Russian Roulette is not the same without a gun.

Fic Pet Peeve: Bad Latin

Mon, 01 Jun 2009 22:51:47 GMT

I am constantly running into fics with terrible Latin titles or phrases or general nonsense. If you don't know it, don't write it. Using the online Latin dictionary you found will not allow you to make proper Latin sentences. Poor Latin, like poor language of any kind, does not make you look intelligent and mysterious. It makes you look like an idiot.

At least these people aren't tattooing it on their skin. As far as I know. Argh. Don't people know that Classicists have nothing to do and would be very happy to ensure that your Latin is not nonsensical crap?

In other news, I'm alive, and apologize to anyone who is waiting for an update. Fittingly, these days I am busy reading Latin. :-)

The Color of His Eyes, Chapter 10

Thu, 30 Apr 2009 01:59:21 GMT

Title: The Color of His Eyes
Summary: When Flash, a carefree skateboarder of the future, acquires an exotic slave, both of their lives are changed.
Warnings: M/M, Violence, Abuse, Non-con, Graphic Sex

Adrian took a breath and steadied his grip on the tray. It would go down fast, he knew, and would almost undoubtedly end in catastrophe. Living as a fugitive from the law was dangerous enough without charging into the heart of the Empire’s power. A small part of him still cowered at the idea of defying authority, and begged him to leave Rainbow alone. As he knew from bitter experience, not everyone could be saved. Rainbow had sacrificed himself for them, that cowardly part of him reasoned. Would he waste that gift by charging back into danger?

*Yes,* snarled the hunter in him, the part that kept his grip on the tray firm as he walked down the hall. He would not let one of his brethren live captive as long as it was in his power to save them. That was what he had sworn to do when he had joined the Resistance and it was a promise he would keep on pain of death. He had born it heavily when he thought Rainbow had died. Rainbow had been so devoted to protecting them when it should have been the other way around. When they had found out he was alive – alive and suffering, if the agent they captured was to be believed – Adrian had known what he would have to do. The others had tried to follow suit, but he had convinced them to let him go alone into the facility. No sense in all of them getting killed.

He checked his disguise again as he neared the door. His nurse’s uniform was perfectly creased, and his contacts and false fingerprints were still in place. He scanned them at the door and stepped in as it opened and then closed behind him.

An agent slouched at a table on the corner, chin resting on his hand, barely awake. The other human was wearing a white lab coat, and old fear and revulsion bubbled up in Adrian at the sight. He pushed it down. Rainbow was lying there on the table in the middle of the room, depending on him. “Sustenance for the subject, sir,” he said, addressing the lab coat.

“Put it down over there,” said the scientist, not looking up from the syringe he was filling. Adrian put the tray where the human had indicated, carefully avoiding looking at Rainbow, and then set his sights on the agent.

The Agency’s security was far from lax. Anyone who tried to sneak in something even vaguely resembling a weapon was promptly seized and searched, and any alien above a certain danger classification was subject to heavy escort. But in their arrogance, they refused to accept that creatures like Adrian – small, humble, unarmed – were strong enough and clever enough to pose a threat.

The agent didn’t even look up before it was too late.

The other human turned at the sound of the agent’s strangled cry, and startled as he saw the man’s broken neck. Adrian pounced. This one he didn’t kill, knowing that Rainbow’s locks would only respond to fingertips with a heartbeat under them.

Rainbow was watching him when Adrian turned back to him. His eyes were white, which took Adrian by surprise. He had expected the bitterly familiar mix of green and silver, possibly overlaid with pink or even red. If he had been too late, he would have seen a dull, broken blue. It was jarring to see Rainbow so obviously calm when surrounded by chaos and implements of terror.

“Rainbow?” he asked. “Do you recognize me? It’s Adrian.”

“I remember,” Rainbow replied calmly.

“I’m here to free you.” It sounded so easy when he said it like that. He dragged the unconscious scientist over and pressed his fingertips to the lock. Rainbow’s bonds unlocked and Adrian let the human drop, backing up a bit in case Rainbow didn’t want to be crowded. His eyes were still white, so Adrian couldn’t be sure.

“Thank you,” said Rainbow, speaking like he was in a dream. He rubbed his wrists and stretched his neck.

Perhaps he simply needed an example. Adrian took the lenses out and let him see his amicability and trust for Rainbow, his wariness and fear of the agency, and the anger and hunting instinct that lurked beneath the surface.

“Where is Flash?”

“Who?” Was there another Rekikor here?

“Flash. My ma--” Rainbow caught himself. “My family.”

Shit. “You mean they’re keeping your old master here too?” Adrian used the word even though Rainbow was clearly afraid to. He couldn’t afford to let Rainbow keep his illusions anymore. They didn’t have much time, and he wasn’t going to throw his life away for a cursed human.

“Yes, but he’s not – he’s my family, Adrian. Can’t – can’t you see that?” He seemed less calm now, and looked at Adrian like it was obvious his eyes were purple.

Adrian could only shake his head, knowing pity was coloring his own eyes. “They’re just white.”

Rainbow’s lip raised in a snarl. “This is what they’ve done to me.” He stared into the distance, remote in the whiteness of his eyes.

“Look, Rainbow, we don’t have much time. The others are waiting outside. They’ll get us to safety but we have to go now.” Agency secrecy meant there was no surveillance in the test rooms, but it was only a matter of time before someone else came into the room, or tried to speak with the agent or scientist.

“Do you have a plan for getting out?”

“We just have to get to the roof, and we can scale the side from there.” The humans wouldn’t consider that a way out, since they had never been climbers, but it would be easy for a Rekikor.

Rainbow nodded, and Adrian was glad he saw reason, but then he said, “Go to the roof and scale it. Leave with the rest if need be.”

“But I came to save you!” Rainbow’s cool gaze and voice were making Adrian frustrated. What had the humans done to him, to make him like this? He wanted a Rekikor, who thought and felt with all of himself, not this cold, reserved creature that was all but human.

“There’s something I have to do.” He spoke like an agent, flat and unfeeling.

He had come too late, Adrian realized, even if Rainbow wasn’t blue eyed. “They broke you.”

Rainbow moved in, then, and put a hand on Adrian’s shoulder. Adrian was surprised by the warmth in him. “No. They haven’t broken me. They’ve only… changed me, I think. I can’t explain it. They were looking for something in me, and I wouldn’t let them have it, and now I can’t seem to let go of keeping it all inside.”

“I don’t understand.” How could any Rekikor be unable to show any color? They could be forced into a limited range, that was true, or be given more to one than another, because of personality or circumstance, but not to show any color at all? It was impossible.

“It’s okay,” Rainbow said, soothing now, like he was the heroic rescuer and Adrian the terrified captive. “I have a plan.”

88888

Flash was sleeping when the door opened. They made him sleep at proscribed times, and never disturbed him. If they were coming in the middle of the night, it couldn’t be for anything good. He pushed himself up. If they were going to kill him, he would meet them standing up. He had failed at everything – at being Frederick Hunter, at being Flash, at being a friend and a master and anything but an idiot – but he wasn’t going to fuck this up. He owed it to Rainbow, if not himself, to show the agents that he was a man. He would show them that he was someone Rainbow could be devoted to.

But it wasn’t an agent who was coming towards him. It was a ghost. Tartarus, it couldn’t be. “Rainbow?”

Rainbow approached slowly, if not tentatively. He stood before Flash, tantalizingly close.

“I thought you were dead.” Flash was beginning to wonder if this was a dream. Maybe the Agency was drugging him now, messing with his mind to break him.

Rainbow said nothing.

“How did you escape?” There was no way the Agency had simply let him go.

Rainbow’s voice when he replied was flat and cool. “I had help. They’re waiting for us outside. Come on, we have to go before they find the dead humans.”

“The – dead –” Rainbow had killed people? Rainbow, his Rainbow, the quivering mess he had rescued from a cage, so many weeks ago?

But this wasn’t the same Rainbow, he realized, as he was led out the door and pulled down the hallway. This was a new creature, the one who had looked Agent Kriver in the eye and told him he would enjoy killing him. This was the lethal creature he had only seen in glimpses before. The thought made a chill run down his spine. This was the creature who had come for him.

They ran, and ran harder when the alarm sounded and the agents poured out. Rainbow was like a wraith, like a machine. There was no sign left in him of the scared, bruised slave who had huddled on the floor, shaking at his own shadow. This was a hunting alien in the peak of his abilities, pale death against the agents. Flash could barely believe his eyes as Rainbow savaged an Agent easily, wrested his stunner from him and tossed it to Flash without even looking at him. Flash caught it by reflex, and shot three agents before they reached the end of the hallway.

He hadn’t changed very much, apparently. Same old Freddy, crushing life without even blinking.

Not that it would matter. Even under the pump of adrenaline and the shock of his revelation about Rainbow, he recognized that everything had been shot to Tartarus. It didn’t matter that Rainbow had turned into a death-dealing machine, or that he hadn’t forgotten the lessons his father had pounded into him. The Agency still saw a broken commodity and a huvver from the slum. It was only a matter of time before the Agency called in the heavy guns, and they were both taken.

The lights flashed red and Flash heard the mechanical rumble of the lockdown starting.

Rainbow seemed unperturbed. He grabbed Flash’s arm and pulled him into a cargo elevator. The doors whisked shut, and Flash heard distant cursing from the agents who had been chasing them. It was only a matter of time before the elevator was stopped, although the fact that it was a cargo elevator gave them a little more time. “I want to go to the roof,” said Rainbow, looking at him.

He didn’t know how to work an elevator, Flash realized. He really was an alien. He pressed the button, and they rode up, the elevator made to lift large loads moving swiftly with a lighter cargo.

Two floors from the roof the elevator came to a rattling stop, the lockdown catching up to them. Flash looked at Rainbow, feeling a jolt as he saw those seemingly blind white eyes staring at him. He swallowed, trying to think of something to say, and then the doors opened.

He had expected a mass of agents, but only one man stood in front of them. Kriver. Flash raised his stunner just as Kriver did and twin whines sounded as they both shot.

If he had aimed at Flash, things might have gone differently. But he had aimed at Rainbow, and Rainbow had ducked, quicker than any human. Flash had aimed true, and Kriver’s stunner clattered from his numb hands.

“So damn fast,” Kriver said thickly, staring at Rainbow. Flash saw Rainbow smirk. He was obviously mocking Kriver’s own smile, and Flash felt another chill as he wondered how well Rainbow knew this man.

But he didn’t have time to wonder. “That shot’s going to wear off in a bit. Should I shoot him again?” He was the one holding the stunner, and hated Kriver for his own reasons, but he still felt like he ought to ask Rainbow.

Rainbow shook his head. “No, we need him.” He took Kriver by the hair and started to half drag him along. Flash followed dumbfounded until he saw where they were going.

It took Kriver a moment to catch on. He gave them an uncertain look when they came to the staircase. “Unlock it,” Flash clarified.

Kriver swallowed, clearly working up the nerve to refuse. Flash didn’t have time for this. While Rainbow held him, Flash grabbed his hand and slammed it into the lock. It scanned and unlocked, and on they went. Kriver started to thrash more as they went on, making things difficult as the shock started to wear off, but Rainbow handled him like he was a whiny toddler.

There was another lock at the top of the stairs, and it was more of a struggle to make Kriver unlock it this time, but they managed, and when they stepped through they were on the roof.

All of Prospera stretched out before them, disturbingly peaceful from this distance. Years ago Flash would have looked at this place and feel confounded by how much he was expected to rule one day. Now he looked out at the spiraling towers and arching roads and saw a different kind of trap. Where could they go now?

Rainbow did not seem perturbed. He threw Kriver away from him, watching impassively as Kriver rolled to his feet and brushed himself off. The wind whipped through his white hair, and Flash could not help but gaze at him, even as he kept the stunner trained on Kriver.

“I wouldn’t kill me if I were you, kid,” Kriver said, and Flash realized the man was talking to him. “You can’t escape this, but they’ll listen later if I tell them that you cooperated under arrest and came peacefully.”

“We’ve already attacked a dozen agents,” Flash reminded him. The man really didn’t get it, did he?

Kriver looked at a loss at that, and then even more confused as Rainbow took hold of Flash’s arm and pulled him away towards the edge. Flash could feel the drop behind him, and Rainbow at his side.

“Are you ready?” Rainbow asked, and Flash realized abruptly what Rainbow’s plan was.

The other huvvers called him “Flash,” the man without fear, who’d plunge into Tartarus if the rush were sweet enough. He had prided himself on that, doing the one thing he had been unable to do as Freddy, to look into the abyss and jump right into it. He could still do this. He felt the old familiar rush fill him. “Always.”

Kriver didn’t get it until it was too late, and Flash saw him lunge at them as they went over the edge. They were falling, and Flash had no board to catch him this time, but it didn’t matter, because he had Rainbow with him. His last thought before the rush took the breath from him was that he wished he had been able to tell Rainbow how very, very much he loved him.

88888

Damien Feri put down his phone and dared the little bugger to ring again. He was pleased when it did not; it was the first time things had gone as he wished all day. This day had topped any previous incidents of incompetency in his division, and he had seen some doozies.

As Director of the Agency in the Prospera division, Feri was used to the push and pull of government and private elite. He had certain expectations of the old, wealthy families in the area, and in return was happy to provide what services were expected of him. He counted on several families for their monetary and political support, with the understanding the money came with the agreement to ignore their shady business practices and the shenanigans of their spoiled brats. In addition, he was expected to refrain from kidnapping one of those brats, arresting him without charges or record, and even threatening or attempting to kill him.

He had not been expecting the call from the Hunter estate. He had thought it was another boss ringing to vituperate him for the current debacle with Operation Black. The Rekikor’s priming had been going poorly for weeks, and the most recent development of his escape and attack had been the fitting climax.

“With all due respect, sirs,” he had said without even looking at the caller, “I cannot kill the damn thing if I must constantly keep you abreast of my actions.”

“I do hope,” a voice had responded in the pleasant, faintly condescending air of an expensive butler, “That you are not confirming the report that you are trying to assassinate the heir of the Hunter estate.”

