”

With a smile, Sharin slid a paw-hand into his and let him pull her to her feet as she purred, “We shall, charas.”

Remaining Human in the Face of Darkness

2010-06-04T02:41:00.000-05:00

"Come out, come out, wherever you are!" The sing-song voice echoed ominously through the alley, bouncing off of the grime coated bricks. "If you come out quick, little funkeln, I won't have to hurt you too much."

Edward flinched at the tone and tried to press his back even close to the cold, slimy feeling metal of the dumpster he had flung himself behind. It was just his luck that he had taken a detour going home from work to pick up a present for Eligius' birthday and stumbled over a slayer along the way. And not just any slayer either.

No, he had to skip all the way through the youngsters, the sympathizers, and the cold killers straight to the craziest one of all.

Rebecca fucking Larcoth was blocking the only way out of the dead end alley, blonde hair falling over features that would be beautiful if not marred by a killer's smile. And against her was just him, Edward Harlow: weaponless except for the monster that lurked in his psyche. That weapon was too much even to wield against Rebecca.

It might enable him to kill her...but it would also kill his soul in the process.

What do I do, what do I do?

"Funkeln," sang out Rebecca's voice and he caught the all too familiar sound of metal against leather - a blade being drawn from a sheath. Then there was the cold click of a bullet being chambered into firing position and Edward closed his eyes, nearly crying out loud as the memory of his own father holding a gun to his forehead. Of course that memory ended swiftly in his father's death at his sire's hands but it still made fear blossom even brighter in his chest.

"Oh God, Eli, where are you?" he hissed under his breath. "I can't...I can't fight her. Not without losing everything you made me."

He jerked his head up then as suddenly sprinting footsteps came towards him and Edward dove forward as Rebecca rounded the dumpster with a mad gleam in her too bright blue eyes. Somehow he managed to count the bullets that slammed into the dumpster exactly where he had been a moment before - one, two, three - as he rolled to his feet. The slayer spun towards him, knife flashing in the dim light that came from the street, and he swept his arm up in a blur to catch her wrist.

"Eindrucksvoll," she purred in a throaty growl that rippled with a hunter's amusement to find the prey resisting death. Then the barrel of Rebecca's gun dimpled the skin underneath his chin and she added, "But I am afraid you lose, funkeln."

Edward's mind flashed from present to past, from one gun against his skin to another, and he heard the slow rumble of drum beats start up. His eyes swiveled down to hers, terrified blue-green into crazed blue, and he breathed, "Please." Just one word.

She thought it was meant for her.

Rebecca's lips twisted into cruel smile and she rumbled, "Oooh, begging. I do so love begging."

Somehow Edward managed enough courage to snort as the rumble rose to a staccato pace in his mind. "Wasn't talking to you," he growled out. Her smile went cold at that and mad eyes narrowed as her finger began to squeeze down on the trigger. And he prayed to God and those Roman gods Eli kept statues of that her bullet spattered his brains across the bricks before the drums consumed him.

"Mi scusi," said a deep voice calmly and Rebecca jerked the trigger twice in quick succession as she felt the alarming presence of another vampire. And this one had snuck up on her without making a sound.

That was when she realized that her finger had clenched twice at air. No bullets had spattered the blond vampire's brain matter against the walls of the alley. The bastard had taken her gun without her even realizing it.

Rebecca felt breath on the back of her neck and the hairs there rose on end as she sensed the large vampire that was now looming behind her. "Sei fuori di tuo classifica, poca ragazza," he hissed and the calm voice of before had turned into the growl of an angry bear. She whirled on him then, ignoring the wrist still held by the statue-still blond, and pulled another knife out lightning fast.

Her swipe should have taken him across the belly, spilled his entrails hotly over his knees and onto the dirty concrete.

Instead the air was empty there and Rebecca had a split second to stare before one large hand closed around her throat, fingers pressing down harshly on her windpipe. Her wrist was ripped away from the blond's hand and she attacked with both knives then, aiming at the face of the vampire holding her as she struggled for air. He batted her strikes - which had decapitated so many before and sliced open throats to the bone - away like they were mere flies and she blinked hazing eyes to get her first look at her captor.

Severe cheekbones and a hooked Roman nose stood out from a heavy-boned face with a thin coat of scruff and the naturally olive skin of someone from the Mediterranean area of the world. Wavy dark hair did not soften the features that could have been carved from marble and eyes a shade of amber so dark as to be mistaken for dark brown or even black made her freeze. Rebecca felt a tremor of fear ripple up her spine for the first time in years as that gaze met hers and seemed to envelop her very soul.

She had always thought of herself as the ultimate hunter.

But this...no, this gaze meeting hers was that of a true hunter.

He considered her for a moment, eyes boring into her, then he shrugged one shoulder. "You are lucky I am feeling generous today, poca cacciatore. And that Mico is more important to me than leaving your corpse upon the stoop of your kinds precious little haven in this city." With that he dropped her to the ground and Rebecca was so stunned that she stumbled, slumping against the dumpster as she fought to regain her balance. She then realized he had turned his back on her and stared at the broad, leather covered target it provided.

As she straightened, he turned his head to regard her and that gaze speared her into stillness. Her fingers fluttered over the smooth handle of her knife, wanting so badly to use it but too afraid to strike because she knew that he would kill her the moment she moved to do so. And while she danced with death frequently, even she did not want to tempt it to strike so blatantly.

"Run, little girl," he said as he turned his back on her again. Rebecca nodded, heart suddenly in her throat, and backed slowly out of the alley. She took to her heels the moment she was clear of its walls and made for her apartment with the fear still pounding through her.

Once the slayer was gone, Eligius took Edward's face in his hands, worried by the stillness that had taken his lover since his arrival. As soon as he touched him, he felt the tremors, and knew. Leaning forward, he breathed, "Mico, I am here," into his ear and instantly felt a hitch of breath against his cheek.

"E-Eli?" came the frightened little voice and the Roman drew the smaller vampire into his arms, pressing a kiss against his temple. Edward shivered in his arms as he warred against his personal demon and when he finally slumped bonelessly against Eligius, he whispered, "I nearly..."

"Shh, shh," bid Eligius with a shake of his head, "you did not so we shall not speak of it." He felt Edward nod against his throat and brushed at the grime-coated mess his normally feather-soft hair had become in annoyance. "I am taking you home."

Edward made no protests as his lover gathered him in his arms, simply limply resting his head against Eligius' chest and listening to his heart pick back up to a normal human pace as his body resettled into normal survival mode now that the crisis was averted. Then he asked weakly, "The slayer?"

Eligius shrugged as he answered, "I let her go." When Edward started to move his lips, he interrupted fiercely, "Your health is more important to me, Mico, than killing some slayer whelp barely loosed to hunt."

"Rebecca Larc..."

"May be something to fear for you young ones," growled the older vampire before the full name of the slayer could be spoken, "but I bear the scars of slayers far greater than she will ever be." His voice softened then as he said, "Now, hush and rest easy, carus."

A tried smile crossed Edward's face at that and he closed his eyes, the mental exhaustion of holding himself back from becoming what his sire had made him again wearing him down. That exhaustion was reassuring in it's own way, just as Eligius' phantom heartbeat in his ears was.

It meant he had faced a slayer as mad as he had once been and come out not only alive but still the human his lover had made him.

Wish I Had An Angel

2010-05-27T11:58:00.001-05:00

Sequel to I'm No Angel

------------------------------------------

“I wish I had an angel,” said Kara mournfully, breaking the silence that had enveloped the rooftop.

Next to her Carus let out a snort. Then he hissed, “Angels don't exist. You should know that by now. The gods the priests are always raving about don't actually exist and there are no miracles.”

Her eyes flicked towards his back and he added in an irritated tone, “I'm not an angel.”

Kara, no longer the skinny girl of thirteen he'd dragged out of a burning building years before, frowned and brushed her auburn hair out of her eyes. She sucked in a breath noisily then let it out in an annoyed huff of air. Carus' eyes darted towards her then, watching the sudden rise and fall of her ample chest with all the pleasure of a male. He didn't make any sort of attempt to hide that he was watching either and her scowl told him that she knew it.

Yet for some reason she continued to hunt him down when he was on the streets. Now that he could not understand but his 'brother' Cal had always told him to never try and understand women.

“Then why do you have wings?” demanded Kara snappishly.

Carus shrugged in response, his gaze already moving away from her to regard the streets below their perch atop the Fighter's Guild.

“Cosmic joke,” he answered airily.

She glared and he added, “How should I know?”

“You should!”

“Why?” asked Carus, not even bothering to look at her.

