Breakdown, Part II: Truth Behind the Delusions

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

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

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

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

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

"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

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

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

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

“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)

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)

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

"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.