“What?” Only then had Feri looked at the number, and realized he was speaking to the manager of the Hunter trust. “I believe you’ve made some sort of mistake.” There was no way the Rekikor was the heir to anything, and the slum kid he belonged to was as plebeian as they came.

“If I may be so bold, sir, I believe the mistake was made on your side. My name is Eric Lanner, and I represent the Hunter estate.”

The conversation had gone downhill from there. It was not a good day. Not only had he let the biggest military advance since the Manhattan Project slip through his fingers, he had probably lost the Agency an enormous amount of funding. Odds were slim that the Hunter kid, now that he was found, would let any more of his precious endless funds anywhere near the government branch that had tried to kill him and his little toy.

He had also probably lost his job.

It had not been his fault, certainly. It was standard procedure to get rid of witnesses without record in a case like this, and the Hunter boy had only been kept as ammunition against the Rekikor. There was no way they could have known who the kid was unless someone had recognized him. And someone definitely had.

He pressed the button that would transmit his voice to the intercom. “Abort initiative to obtain prisoners 994 and 995. Repeat: abort initiative to obtain prisoners 994 and 995.” Then he picked up the phone and tried to decide which of his incompetent, moronic Agents he was going to fire and which he was simply going to have removed.

Only the Fayelian escaped his wrath.

888888

Kriver nearly followed the Rekikor and the idiot kid right off the building. He stopped himself halfway there, and fairly flew down to the first floor, ignoring the hustle and bustle of Agents around him. There still seemed to be chaos everywhere, and he didn’t have time for it. Nothing mattered except the damn Rekikor.

He burst out one of the side doors to the vehicle lot where the kid and the creature should have been lying dead. But there was no sight of them. Kriver swore.

Then he saw a flash of white hair across the lot.

He took off, feeling his heart hammering in his chest, wishing he had the time to grab a vehicle, to call for backup. But he couldn’t let the Rekikor, the godsdamned alien that should be dead or begging for mercy escape.

And he was gaining on it. It ran lithely, as though it hadn’t just fallen from a building, but he was bigger and stronger and he would win. He pounded his feet against the pavement and ignored the fire in his lungs. He ran almost blindly, his only focus the white hair and almost childlike body. He had no idea where he was going, except that he was following the Rekikor, and he was winning.

He made his bid the second he had the creature within arms reach. Slamming into it and knocking his own breath away, he shoved it into an alleyway, where the law could turn a blind eye when he put it out of his misery for once and for all.

It hit the ground hard and rolled away, and he took a moment to catch his breath while it struggled to rise. He watched it come to its knees slowly, head down and hair over its face. As his breath evened he raised his stunner and set it to its highest setting, feeling the weight of his exhaustion fall on him as he took aim. “Time to die, fucker,” he said as the thing finally raised its face.

He saw the flat gleam of its white eyes across the alleyway. In a split second, they were inches away from him. His gun was wrested out his hands before he could think, and he stood frozen in fear, struck by the realization that this thing wasn’t weak at all. It wasn’t tired or afraid in the slightest.

It hadn’t been running away from him. It had been *leading* him.

It was the last thought he ever had.

88888

Flash awoke to the fuzzy feeling only pain drugs could bring. It took him a moment to orient himself, and with consciousness came muted pain. He groaned and opened his eyes, blinking the blurriness away and seeing a cruddy, chipped ceiling. He was lying on a faded red couch, and he was covered in crude bandages.

He sat up slowly, groaning again as his head protested. It was only when he looked around afterward that he realized he was not alone in the room.

“Rainbow?” He realized as soon as he said it that this Rekikor wasn’t Rainbow. This one was bigger, although still shorter than him, with less delicate features and a scowl painted on his face. His eyes looked white.

“I sent for him.” His tone was curt.

“What happened?” The last thing he remembered was jumping off the building with Rainbow. He tried to get up, wondering how bad his wounds were.

The Rekikor took a menacing step forward. “Don’t move, human. It wasn’t my idea to bring you here. Rainbow will be here in a second.”

Flash decided this wasn’t the time to pick a fight. “Where am I?”

The Rekikor seemed slightly mollified by his obedience. “A safe place, for now. We need to move soon. The Agency’s bound to be on our ass.”

“And who are you?”

“A friend of Rainbow’s.”

“No, I mean, who owns you?”

The muscles in the Rekikor’s jaw clenched and his gaze darkened. Flash was too far away and high on pain drugs to tell what color, but he was guessing it wasn’t a happy one. “I am no one’s property, human. Make the mistake again and I’ll gut you.”

Shocked by the threat, Flash said nothing. Rainbow showed up a second later, and Flash watched as he greeted the other Rekikor silently, their eyes locked on each other. The other Rekikor turned back to him eventually. “Remember what I told you,” he said, before leaving the room.

“Rainbow,” Flash said, at the same time as Rainbow cried “Flash!” Then Rainbow was next to him, running his hands over Flash’s bandages as if to check them. His eyes were still a neutral white, although care and worry were written on every other part of his body.

“I’m all right,” Flash said, although he had no idea if that was true. “Especially considering what I was expecting. What happened?”

“Some Rekiki I met while I was esc—away came to rescue me. I told Adrian – the Rekikor you just met – to steal a vehicle and bring it out to the lot after he freed me. I thought the padding would help, but I guess humans are weaker than I thought.” Rainbow, Flash noticed, was sporting only a couple visible bruises.

Suddenly, Rainbow ceased his catalogue of Flash’s injuries and looked up at him, frowning. “You thought you would be dead?”

“We jumped off a building.”

“You love to jump off buildings. Is that not how the board works? You do not die with those.” Rainbow’s expression held horror. “I thought you knew you would be safe. I would not let you die.”

Flash shrugged, feeling uncomfortable now that the moment was over. “Didn’t seem like a good idea to live without you.”

Rainbow, who only a short while ago been the reaper of the Agency, now looked a lot more like the sad creature he’d brought home from a hooker bar. “But I am just a pet to you.”

“That’s – that’s not.” He thought about how Rainbow had come for him, had saved him even after he had failed so much. He thought about Adrian’s words. *I am no one’s property.* “Someone told me that you think of me as family. Is that true?”

“Of course.” There was such utter serenity in Rainbow’s eyes, like it didn’t bother him at all that Flash had ordered him around and tied him up and fucked him and not even fucking protected him when push came to shove. The enormity of it hit him suddenly, of what Rainbow was and what he had done to a creature who had only ever been kind and loving to him. Rainbow had protected him at every turn and he had only enslaved and hurt and failed him.

He put his head in his hands. “Gods, Rainbow, I’m such a fuck up.”

Rainbow made a soothing, inhuman noise. “Of course you are not.”

“How can you say that? I *bought* you. I didn’t even give a shit about you. I wanted to get rid of you, and when I didn’t I made you – I ordered you around and I tied you up and gods, Rainbow, I’m so fucking sorry. I know that doesn’t even mean anything – how could it? Tartarus, I’m so –”

Rainbow placed a hand on his mouth and looked him in the eye. “You were the first human to ever show me kindness. You saw how Adrian was. The others here, they have only known human cruelty. You changed me.”

“Kindness? I thought of you as a *pet.* I did all that to you and you still saved my life.”

“You saved mine first.” Rainbow’s voice was gentle. “I was dying in that cage, and you took me. I know you never meant to hurt me.”

“But I *did.* I treated you like an animal. Worse.”

Rainbow sighed. “I do not care. You may have made your mistakes, but it was only because of you that I survived the Agents. It was because of you that I am what I am now, and I will not be ashamed of it. Or of you.”

“I owe you so much. Gods, Rainbow, I love you so much.” He didn’t even realize his words had changed until suddenly Rainbow was kissing him, his hands moving so gently over his wounded body. It took him a few foggy, kiss-dazed moments to realize that Rainbow was stripping him and himself. “Wait, Rainbow, we shouldn’t – I shouldn’t –” How could he fuck Rainbow again after what he had done the first time? After everything that had been done to Rainbow?

Rainbow silenced him with a kiss. “This is what I want.” The confidence in those words, the same sense of cool control that had let Rainbow kill Agents by the dozen, sent a thrill down Flash’s spine and a shock of blood to his cock. Then Rainbow was on top of him, straddling him, guiding him gently and firmly. He took hold of Rainbow’s hips and let himself be engulfed by sensation.

Rainbow lay beside him afterwards, sleeping silently, but Flash couldn’t sleep even with post-orgasm relaxation and drugs thrumming through him. It still wasn’t right. Just because Rainbow was willing to forgive him didn’t make it all right. He hadn’t done anything except not be as horrible as the sick fucking bastards who had abused him for most of his life. So he had given Rainbow clothes and only drunkenly fucked him once. That didn’t make him a goddamn hero.

There had to be something he could do. Something to prove to himself, at least, that he was serious about doing the right thing for Rainbow. And the others, too, the Rekiki who had risked their lives for him just as much as Rainbow had and with even less cause. He had a chance to take responsibility, and this was one time he refused to fuck up.

It came to him suddenly, what he had to do. He practically kicked himself for not thinking of it earlier.

He disentangled himself from Rainbow as gently as he could, and left him sleeping on the couch. Adrian was in the next room, and looked displeased to see him, his eyes changing to a wary green. “I told you to stay put.”

“I need a phone. Any kind.”

“No contact.” Adrian sounded like an exasperated parent explaining to a child. “The Agents are still looking for us.”

“Once I make this call, it won’t matter if they find us or not.”

Adrian’s eyes took on a yellow tinge at that. Curiosity, Flash recalled. Not trust, but hopefully close enough. “Who do you want to call?”

“My butler.”

Adrian’s gave Flash a once over as if seeing him for the first time, his eyes now totally yellow. “Rainbow doesn’t remember you having a butler.”

“Yeah, well, I wasn’t exactly living at home when he met me.” Years of hiding summed up in a throwaway sentence.

Adrian frowned, but nodded at a phone, a cheap piece in the corner. He followed Flash over to it. “If you betray us, I will kill you.”

“Fair enough.” Flash picked up the phone and put in the number, remembering how many times he’d called it before. It rang only once before Eric’s modulated tones greeted him. “I was not expecting to hear from you, sir.”

“Wasn’t really expecting to call.” Flash, so determined a moment ago, felt a little foolish now. How could he expect to just waltz home? Even with his father dead and the estate intact, he had been gone so long…

“Would you like to come home?” Eric’s voice was perfectly calm, but even so his question made Flash shiver. Home. Did he want to go back to the place where he had spent years fighting and giving in to his father’s violent teachings? No.

“I don’t think I’ll ever come home, Eric. But I do want to come back. And,” he looked up as Rainbow came into the room and stared at him curiously. “I’m bringing some friends.”

Benedict from "Within a Forest Dark"

Sun, 11 Jan 2009 01:45:00 GMT

Benedict, for those not in the know, is the big cheese of the vamps in the USA, and when our hero Bello deep-sixed his current boytoy he got pissed and pissy.

Despite its many errors, this picture really helped cement Benedict in my mind. I like his narrow eyes, tilted head, sharp jaw, pursed lips and long thin nose. He looks like he might give a toothy sneer at any second.

Within a Forest Dark 7

Tue, 25 Nov 2008 22:52:53 GMT

An update, finally. For everyone waiting on my other stories, I haven't forgotten those, either. I've gotten a couple of responses from readers who seem convinced that I've forgotten all about my stories, and I assure everyone that isn't the case. I don't write as fast as many other authors, I know, but I can't help that.

Title: Within a Forest Dark
Summary: A hunter learns that there are far more threatening creatures in the world than vampires.
Warnings: Angst, H/C, M/M, N/C, Torture, Violence

I hit the ground anything but running. I’d smacked into pavement enough times to recognize it when I felt it, but I’d never fell face forward onto it so happily. After the roller coaster of the portal, smashing into solid ground was a relief. I rolled to my feet and tried to get my bearings, feeling my scraped face and hands heal over as I took in my surroundings.

I knew down to my bones that I was in the city. It wasn’t a street I recognized, but nowhere else in the world held that mix of river and grit and gutter stench.

Thank fucking God.

The street was empty, so I took off running. In a crowd I would have walked to avoid attention, but I already stood out here, alone and bare foot, and I wanted to get as far away from Santo as quickly as possible. He had to be right on my trail, possibly already turned into a monster.

It was stupid to feel this relieved. Nothing was all right. The same doors were shut against me that had been before I was captured, and this time I had an angry vamp and a powerful monster hot on my trail. I had been thrown into a whole world of politics I had never known about, and I still had a fucking magic collar on my neck.

But I was out.

Figuring out where I was didn’t take long. This far downtown and so close to the river, the place had to belong to Kincaid. It could have been worse. One of Lupos’ closest neighbors and oldest rivals, she had probably rooted for me while I hunted down his family. I hoped that she had enough going on in the wake of Lupos’ death that she couldn’t be bothered to sic her dogs on me.

The vamps weren’t my biggest problem, anyway. I needed a weapon. A knife wasn’t going to cut it, obviously, what with the collar and Santo’s habit of not dying. I needed something sharper, more subtle, who knew what the fuck was going on and how to stop it. Enemy of my enemy and all that jazz.

And I had to do it fast. Nothing told me I was being followed, but I knew it wouldn’t be that easy. I remembered that Santo had let me run before just to see how far I could get, that he had been able to sneak up on me at the mansion at will. I refused to let myself panic at the idea. We were on my turf now, and I wouldn’t let him get away with it for a second time. If I had any chance at all, it was here, in the city I had made my mark on for the past five years.

Except the city had changed. It wasn’t just the old hunting ground anymore, dog eat dog in back alleys. There were clans and covens and agreements and debts, things that did a whole lot more than go bump in the night. They were the ones who had gotten me into this shit in the first place, and they were going to get me out.

I trotted uptown, keeping to out of the way streets. I wasn’t worried much about human attackers, but it was twilight, and the vamps would be newly rested and ready to play. I looked like prey if they didn’t recognize me, and if any of Lupos’ circle ran into me my name was mud.