Kara's frowned deepened as she replied, “Because they're attached to you and you should be at least a little curious as to just why they are?”

“Couldn't care less about the why,” he drawled lazily in response to that. “I know that they're there and I know how to use them. What more than that do I need to know?”

She stared at him for a long moment then huffed angrily, crossing her arms as she pouted her lips. The position of her arms did interesting things to her breasts and he turned to leer until she snapped, “Stop it!”

“Why?” asked Carus, arching an eyebrow. He mostly did what he did to annoy her so much she would leave him alone. “You're a good looking woman with all of the bits in just the right places. And I'm a man...shouldn't I have the right to leer?”

“No,” she spat in response, glaring fiercely. She wrapped her arms around herself, covering the view, and sniffed, “It's embarrassing. And besides, only a man should only leer at his wife.”

He just snorted at that. “There are girls down there who would kill to have a man take notice of them like that. Even if they aren't their husband.”

“Well, I'm not one of them, okay, and I don't want you doing it, Carus. So stop it. Please.”

There was a shrill, terrified sound to her voice and the spattered remnants of his conscience – the very thing that had made him save her in the first place – caused him to nod. “Fine,” Carus grumbled. “Ruin all of my fun why don't you?”

She sniffed again and he scowled at her, annoyed to find a few tears on her cheeks. If he had been anyone else, he might have moved over and wrapped a comforting arm around her. But he was himself and he wasn't a damn nice guy. Hell, he wasn't even remotely close to being one of those.

Unless that stupid, no-account conscience of his got in the way and made him save people.

Sighing, Carus growled, “Oh, dry your tears, lil'bit. We've still got a job to do, y'know, unless you're backing out on me.”

Kara sniffed again then dragged a corner of her sleeve across her nose, wiping the tears from her eyes a moment later. Then she smiled at him because of the nickname – which he insisted was short for 'little bitch' but even if it was, she knew he honestly liked having her around – and murmured, “Okay.”

“Good. There's our target now.”

“Where?” she asked, peering over the crowd. He felt a little bit of pride in his chest as she switched almost instantly to business.

Heh, she might just turn into a decent thief if she kept this up.

“Heading towards the Witch Hall,” he answered. “You see him? Scarlet cloak.”

After a moment Kara nodded and asked, “You want me to play the helpless maiden again?”

Carus turned his head towards her and leered pointedly.

Her expression hardened and he tried to ignore the pain in her eyes as she growled, “The prostitute then.”

“Noble blood like that's got his vices, lil'bit. And the street women are usually the biggest his kind have.”

Kara looked at him for a long moment then nodded before getting to her feet, carefully starting the climb down the vine covered side of the Fighter's Guild. He watched her from above, smirking once she reached the floor of the alleyway and began to adjust her appearance. All it took really was the plastering of a knowing little smirk on her face, a come-hither shift in her walk, and loosing the ties on her shirt to show off the curves of her breasts. And then she as off and moving and Carus felt his chest tighten a little.

“She's just another woman,” he growled to himself. “Don't get too attached.”

He knew already though that he was too attached.

Squashing the unease of that moment, he rose and opened his wings to give him the needed lift to leap across the alleyway to the next building. Carus continued bounding across roofs and raced across the wide main street of the town over a rope until he caught up with Kara and their mark. From the roof of the library situated next to the Witch Hall, he could see down into the alley she had led him into.

Their plan was the usual: she would convince the noble with a few coy looks and batting of her eyelashes and he would follow when she got the fool to follow her back 'home'. That was when he would strike, slipping his fingers easily into the noble's pockets with a little of a distracting tug, and she would disappear when the noble turned to look.

That was the usual plan anyway.

When he heard Kara's voice exclaim, “No!” and heard the thump of a body hitting a wall, Carus knew something had gone wrong. Looking down into the alley, his sharp eyes speared through the shadows below to see her being held roughly against the wall. And the noble was fumbling roughly at his waist, already breathing hard in a way he knew all too well.

The fool was that sort.

That knowledge crept like fire through Carus' mind and then Kara tried to scream, her cry muffled by one large hand and a snarl. But the terror in even that half-silence cry reached his ears and called out to something deep within him that demanded he respond.

Before he knew it then, he was spreading his wings and fell into the alley. Wings spread as wide as he could to capture as much air, feathers angled to direct his fall, Carus pulled his legs up and a snarl twisted his features unknowingly. He came down hard on the noble's shoulders, bare feet and toes digging in to his fine clothes, and as his arm came in contact with the surface of a wall, he shoved the man away. The noble hit the other side of the alley with an undignified thump then immediately tried to stumble back upright, fumbling over his open trousers.

Carus didn't allow him that movement.

He hit the ground next to Kara then spun instantly, meeting the noble as he came up. One leg swung around in a swift, brutal kick to the side of the knee that crunched bone and cartilage. The noble collapsed, screaming in pain, and he swept downward with an open-palmed strike towards the man's face. Cartilage snapped under the force of his blow and the screaming instantly took on a watery sound as blood spattered them both. Another kick to the side of his head made the noble lose consciousness and Carus bent over him, rummaging through his clothes with the swift efficiency of his occupation.

When he came up with a heavy pouch of coin and the expensive ruby medallion he took from the noble's neck, Carus turned at a shout from the street and grabbed Kara's arm. Dragging her with him down the alleyway, he ducked into an alcove as the first guard stepped in, pressing his back against the wall and spreading his wings around them. The darkness of the alcove and the black of his feathers would hide them well enough if the guards chose to search the alley.

Kara shuddered in his arms where she had collapsed against his chest and he had to admit he was impressed that she managed to keep quiet.

When the guard began to yell out for healers, he folded his wings and stuffed coin and medallion into a pouch on his belt. Then he grabbed Kara's face, forcing her to look up at him, and hissed, “Cry, girl.”

She stared at him, tears filling her eyes, and he knew that the first sob was right behind her lips. But, to his surprise, she gathered some inner strength and shook her head, refusing. Carus frowned then nodded, drawing her shaking body back against his chest with one hand cupping the back of her neck.

Even he wasn't heartless enough to push away a girl who'd nearly been raped.

“...I have...”

“What?” he asked, not having heard the rest of her sudden mumbling.

Kara looked up at that, a smile decorating her tear-streaked face. “I do have an angel,” she whispered. “Even if you're not a very good one.”

Carus blinked then snorted, pushing her away from him then since she seemed fine now. “Whatever you say, lil'bit.”

“Thank you, Carus.”

Some part of him preened at the thanks but he just growled and stalked away, knowing she would follow him. And another part knew that what had just happened had suddenly changed everything because in that moment he had leapt to her rescue, the thought of someone hurting his woman and that they needed to pay in blood for that transgression had flickered through his mind.

The Art of Moving a House

2010-05-13T14:46:00.002-05:00

Her house was moving.

Anne watched it go from the back of her parents wagon, entranced by the magic of the moment. It didn't seem like it should be possible for a house to move with only the aid of men and logs but it was. They were doing just that right before her eyes.

It was a little sad too watching it go. The land had been theirs since before she had been born, when her father and grandmother had moved down from New York. Their family had come over when an Gorta Mór had crippled Ireland and her father had been fifteen, thrust across the ocean with his little sister. Her aunt had died on the passage but her father had - obviously - survived and went on to wait until his mother was sent over.

His father, her grandfather, and the rest of their family had died before they could make the passage across the North Atlantic. So it had been her father alone, seventeen by the time they had reached Mississippi, who had secured the land, built the house, and taken care of their family at the time.

Now Anne was seven years old and watching the house that had been built on that land over a decade-and-a-half before move like a bug scuttling away. Turning around, she looked over at her mother seated at the front of the wagon with the reins for their horse held loosely in one hand.

"Mama?"

Her mother blinked, dragging her attention away from the dark-haired Irishman who was putting his all into moving their home. She smiled at their daughter and asked, "What is it, Anne?"

Anne smiled and stood up, climbing over the belongings in the wagon to the front where she threw her arms around her mother's waist. Warm arms enfolded her and as a kiss pressed onto the top of her head, she asked, "What's going to happen to Granma? She's going to be all alone when we leave."

Her mother let out a sigh and brushed back her hair, causing Anne to tilt her head back to look up at her. "Now," said her mother kindly, "your Granma will be just fine. You remember how she used to yell at Mr. Samuels dog."

"Y'mean old soith!" barked Anne, freeing one arm from her mother's waist to shake a finger at an invisible dog. "Y'leave my granchil' alone!"

"Now don't you use that word," hissed her mother, though she was smiling slightly as she said it. "So, you see? Your Granma will take care of herself fine. She'd want us to look after ourselves before her now, wouldn't she?"