I got through Kincaid’s territory without incident, and crossed the broad street that marked out the beginning of Central, the part of the city with free hunting. No nests ruled the area, which meant no battles over territory, but also no back up if you ran into shit. What happened in Central generally stayed in Central. It had the most bars, the best parties, and the worst fights in the entire city.

My main haunts had always been The Fifth Circle, the one neutral bar of the city, and various hunter bars: Hawthorn, High Stakes, Styx, and the rest. I had only ever entered a vamp bar once, and that had back before I’d been a hunter, when I had been too busy worrying about the lights and the drinks and being an enormous gay to notice any fangs. The memory still burned.

Asylum was the oldest vamp bar in the city, as far as I knew. It didn’t look like much, not like some of the blood raves uptown, where Louis used to get his information. They were roaring hellish pits, and this place was deceptively calm in comparison. It looked like it had been built back when the streets were cobblestone, and it suited the cramped, dark street it stood on. “Asylum” was scratched out on the top in dark letters, and the door at the front was closed.

It was a huge risk. Louis walked into these places all the time, but he had vamp friends and known vamp connections. Going in alone was asking for trouble. If I’d had more time I might have scoped out a hunter bar first, but time was the last thing I had. It had been the vamps who had known Santo on sight, when in five years of talking to hunters I had never heard about the older set.

Vamps could smell fear, I reminded myself as I knocked on the door. I had jumped blindly into a magical portal only fifteen minutes ago, so this should be nothing. This was the devil I knew.

The vamp who answered was big and bulky, not the usual weasel variety. He still had a bit of color on him – probably changed recently, and most likely for the sole purpose of guarding the place.

He gave me the once over. I smiled, hoping my expression didn’t betray how badly I wished I was armed. “Hi, stud. You gonna let me in?”

He snorted, crossed his arms, and nodded at my collar. Way back when, before all the vamp business, I would have thought he was just a grumpy bouncer. If I had been the hunter I was before Santo – had that been only weeks ago? – I would have taken it as the usual vamp posturing and communication. Now I wondered if he was trying to speak with his mind as well.

Either way, I got the message. I touched the collar as if I had forgotten it was there. Fat chance. “Gift from a friend – name’s Benedict. Maybe you’ve heard of him?”

The vamp narrowed his eyes, and I tensed. He stared at me for a moment, and then made a noise so mangled by fangs it took me a moment to figure out it was “clan.” Definitely a newbie.

“Tarquin,” I said, remembering Santo’s introduction.

The vamp moved out of the doorway, and I stepped into the lion’s den.

The lights were low and red, making the vamps’ eyes glitter reflectively as they hissed and gestured at each other. There was low jazz playing somewhere, and the murmur of humans amongst the hissing. The place was far from empty, but it wasn’t packed either. So far, so good.

I made my way to the bar, feeling eyes on me as I passed. I knew I smelled good. Luring vamps in used to thrill me, closing in on them as they closed in on me, but now the looks just reminded me of how vulnerable I was. I wasn’t even wearing shoes, for fuck’s sake. This wasn’t a neutral bar, no matter how at ease the humans looked. If they decided to tear me apart, no one would care, and I couldn’t fight back.

I surveyed the people at the bar, and found my mark sitting out of the way, wrapped up in a glass of who knew what. Too quiet and mousy to be a thug, but confident enough to come alone. If things went my way, he was old enough, smart enough, and eager enough to please that he’d tell me what I wanted to know without asking too many questions. If things didn’t go my way… I’d cross that bridge when I got to it.

“Hey, gorgeous. Buy me a drink?” I asked, sitting down next to him.

He jerked and gave me a startled once over while I smiled at him. His hair was rumpled and messy, and his clothes were faded and worn. He had a face like a school teacher, and to complete the image he had a book with him, something Latin on the cover. He nodded, looking nonplussed, and the bartender made her way over. She was everything Collins wasn’t, young and perky and female, and for a moment I thought about how much I’d give to be back at The Fifth Circle. The memory of Collin’s curse and the slam of the door rang in my ears. She fetched me my beer and left, and I was grateful.

He stared at me some more, watching my throat as I swallowed. Classy. I put my beer down. “If you’re trying to talk to me with all that thought stuff, I don’t get it. Too hard headed, I guess. Name’s Victor.”

“Oh, uh… hello, then. Victor. My name is Martin.” His accent wasn’t too bad. Better than most of the vamps I had killed.

“So, Martin, what’s a nice vampire like you doing in a place like this?”

Martin looked around the place like he hadn’t noticed it wasn’t his local library. “I, well, I’m a creature of habit, I suppose.”

I moved closer. “Yeah? I’ve got some habits, too.” I had worked the vamp-slut angle before, but never with this much to lose. I didn’t like it.

Martin swallowed and fumbled with his glass. “I’m not – not sure I’m the one you...”

A shy vamp? I couldn’t help but laugh, nerves making it funnier than it warranted. “No, I think you’re exactly the one I want. See, I’m looking for a bit of information, and you look like the knowledgeable type.”

“Oh.” He muddled with that for a while, and then offered, “So, how may I be of, ah, service?”

Bingo. Now came the tricky part. “I’m new in town, and looking for Benedict of the Tarquin clan. You know where I could get in touch with him?”

“Why would you want to find him?” He seemed genuinely confused, startled out of his blushing virgin routine. Clearly he knew the name, and he didn’t immediately get suspicious or angry or misty eyed.

I shrugged. “Call me ambitious. Can you tell me or not?”

“Uh, well, he owns Revenant, I believe, so you could always leave word there. He’s had a hand in the city since before my time, however, so I doubt there’s much you could do without his knowledge.”

Hadn’t I learned that the hard way. “Just my kind of vamp. The whole city, huh?”

Martin nodded, an earnest undead puppy. “The entire country, if I’m not mistaken, although I’m not a politician by any means. He’s the inferus imperator… do you know what that means?”

“Educate me.” I tried to make it an invitation and not an order, feeling awkward and whorish.

Martin just looked rattled. “Well, um, it’s from the Latin – that is, obviously – I mean, he’s the head vampire. ‘Undead ruler.’ Of the north. North America. There are thirty-five in the world.”

I let Martin fidget while I digested that. The information was new, but not useful. I had been hoping to find Benedict’s territory to avoid it. Now it looked like I would have to cross the pond to get away.

No. Benedict was too pissy to be overflowing with loyal followers, and too powerful not to have enemies. I had heard him talking about them. I just had to find them. And avoid Santo. And the other vamps. And keep my head on my shoulders.

Piece of cake.

“That’s good to hear,” I said, trying to sound relieved and grateful and a little vulnerable. “Anyone I should avoid if I’m looking to play nice with Benedict?” I was taking a risk by aligning myself so hard with Benedict, but who was I kidding? This whole shebang was risk city.

“He’s rather adept at eliminating threats,” Martin said dryly. Like that was news. “But you might want to avoid Charles of Thule. His only hold on the city is Sleepwalk, however, and that’s all the way uptown.”

I had to assume that this Charles was the one Benedict had mentioned, which meant he would be pissed at Benedict and Santo, and someone Benedict had considered a big enough threat to mention. As for the bar, I’d heard the name before. The bar was all the way at the north end of Central, above the park, and not a rave by any means. That could be good news or bad, but I would have to figure it out there. I touched the collar and watched his flat eyes follow the movement. Time to put this baby to bed. “Want to find the bathroom?”

“Yes,” Martin said decisively, only to look scandalized right after. I had never seen a vamp look so conflicted about his desires. Strange. On the other hand, he was still drooling for me, so who cared?

It got worse once we got to the stalls, which were filled with the same red light. He started pulling at his sleeves and making a fool of himself and looking agitatedly at my neck. His accent got worse as his tongue stumbled over his teeth. “We don’t have to – of course, I want to, but you needn’t feel obliged. That is, I wouldn’t want to anger anyone, especially if you belong to – to someone.”

“I don’t belong to anyone.” I drew him into a stall, trying not to think about how small this room felt, about how deep in enemy territory I was, unarmed and hunted. I pulled him in close, watching his eyes widen as he smelled me. He looked terrified. When was the last time he had had blood straight from the source? “Don’t you want this, Martin?”

“Yes.” Bloodlust melted the word. “But… your collar.”

“Don’t worry about it.” I kept my tone soothing, even though all I wanted to do was punch this leech for his obsession with my goddamn collar.

“Who are you, really?”

“No one you know.” I didn’t have time for this. I held up my wrist and bent his head to it, and saw bloodlust overcome him.

I’d never felt anything from a vamp’s bite than irritating pain, and this time was no different. It was watching that had changed. I had no knife to reach for now, and no need to wait for the opportune moment to slice Martin’s neck open. It was just me and him in the red light, and he looked… adoring. He acted like he was seeing God, not sucking out my heartflow like the parasite he was. It was strange.

He collapsed finally, and I caught him and lowered him to the toilet seat. He stared up at me with glazed eyes, in the same melting high vamps always got when they had a taste of my blood. I was counting on it to last a few hours at least, enough to stop him from tattling to anyone long enough for me to get the hell out of dodge.

“Oh god,” he croaked through blood stained lips.

I licked at the blood at my wrist, feeling the cuts from the vamp’s teeth close up under my tongue. There was no way to cover the smell of my blood, but I wanted to keep it under my skin as much as possible.

“Oh god,” Martin repeated, sounding like he was figuring something out, his voice awestruck. “I – you’re…”

I looked up, tensing at the thought that he might have somehow recognized me. I’d had a growing reputation before Lupos, and he might have publicly attached a face to the name. If Martin cried vamp-hunter the shit could really hit the fan.

“I love you.”

That was a new one. Martin looked as shocked as I was by his declaration, and I couldn’t help cracking a relieved smile. Martin was a weird little vamp. Much as my hand itched for a knife to gut him with, I wouldn’t lose sleep over letting him go.

Martin must have gotten over his shock, because he started up as I turned to go: “Don’t leave me. Please. Oh god, please. I love you.”

I didn’t have time for this. I turned back and gave him my least threatening smile. “Stay right here, Martin. I’ll be back.” He nodded obediently and I hustled out of the bar, ignoring the undead eyes on me.

My little adventure hadn’t taken long, but twilight had given way to true night while I was inside. It felt like a different city now that I had a goal in mind, even if it was all the way uptown, over the proverbial hill and through the vampire-ridden woods.

I headed for the nearest uptown subway. It was the quickest route. It might be easier to get trapped there, but I wasn’t safe anywhere, and the sooner I got where I was going the better. I had no money, but the kindness of strangers could be pretty dependable, as long as they were human. I’d dragged myself home in much worse condition.

Home. I hadn’t seen my apartment in almost a month and a half, between Lupos and Santo and my habit of crashing at Louis’ place. My apartment had never felt like home anyway, and my landlord probably thought I was gone for good this time. When this mess was over, I would have to find a new one, and spend a good amount of time it since Louis had so emphatically shut his door in my face. Collins would come around as soon as the danger had passed, I hoped, but Louis…

Louis was not someone I wanted to think about right then, and if nothing else the hissing of vamps saved me from that. They rounded a second later, and it was just my luck that there were four of them, all Lupos’ bitches, and looking hungry to boot. They rushed me and I ran. The race was on.

I pelted to the other side of the street and took off uptown. Lupos’ little weasels were hot on my tail, even if my long legs gave me edge. Shit shit shit. I needed a plan fast. I had no idea if they knew what Santo’s collar had done to me, or if they were just pissed and desperate enough to launch themselves at me, but it didn’t matter. They’d find out soon enough if they got their dead little hands on me.

I turned a corner, heading east, and knocked down a garbage can on the way. I heard a vamp trip and curse, and glanced back. He had picked himself up, but it gave me an idea. The collar hadn’t knocked every weapon out of my hands.

Vamp hunters had their own territory, all the way above the park on the east side of the city, across town from where Sleepwalk was. If there was one place vamps avoided, it was that corner of town. If there was another, it was well lit and well populated public places. And if this city couldn’t provide those, I was a monkey’s uncle.

And dead meat.

Being chased down the street by four vamps I should have been able to shank in my sleep ranked pretty fucking high on my shit scale, but it wasn’t like running from Santo. I knew exactly what was chasing me, and I knew where I was going. I changed direction and hit my stride, my breath coming long and easy. I barely noticed the harsh pavement under my bare feet. This was my city, not some twisted labyrinth I was trapped in. I owned this.

The sixty-fourth street station wasn’t big enough that there would be policemen who would get pissy about my footwear, but it was a dependably trafficked place. There was a good chance the vamps wouldn’t follow me down at all, but if they did there would be enough people to make them cover their freak teeth. I all but flew down the steps, with the vamps only a block behind me.

Silence greeted me. There was no one, not even the normal city worker at the kiosk. Nil, niente, nada. Dead fucking silence, except for the distant rumble of a train. What were the fucking odds of that?

The vamps would have heard the lack of people. I snapped out of it and turned back as they whipped down the steps, teeth definitely not covered. Trapped.

And this had seemed like such a good plan.

They paused as they reached the bottom of the steps, catching their breath now that they had me cornered. It was a moment I should have been taking advantage of, but where could I go? The rumble of the train got louder as they panted.

“Been looking for you for a long time, cocksucker,” one of the vamps taunted. I didn’t know his name, but recognized his face. He had been the last fucker to drink from me before Santo came. “Play nice now, and maybe we can work something out,” he continued, acting like he wasn’t lisping ridiculously with every word.

I thought fast. Was it worth my while to throw in my lot with these assholes? They would certainly have beef with Santo, given the head-ripping incident. But with Lupos’ death their names would be mud, just like I’d wanted when I’d set out to kill him myself. Should I still deal with them? Did I have a choice?

No, I wasn’t doing this. I wasn’t going to let myself get caught again, especially not by these weakling little bastards who had needed to tie me up and beat me before they stooped to drink my blood.

“You want me? Come get me.” I spat and turned, launching myself into the tracks as the roar of the coming train came rushing in at the other end of the station, lights blaring.

I knew I was far enough to clear the train; it was all the way at the other end of the station. But as I leapt into the tracks there was a horrible screeching sound. It was everywhere, making adrenaline burn through me as I bolted for the opposite platform, all half formed plans of running down the tracks gone. I had never heard anything so loud, even when Santo was bellowing in my ear. I leapt up out of the muck, onto the platform, and couldn’t resist looking back.