Anne nodded solemnly then looked over her shoulder. Her eyes widened as she realized she could only see the top of their house and cried, "Mama, the house is getting away!"

With a bright burst of laughter, her mother hugged her tightly then, saying, "Well, we can't have that, can we?" Swinging her up next to her on the wooden seat, she picked up the reins and snapped them sharply across the horse's back. "C'mon now, Jack! We've got a house to catch!"

The big chestnut horse snorted then started to move and Anne clapped her hands together as her mother swung the wagon around. Leaning against her side, she couldn't help but feel the magic of the moment again as she watched the slowly trundling along house come looming up close again as they chased after it.

Climbing the Tower

2010-05-13T11:44:00.000-05:00

It was so stupid to climb the tower.

Halfway up the ladder with the ground so far away and only morning dew-slick metal between her and it wasn't the best place to have that epiphany either.

Why am I doing this again? thought Leigh even as she reached for another rung above her.

It wasn't for a dare.

It was just...

...just...

...she just wanted to reach the top. To see the world stretch out beneath her by the light of the full moon, to feel like she could reach out and touch the tops of the nearby trees.

She wanted to just reach it and feel that just once.

Absently Leigh wondered if her sisters and brother were still asleep back at their aunt and uncle's house, all curled up in the same big bed that she had crawled out of an hour before. The warmth and all too familiar sense of family that she had left to walk barefoot out into the cold to this tower.

Just so she could climb it and feel just this once.

It was crazy. She was crazy.

But she wasn't about to let that stop her.

She was going to reach the top of this tower come Hell or high water.

Leigh smiled and looked above her, seeing that she was closer now. Then she focused on her climbing again, ever so careful to make sure her hands and bare feet were secure before she moved on to the next rung of the ladder, determined to make it to the top. And then, ever so suddenly, she was there.

Pulling herself up, she laid across the top platform of the tower for a long time, shivering in a mix of terror, joy, and anticipation. When her frantic breathing finally evened out, she carefully pushed herself to her knees and looked around.

The velvet dark sky pin-pricked with pinwheels of bright stars loomed above Leigh and she felt like she could stretch out her arm, touch out of those brilliant lights, and drag it down to earth. Her mouth stretched into a grin at the sensation, even though she knew she couldn't pull down a star, and she shakily stood up with the curved top of the ladder as a crutch so she could look around better.

On one side the trees were taller than her tower but on the other... In that direction everything went downhill and she could see the trees going on for what felt like miles, making little humps and vales as they went that were only just visible by moonlight. They were swaying too with the wind, filling the air with a rustling noise, and she imagined that they were dancing. Dancing just for her.

Leigh didn't know how long she stood there, watching the trees dance and listening to the crickets and nightbirds ponder about the girl up on the tower. When she did finally come back to herself, the pinwheels in the velvet darkness above her were starting to disappear, replaced by the yellow-gray light of dawn. She had been up on the tower for most of the night yet she felt more alive than ever.

It was crazy.

And now she had to go back to earth.

She sighed heavily and took one last look around before she knelt, slowly lowering herself onto the ladder. Going downward with the same care she had gone up with, Leigh made it safely to the ground and paused with one hand still on the dew-slick metal. Tilting her head back, she looked up at the top of the tower and closed her eyes, cementing that feeling of being able to do anything that had come to her up there inside. She wanted to keep it and never lose that feeling, not when she turned fourteen in a year nor in twenty or more.

The crowing of a rooster broke her out of her reverie and Leigh cursed before breaking away from the ladder. She took off in a sprint towards her aunt and uncle's, bare feet pounding across the ground and heart hammering in her chest because she knew both usually got up with the crack of dawn to tend their small farm.

Yet, somehow, she managed to make it back into the house before they woke.

With a smile still on her face and the feeling of possibility warming her, Leigh wriggled back into bed between her brother and older sisters. As she settled down, she felt her brother Robert shift and went stiff as he whispered, "You went to climb the tower, didn't you?"

Turning her head, she stared at him in shock, not knowing how he knew she'd gone since she had made sure they were all still asleep. Then she caught a look in his eyes and knew.

He had climbed the tower too.

I'm No Angel

2010-05-11T22:04:00.003-05:00

“So, you're...”

“Not an angel,” grumbled Carus, knowing from experience where she was going. Having wings doesn't make you an angel, he added silently to himself.

“But...”

“No.”

The girl, barely over thirteen years if he judged correctly and all long skinny limbs, pouted at his harsh tone and crossed her arms over her flat chest. He glanced at her out of the corner of his eyes then sighed, wondering just what the in all the hells he was doing. All he had meant to do was sneak into the building, take what he could sell, and then get back out without anyone being the wiser until morning.

That had been the plan, at least, until he had caught two others in the building- and obvious amateur thieves due to the fact that the had been using torches. Albeit he had an advantage over his fellows since he could see in low light but still.

Using a torch in a building built of wood was not only stupid but was just asking to be spotted by the guards.

In the end the idiot pair had apparently thought he had been a guard and that was why they had bolted, dropping their torch and setting fire to the entire building in the process. He had turned in the opposite direction, heading for the roof of the building with what little loot he had gotten, and that had been when he had found her. What shreds of his conscience were left had insisted on saving the sleeping girl he had managed to stumble over in his hurry because burning to death in a fire was one fate he didn't wish upon anyone.

Carus leaping from one of the windows with her in his arms and being forced to reveal his most hidden feature to reach the nearest roof had led them to their current conversation.

“So what are you then?” she asked in a snippy tone, breaking through his thoughts.

With a shrug, he answered, “I don't know and I don't really care either.”

“But,” the girl started again and Carus raised a hand, eyes narrowed angrily. He had been cheated of his expected loot for the night by those two idiots and he was displeased at himself. There were supposed to be no attachments in what he did, not when he or another of the real thieves he ran with could be picked up by guards at any time. That was what Ventin had taught him since he had come into the man's hands at seven years and he had lived by that code ever since.

“Look, kid,” he growled out, even though he wasn't her elder by much, “just get out of here and go home. You know what home is, right?”

“I'm not stupid!” she snapped in response, eyes flashing with a sudden fierce spirit. Then she pointed at the building that was starting to creak and groan as the flames consumed it and hissed, “And you just burnt my home down.”

Carus opened his mouth to protest that he wasn't that stupid but shrugged it off. Why in the hells did he care what she thought of him? Instead he asked, “You lived about a butcher's shop?”

The girl wrinkled her nose at his tone and corrected, “No, I lived above the butcher's shop. And where do you live that's so special?”

He smiled grimly at that and replied jokingly, “If I told you, I'd have to kill you,” though there was no indication in his tone that he was joking. After all, he had made it a habit to never give away exactly what he was feeling because it would give an advantage to one of his fellow thieves.

And if there was one thing Carus hated, it was someone to have one up on him.

She sniffed at that, a sound as equally imperious as any woman of noble birth could match. “That's so cliché. You sound like some villain from a kid's book.”

“Don't care,” said Carus, not even bothering to point out that she was a kid. He rose from where he had been crouched on the rooftop as the building finally gave in to the forces wanting to pull it down, straightening the half-cloak that hung around his shoulders. As he noticed her gaze on him again, he deliberately dropped his hand to the hilt of one of the daggers at his belt and gave her his best glower. “Find somewhere else to stay.”

Bending over, he picked up the bag that held what little loot he'd been able to get and stalked to the edge of the roof. But he paused, almost involuntarily, when she called out, “So I guess that means you're not my guardian angel?”

There was a bitter, disappointed tone in her young voice that Carus recognized all too well but he couldn't bring himself to care. He had spent every waking moment he could remember disappointed and bitter so it didn't surprise him that anyone else felt the same. So, stepping onto the edge of the roof, he looked over his shoulder at her and gave her a bitter smile.

“Sorry, kid,” said Carus as muscles along his back shifted, spreading his dark-feathered wings wide. “But, like I said, I'm no angel.”

With that he launched himself off of the roof without a thought to how she'd get down, pushing her aside for thoughts of the drab room he called home and figuring out how much gold his little bit of loot would earn him.

Lesson Four Comes Before Lesson One (Sometimes)

2010-05-10T21:14:00.000-05:00

Old world rock music roared through the hangar, cranked up even louder than it usually was due to the alarm that was blaring. Shouting voices and the sound of huge machines rumbling to life filled in the gaps in the music between the heavy thump of drums, the wail of a guitar, and the wild screaming words of the singer. Cavan Redirk bolted through the panic with his helmet under his arm, tugging the thin vest he wore closed over his bare chest and shorts a little self-consciously. He ducked under a gesturing mechanic's arm then bobbed and weaved his way between the legs of the metal titans that were already moving out of the hangar or still standing in wait for their pilots.

Nearing the back of the hangar, he found not only the towering bulk of his own Mech but also the source of the music. Tilting his head back, Cavan frowned upwards at the humanoid-shaped titan and the two mechanics that crawled over its black painted skin like ants.

"Hey!" he shouted upwards, getting the attention of the pair. As two sets of eyes looked down at him, he snapped, "Get down, I've got to go!"

The mechanic perched high in the cockpit said something that couldn't be heard over the music. With a grimace, he then disappeared inside and the volume lowered before he popped back into view.

"You gotta talk to Lyri about that, Cav," he called down, pointing at the scowling woman who was clinging to the side of the Mech. Cavan turned his head towards where she was perched, suspended by straps clipped to hooks in the armor above her, and frowned pointedly.

He should have known better though.

Illyri Varik had been assigned as his main mechanic six years ago when he had joined up with the Black Dogs Company. He had been sixteen and stupid back then, thinking he was the best pilot who had ever been in a Mech cockpit, and he had not fully appreciated being saddled with a thirteen year-old girl despite the fact that she had been raised amongst the Dogs since birth and was a certified genius with just about any tech.

To say they didn't have a good working relationship was putting it lightly.

Cavan knew what was coming the instant he looked up at her. Illyri's eyes were hidden behind the fringe of her blue-dyed hair but he knew from experience that they were glaring at him with a fury that could strip paint. She looked at him for a moment before she stood up, almost completely horizontal from the floor, and gestured at him with the heavy wrench she held in her left hand.

"You," she intoned imperiously, "are not going anywhere. This leg is still twitching funny when she walks and it might foul up entirely if you get her to a run. The right arm is still missing armor that needs replacing as well a replacement elbow joint because of its freeze ups. And your coolant system is working so wonkily that if you go out now you'd be forced to use one of the old vests from storage to keep the heat from making your blood boil and, trust me, you don't want to have to do that." Illyri paused then finished, "So stuff it and go play cards or something."

He blinked, jaw working furiously as he searched for words, then looked up at the cockpit. His other mechanic was Lyri's assistant and protege: a genius like her at sixteen years but who jumped at every loud noise. "Marik!" he barked and the teenager yelped, cautiously poking his head out from where he had disappeared inside again.

"Y-yes?"

"What's your opinion?"

Marik Aerani grimaced and looked down at Illyri, who kept her gaze on Cavan without ever seeming to notice the focus of her protege. Then the teenager squeaked out, "I agree with her," before he vanished back into the cockpit with a heavy thump. A moment later the music cranked up to the volume of before, making the pilot sigh heavily.

"So," said Lyri loudly a moment later, "you gonna get the hell out of here or do you actually want to learn some shit today?"

Cavan frowned up at her then blinked in surprise as he realized what she had just offered it. It was...it was almost the beginning of a truce. He could shove her off and be the same idiot of sixteen he'd been when they had met - or he could grow up, act his twenty-two years, and be an adult to her just like he was to his fellow pilots.

With a sudden smile, he sat down his helmet on top of a nearby crate then looked up at her again.

"What do you want me to do?"

Her mouth opened in an 'O' of surprise that told him she'd expected to be greeted with the same idiot she'd dealt with for six years. Then Lyri regained her composure and said, "There's another harness down there and straps so put that on. Then grab the welding mask on the cart below me and the blowtorch, we're going to need it."

Nodding, Cavan found the items she was talking about and slowly began making his way up the leg of his Mech to where she stood on its thigh. She took the mask and blowtorch from him then pointed out hooks above them to latch the straps on the harness on. Following her instructions he ended up hanging next to her from the side of his Mech, managing a careful crouch by wedging one combat boot between two peices of armor.

Lyri handed him the welding mask back and said, "Alright then, hotshot, here's lesson four of taking care of this baby."

"Shouldn't we start at lesson one?" asked Cavan.

"I don't do things in order," she answered with a wry smile that he noticed lit up her gray eyes. "So, snap that mask down and I'm going to teach you how to patch armor. If you don't know how to fix a hole in your Mech's side when I'm not around, you're not going to have one for long."

Cavan grinned before he dropped the mask over his face and watched as she pulled a pair of goggles hidden in her hair down over her eyes. He paid careful attention to her as she explained how to work the blowtorch and make sure the patch sealed up all the way. And when she let him finish working on the hole in his Mech's thigh on his own, he felt a sense of pride in his chest that he'd never had before.

Was this what she felt like when she worked?

Hell, he hadn't felt this good since he had downed his first enemy Mech. And that feeling hadn't lasted long after he realized there had been another pilot, another human being, in there when its reactor core had exploded from a breach.

"So," said Cavan as the finished and he pushed the mask up to look sideways at her, "was this some kind of test?"

Lyri grinned at him then shoved her goggles up onto her forehead, sending her dyed hair in all directions. "You could say that, hotshot," she answered.

"Did I pass?"

"I'll give you a 'C' for a first attempt." She jerked her head towards the door that led to the Dogs barracks and added, "Better effort than some of those other jerks."

Cavan smiled and asked, "So I can improve?"

Lyri laughed at that before replying, "We'll see, hotshot. First we're gonna go back to lesson one."

"Okay, what's lesson one?"

"Learning how to work your computer more than just knowing how to read loadouts. Marik!"

"Yeah, boss?" came the querelous cry from above them.

"Shut down the system and go take a break," called up Lyri. "You need to study those manuals I gave you anyway."

"Okay. Shutting down."

The music turned off, followed a moment later by the clicking of the reactor cooling off, and Cavan heard Marik climing down the other side of his Mech. Lyri then grinned at him and started upward, unhooking the straps on her harness as she passed them.

"C'mon, hotshot, I'm going to teach you a thing or two," she called down to him.

Cavan blinked then started up after her, juggling blowtorch and mask as he tried not to stare at her ass.

"And stop ogling my ass!"

"Yes, ma'am," he answered hastily as he continued climbing, grateful she hadn't just dropped her wrench on his head. Then, as he settled into the cockpit next to her, listening as she began to instruct him in the things he should know about his Mech, he realized that this could very well be the start of a beautiful friendship.

Saturday Night's Alright (For Fighting)

2010-05-05T16:58:00.001-05:00

The sound of a motorbike roaring to life outside of the bar covered the noise of the switchblade being loosed and the angry growl of its wielder. Devin grinned across the pool table at the man, ignoring the worried the look of his sister from across the bar, and said, "Hey, mate, it was just a game."

"I'm not your mate, nancy boy," growled the man, who looked like one of the trolls right out of an old illustrated version of The Hobbit that Devin'd had as a kid. Well, except for the fact that he didn't have so many boils or yellow-green skin. So he dubbed him 'Troll' since he hadn't been given anything but a heavy grunt when he had come into the game.

He and his pal, who could be dubbed 'Ghost' with how wraith-thin he was, had been cheating his mate Paul so he had felt obliged to step in. Was it his fault that he and Paul had jolly well wiped the floor with them?

Apparently Troll and Ghost thought so.

Devin smiled and laid his hand on the edge of the table, fingers curling around his pool cue where it rested against the edge. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Paul's hand slowly reaching into his pocket for something then he focused on the pair across from them again. This could get messy.

"C'mon, chaps," he said in an easy voice, "there's no need to get violent."

"We had a deal with him," snarled Ghost, his accent betraying him as American as he thrust his chin at Paul. He was holding his arms in a funny way, Devin noticed, elbows bent and far from his body with his hands hovering near his hips. Classic Western gunslinger pose, he realized a moment later. "And now you're both trying to screw us?"

"Can't bugger us over that easy," growled the Troll. His mouth stretched in a cruel smile that looked too big for even his overlarge face and Devin cast a glance towards Paul first then at his sister. She gave him a nod then vanished with a flip of her dark hair, disappearing into the crowd an instant later. "We want the money he promised us."

Rolling his eyes, Devin turned his head to look at Paul and grumbled, "You just had to have a flutter."

Paul shrugged in a way that said 'What can I say?' then opened his mouth. "I can't resist a bet."

"Why am I your mate again?" wondered Devin.

"'Cause I'm a jolly wanker?"

"That's not it."

"Shut up!" shouted Troll as he brought up the switchblade and Devin whipped up the the pool cue without warning, his joking demeanor fading in seconds into a hard-eyed look that would have fit more on a soldier than his still slightly boyish features. He spun it around and thrust it across the table, the wood sliding easily through his hands until he caught it at the tip. The heavy end of the cue hit Troll hard in the nose with the snapping sound of cartilage and blood showered him as well as the pool table.