The stench of blood hit me almost as soon as I did. It was everywhere, spattered all over the bottom of the train, which had clearly only stopped after smashing into the vamps. The ground beneath it was littered with what had been a vampire or three. I didn’t have time to count limbs. I hopped the tollbooth and nearly flew up the steps.

Holy fucking shit.

No vamps had come up the stairs across the street, and I took the chance to stop, psychotic sorcerer on my ass be damned.

What the fuck had happened?

I leant against the entrance to the subway station and let my heart calm down. The city around me was quiet and still, like I hadn’t just killed a couple of vamps with a convenient train. I couldn’t believe it.

I didn’t have time to muddle it out, either, much as I wanted to sit down and puzzle out what had happened. Just because those vamps had either died or given up didn’t meant there wouldn’t be others, and cops were bound to show up any minute.

I ran a quarter mile and got to a more residential area, where I had to walk to avoid attracting notice. I got stares anyway, some of the “hey, sexy” kind but a lot more of the “where are you shoes and when did you bathe last?” kind. Anything that wasn’t Santo’s eerie gaze or a vamp’s flat glare was fine with me.

Except for police sirens, which started blaring at me about a mile north of the train station. “You there,” the megaphone blared in what I doubted was standard protocol. “With no shoes. Stop.”

There was nothing they had on me except curiosity, but I couldn’t afford a stop. Talking to the police would only lead to more questions, none of which I wanted to answer. Then again, unlike vampires there was no part of town the police would avoid, and the vamps wouldn’t attack while I was with them. Even Santo, wherever the fuck he was, might balk a little.

“Hello, officers,” I said, pushing thoughts of Santo out of my mind as the cop riding shotgun got out. She gave me a look that said I had to be guilty of something, but I didn’t let it sway me. The vamp thing had worked. I could play this. I took a page from Martin’s book: “I guess you’ll want to talk to me. I mean, obviously you do. I mean – are they all – you know – did the train?”

The first cop looked only annoyed by my pathetic stuttering as the other cop got out of the car. He was about a foot shorter than me and almost painfully perky. “It’s all right, sir. You’re not in any trouble. We just need to ask you a few questions.”

“Sorry I ran,” I said, running a hand through my hair and looking sheepish. “I just – you know – they were chasing me and then they – oh god – it was awful.”

“What’s your name, sir?” asked the perky cop. “We just need to take down your information for the investigation later."

“Victor Johns.” I gave them a fake address.

“They were chasing you, they said?” asked the first cop.

“Yeah. They got me about, uh, fifteen blocks back, maybe? I’m a pretty good runner so I figured I’d just wear ‘em out, but they weren’t, you know, stopping, so I figured it would be a good idea to head for the train station, ‘cause I thought there’d be people there, you know? But there weren’t, and they were still after me, so I figured I could just, you know, jump and clear it in time and they wouldn’t follow me, but – but…”

“Are you injured?” asked the perky cop, giving me a proper once over first as a cop and then with a less professional interest.

“Nah, just scruffy,” I said, trying to sound disarming and in reality just annoyed. Did these cops have nothing better to do? If they questioned hard enough they were going to realize I had no ID and was alive when I had been presumed dead for five years. Sometimes I wished my blood worked on humans. “It’s kind of, uh, a long story, actually. My boyfriend’s kind of a tool.” Bad boyfriend stories worked to turn off most people, but perky cop actually got perkier.

“Maybe you should come down to the station with us. I don’t want you to…” He trailed off as a car pulled up just beyond the cop car. It practically purred to a stop, and even in the darkness I could recognize a Lamborghini. My heart sank. There were only two people I could think of who would come looking for me in the middle of nowhere in a car like that, and I didn’t want to see either of them.

But it wasn’t Santo or Benedict who got out. I didn’t recognize the man at all, although he smiled at the sight of me like an old friend. “There you are!” he said with obvious relief. “Ben told me about the fight, so I figured I’d come over. What’s going on? You look terrible. Were you mugged?” He got to me and gave me a hug before I could back away. I could feel the heat of him even through my shirt. “My name’s Romeon,” he whispered in my ear with his arms around me. “You and I have a lot to talk about.”

“Uh, no,” I said, answering the question he had asked before while I tried to catch up to the latest insane event in my life. “Well, kind of. These guys chased me, but, uh, they got hit by a train.” Romeon had been the other person Benedict had mentioned, the one who would consider attacking Santo “a challenge.” I knew squat about this guy, but that was a pretty good recommendation. There were still way too many unknowns for comfort, like what he was and how he had found me and how he even knew who I was, but I had to start somewhere.

“That’s awful,” Romeon soothed, before turning to the police. “Listen, officers, is there any way my friend could talk to you later? I think he’s still a little shell-shocked. He’ll be staying with me.” He gave them a fake name and an address, and I took the moment of reprieve to make up my mind. My options were leaving with the police, leaving with Romeon, or leaving on my own to head for Sleepwalk. The police would keep asking questions and Charles was still all the way uptown. Romeon was right here, and for everything I didn’t know about him odds seemed good that he was a weapon that could hurt Santo. I just needed to figure out how to use him.

The police gave me a few more stupid platitudes and then zoomed off. I was left with Romeon under the streetlight. We regarded each other silently. He was about my height, with hair as black as mine and cropped short. His refined features didn’t fill me with the same sense of wrongness that Santo’s had. His smile earlier had proved he wasn’t a vamp. Was he human?

“You look like you’ve had a long night,” Romeon offered eventually. Now that he wasn’t acting for the police or whispering, his voice was elegant and almost musical.

I rubbed the scruff on my face. “You have no idea.”

He smirked. “I can guess.” He offered his hand. “Romeon Karnakae.”

After a minute I took it. “Bello Armitage.” His handshake was firm, and his hand was as hot as his hug had been.

He gestured to his silver beast of a ride. “My apartment is across the park. Shall we?”

I eyed his car. I was ready to give Romeon a chance, but my mother didn’t raise no fool.

Romeon smiled at my obvious balking. “I suppose I shouldn’t have expected it to be that easy, but we don’t have much time. Word’s out that you’ve escaped, and it’s only a matter of time before Santo figures out where you went. My apartment will be much safer, trust me.”

“Why would I?”

His smile turned into a chuckle at that. “You must piss Santo off something awful with cheek like that. I like it. Tell you what, would a Lamborghini work for a trust pledge?” He held out the keys.

It was the best offer I’d had from anyone in a long time. I still didn’t trust Romeon as far as I could throw him, but for the first time that night, things had the chance to work out. If I could get somewhere safe, and talk to someone who knew what was going on, I could beat this.

I would beat this.

I grabbed the keys and got in. Sitting in the driver’s seat felt fantastic. Romeon got in next to me, and we sped off into the night.

Dreaded Creatures Glide Snippet

Tue, 28 Oct 2008 16:09:16 GMT

A ficlet in response to some of the requests for one. Far Seer and Terry fluff, which takes places when Terry returns to the pool at the palace for the second time.

Terry felt the sun-warmed marble even through his sandals, and tried to take it as a sign from the gods that he was welcomed. He had never been very religious, since Suterno had ignored everything but the most common rites, but the occasional superstition couldn’t hurt, right?

The silence that greeted him at the pool was a more unnerving omen. It meant that no one was around, which was a weight off his shoulders. But it could also mean that Kai was mad at him.

As he had every right to be. Terry kicked himself again for running off as he had. He hadn’t been able to stop the panic, even with Kai’s cries running up his spine as he ran. His fear wasn’t much better now. Kai’s patience and understanding might only go so far. He hadn’t forgotten that merman’s lethal anger at the guards. Kai had not hurt him yet, had even been kind to him for no reason, but doubt still swam under the surface of Terry’s mind.

He stopped a respectful distance from the pool, near where the marble ended and sand led down to the water. “Kai?”

There was a splashing noise from within the cave at the opposite end of the pool. Terry fidgeted a little, squinting to try and make out Kai in the darkness. He took a step back as he saw Kai racing towards him with the same speed he had attacked the guards, but froze as Kai vaulted himself out of the water in the middle of the pool.

He had seen Kai lift himself out of the water before, of course. He had even touched those sunlit scales. But not even that compared to seeing Kai in action, suspended in midair, dripping saltwater, his every scale gleaming as he arched in the sunlight. Kai let out a shriek as he fell back in the water, and in another heartbeat had beached himself on the sand. “Kee Kee!” he cried exuberantly, slapping his tail against the edge of the water in what had to be excitement.

Terry let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. Kai had had every right to ignore him, to be angry, even, but here he was, beaming up at him with needle sharp teeth. “Hello, Kai. I’m, uh, sorry I ran off last time.” He ran his hand through his hair, feeling sheepish about how nervous he had been.

He sat down tentatively on the sand, wondering if Kai would pounce on him. But Kai seemed content to lie next to him, propped up on his elbows, his bronzed shoulders still dripping as water leaked from his braids and ran down his back.

“I brought food, in case you want to try some.” He untied the kerchief he had used to carry his lunch, and watched Kai cock his head at the sight of bread and cheese. Terry picked up the bread and tore a bit off, and handed it to Kai, who accepted it like it was as fragile as a butterfly. “Fresh from this morning,” Terry said as he chewed.

“Ess-om-kee-monnin,” Kai repeated reverently, holding up the bread like it was a gift from the gods. Terry laughed so hard he nearly choked on his food.

“No, no,” he said. “Bread.” He pointed to it. “Bread.”

“Bed,” Kai tried, enunciating carefully.

Close enough. Terry nodded and smiled, and then watched as Kai took his first bite. The face he made had Terry laughing again. He swallowed with obvious distaste and then clicked rapidly, his disgust clear even though Terry didn’t understand a word. He put the bread down, held up a hand as though to motion Terry to stay, and rolled back into the water. Terry watched him glide around the water, chewing fresh bread in the sunlight, and was extremely pleased that he had chosen to come back.
After a minute Kai flopped back into the beach, and proudly held out a fat, wriggling fish. He seemed to be waiting for Terry to say something, so Terry ventured, “That’s quite a fish.”

Kai clicked happily and held it out further, and Terry realized he was being invited to taste Kai’s food in kind. Food which was still wriggling. “Er.” How could he explain about cooking? “If I eat that,” he mimed eating food, “It will come right back up again.” He mimed that, too.

Kai seemed confused. He pointed to the fish and made the vomiting gesture, clicking questioningly.

Terry nodded. “Sorry to say.”

Kai looked at his fish as though trying to figure out what could possibly be wrong with it. Eventually shrugged and took a bite, his sharp teeth and powerful jaw tearing through its flesh easily. Terry flashed back unwillingly to that horrible night, when Kai had killed the guard, but the moment passed. He lay back, eating cheese and bread on the sand, with Kai a reassuring presence next to him, and thought that he could really, really get used to life at the palace.

Euoi!

Fri, 03 Oct 2008 12:19:48 GMT

I'm not sure where this piece came from. Possibly it was too much Greek and y!Gallery and then this adorable statue of a satyr I ran into at a museum. This story will be a standalone, I think, although I have tentative plans for the rest if it winds up generating interest.

Oh, and I'm not kidding about that violence warning, although it's not graphic.

Title: Euoi!
Warnings: M/M, Violence, Angst, Abuse, N/C
Summary: Aetos, noble prince of the Achaeans, is captured by Deinos, king of the satyrs.

Deinos surveyed the contents of the clearing with great pleasure as he lounged on his throne, his prized captive at his feet. The humans had made their own punishment devices, Deinos’ jab against Achaean engineering. They were well made, given the amount of time the humans had been allowed to make them, and could even be reused later, if the blood and seed didn’t ruin them.

There were twelve of them, one for each of the captives. Each was a wooden frame, with triangle structures on either side supporting a horizontal bar running between them. Each human had been stripped and bent over the bar. His hands had been tied on one base, and his feet at the other, leaving him bent over and spread wide, off balance and entirely vulnerable. Deinos was immensely pleased, and resolved to find a way to reward Autiphon, who had come up with the plans.

The newly returned brothers seemed equally pleased. All of them were as hard as he was, their cocks thick and bobbing, ready for the event to commence. Ordinarily Deinos would have drawn it out as long as he could to enjoy the anticipation, but he felt he owed it to his brothers to start without much ado. He stood and gestured for silence, and the crowd of satyrs who stood behind him went still. The entire clearing was filled with tension and the heavy scent of satyr lust.

“Gentlemen,” Deinos said, his voice reverberating through the clearing. “You see before you the power of satyr ingenuity. Not only have we returned victorious, bearing our lost brothers back, but we have also brought spoils of war. The prince’s guard is known for its strength and fortitude. We have already bested their strength. Now we shall test their fortitude.” He sat and gave another signal, and the twelve chosen satyrs stepped forward.

The returned brothers had decided amongst themselves who would be given the honor, and Deinos was pleased to see no signs of jealousy or bad temper amongst the ones who had not been chosen. That was as it should be. Everyone would get their turn, after all. They all had choice views of the proceedings, standing in front of the captives so that they would all be able to see their faces as they were penetrated.

The captives had not been gagged in any way, but none of them made any sound, even though they must have known what was going to happen. Deinos was impressed by their discipline despite himself, although he doubted they would keep their silence long. He saw the one nearest him – the youngest human of the guard by about ten years or so – twitch as his cheeks were pried open, and the satyr’s thick, lubricated cock was placed at his hole.

His own captive had not made any noise or movement, his eyes fixed on what was before him. That was also as it should be, and Deinos smiled at the back of his captive’s blonde head. Let Prince Aetos learn what happened when humans dared to capture satyr brothers and march through satyr lands. He gave a little pull on the leash, and grinned when the prince glared back at him.
“Would you trade places with them?”

“What would it change?” Aetos all but spat. “You intend to kill me as well.”
Deinos gestured expansively. “I might not. I could them go for the price of your life. Will you take their fate in exchange for their freedom?”

“Of course.” There was no hesitation, and in the reply Deinos heard as much desperation as anger. Well, well, it seemed Aetos was as noble as the legends said. “I will trade places with them,” Aetos all but begged.