Troll roared in pain and Ghost snarled, coming around the table with his arms still held in that funny fashion. Devin swung the pool cue around so the same end hit him in the side of the head and Ghost went stumbling away from the blow.

"Leg it!" shouted Paul and they both took off through the crowd in the same direction Devin's sister had gone. As they pounded through the back of the bar, Paul pulled a pair of brass knuckles out of his pocket and slipped them on, before grinning at him. "So, can I have the big one?"

"You're bleeding mad," said Devin matter-of-factly before he kicked open the back door and they entered the alley.

"Oh let him have it before he throws a wobbly," remarked his sister as she hefted a sack in one hand and a book in the other. She grinned at Paul then asked, "So they're coming?"

"Should be raging right behind us," Paul answered with a goofy grin, bouncing on the balls of his feet. "Your ole' brother here gave the brute a bloody nose."

Sarah rolled her eyes at that then hopped up onto a trash bin, crossing her stocking-clad coltish legs and opened the book over her knee. Holding out the sack to Devin, she said, "Salt for you." When he curled his lip, she added, "The last time we had to deal with one of these in a back alley, you told me to leave the shotgun in the trunk after we nearly got arrested."

He rolled his eyes at that but took the sack, opening it up and reaching inside as he heard the sounds of crashing and angry snarling from the back corridor of the bar. Glancing over at Paul, Devin asked, "Ready?"

"As ever!" came the chirpy reply and he sighed before the door slammed open hard enough to snap off its hinges. Troll barreled out first, looking larger than he had in the bar and his skin considerably more like those trolls from the picture book, and he dove for Devin with a feral grin, eyes gleaming red. Paul, however, slid into his path with a wild smile and threw a left hook that caught him in the jaw. There was a cartoonish pause in the moment then Troll got tossed like a rag doll across the alley and Paul went bounding after him like a cat playing with a mouse.

Ghost entered the alley as Troll got blown off of his feet and stopped in shock before he turned back to Devin with a snarl, his face turned even more skeletal than it had been inside. His hands tensed in the air then he yelped as Sarah sang out something in Latin and Devin tossed the contents of the sack at him, covering him with a rain of salt. Instantly Ghost screamed in agony and his appearance guttered, briefly appearing as an Old West style cowboy complete with a pair of pistols on his hips.

"Ego incidere vestri bindings ut is terra," Sarah began reading, causing Ghost to scream again - this time in anger. "Everto totus ties vos had hic."

"NO!" shouted Ghost as he twisted, the grains of salt covering him starting to spark with ethereal light. "You can't do this!"

"Sorry, old chap," said Devin as he fished for the packet of fags in his pocket and lit one. As he tossed the used match away and blew out a cloud of smoke, he finished, "but we just did."

"Quod transporto vos in ut vestri sileo," finished Sarah as she closed the book and bowed her head. The silver cross hanging around her throat glowed and Ghost shrieked one last time before he disappeared in a burst of light that made Devin lift his hand to shield his eyes. When he lowered it, the alley directly in front of them was empty.

"Good job, sis," he said, turning to punch her lightly on the knee. "Score another soul sent to where it's supposed to be."

She hummed in response then narrowed her kohl outlined eyes down the alley before asking, "Shouldn't you go help Paul?"

Devin rolled his eyes at that and grumbled, "Well he's bloody going to bitch later but if you insist, little sister."

"I'd like my boyfriend alive, you dim arsehole."

"Oh fine then. Hold my fag...and don't smoke it! It's bad for you."

Sarah took it with a glare, holding it delicately between two fingers and giving him a look that said clearly she would rather die than pick up his nasty habit. Grinning wryly at her, Devin shrugged off his shirt and tossed it at her before he toed off his sneakers and took off down the alley, his form shifting with a thought. Wild hunting energy he usually kept tamed filled him and he tugged it down under a swift leash before he leapt, landing on Troll's broad back that was now too large for his shirt and a sickly yellow-green color.

"Oi!" he heard Paul yell angrily from underneath Troll's crouched bulk but Devin ignored it. He leaned down and swept his claws across the brute's throat in one swift motion accompanied by a snarl of satisfaction that he couldn't quell. Paul's angry voice spewing curses in about three different languages swiftly changed to one of disgust a moment later as pale green blood spilled over him from Troll's throat. With a grin, Devin jumped down from Troll's back, giving his slowly going limp body just enough of a shove with his feet to let it fall to the side.

As he landed and helped a glaring Paul up, Sarah came up to them with his shirt and shoes in the hand not holding his almost burned out fag. Devin took them with a grin as he let the change fade away, brushing stray traces of fur that always lingered off of his chest. As he tugged his shirt over his head, his sister moaned, "You just had to kill the troll while he was under it, didn't you?"

"Well, he should have killed it bloody quicker," noted Devin as he pulled on his shoes and brushed the spent end off of the fag. Taking a long drag of it, he blew the smoke out over their heads and added, "Though I am sorry, Paul."

Paul glared at him at that, vainly trying to brush pale troll's blood off of his shirt, then sighed and shoved his enchanted brass knuckles in his pocket. "You're lucky I like you, arsehole," he growled, pointing a finger, "else I'd turn you into a puppy."

"Still be a wolf," answered Devin with a smile that somehow made his teeth look like fangs. He then frowned and grumbled, "Bugger."

"What?" asked Sarah as Paul hissed, "Don't you say you regret the fight. Saturday night's perfectly alright for fighting."

Devin shook his head at that and looked mournfully back at the bar as they moved to leave the alley, heading for home.

"I never got my beer that I came here for in the first place," he answered sadly, making his sister and best friend laugh.

I Will Not Bow

2010-05-02T03:44:00.004-05:00

"I will not bow to the likes of you, shukar!"

Alendan lifted his head at the shout from eavesdropping on the whispers of the two merchants behind him who were discussing some sort of backroom deal. He had been planning on listening to all of their plans since they were plotting a trade of a good sum of the realm's coin for a case full of bottles of a powerful healing potion - illegal to sell in the realm what with the laws against the magic that enhanced it. Stealing both separately from each of them would have ended with a comfortable amount of coin in his pockets and enough potion to help those suffering in squalor in the tunnels under the city.

That shout distracted him though, drawing his attention away with its all too foreign flavoring that they got so little of in the realm with the King's hatred of foreigners. Anywhere else in the realm he might not have noticed it but he was in the King's very own audience hall. In the middle of the capital city of Karnath within the forbidding bulk of the Black Keep whose walls bristled with too many severed heads of the realm's 'enemies,' such a voice was all too easy to hear.

Pushing his way slowly through the mass of people between him and the open area before the King's throne, Alendan's eyes widened at the spectacle once he slipped into an empty space on the edge. There were three figures upon the stones before the throne, two standing and one kneeling. The two standing were tall, broad in the shoulders and chest, and heavy in bearing like their King with the brutish features and red hair that seemed to dominate the people of the central provinces. They were even a good arm-length taller than himself and he was from as far south as one could go in the realm, from the coast where the people grew tall with limbs that seemed too long for their bodies, sun-dark skin, pale hair, and sharp features.

It was not really them that caught his attention though. Their absurd heights had merely distracted him from the real subject of his focus.

Kneeling on the stones before the hulking pair with a heavy iron collar clamped around her throat linked to two thick chains that they each held one of, was a Beastling. She was of the feline type of their race that occupied the lands farthest from the eastern borders of the realm beyond the canine and reptile sort that fought for control over the area between the two regions. And, so far as he knew of her race, she was a superb example of her people, who had been described as incredibly noble and intelligent but fierce by his grandfather from a once-upon-a-time meeting with a group of them.

Despite the collar weighing upon her throat and the sorry state of clothes that had obviously once been regally made, she held herself with the bearing of a queen. Back straight, shoulders back, chin high, she stared at the King with jewel blue eyes that gleamed with fierce intelligence and disgust out of her distinctly feline but still slightly humanoid features. Her mouth, though encased in a considerably feline muzzle, was twisted into a recognizable sneer that showed off a hint of impressive fangs with whiskers twitching beneath a dark nose in irritation.

"You will bow," growled the King as he leaned forward, "or you will die like the house pet you so resemble."

Pointed ears laid back against a mane of russet colored hair streaked with ebony stripes matching the fur that covered her skin at those words and Alendan's thief-trained eyes could see the slight change in her posture. She went from indignant queen to insulted warrior in an instant with the slightest squaring of her shoulders and the quick snap-flick of her tail against the stones of the floor. There was a tremor along her lip - the subtle beginning of a snarl - but it swiftly disappeared an instant later, the motion stillborn.

"I am the daughter of the Pride-Lords of Azdulath," she declared in a strong voice that rang with the power of command, "and I bow to no man. You and your ilk cannot break me, not even with the threat of death."

There was a gasp from the crowd and Alendan's eyes flew to the King, who looked like he was about to go into an apoplectic rage from how close the coloration of his face was to matching his hair. He lunged forward then, looking almost about to leap from his throne, and spittle flew from his lips as he snarled, "You can have the death you seem to so desire then! Guards! Take this...foreign filth...from my presence and kill her as you see fit. And place her head on the eastern wall when you are finished."

Now a snarl did curl her ebony-streaked lips and his stomach cramped, twisting itself into knots at the thought of her death. His grandfather's words rang through his skull as the two brutes moved to haul her to her feet and then, before he was quite aware of what he was doing, Alendan was striding forward.

"My Lord!"

The attention of the entire audience hall was on him in seconds but it did not make him falter; he could not afford such a thing, not with the double-life he led here in Karnath. Ignoring them, he moved to stand merely an arms-length from the female Beastling, who was watching him with an interested gaze, and bowed deeply. He glanced up to see the King twitch his hand in a 'move along' gesture and straightened, smoothing down the front of his tunic before he spoke again.

"My Lord, I beg you to revoke your ruling and place this Beastling into my hands. I assure you that I can have her bowing at your feet in a mere seven-day and her foreign sentiments trained from her mind in three times that."

Alendan watched the King's eyebrow twitch in obvious irritation before he growled out, "And why should I revoke my ruling to allow this beast to broken, Sir..."

"Alaric Vraistrin, my Lord," he answered with another bow, supplying the name he went by in his guise of merchant and some-time slave trader. "Any man who has bought a slave of mine will attest that they are the most loyal and obedient of any others on the market." Which was true but that was because they were willing students from beneath the city whom he taught how to act and hide their true selves before they became his eyes and ears amongst the rich upper caste. "And imagine, My Lord, how it would look to have a Beastling such as she at your beck-and-call, eating from the palm of your very hand before the Lords of the West and the Northern King?"

In that instant there was a flicker of change about his face and Alendan knew that he had the King with that idea. Glancing out of the corner of his eye at the Beastling, he found her still watching him, her blue eyes narrowed and suspicious. Her ears, however, were no longer laid flat against her mane and her tail was still so he took her attention as a good sign.

The King lifted a hand and his gaze snapped away from her to the man on the throne. "Very well," rumbled the ruler of the realm. "But I expect to see these..results...of yours in a seven-day, Sir Vraistrin. Elsewise your head will be under the axe next to hers."

"Of course, my Lord," intoned Alendan with a sweeping bow. He then turned and took a step closer to the Beastling, inclining his head slightly to her and tilting it to the side to expose his throat. Anyone watching would simply think he was studying her but he knew by the widening of her eyes that she recognized her people's gesture of respect. The two brutes glared at him but he was not cowed and extended a hand calmly for both of the chains they held.

As they reluctantly turned them over, she tensed but stilled when he reached down and held out his hand. Jewel blue eyes studied it for a moment then she whispered, "You know my people," her eyes watching his face as she waited for his answer.

"My grandfather met them briefly," he answered just as quietly. Alendan then added, "Save your breath, my Lady, we are not out of the woods yet." She nodded at that, looking a little surprised at what he called her, then lifted her arm to grip his hand with her own paw-like one. With a smile, he gracefully drew her up from the floor, turned his head to nod deeply to the now scowling King, and then beat a hasty retreat from the audience hall with the Beastling's paw-hand clutched in his left hand and the end of the chains to her collar in his right.

Once they were out of the hall and in the side streets that he steered them into, she sniffed and said with a sneering curl of her striped lip, "I will not bow to you either. And you are a fool if you think you can break me."

Alendan chuckled at that and smiled. "I know better, my Lady. Our King here is hateful of all things foreign so he knows nothing of your kind and thinks that he can break you with mere words like he can do much of the realm."

"He is a fool," she intoned with a regal sniff that made her whiskers twitch wildly. As he nodded in agreement, she flicked an ear back twice then asked, "So what do you intend to do with me if not what your shukar King wishes?"

"The same thing I have always done with the wishes of fools," answered Alendan with a feral sort of smile. "Twist them around and utterly destroy them. With your help, of course."

The Beastling stared at him for a moment, her nose twitching, then she made a rich, deep rumbling noise in her throat that he took to be the equivalent of a chuckle. Her thick, furred fingers tightened against his, pads rasping against his skin, and she purred, "If it will destroy your fool King, then I will agree to it. You may call me Sharin; it is the least of my names I will trust you with."

"I'm Alendan," he said, tilting his head in the same gesture from earlier, exposing his throat partially. "And I hope in time you can come to trust me with more than that, Sharin. Believe me, I only want to help you get out of this twisted realm."

Sharin's lips quirked into a smile at that. "We shall see what truth you speak, Alendan."

"So we shall," agreed Alendan as he began to lead her in the direction of his home, wondering if he had gone mad. This was likely the craziest thing he had ever done in his twenty-and-six seasons and it felt like, this time, he was really on a path leading to nowhere. Just like his father had always told him his wild schemes to change the realm always were.

By the gods though, even if he really was lost, he wasn't about to give in now.

Without You I Am Lost

2010-04-26T05:46:00.001-05:00

There was a pulse-pounding beat in his head, a drum roll of raucous sound that filled him from tip to toe and made it painfully hard to think. Hard to breathe.

No, wait, he didn’t breathe anymore. He was dead, dead, dead, just like his father…

No, no, don’t think about him.

Those thoughts lead to him.

He lifted hands – hands stained with blood he could never wash away now – and tangled them in his hair as a low, painful whine seared its way up his throat. The hunger burned in his belly and pounded in his head and it was all he could do to stay and not leave his dorm on campus.

If he did…he would kill.

But it hurt so much…

And he was so hungry…

The drum roll in his head increased, pounding as fast as it could, and his stomach wrenched sideways. He could feel the fangs now, digging hard into his lower lip, and knew he was about to lose. The hunger was about to overtake him and he was going to be lost again.

His times of freedom were getting fewer, their time shortening by leaps and bounds. Soon…soon he wouldn’t come out of the bloodstained haze.

Soon…soon there would be no him. Just the hunger.

A shudder rippled through his body then, making him convulse in agony, and he lost it. The hunger roared its way into control and demanded to be sated. And his shivers suddenly ceased as he stopped fighting and rose with liquid grace, a chilling smile stretching his mouth.

There was a pretty brunette in the next dorm over who liked to walk at night.

She would be perfect.

He licked his lips in anticipation then strode for the door, his previous regret and distaste forgotten. The hunger in him and his own weakness had thwarted his control again…and he was a cold killer once more.

Edward woke with a strangled cry, tearing himself forcibly from the dream-slash-memory and into reality. He rolled over, desperate to feel contact with another body, but discovered the other side of the bed was empty. Stomach plummeting, he scrambled out of bed as he heard the staccato sound startup in his head.

He staggered through the apartment to the kitchen, wrenching open the refrigerator door. Inside an ice bin filled with packets of discarded blood from hospitals and blood banks greeted him and he hastily grabbed two of them. Without quite focusing on just what he was doing, he poured each into a separate mug and shoved one into the microwave while he drank the other cold.

The chilled, sludgy plasma tried to choke in his throat, his body wanting to reject it, but Edward forced himself to swallow. He managed to get it all down by the time the microwave dinged and dropped it in the sink.

As he wrapped his fingers around the other mug, he leaned back against the counter, trying to relax tense muscles. He lifted the mug to his nose and breathed in the scent of warm blood but part of him snarled in distaste. It wanted fresh blood, straight from a vein, but he couldn’t…

He broke out in fresh shudders at the thought of tapping a living vein, fear of turning back into what he had been rising in his belly, and swallowed half the mug in one go to still it.

Edward slowly relaxed after a few moments, taking slow sips from the mug. The warmed-up blood calmed the hunger quivering in his belly and stilled the staccato rhythm in his head. Part of him, though, was never satisfied.

Sighing, he lifted his eyes and noticed there was a fresh note stuck under a magnet on the freezer. His lover’s broad strokes spelled out a simple note that he knew well: “Gone out for a bite, Mico. Remember Roma.”

A smile touched his lips then, as it always did when that note was left. He always recalled his first few true years as a fledgling vampire in Rome with the one he wished had been his sire with ease.