Deinos cocked his head, feigning surprise. “Oh, but I didn’t say I would let you, did I? Commence, brothers.” Aetos’ look of shock was priceless, and he whipped his head back around at Deinos’ command, just in time to see the satyrs push into their captives.

The moment was silent, to start. None of the humans had been loosened, and each of the chosen brothers clearly found it hard to push in even with the lubrication. Their grunts and strains were matched by the grunts and strains of the humans, who were each trying their best to resist their impalement. It was a futile effort, however, and only made victory that much sweeter as each brother managed to gain entrance, pressing into the tight hole before him inch by inch, plundering his enemy. A satyr on the right began to thrust, and the others followed suite.

The clearing resounded with cries. Whatever noise the captives made was drowned out by the triumphant shouts of the chosen rapists and the raucous bellows of the audience. Deinos made no noise, and did not touch himself either, even though the sight of the satyrs reaming out the humans had him hard and leaking. It was everything he had planned. The chosen brothers were all sizeable, proud specimens of satyr, with broad chests and long legs and thick, curling horns. All twelve of the humans were crying out as they were masterfully impaled. The satyrs even had a common rhythm, and the humans moaned in tandem.

The placement of the youngest captive right in front of Deinos’ throne had been particularly fortuitous. He put on quite a show, tossing his head and bleating pathetically, his hands scrabbling at his chains, crying out wordlessly as he was plundered over and over. He was a wonderful specimen of human flesh, to be sure, the kind Achaeans loved to immortalize in statue, and it was an utter pleasure to see him broken. He listened to the humans’ cries and thought about how much he would make his own captive squeal later.

The other satyrs watching the spectacle were clearly as excited as Deinos, all stroking themselves and each other. No one was too drunk yet, except for those few who were always drunk, and Deinos had no sounds yet of orgasm from the crowd, which pleased him. He wanted all of the seed tonight to be spurted on or into human flesh.

The satyr second from the left gave a shout then, out of sync with the others, and humped harder, riding his moaning human frantically, his hooves pressing into the ground and his furry thighs crushing into the hairless ones beneath him as he strove to shove ever deeper into his captive. The human, a burly soldier, gave a desperate moan, and Deinos contained a shiver at the sound. The human gave one last shout as the satyr shoved in and pumped his seed, and then hung his head as the satyr withdrew.

With his orgasm over the satyr looked slightly abashed that he had spent himself so quickly, but his brothers quickly ran out to clap him on the back and horns and congratulate him. He grinned then and gave the human a smack on the rump.

“Come, king!” they beckoned, and Deinos acquiesced, tying his captive’s leash to the throne before making his way to the newly reamed captive. The other satyrs began to reach their own finishes as he approached, their cries of completion matched by the captives’ cries of shame and despair.

Deinos inspected the newly fucked soldier, and was pleased to find him not bleeding very much. He wanted them to last, after all. They had the whole night. He inspected the other captives one by one as each satyr reached his finish, and nodded his approval at the abused looking holes leaking with seed. This was satyr vengeance at its finest.

The satyr fucking the youngest soldier was the last to finish, and the human looked particularly worse for the wear because of it. His hair was covered with sweat, and his every breath was a gasp. His hole was raw and red, and his fine skin was chafed from all the rubbing of the satyr’s fur. His genitals were drawn up tightly into his body, as if trying to escape, and Deinos smiled and grabbed the human’s balls. He let out an admirable yelp, and laughter resounded through the clearing.

Deinos turned to the satyr who had taken him, who stood regaining his breath. “A good fuck, brother?” This was Chrysos, a brave brother who had more than deserved his place amongst the chosen, and even this fine human in particular. Deinos’ disappointment at his loss after the battle had only been matched by his joy to receive him back again after their recent victory.

“Yes, king,” Chrysos said, “Though I fear he won’t last long.” He gestured at the human’s shivering limbs. Deinos considered, and then put two fingers into the captive’s hole, wondering if there was bleeding not immediately visible. The captive whimpered pathetically and rustled in his chains, letting out a despairing whine even as Deinos removed his fingers.

“Monster!” The prince’s shout brought Deinos’ attention back to him. “Blight upon nature! Never have the gods looked upon such disgrace. Spare them or kill them, satyr, but do not make them suffer this.”

Anger suffused Deinos at the way the prince sneered “satyr,” but he smiled.

“Do you hear that, brothers? Prince Aetos begs for mercy. Does he deserve it?”

The brothers roared:

“No! Fuck the bitch!”

“Fuck ‘em to death, king!”

“All hail King Deinos!”

Deinos held up his hands for silence. “You speak truly, brothers. Nevertheless, I am not disinclined to grant mercy. The humans may not think so, but we are rational beings, are we not?” He paused for more noise of approval, and then continued, “I will spare one of your men, prince, on a condition.”

The prince looked at him stonily. “What is the condition?”

“I intend to have you, as you may have guessed.” He gestured to his erection and drew laughter from the crowd. “Come to me willingly – for whatever I ask and as long as I ask it – and I will spare whomever you choose.”

The only sounds were the muffled groans and grunts of the satyrs still stroking themselves, and the pained pants of the captives. Prince Aetos glared, the very picture of aristocratic outrage. His collar and bound hands seemed only to increase his nobility. Deinos was more proud than ever, and his cock twitched at the thought that this was the man he would break. The condition he had asked was an enormous one, and he wondered if the prince would choose his dignity or the life of one of his men.

“Do not take the deal, lord,” came a cry from the right, and Deinos realized one of the human soldiers had spoken.

“Aye, prince,” came another voice, “Our lives are not worth it.” Another soldier agreed, and another, and another.

“You are all noble beyond bearing,” said the prince roughly, and Deinos wondered if he would weep. He had heard that Achaean heroes were given to it.

But when the prince spoke again, it was in a clear voice: “Spare Leander, King Deinos. I will do as you ask.”

“No, my lord!” cried the captive Deinos stood next to, the youngest and most beautiful. Deinos grinned. It was just as well. This captive was not old enough to have been in the first attack, and thus his death was not required. He would make the prettiest slave, to boot. He turned to Chrysos. “You’ve served me well, brother, and have exceeded my greatest hope with your return. Will you accept this captive as a gift for your bravery?”

Chrysos bowed his head. “You do me great honor, lord.”

The chosen human was released from the frame at Deinos’ command, and he struggled unsteadily, hobbling about. “I’m unworthy of this, lord,” he called out to the prince. “Let it be one of the others, if it must be. Myron or Ctephos or Macr—” He broke off then, choking on his own tears, perhaps undone by the thought of all of his comrades who would die that night. Deinos felt cold satisfaction. Let the Achaeans know what it was like to lose those dearest to you. He ordered the boy to be taken to Chrysos’ tent. He looked at the rest of the captives, now with no hope of reprieve with their one chance taken, and at the prince, now sworn to come willingly to his rapist. He returned to his throne and gestured for the next satyrs – eleven now, rather than twelve – to go take their place. They went eagerly, and soon the pained cries of the captives began anew.

Deinos felt he owed it to his brothers to stay for the whole event, despite the way it made him ache to watch without touching himself. At the very least he wanted the prince to see it, and Aetos, to his credit, did not once look away.
“No tears, human?” Deinos asked at one point, as the third of the captives was discovered to be dead, his body carted away from the bloody frame. “Perhaps the death of your comrades does not move you?”

“I give my men the honorable farewell they deserve,” Aetos replied, and would say nothing more.

Eventually it was but one man who remained alive, a beast of a human bigger even than most of the satyrs, and out of deference to his feat Deinos allowed his throat to be cut. The remaining satyrs who had not had the chance to fuck the humans seemed happy to rut with each other, so there was no reason for quarrel.

“A most pleasurable evening entertainment, no?” Deinos asked his captive again.

“It is said by the poets that satyrs are the mix of beast and man,” Aetos said calmly. “But I have never seen man nor beast behave so abominably.”

“You were not at the Battle of Teirsos.” Deinos’ hand brushed the scar on his chest without thinking, and he saw Aetos follow the movement with his eyes.

Snarling, Deinos yanked the leash hard as he rose, and Aetos coughed and stood.

“Happy rutting, brothers!” he said to the orgiastic crowd. Cheers and hoots followed him as he left the clearing, as well as many remarks about his captive. Deinos felt his good humor return. The prince would not remain so proud for long.

Deinos’ tent was the most luxurious of the sounder, filled with flawless animal skins and spoils from various raids, but to judge by Aetos’ reaction it was a hovel. Deinos took a certain satisfaction in that. He lit a lamp and let the prince take in his surroundings. Aetos had lived in his city on a hill for most of his life. Let him learn what life was like down on the ground. “Welcome to your new home, prince.”

Aetos said nothing, but Deinos could see the lines of tension around his mouth, and the tautness in his shoulders as he unlocked Aetos’ hands. “Nervous?” he asked, pouring wine into a chalice and offering it to him. “I’m sure it’s been quite some time since you were any man’s eromenos.” Not that long, perhaps. The prince was younger than Deinos had expected.

“Or maybe such things are not appropriate for a prince,” Deinos continued when Aetos neither spoke nor took the proffered wine. He pressed the chalice into Aetos’ hands, noting how cold they were. “Drink,” he demanded. “Remember that I hold your man’s life in my hands.”

Deinos watched as Aetos drank first that glass and then another when it was given to him. Satyr wine was far more alcoholic than that the Achaeans preferred, Deinos knew, and none of the captives had been given anything to eat for a day or so. “Good boy. Now strip.”

Aetos’ discomfort grew more obvious as he disrobed, casting his armor – still shining beneath the grit – to the floor and then removing his tunic and chiton. His cuirass did not exaggerate at all, Deinos saw. The man was every inch the Achaean hero. His skin was flawless, far fairer than that of most satyrs’, and certainly less hairy, and the muscle beneath it was formed with nearly divine perfection. “So few scars,” he noted as Aetos removed his sandals. “Either those rumors about your immortal parent are true or you’re far more cowardly than I’ve been led to believe.”

“I am not a coward,” Aetos said, the first words he had spoken since his pithy little comment about the nature of satyrs.

Deinos lounged on the bed, his thighs spread and his cock hard against his stomach. “Prove it, then. Come here.”

The prince did as he was bid, and Deinos marveled at how quietly humans moved. Their feet were certainly strange, but silence was one advantage they had over hooves.

Aetos stopped at the edge of the bed, and rather than order him further Deinos simply took his leash and tugged. Aetos fell awkwardly, his hands landing on Deinos’ chest, and Deinos frowned at the relative lack of calluses. “You have hands like a woman.”

“You have hair like a beast,” Aetos replied waspishly.

Deinos laughed. “You, on the other hand, are nearly as hairless as a piglet. I wonder if you squeal as loud.” He pulled Aetos over further, shifting their positions so that Aetos was lying down while Deinos loomed over him. Deinos watched him swallow nervously, clearly less able to keep his fear under control, and he took it as a sign that the wine was beginning to take effect. He removed Aetos’ leash but left the collar, enjoying the look of the metal on his captive’s neck. Aetos’ throat looked soft and pale beneath his weathered brown hands, his facial hair all painstakingly shaved off. Deinos thought about how easy it would be to snuff the prince’s life out.

Too easy by far. The man’s death would ruin all of his fun. “Turn over and get on all fours.”

“Can you not even fuck me like a man?” Aetos’ voice was disdainful as ever, but he obeyed. Deinos gave in to an urge and smacked one smooth, muscular cheek. Aetos jumped and cursed. So responsive. Perhaps Deinos would give it to him in earnest in the future.

“Far better than that, prince. I will fuck you like a satyr.” He fully intended to have the prince on his back at least once that night, but it was easiest to get what he wanted this way, for now. He admired the view of the prince’s smooth, tailless rump while he fetched the oil and slathered some over his fingers. Then he took a hold of Aetos’ hip – not hard enough to hold him there, just enough to make him feel it – and pressed a finger to his hole.

Aetos jerked away at first, out of Deinos’ grip on his hip. Deinos said nothing, waiting patiently and watching Aetos war with himself. There was no need to remind Aetos of his deal. In a moment Aetos pressed back again, presenting his rump obscenely, and Deinos felt a rush of triumph. Sparing the pretty soldier for Chrysos had been a stroke of genius. He pressed his finger into Aetos’ hole in one smooth motion, groaning as he felt the tight heat around him and imagined it on his cock. “It has been a while, hasn’t it?” He gave an experimental thrust with his finger, and was rewarded with another huff of breath from his captive.

“Just get it over with.”

“Ah, ah,” Deinos admonished, adding more oil and another finger for emphasis. “We’ll go at my pace now.” He brought his other hand back to Aetos’ hip and started to work his hole in earnest, thrusting and scissoring with his fingers while Aetos struggled not to squirm. “Don’t pretend you don’t like it.”

“Don’t flatter yourself.”

Deinos laughed and experimented with his aim until he hit the spot he was looking for. Aetos’ gasp let him know he’d found it, and he worked it hard, moving his other hand to grasp Aetos’ cock. This was what he wanted. Anyone could fuck a captive, as his brothers had shown for the past few hours. He had something special reserved for this captive.

Aetos grew hard from his ministrations, despite his muttered curses, and Deinos knew it was only soldierly self-control that prevented him from humping back on Deinos’ fingers and into his hand shamelessly. Well, there was still time for that. He withdrew his fingers and oiled his cock while he listened to Aetos pant. “Ready for it?” he asked as he positioned himself between Aetos’ smooth thighs.

Aetos did nothing but clench his grip on the furs beneath him.

“Tell me you’re ready,” Deinos demanded.

“Ready for what? For you to attack me from behind like a coward? My father was right about satyrs. Is this how you fought at Teirsos?”

Deinos saw red. He gripped Aetos’ hips punishingly and shoved in hard, the oil and loosening letting him in but only just. He had to thrust heavily to get just the head in, but the resistance only urged him on to greater efforts. He threw his weight into it, reveling in Aetos’ pained cry and drop forward onto the furs. He sank in slowly but surely, filling Aetos insistently with his hard cock. The pleasure was exquisite after waiting for so long, almost unbearably so. He gave a few shallow thrusts, and finally felt his balls come up against the tender skin below Aetos’ hole.