Still though…

He needed him here now. The memory was still so close and he wasn’t strong enough to be rid of it entirely himself.

Taking a step forward, Edward tugged the note from under the magnet and, leaning against the refrigerator, pressed the paper to his nose. His lover’s scent clung heavily to the paper and, while not him, he could use it to banish the memory briefly.

Never for long though.

“Where are you, Eli?” he asked quietly, a desperate whine underlying his voice. “I need you.” He leaned his head against the freezer door and focused on the all-too human action of just breathing in an effort to calm himself.

Then, as though his words had summoned him, there was a warm hand pulling the mug from his hand to place on the counter. Moments later those arms were wrapped around him and Eligius breathed against his ear, “I am here, Mico,” and then Edward’s knees buckled.

“The dream again?” questioned the Roman as he leaned slightly backwards so Edward rested against him.

It was all the younger vampire could do to nod in response and Eligius growled something in Italian that had him regaining his balance for long enough to turn around. Edward wrapped his arms around the taller man’s neck and buried his face in his chest, breathing in his scent and burrowing in as close as he could. Eligius happily obliged him, drawing him tightly against him, and rumbled in a quiet voice, “I am here now, Mico, my carus. And you know I will not let you fall back to that.”

“I know,” Edward breathed and a shudder raced through him. He felt his lover tighten his arms then and say, “Come. Let us go back to sleep.” A nod was all the younger could manage and he ended up being half-carried back to the bedroom.

Eligius tucked him in like he was a child – which Edward was in comparison to the Roman’s two thousand plus years – then slid in next to him under the blankets. He drew the blond towards him, wrapped an arm snugly around his waist, and pressed a kiss against his temple.

“There now,” he rumbled in a low voice, the one Edward loved because he could feel it vibrating through his entire being when they were close like this. “Here we are, safe and sound in our bed, and nothing can touch us here.”

Edward nodded then shifted slightly, scooting downward so he could tuck his head under Eligius’ chin. The older vampire chuckled and rested his chin atop his head comfortably in response to the movement.

“Nothing can touch us,” murmured Edward.

Eligius made a noise of agreement. “Never in our own sanctuary. Now sleep, mmm, Mico? I will watch your dreams like a hawk.”

He wanted to giggle at that suddenly, thinking of how like a hawk Eligius did look with his hooked – well – Roman nose but stilled it. Instead Edward closed his eyes, breathed in the comforting scent of the one who had saved his life not so long ago, and drifted away.

And one thing he could rely upon with Eligius there was that he would never dream of those days before he had been there for him.

Bad Things Don't Always End in Tragedy

2010-04-26T01:02:00.006-05:00

Since the karaoke debacle weeks before Beoir Àite had been strangely, almost eerily quiet even during the night when it was frequently filled to the brim. The Slayer Clans had been just as quiet since the deaths of several of their own months before so they were not the culprits behind this silence.

No, almost every usual patron of the bar was avoiding it due to the still blazing temper of one blonde Welsh bartender against one foolish young fledgling who had managed to talk her into the entire debacle. Those that had witnessed the aftermath were steering clear and they had warned off almost everyone they knew.

The lack of customers did nothing to improve Elizabeth Bannon's temper, of course. Not that she needed the money, what with having been around for almost eight centuries - but she liked running her bar. She liked having bodies in the seats, breathing or not, and listening to the chatter of conversations.

She liked giving her kindred and their allies a place where they could gather in peace.

And now it had been ruined.

Beoir Àite did have a handful of occupants: some of its most loyal customers. And, of course, her faithful Viking bouncer, Erik Braed, who had never missed a day of work since the bar's opening in '79. Even their presence could not lessen her temper, however.

The five men - all vampires with the half exception of one - were seated at the counter, their eyes focused on the whirlwind behind the counter who was cleaning glasses with enough fury to break everyone one-in-four. Only one of them knew enough Welsh to understand what she was growling in a continuous string not quite under her breath and was looking a little green under the gills. A few of the others knew fragments of the language but actually knowing the translation wasn't needed. Her tone spoke volumes.

Eligius Vitus glanced to his left at Darien O'Connell, who still looked a little green, then as his right to Erik Braed, whose forehead was wrinkled heavily - a sign that the bouncer was looking for words to say to his boss. As the eldest of them - and the lover of the one who had caused the problem - he took it upon him himself to speak up.

"Lizbeth," he rumbled quietly but with the same tone he had once used to command men when he was alive. She snapped around towards him, her words cut off, and he held up a hand. "If you keep raging like this, cara, they will continue staying away. It is you they are frightened of."

Elizabeth opened her mouth, blue eyes angry, ready to protest his words but Darien - still looking a little green - spoke up.

"He's right, Liz. I've known you long enough, cousin, to know how people fear your temper." At her incredulous look, he glanced at his compatriots for support and they all nodded.

"So...what do I do?" she asked.

"Close the bar?" offered the carrot-haired Paul Outterridge from Darien's left.

From Erik's right, the werewolf-turned-vampire Walter Leitzervein growled, "Go kill?" in his broken, heavily German-accented English. The bouncer next to him muttered, "I don't think that's the right course, old man." Walter responded with an eyebrow arch that obviously translated to 'Who are you calling old?' towards the elder vampire then shrugged in Elizabeth's direction and turned back to his drink.

"I believe," said Eligius slowly before their dear bartender could get up in arms, "that closing the bar would do you good. Give them a week without you and they will come running later."

Elizabeth let out an exasperated puff of breath at that then asked, "And what am I supposed to do during this week?"

The Roman grinned brightly at that and Darien interjected, "I think by that smile he is suggesting you stay at home." The Irish vampire then smiled slightly himself as he tacked on, "And perhaps stay in bed with Eiyshi for the whole of that time."

"Ah," sighed Eligius, "that is a good idea, meu amicus."

The blonde looked between the five of them then sighed, her shoulder slumping as she shook her head. "All right, all right, I'm going." She pointed at Erik as she rounded the counter and growled, "You don't let them break anything, you hear? And lock up when you're all done here."

"Of course, boss," rumbled Erik. "Now go and relax. I'll make sure the children behave."

"Good luck," was her parting shot before she vanished through the door, flipping the sign to 'closed' as she went. As soon as she vanished up the stairs and they could no longer hear the sound of her boots, all five men breathed a collective sigh.

"Hopefully with a week of wild sex she'll calm down," grumbled Paul into his glass, breaking the silence. The others stared at him for a moment then Walter burst out laughing, followed a moment later by Erik. Darien and Eligius chuckled quietly, shaking their heads in amusement.

They spent several hours there, merely talking (and running off the occasional would-be customer who thought they might get free alcohol without Elizabeth's presence), until Paul left, grumbling about drinking too much. Walter followed him not long after, having gone long past even his considerable limit due to his two supernatural halves, and Erik had left to carry his friend home with a pointed look to the last two. Darien had nodded, relaying that he would lock up, and then it was he and Eligius alone in Beoir Àite.

"So," he finally said, "tell me the real reason you're with Edward. He may amuse you but that's no reason to be with anyone." His green eyes lidded as he peered under his bangs at the older vampire. "I've only been in love twice in my life but I know what it looks like. And you honestly love him."

Eligius frowned, the motion deepening the lines on his face, causing him to suddenly look more than the thirty-and-six years he had been when he was Turned. He lifted a hand to run over his face then sighed before saying softly, "I do love him."

Darien sat silent, waiting because he could tell that was not were the Roman was going to end.

"I taught him everything he knows, did you know that?" At the younger vampire's slight shake of his head, Eligius continued, "He was a child during the '50s and '60s and knew where his attractions lay by the time he was fourteen. By sixteen he had his first boyfriend and his father...he was not pleased to put it lightly. My Candeo, he tried to change to please his father, tried to find some attraction to girls. He kept coming back to boys, however, and when he thought he was safe to pursue one, he wasn't at all."

"He was at college, with someone he thought he loved, and his father came up to 'check' on him. To make sure he was playing 'straight'." Eligius shook his head and Darien felt his heart clench, knowing where this was going. "He was not pleased and...he hurt him. Took him away from the boy, down a dark alley, and tore him down with words and fists. Which is when Cael Ward found him."

Darien stiffened at that name, not having known that was Edward's sire. For a Kivana, the weakest of the six vampire Lines, Cael Ward had made a name for himself as one of the toughest and cruelest of their kind even in the modern age. And he was sweet, goofy Edward's sire?

The Fates were having a laugh when they orchestrated that one.

"What happened?" he asked softly.

Eligius smiled, the lines around his mouth drawing up tightly, before he answered. "Cael killed his father. Tore his head from his shoulders right there and spattered Candeo with his blood. Then he took him - in all ways possible." For a vampire of over two thousand years, who had seen almost as much war and death as any of the Elder vampires, Eligius' expression was one of a haunted man. "Meu amicus, he brutalized him so much that when he awoke...my Candeo was not himself."

"And Cael abandoned him," hissed Darien, knowing full well that vampire's modus operandi. Every vampire knew it but Kivana let it slide because she was a little scared of him herself and wouldn't even ask aid from her twin in taking him down.

"That he did. Because his last mortal moments were being beaten and berated by his father for attractions he could not control, he forced himself to forget. He spent months after he was Turned and abandoned, hunting young brunette girls, stalking them, attracting them to him like moths to flames, and killing them. Almost fifty bodies across one city and two towns in Washington before I came across him."

"He was mad," breathed Eligius as he continued talking. "Wild with rage at his father and consumed by the terror of what he had become because of how Cael Turned him. Oh if I could but get my hands on that pezzo di schiuma I would tear him apart with my bare hands for what he did." He heaved in a deep, unneeded breath, and shook his head. "It took time but I managed to coax out the real Edward, my poor Mico. Convinced him that his father had been wrong, that being attracted to the same gender was no sin, no crime; by Jove, if it were all of Rome would have been in flames before the Empire got off the ground!"

"After that he became what he is now?" asked Darien as the Roman chuckled softly to himself.

The older vampire shook his head negatively. "Not quite. It took...it took a great deal to change him. To begin the healing of those wounds Cael and his father caused." With a bitter smile, he picked up his forgotten shot glass and tossed back the whiskey in it. "He is...different...when we are alone. The flamboyancy is a shield to hide those half-healed wounds."

"And his lack of fear in the face of Liz's wrath?"

"When one has faced what he has in such a short life, our Lizbeth's minute wrath is little to fear," answered Eligius with a shrug. "You know as well as I that she was not really all that angry."

Darien nodded at that. "True."

They sat in silence for a long moment then Eligius asked quietly, "Do you understand now why I am with my Mico, meu amicus?"

The Irish vampire thought back over all he had just heard. Edward had been tormented and turned into a monster for a very short period because of his fears. He could sympathize with feeling like a monster; he had felt like that for half of his life. And Eligius had saved him, had brought him back, had shown him that he could be the person he once was and love those he wanted to love. The Roman had taught him what it was not only to be a vampire but to be human.

No wonder Edward adored him.

And seeing what he had done...Darien couldn't blame Eligius for falling in love with the fledgling Kivana.

"I understand," he finally answered just as quietly. "What you did..." He trailed off, leaving the words 'I wish someone had been able to do the same for me' unsaid.

Eligius seemed to sense them, though, and clapped him warmly on the shoulder as he slid off of his barstool. "I think it is time for us to go home, Darien. My Candeo is likely back from his work and I feel the need to hold him close after speaking of the past. And you, I think, need the arms of your lady friend as well."

Darien blinked then his cheeks flushed at his reference to the fierce little mortal detective he had gained a strange relationship with since saving her life (and his own at the same time). Then he nodded and slipped to the floor with a smile.

"Yes, I think we both need our respective lovers," he said. "I...thank you for being honest with me."

Eligius smiled as he opened the door and said, "You are meu amicus, I am always honest with you. And to fully understand him, one must hear that story." He then bowed his head and muttered, "Goodnight, Darien," before he disappeared up the stairs to the street level.

"Goodnight, Eligius," answered Darien. He then rinsed the used glasses, turned off the lights, and locked the door before he mounted the steps himself. As he reached the street, he reached for his cell phone and pressed the number one speed dial.

"Rana?" he said quietly as his somewhat-girlfriend answered. "Can I come over? No, not for that. I just...I learned something tonight and I... Yes, I am a big scaredy cat and I need my brave detective to protect me." There was a pause then he repeated, "What did I learn?"

Tilting his head back, Darien looked at the night sky and answered, "Bad things don't always end in tragedy."

Karaoke is Not for Vampire Bars

2010-04-26T01:01:00.006-05:00

"Baby, it's the way you make me, kinda get me go crazy never wanna stop...it's gotta be you."

Darien shook his head and turned away from the ongoing debacle upon the stage that had been set up at the other side of the bar. Beoir Aite was a haven of safety for vampire, wolfkin, and in-the-know humans that weren't trying to be slayers and now...now it had been turned into a horror show. In addition to the small stage that had a karaoke machine sitting on it there were blindingly colorful streamers dangling from the ceiling, glitter clinging to the floor and tables (and, by proxy, the customers), and cheap disco balls bouncing lights around the room. It was no longer the plain place that many of them had come to know since his Bloodsister's second child had opened it in 1979 with the occasional bit of music playing from a stereo behind the counter.

Instead it felt like a bar from the '70s, only with music that spanned generations.

"I can't control it anymore; I've never felt like this before. Mmm, you really make me lose my head, my hungry heart must be fed."

Leaning on the counter, he cast a pitying look at his bloodkin behind the counter. Elizabeth had her white-blonde hair bound up in a messy pile atop her head - a sign that she was not taking this well - and there was Murder in her pale blue eyes as she savagely cleaned a glass. The entire time her gaze was fixed across the bar at the current singer, who was not only belting out the Backstreet Boys in a voice that was not meant for singing but was the entire reason her bar was like this.

A low chuckle turned Darien's attention to the vampire sitting next to him. Of everyone currently in the bar still torturing themselves, he was taller and broader than everyone with the exception of the hulking form of the bouncer, Erik. Short black hair grew in wavy curls on his head, lending a softness to the hard, heavy figure of his forever thirty-something face and body. He chuckled again and murmured something in Latin before saying in English, "At least my Mico tries."

"Now I know why I was born; you feel my feelings one by one. Can't see the world I'm walking through, cuz baby I see only you, oh yeah."

"Effort," noted Darien with a shake of his head, "is about all he has, Eligius."

Eligius Vitus smiled at that and said, "Yes, but that is something, is it not?"

He started to answer but another line being belted out loudly as well as Elizabeth slamming the glass she had been cleaning down on the counter stopped him. The glass cracked and then crumpled from the force she had struck it with, leaving a slight circle indent in the top of the scarred counter.

"Baby, it's the way you make me, kinda get me go crazy, never wanna stop."

"That's it," she snarled. "I have had enough."

Darien and Eligius both turned their heads, following her as she rounded the end of the counter and headed across the bar. If he had wanted to, Eligius could have stopped her as he was the oldest vampire in Beoir Aite at the moment but he simply picked up the glass of juice from in front of him and took a sip as he watched impassively. After a long moment Darien looked from him to the raging Elizabeth who had literally torn through a table to reach the stage faster. As she tore the mic from the singer's hand in the midst of the last lines, he noted, "Y'know, I've always wondered something about you and Edward, Eligius."

The older vampire arched an eyebrow and, as Elizabeth snarled threats that had a handful of vampires and wolfkin sprinting for the door, Darien continued, "What in all nine Hells made a stoic like you get with the most flamboyantly homosexual member of Kivana's Line? I mean, he's wearing enough glitter to light up the room."

There was a long moment of silence as Eligius looked across the bar at the ongoing debacle. His lover Edward Harlow was not only the youngest vampire in the bar at just over five decades but was also wearing a glitteringly gold and white spandex suit that would have made even Freddie Mercury reconsider wearing it. There was enough golden glitter on his skin to, as stated, light up a room if a light was put on him, and his tawny mane of hair was styled like an '80s hair band member. And he was somehow grinning goofily through Elizabeth's tirade of death threats to put off a few more customers into leaving.

"What do you see in him?" asked Darien, honestly curious.

For a moment he didn't think Eligius would answer but the big vampire sipped at his drink then did just that. He turned, leaning against the counter, and smiled as he gazed at Edward with obvious affection in his dark eyes.

"He amuses me," he answered with that same smile. "Plus...my Candeo, he looks good in his outfit, no?"

Darien blinked then said, "You are a strange, strange man."

"With a handsome, limber little man in my bed, yes."

Green eyes narrowed and Eligius blinked innocently back at Darien as the younger vampire muttered, "You're just trying to give me bad mental images now, aren't you?"

"Never," responded Eligius seriously.

For a moment there was silence between them, only punctuated by Elizabeth's continuing tirade towards the silent Edward, then he added, "Why, is it working?"

Darien groaned and shook his head before saying, "Damnit, I hate you, Eligius."

"I know," replied Eligius with a slow smile.