Overcome by pleasure, he fell forward, molding his chest to Aetos’ back, the side of his face by Aetos. He braced himself on his arms on either side of Aetos’, blanketing him in every way. He took a moment to regain some control, his groin throbbing.

“I suppose you think you’re clever,” he said into Aetos’ ponderous human ear, reveling in the softness of his hair and cheek.

“Only compared to my present company,” Aetos replied with only a small quaver in his voice. He jerked away as Deinos laughed in his ear.

“No need to be clever to fuck you, is that it?” He cut off Aetos’ reply with a well placed thrust, moving back to get a good grip on Aetos’ hips so he could ream him out properly.

He kept his thrusts fast and hard, hammering into Aetos as he pleased. To Aetos’ credit, he never collapsed or tried to escape, limiting his noises as much as he could, twisting his hands in the furs and letting his head hang. Deinos rode him harder, determined to teach his stubborn captive a lesson. One particularly vicious thrust had Aetos crying out, and the defeat in that sound made Deinos nearly blind with pleasure. He repeated the movement, again and again and again, hearing Aetos become more desperate each time. And then he was coming, thrusting as deep as he could, filling his enemy with his seed. The orgasm was unbelievable after so long a wait. He collapsed afterward, driving Aetos down under his weight.

Deinos lay panting, trying to calm his swirling senses. The body underneath him did not help, tantalizing in its alien smoothness. He rolled to one side and listened to Aetos gasp in air. The sight of his heaving back was too much to resist. He pressed a kiss to the center of Aetos’ spine, licking and nipping his way upwards while Aetos shuddered.

“What are you doing?” Aetos asked, although surely he must know. “What are you doing to me?”

Deinos shushed him between kisses and began to nip at his neck, feeling his erection grow again as Aetos all but growled beneath him.

“Stop that,” Aetos finally said, turning around, and Deinos let him. He fell to Aetos’ neck, biting harder. Aetos began struggling in earnest, seemingly more afraid of this than he was of being impaled, and Deinos moved on top of him again, enjoying the way Aetos writhed beneath him. He brought one hand down to Aetos’ cock. Aetos had succeeded in distracting him from his purpose the first time, but Deinos had all night to get it right.

What he found made him frown first and then throw back his head and laugh. Aetos’ cock was sticky with seed, newly spent. Deinos thought he had failed in his first attempt to make Aetos enjoy his own reaming, but apparently finesse had not been necessary. “My, my, aren’t you a perfect little eromenos?”

Aetos snarled and launched himself at Deinos, all thoughts of his promise to cooperate clearly forgotten, but Deinos didn’t mind. He bore Aetos back down easily, pinning his wrists on either side of his face. He was hard again, and took the opportunity to rub his cock against Aetos’ stomach, enjoying the mix of smooth skin and hard muscle. His face was within kissing distance of Aetos’, and he indulged himself, biting those proud lips until they were puffy and bruised and getting bitten in return.

This night could not be more perfect. He had captured the son of his greatest enemy, returned what he thought had been lost brothers to the sounder, given a pretty slave to a valued general, and used that same slave as leverage to plunder his own captive. His captive who, as it turned out, had a pathetic taste for being plundered. “I think you and I are going to have a long, fruitful relationship.”

“I’d rather be in Tartarus.” There was no trace of that cool, marmoreal disdain now; Aetos’ voice was rough and angry.

“Oh, Aetos.” He moved to kneel between Aetos’ thighs once more, watching seed seep out from his hole as he readied himself for the second of what would be many rounds that night. “You already are.”

NB: "Euoi" is the traditional cry of the Satyrs.

O Frabjous Day! Callooh! Callay! [squees and ficlet offer]

Wed, 01 Oct 2008 19:21:02 GMT

Confession: I usually start my stories with only a vague sense of where they're going. I've got some vague arc planned out, a place I'd like to wind up, but the middle is always kind of... iffy.

With "Within a Forest Dark" things were especially sketchy. I was in the middle of planning things when all of a sudden Bello grabbed me and threw me into the story, and I had ten pages before I even knew his name. I had "Beauty and the Beast" for a loose framework, but I knew I wanted to go somewhere different with it, and I wasn't sure where. I was getting more hemmed in as I wrote, giving Bello attributes when I had no real idea how to tie them all together.

Meanwhile, in "The Color of His Eyes" (ugh, I hate that title) things have suddenly and very vehemently come together. When I started writing it I just threw together a bunch of random elements I liked without thinking about how they would connect, and now they *have,* without any conscious planning on my part.

Today the same thing happened for "Within a Forest Dark." The answer to my problem (which I won't explain for fear of giving away the story) just fell into my lap. It started out with "huh, that's interesting" and a Google search and a Wikipedia page later it was "holy shit, how fucking perfect is that?" I'm so, so excited, y'all. All of the other possibilities I had been contemplating hadn't quite fit, and this one *does.* Omg, you guys, it does it does it does.

To spread the glee, and since I feel bad for not being able to really explain what I found out that was so damn perfect, I'm offering ficlets/drabbles. I'm not sure if anyone has any interest, but if you do, I'm here. Any pairing (or gen) from any of my stories. Request away. :D

Within a Forest Dark 6

Fri, 19 Sep 2008 00:14:11 GMT

Title: Within a Forest Dark
Summary: A hunter learns that there are far more threatening creatures in the world than vampires.
Warnings: Angst, H/C, M/M, N/C, Torture, Violence

When I woke up, everything was fuzzy. Not like a kitten fuzzy, like my old dog Lucy used to be, but happy fuzzy, all the corners smoothed over, everything a little blurry.

The bed beneath me was warm and comfy, welcoming like a hug from an old friend. I felt good, buzzing and content inside. No more hurt anymore, everything all healed over and good as new. I liked this. This was much better than when everything was pain and terror.

Maybe I wouldn’t think about that anymore.

I thought about happy things instead, like fucking Louis on a Sunday morning or that crazy one night stand I’d had with Isabella before we were just hunters together and that time my mother and I went to the park and she was really happy for once. We fed the birds and she talked about her college years and told me to enjoy college for all it was worth.

I was really hungry. My stomach was talking, saying things like “mrrgh” and “nrrfle.” I sat up. Maybe there was some food around. When I tried to reach around at the bedstand, however, my hands were caught up short. I looked around, trying to concentrate past the blurriness. My hands were tied. I pulled on the chains but nothing happened. I was confused, but then, bondage had never been my thing. Not when I was getting tied up, anyway. If someone else wanted to be, then bring ‘em in and strap ‘em down, was what I always said.

How did I wind up in chains? Maybe Santo would know.

“Santo!” I called. “Santo!”

He appeared out of nowhere, like a wizard. And then it struck me that he was a wizard, and I giggled. Which was a little strange, because I never giggled – ever – but it was fun, so I didn’t mind.

“Hello,” I said. I thought maybe I’d be afraid, because the memories still loomed behind me, dark and threatening, but the warmth and the fuzziness kept them away, and when Santo sat down beside me on the bed I didn’t even flinch away. He touched my face with his wrist, like he was checking for a fever.

“How do you feel?” he asked. His voice was very pleasant to listen to.

I focused on his question. It took me a moment to come up with an answer. It was hard to concentrate. “Fuzzy.”

Santo smiled. His teeth were very white. “That’s good. I see the drug has had its intended effect. You must be hungry.”

How had he known? “Did you read my mind?”

He laughed. “No, of course not. You haven’t had anything in your stomach for a substantial period of time in weeks. I’m certain you must be famished.”

I nodded.

Santo snapped his fingers, and the door creaked open, allowing a little cart to roll in. I had seen it before, I remembered vaguely, although I could not remember where. It stopped before us, and I reached out to it, smelling something delicious, before I remembered that my hands were tied.

“My hands are tied,” I said, because maybe Santo hadn’t realized. It was very dark in here. Maybe he hadn’t seen.

“I know. I don’t want to take the risk that you’ll hurt me, yourself, or one of the staff.”

I looked at my chained hands. I felt strange. “I won’t hurt anybody.”

“It’s for your own good, Bello.”

Bello was me. Bello mio bello bambino caro.

“How about some food?” Santo asked, lifting the top off of the cart, revealing a bowl of soup and some slices of bread. My mouth was watering.

How could I eat when my hands were tied?

“Allow me,” Santo said, like he was reading my mind again. He picked up a bowl and took a spoonful of it and held it out to me. “It should clear up the drug as well, if I’m not mistaken.”

Something in the back of my mind was unhappy, sad and snarling like a cornered dog, angry about eating from someone else’s hands, but it was as hungry as the rest of me. The soup was hot and smelled fantastic, and I bent my head and took the mouthful gratefully. Santo held out another spoonful, as delicious as the last, and my world narrowed to what he gave me. I think some of it spilled a bit in my haste, because suddenly Santo was brushing my lips with his fingers, his eyes narrow and focused. He shifted his position on the bed, and I wondered if he was uncomfortable.

“Your name has never been more appropriate,” Santo said, quiet like he was speaking to himself. I wanted to tell him that I didn’t like my name, because it was stupid and what kind of name was “pretty” anyway? But I had soup in my mouth, so I said nothing. I ate, feeling something in me grow warm that had been cold and empty before. Maybe I had been hungrier than I thought. My mind was starting to clear, and my vision began to sharpen.

Something was wrong.

It was just a little thing, a niggling feeling at the back of my head like I’d forgotten the keys or left the gas on or was being followed by a vamp, but it was a feeling I’d learned to depend on.

Definitely something wrong.

I opened my mouth to say so to Santo, but then closed it. He offered me more soup, and I ate it as I pondered the feeling. There was no one following me, no one anywhere except Santo right in front of me. Just as it should be.

Right?

I ate more soup. Strange that I couldn’t eat it by myself, that my hands were tied. But Santo had said it was okay, and it hadn’t stopped me from eating. I wasn’t wearing clothing, but I wasn’t cold or uncomfortable.

And Santo was right there, ready to help.

Santo, who was warm and strong and feeding me, who wanted what was best for me.

No, still something wrong.

I looked at my hands, placid in the chains. I couldn’t go anywhere, couldn’t run from the monster. Because there was a monster, dark and enormous, lurking somewhere like a serpent in the grass or a kraken in the depths. He was waiting for me, claws and teeth sharp, prowling just around the corner.

No. He was right in front of me.

Everything clicked suddenly, the last vestiges of whatever Santo had doped me with gone. I was chained and naked in front of my tormentor, the monster who terrified me, and he was feeding me as gently as a mother would her baby, looking at me in a way that was anything but maternal.

“Shit,” I said, and I think my voice cracked a little. I was frozen where I sat. Santo seemed to have noticed that I wasn’t doped up any more, and he reached out to touch me. I flinched away before I could stop myself, and was unabashedly relieved when he didn’t try to touch me again. I was so pathetically, enormously frightened. He’d gotten the drop on me good this time. I couldn’t even pretend I wasn’t near to pissing myself with fear, even though Santo was being gentle as a lamb. A lamb that tore people apart and ripped open their minds every so often.

He could have done worse, I tried to tell myself, as I replayed what had happened now that my mind was clear. He could have hurt me, raped me, made me tell him all sorts of things.

He could still do those things. I was still tied and naked and basically helpless against him. My last attack had proved that, hadn’t it? Beyond any shadow of a doubt. For the first time in my life, I was faced with an opponent I couldn’t just stab to death, and it scared me half to death.

“Bello?” Santo’s voice hadn’t changed. He still spoke like a parent or a kindergarten teacher, kind and calm. And insane. And terrifying. I couldn’t bring myself to answer him, to say anything, to move at all. Some pathetic instinct had taken over me, that told me to stay totally, perfectly still, as if perhaps he wouldn’t notice me then.

“Ah, I had hoped this would not happen. I did not hurt you just now, you realize. I thought you might take that into account as you came to your senses. I only fed you, and saw to your comfort. Focus on that. Breathe, Bello.”

He said my name too much. I hated the sound of my name on his tongue. But I did need to breathe, and I did focus on that, because it was better than thinking about my current situation. I made sure my breaths weren’t rapid or shallow. The last thing I needed to do was pass out again.

How long had I been out this time? I didn’t want to turn around to look out the window, since that would require turning my back on Santo, but the room was dark but for the soft glow of the lamp on the bedstead. It was always night here. Even the daylight couldn’t bear to look at him.

“Would you like to know why I secured you with manacles?” Santo asked, like he was asking me if I preferred a certain year for the wine.

“Let me go.” Cursing him was useless. Maybe even being unchained was useless. Even if I were free, if I were armed and ready and Santo completely defenseless, I was still fucked. Totally, and completely – and painfully literally -- fucked.

“Our last little encounter made me realize that in order for you to become adjusted to your new life here, you would require a few boundaries. I have no qualms about providing them, of course, except that I thought you might… appreciate a choice.”

What choice could he possibly offer that wouldn’t suck?

“The way I see it, you have two options before you. The first is to live your life under the influence of the narcotic you’ve just experienced, or something similar to it. As you’ve surely come to realize, it would make you feel quite pleasant, and would greatly diminish your emotional discomfort. In the event that the effect begins to wear down, I assure you I have a cornucopia of drugs with similar effects, which would ensure your comfort for some time. You would, alas, have to remain restrained in some way, at least for the time being, to ensure that you did not --”

“No.” If there was anything I was sure of, it was that anything had to be better than that. Anything but lying around, doped to the gills and tied up like a goddamn puppy, waiting to be beaten and raped by the man petting me and calling me beautiful. The idea made me ill, and worse was the fact that if Santo wanted to, there was little I could do to stop him. “Please don’t do that to me.” It pained me to beg. I used to tell myself I’d never beg, not even when the vamps were at their worst, tormenting me, delighting in my pain and blood. But not even they had done this.

Santo held a hand up to silence me. “I’m not finished. Your second option is this.” He held something up. A length of leather, not long or wide enough to be a belt but with a similar buckle and strap. A metal ring in the center. A collar. I could spend my time in chains and on drugs or I could let a monster put his collar on me. “Fuck you,” I said, so quietly I barely heard myself. I stared at Santo’s knees, clad in his perfectly pressed black pants.

“It’s charmed only to prevent you from harming anyone, me or others or yourself. It’s for your benefit, truly, since wounding me only quickens the change, and harming yourself would be very unproductive.”

“You’re so sure I’d try to hurt myself?” I had a whisper of my familiar outrage, although I could not bring myself to raise my voice or my eyes. I was hurting, sure. Who wouldn’t be? That didn’t make me coward enough to kill myself. I still had *some* pride, damn it.

But who knew for how long?

“It’s only a precaution,” Santo said smoothly. “Have you come to a decision?”

It wasn’t a choice. The collar would be humiliating, but worlds better than lying alone in the dark, chained and dreaming and waiting for pain. Santo probably knew that, the bastard, probably made it that way so wearing his collar wouldn’t seem so bad.

I had no plans to attack him. I just wanted to get away, now, and the collar didn’t seem to prevent me from doing that. It wouldn’t be so bad.

I had no other choice. “Unchain me.” Let him figure out what that meant.

He leaned forward and reached behind me to do the buckle, his face near mine. Having his hands on my neck brought back memories of him on top of me, when he was making me choke and gasp and cry.

The leather was soft, at least, and didn’t rub.

“Is it too tight?” Santo asked, his breath on my ear. I shook my head minutely.

“Good.” He undid the manacles, then, the key appearing in his hands from nowhere. I rubbed my wrists numbly, unsure what to do now. I felt strange, filled with a kind of itch, something under my skin. I didn’t know how to fix it. It was dirty and raw inside me, something that had been violated and hadn’t healed.

There was silence for a moment in that dark room, while Santo stared at me and I looked at anything but him.

“I’m sure you’d like to finish your meal.” He handed me the bowl, and I ate the rest of the soup mechanically, going through the bread afterward. It did make me feel better, quieting the last vestiges of hunger and replenishing a whole lot of energy, but it didn’t fix that other thing inside me, that made me want to scrub my skin off. I hadn’t felt it after the first attack. Or maybe I had, and I had just managed to hide it until Santo had ripped me open again.

“Perhaps now you’d like a bath? At the very least I imagine you’d like to shave.”

I rubbed the scruff on my face. How long had it been since I’d shaved? “Okay.”

He led me to the bathroom, like I was going to get lost on the way. Then he opened the door for me like I was some sort of lady and all of a sudden I was dizzy. The bathroom was mostly white, white tile with white porcelain and shiny wrought iron handles on everything, but I couldn’t stop picturing it covered in red. My blood had been everywhere, and I had just lain there, bleeding and helpless, while Santo had touched me and –

“Is something wrong?”

I turned away from the bathroom, sinking to the floor. I was so fucked up. I wasn’t even going to be able to take a piss now without thinking about it, that awful feeling twisting in my gut. I couldn’t fight this. I couldn’t fight Santo. What the fuck was I going to do?

“Bello, are you ill?”

“Don’t touch me!” I was practically shouting, but the idea of Santo’s hands on me was intolerable. He was crouching right next to me, and I could barely stand it. He still smelled the same, the way he had when he’d been on top of me.

“Calm yourself. I’ve not done anything.” He sounded annoyed this time. I tried to control my breathing. I had to admit he was right. He hadn’t done anything to me.

Except for the part where he had kidnapped and beaten and raped me. Twice.

“I guess we have different definitions of ‘anything.’”

Santo stood up again. “Come. I’ve a present for you.”

He offered me his hand but I ignored it as I got to my feet. “Does it begin with ‘f’ and end in ‘reedom?’”

“What?” Confusion looked ridiculous on Santo’s face.

“Nevermind.” I went over to the trusty armoire for some clothes. Another set of jeans and a t-shirt. I tried not to think about the violent death the last two sets had died.

Santo was watching me dress, his eyes reflecting the dim light. Funny how it was more embarrassing for him to see me dress than when I was just naked. I dressed quickly, ignoring the way the collar of my shirt brushed the leather on my neck. I’d had the damn thing on for five minutes and already I couldn’t stand it. I didn’t even know what the hell it did. Had Santo been bluffing about its powers, or just lying? It could just be a plain old leather collar, although the chances of anything here being just as it seemed were probably nil. The idea that it was magicked to do more than Santo had said was a more frightening thought.

“Are you ready?” Santo asked when I was done.

I shrugged. I didn’t want to stay in the room.

I turned to the door. Call me a stickler for tradition, but that was my usual MO for leaving a room when I wasn’t breaking and entering. Instead Santo snapped his fingers, and the world shifted in my stomach. In one gut wrenching moment, everything went completely topsy-turvy, and when the world stopped spinning we were somewhere new. I didn’t notice where at first because I was too busy convincing myself not to throw up.

“What the hell was that?” I demanded as soon as I had convinced my stomach to shut up and take it like a man. We were back in the dining hall, I realized, and I peered into the shadows for little moving trays. Creepy fuckers.

“You’ll grow used to it in time. Perhaps this will take your mind off of it.” He gestured to the table, and I took a look at the platter at the center.
For a split second I thought it was more food, some exotic dish Santo thought would please me. But then I recognized the smell, and *then* I recognized the features. They were frozen in death, twisted into a horrible grimace, and I wondered if Lupos had made that face when his head had been chopped off or if he had been dead by the time Santo – or whoever had done this – had done the deed.

It was sick, seeing a severed head – especially the severed head of a vamp, already pasty even before death – on a silver platter, a ghastly centerpiece on the elegant table.

“He was the one responsible for your torment when I found you, I believe. I made certain that he suffered before he died.”

I stared into the pale, dead eyes of my one time captor. Lupos had been a worthy enemy. He’d been a sadistic bastard, running his little corner of downtown with an iron fang. I’d looked forward to killing him, even more so once he’d jabbed a few bottles worth of glass into my back. He’d been mine, him and the rest of his nest. Not anymore. Now he was just another animal in his prime, at the top of his game, that Santo had effortlessly broken.

“I thought you’d be pleased.” Santo’s voice took on a harder edge.

“Right… thanks.” It didn’t seem real, Lupos’ head there. It didn’t matter anyway, as long as I was stuck here. Vamp politics seemed very far away now.

I couldn’t stop staring at Lupos. I remembered the last time I’d seen him, through the haze of dizziness that had come from pain and blood loss and dehydration. He had known who Santo was, I realized. Maybe they all had, from the way they had backed away from him.

“Bello, are you— *damn* it.”

He said it with such vehemence that I tensed, wondering if he was going to pounce. But he wasn’t even looking at me, staring out at something I couldn’t see. He snapped his fingers again, and disappeared.

Without Santo, the dining hall seemed much bigger. I looked at the head again. “Just you and me, now, leech.” The moment I’d waited so long for, just me and Lupos, face to face. Except nothing had come out the way I’d planned. Lupos had nothing *but* his face and I was wearing the collar of a demonic monster.

Shit happened.

I felt laughter bubble up inside me, and choked on it. If I started laughing now, I’d cry. I needed a plan of action. Santo clearly had other fish to fry, and I was alone in his mansion. This had to be some sort of opportunity.

The dining hall didn’t hold much. Just the long table, the marble floor, and the shadows along the walls. I went for the door, found it unlocked, and left.

Unsurprisingly, I found another hallway, only gently lit. I thought back to the first time Santo had led me here, but this place didn’t look familiar. I tried to remember everything Santo had told me about navigating this place. It had changed, I remembered, once the magic got to it. He’d also said the mirrors would help me, but there were none in sight and I didn’t want to risk one of them running to Santo if he was still here.

Back to square one.

I chose a direction at random and set off down another dark hallway. The lights along the wall gave off only enough light to make it harder to see in the darkness. They revealed bits of the tapestries. Some had elegant ladies in heavy dresses, men in tights leaning towards each other. There were statues perched in niches, mostly little creatures, dancing demons baring their teeth, and one statue of a young woman holding a basket of fruit, wrapped in a toga that fell around her like water. Her eyes followed me. I sped up.

I had no idea where I was going, or even where I wanted to go, but anything was better than standing still, waiting around with a severed head and the feeling that I was still violated.

I found myself remembering other houses and other explorations. I’d broken into warehouses near the river and penthouses uptown. Brownstones could hold a whole nest of particularly affluent vamps, especially at a party, and I used to hunt up and down the stairs until they went slippery with blood. Wandering around dark hallways used to be thrilling. At best I could slaughter the vamps wholesale in their sleep and at worst I bleated like prey until my mark was close enough to stab. No other hunter ever dared to get that close, and nobody had known how I’d done it. No one had had any inkling of what I could do.

Before Santo.

I couldn’t wrap my head around him. Even besides the magic and the shape shifting and the rest, which was weird enough, he was the craziest person I’d ever met. How twisted did you have to be before you thought attacking and raping someone was an honor, or that severed heads made good gifts?

That was the real bitch of it. He wasn’t just the biggest, scariest motherfucker I’d ever had flying at me with his teeth bared. He was insane, the bastard love child of the Mad Hatter and Vlad the Impaler.

The hallway took an abrupt turn, and in a moment I’d arrived at an open space, glimmering n the low light coming from the torches along the walls. The staircase stretched out on the opposite side of the room, richly carpeted and flanked by high, twisting columns rising to god knew where. Heavy, snarling gargoyles carved out of dark stone made up the bulk of the columns, and the light that fell on the staircase only cast them into deeper shadow. Another flight of stairs stretched down into the darkness. I thought those might lead to the room with the view of the meadow, where I had eaten before, but I could hardly be sure.

Up or down? It didn’t seem to matter, since I had no idea where anything was, and the house made helpful random changes. I looked at the two staircases, and took the one leading upwards. It had better lighting.

The second my bare foot hit the first stir the noise started. I jumped back, reflexively reaching for a knife that wasn’t there. It was a grating sort of noise, stone on stone, and I backed up more, trying to see what the stairs were doing.

It wasn’t the stairs at all. It was the columns, the monsters in the columns. They were *moving*, shifting and lashing long granite tails.

It wasn’t terror that made me freeze. I simply couldn’t tear myself away. The creatures were monstrous, enormous masses of stone that had been freaky enough as stylized columns, and now that they had fucking *come to life*…

One of them turned to look at me, the light finally hitting its face. Its head was shaped like a bull, with gruesome fangs. It snarled something at me, its voice low and rumbling like the distant roar of a plane taking off.

“Holy shit.” My feet still felt glued to the floor. If I ran, would those things chase me?

The other one growled at me, too, more insistently. It was looking at me also, if something with only stone for eyes could look. It growled again.

Suddenly the freaky talking mirror Clara seemed much less freaky. Christ, even Santo might be better than these two.

“Sorry to interrupt.” My tongue was thick with tension. What the fuck had I gotten myself into? Even walking into Lupos’ trap hadn’t been this unnerving. “I was just… looking around.” I barely heard what I was saying. I tried to take a step back, and got another snarl for my trouble. I stopped.

There was a screeching sort of noise as one of them cocked its head. It made another noise, and repeated it, a lowing noise, echoing through the open space. It sounded familiar.

Holy shit, it was saying my name.

I nodded my head, dumbstruck. This was unreal. For years only two people had ever called me by my real name, and now everything down to the stones knew it. It was like a dream.

“Bellllllooooo,” the other one said, nodding slowly. Then, with equal slowness, both of them reached out with their tails towards the stairs leading upward. Moving almost as slowly as they did, I took a step forward. The statues didn’t move. I took another, and another, ascending the stairs, and heard only the soft noise of my feet on the carpet. The gargoyles were still once more, identical to each other, as though they hadn’t moved and talked moments before.

I hurried up the stairs.

The carpet was ridiculously luxurious beneath my bare feet. The railings, blessedly gargoyle free, were thick and shining, made of polished colored marble. I had never felt so shaggy before. I hadn’t shaved in days, or bathed in almost as long, and I wasn’t even wearing shoes. My body had never given me the nitty gritty problems like greasy hair or sour breath, but I could still feel gross.

The next floor didn’t look different from the last one at first. Same high ceilings, elaborate paintings, marble floor, haunting shadows of doom, blah, blah, blah. No statues, but that didn’t mean there wasn’t something else lurking. Something in the air got my spidey senses tingling, and even if I hadn’t been in a haunted fucking house I’d been hunting long enough to know to pay attention to that feeling. I stopped for a moment and listened, and it paid off when I caught the low rumble of voices.

It could be Santo. I had no idea where he had gone. It could also be a talking mirror, or a talking gargoyle, or some other freaky piece of furniture. It could be another monster out to get me. But there was a chance that it was someone or something that could help me? What did I have to lose? Onward ho.

I wasn’t sure how useful my old hunting tactics were, since the entire house was rigged with magic powers, but they couldn’t hurt. I stepped to the side and put one foot in front of the other and tried not to think that I had no weapon and even if I did it wouldn’t do me any good anyway.

The voices grew louder. I came to a door, an old school style baby decked out in swirls and demons, with a keyhole straight out of a Hardy boys story. I had never actually spied through a keyhole, but I’d also never been trapped in the cursed mansion of a psychopath. I crouched and tried to get a good view.

Santo was glaring. Of course it was him. Something in me fell a little at the sight. All this way to get to the one person I needed to avoid. I considered getting up and going back and just cursing the night I got into this mess.

“You arrogant son of a bitch,” someone said, and I was shocked to realize it wasn’t Santo. “How could you say that when you know damn well nothing can be done?”

I knew that voice.

“Nonsense,” Santo replied, sounding the same way he had when he’d first shown up, all aristocratic confidence. “You’ve said yourself the little ones forget
soon enough.”

“I’m not *talking* about the little ones, obviously. They’re not the ones depending on me to keep you on a leash.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. As if you’ve ever had me leashed,” Santo said low, just as I placed the voice. Benedict, the leech who had wanted me dead. Perfect.

“You owe me more than ever, especially now that you’ve done it publicly. I was willing to look the other way about the oath the first time, given what you’d proposed for the hunter brat, but I can’t sweep this under the carpet.”

My money was on the “hunter brat” being me, but the rest of what Benedict had said was confusing and irresistibly intriguing. Part of me still wanted to run, to get away from Santo as fast as possible, but I needed the information. Neither of them seemed to have heard or smelled me, which was strange, but I had never been one to look gift cover in the mouth.

“Don’t worry yourself so. You whined just as much about the hunter and everything has worked out perfectly, has it not?” Hearing Santo so solicitous was unsettling.

“This is much bigger than that, Santo. You don’t understand how nervous you’ve made everyone. They’re frothing at the mouth as far as Rome.”

Santo walked away, out of my limited sight, and I saw what was behind him. It looked like some kind of archway, out of place in the middle of the room.

“What do they care? And what do you care, for that matter? Since when has the mewling of some poor coven concerned any of the clans? The mortal has been slaughtering them by the barrel in your own backyard for years, and even you never noticed until he touched your precious plaything.”

“Hardly the same. Whatever the mortal’s body count, he didn’t rip their heads off their shoulders, did he? He certainly hadn’t just made a promise of immunity to the entire coven!”

“I never said who the immunity would work against. Lupos was a fool not to realize, and you’re an even greater fool to make such a fuss out of it. I built the arc so that you could deliver urgent news and goods, not so that you could come to harangue me with every complaint.”

Benedict hissed, a sound I’d always taken as the vamp equivalent of “fuck you.” “You’re missing the point. This is not about you, or Lupos. This concerns my reputation. You’ve broken your word twice now, and you know the only reason the rest of the clans don’t move against you is because of our agreement.”

“Which still stands. I promised you support as long as you supplied me with suitable sacrifices. The hunter has already proven invaluable, and I’m hardly likely to forget that I owe the discovery to you.”

Neither was I. Santo may have proved knife-proof, but if I ever got my hands on Benedict he had another thing coming. Hearing what the agreement was between them confirmed my earlier theory, that Benedict had something on Santo. I hadn’t realized that it was me.

“Of course I know that, but that’s not what it looks like to the rest of the clans.”

“So what does it look like?” Santo sounded annoyed. Benedict stepped into my line of sight, hands out in supplication. He was as pale as I’d remembered, long white hair hanging down his back, stark against his black suit.

Benedict’s voice had lowered, although he was thankfully still audible. “It looked like you absconded with your little pet to your love nest. Not only that, but you promptly returned to decapitate a known enemy of his. They’re questioning your motives, and there are only so many conclusions they can come to. Charles has already threatened to sic a couple of hybrids on you, and you know Romeon would only consider it a challenge.”

“Hybrids” was an obvious new word to file away, like the names Charles and Romeon, but the phrase “known enemy” stuck with me. How much did all these vamps Benedict was talking about – the older ones – know about me? How much of it was from Santo or Benedict, and how much had they known all along? How much had I been in the dark about this?

Santo reappeared in my line of sight, moving to stand near Benedict again. “Lupos was a gift for him,” he said with an air of reluctance. “I thought perhaps he would appreciate a show of support.”

Benedict shrugged. “Why bother?”

Santo looked away, doing that staring into the distance thing that already pissed me off so much. “Bello lives here, now. I thought to make him comfortable. He’s terrified enough as it is.”

“You kidnapped and raped him – not that I’m protesting, mind you, I merely state the facts – and you thought a severed head would calm him down.” Benedict and I agreed on one thing, at least: mutilated corpses do not good presents make.

“It does seem foolish, in retrospect. He’s such a martial little thing I thought he might take to a gesture in kind more quickly than flowers or poetry. He’s already attacked me twice. I think he’s as much ‘bellum’ as he is ‘bellus.’”

I had no idea what the last bit meant.

“Yes, I’ve heard he’s quite violent.” Benedict sounded like he was musing on a book he’d read. “I admit I hadn’t realized the scope of his goings on until Hans, but even now none of the covens can tell me anything about him. I haven’t even heard a body count.”

“He doesn’t even know himself. It’s amazing how far he’s come considering how little he understands. He had no idea vampires could communicate with anything other than their tongues, and the reality of sorcery made him physically ill. Twice.”

I winced in remembrance and wished they would get back to talking about the other vamps. I knew I probably had limited time to hang around, since one of them would have to leave eventually, but on the other hand, what else did I have to do?

“You can hardly blame him for that. I remember it coming as something of a shock myself.”

“Ah, but you were a mortal when we met, or nearly so. Bello is anything but.”

“Yes, yes, so you’ve said. I still don’t see why you’re so convinced he’s special. At best he’s just another halfbreed, and we hardly need any more of those.” Benedict waved a hand dismissively. “What’s the little brat doing now, by the way? In pain, I hope.”

“Probably. I gave him a collar only a little while ago, and if recent events have taught me anything he’s most likely working himself into a state over it. If I’m correct, he’s…” Santo frowned then, concentrated, and in the moment before he looked at the door I knew the game was up.

I didn’t run. The door was open by the time I stood up, and Santo grabbed me by the collar before I could take a step back. It was humiliating, and I clutched at the collar as Santo dragged me in, hating him more with every step.

The room was better lit than the rest of the house had been, at least. The seemingly random archway in the middle of the room gave off a glow that was matched by the overhead lights. Magic or electricity?

“How long were you there?” Benedict demanded.

I worked up a good sneer, even with Santo still holding me by my fucking collar. Benedict, no matter how well he spoke or how much he brushed his girly long hair, was just another leech. “Fuck you.”

Benedict moved toward me in a classic vamp challenge. His eyes were nearly white, I realized, the palest I’d ever seen. I wondered how he could stand any light at all. “I can make you pay for that.”

“Bite me.” That phrase almost always confused vamps, especially when they might have actually been about to bite you.

Benedict did seem dumbstruck for a moment, but then his pale features twisted again, revealing his teeth. ‘Do it,’ I dared him mentally. I didn’t care that Santo was still holding onto me, that I didn’t even have a knife. It was such a fucking relief just to know how to fight him. I was vibrating with it.

He was halfway to me when Santo pulled me back roughly, out of range. He still had a good clutch on my collar, and wrapped his free hand around my chest, holding me sickeningly close. I wanted to struggle, but pushing only brought home how immovable Santo was, and how vulnerable I was with the collar pressing uncomfortably against my throat.

“You ought to teach him a lesson,” Benedict said, his accent more pronounced with his teeth still so prominent.

“Can’t do it yourself, bloodsucker?” My voice was the last weapon I had, and I wasn’t going down without a fight.

“Calm down, Benedict, he obviously couldn’t have been here long or we would have sensed him. He’s only baiting you. Resist the urge to give into it.”

“Fuck both of you with tire irons.” Anger and humiliation were throbbing through me, robbing me of wit, but I did have enough sense to realize the importance of what Santo had said. Neither of them had sensed me, in the normal way or otherwise.

Benedict gestured at me. “I thought you said he was terrified.”

“Don’t be stupid,” Santo all but snarled, his grip tightening on me painfully. But when he spoke again, he sounded like he had in the rain, what seemed like an eternity ago. “He *is* terrified. I can feel him shaking.”

“Fuck you.” I regretted saying it instantly. It hung in the air between us, all my anger revealed for what it was.

Benedict was looking at me differently now, in a way I couldn’t name and didn’t like. I looked away as much as Santo’s grip on my collar allowed.

“Give me a minute with him,” Santo said. Benedict shrugged after a moment and wandered off to stand behind the arch. I was shocked when I realized I couldn’t see him once he went behind it. What the hell?

“I know you’re frightened, Bello.” Santo’s voice near my ear snapped me back. I couldn’t even make myself deny it. Panic loomed in front of me. For the first time in forever I had no anger to fall back on, nothing to stand between me and the void. I was fucking terrified.

“I’m going to let go of you in a moment. I want you to take a moment to breathe, and I want you to calm yourself. I’m not cross with you for coming here, but it will profit no one, especially you, should you attack my guest.”

He let me go then, and I moved away a couple of steps, towards the arch. Benedict walked back over, appearing seemingly out of nowhere.

“I suppose the two of you have not been properly introduced. Bello, this is Benedict, ruler of the Tarquin clan and current inferus imperator of the northern territories. Benedict, this is Bello Armitage, hunter of vampires.”

“Pleasure to make your acquaintance.” Benedict held out his pale hand, smirking at me. Another challenge, with less teeth and more threat. I held out my hand for the first handshake I’d ever had with a vamp. He felt cold.

I didn’t want to play this game. I couldn’t attack either of them, and I couldn’t start talking about what I had heard, since neither of them had realized I’d heard it. What had been an advantage a minute ago had been flipped on its head.

“He’s certainly a sullen thing, isn’t he?” I flipped Benedict the bird, and Santo stepped between us.

“It’s a work in progress.”

Benedict snorted. “If this is your version of progress, I’d hate to see what failure looks like.” He gave me a contemptuous once over that made the hair on the back of my neck stand up. “I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised. Your attempts at seduction always were very messy.”

Santo stiffened at that. I took a step back, unsure how to respond, and found myself closer to the arch. It still gave off that eerie glow, and as I came closer I felt strange vibrations emanating from it. More magic, clearly, but what did it do?

“Some of us require more from our companions than pleasures of the flesh… not that you would understand.”

“Don’t get on your high horse with me. He’s your type twice over and looks like he’d love getting fucked.”

“He’s also not *deaf,* asshole,” I said hotly.

Benedict looked at me long enough to smirk before turning back to Santo. “Besides, if you’re not seducing him, why go through all the motions? If he’s being such a nuisance, lock him up with the rest of your menagerie. I didn’t give him to you to pamper him.”

“I don’t need to be seducing him to want to make him more amenable.”

“Amenable to what?” Benedict asked, at the same time I did. We shared another glance.

Santo seemed as confused by our ditto as we were. “Bello has been reluctant to talk about himself. Understandable, I assure you.” He was looking at me, now. “I thought perhaps a gift of a defeated enemy might help.”

Benedict’s undignified snort brought us back to him. “You are such an idiot. God’s thumbs, I don’t understand how you can know so much and be so stupid.”

“What?” Santo seemed genuinely puzzled. Me too.

Benedict actually rolled his eyes. “His full name is Bello Alistair Armitage. He’s twenty-two years old, and his birthday is the fifteenth of March. He has been officially missing for five years, ever since a fire burned his house down, taking with it his mother, Maria Armitage, his father, Evan Armitage, and his precious pooch, Lucy. He’s been presumed dead, although his body was never recovered from the ruins. He has no living kin to—”

I leapt on him, cutting him off with a punch to the throat as I threw my weight against him, practically blind with hate. I was going to rip his tongue out.

The numbness hit me like a wave. I sank to the floor bonelessly, falling to Benedict’s side, and could only lie prone as he scrambled away from me. What the hell had happened? My limbs felt impossible to move, like I was turning into a statue.

“Oh, Bello.” Santo sighed. He knelt next to me and actually ruffled my hair. It was gentle enough, but terrifying when I could not move to escape it. “I did tell you the collar would prevent you from harming others. Perhaps now you’ll believe it. The numbness will leave in a few minutes.”

He stood up, leaving me lying helplessly at his feet, looking up at the two of them. The vibration from the arch thrummed through me from the floor.

“How did you know all that?”

“Through the cunning use of Google.” Benedict’s voice was raw from the punch. “One of these days you’re going to discover the particular branch of magic that is the Internet.”

Despite the hatred and humiliation and terror at being so helpless, I might have laughed at that if I hadn’t been so doped up.

“I would have made him come around.” Santo sounded almost petulant.

Benedict hissed again. “I’m not sure how to make this clearer. I don’t *want* him to ‘come around.’ I want him dead, and if he won’t be killed, then I want him to suffer, not be given the run of the mansion. He’s your prisoner, not your goddamn guest. I never though I’d have to explain the difference to a Roman.”

I focused on getting back up as the weakness abated. It was easier than dealing with the rush of information, and the clear magnitude of Benedict’s hatred of me. Santo, much as I hated to admit it, had been right. Hans had been a big fuck up, and Benedict was the reason I was paying for it.

I reached my arm out along the ground unsteadily, relieved to have at least some motor control back.

Above me Santo was practically snarling in Benedict’s face. “And I’m not sure how to make myself clearer. Bello is *mine.* You had your chance with him back in the city, but he is in *my* house now, and I will do with him as I please.

“I assure you Bello is fully aware of his position here, since he has already twice born the full brunt of the change, and lives secure in the knowledge that he will bear it as long as he lives. If that does not constitute suffering, I don’t know what does. I appreciate your advice and am sensitive to your concerns, but if you cannot control yourself, leave.”

He pointed then, but not at the door. Following the line of his hand, I realized he was pointing at the arch. That made no sense, until suddenly it did. A small part of me protested that it wasn’t possible, but it was quickly drowned out by the part of me getting used to things not making sense. Santo teleported like it was going out of style, after all.

The rush of adrenaline from that revelation helped get rid of the dopiness, but I played up my weakness as I scrabbled to my feet. Santo took hold of me as if to help me stand, but I moved away, staring at Benedict like I was thinking about lunging at him again.

It was the knife fake out all over again, and I gave a second to envisioning everything that could go fubar. It was a dizzying thought. But I wasn’t staying here, not when escape was right there.

I hunched over slightly, trying to look like I was still trying to get my bearings, like I wasn’t about to lunge through a portal to god knew where.

Benedict finally seemed ready to reply. “If I’m no longer welcome in your house, you need only have said.”

“That’s not what I meant,” Santo said stiffly, looking away. They were quiet, and contemplative, and it was my moment. I broke and ran, leaping through the arch like you’d leap off a cliff, and felt myself fall into nothingness.

The Color of His Eyes Chapter 9

Wed, 18 Jun 2008 07:22:20 GMT

I completely forgot to post this here when I updated!

This is my least favorite story, but by golly I intend to finish it.

Title: The Color of His Eyes
Summary: When Flash, a carefree skateboarder of the future, acquires an exotic slave, both of their lives are changed.
Warnings: M/M, Violence, Abuse, Non-con, Graphic Sex

Pain. Lots of pain. Rainbow’s hair was drenched with sweat, reeking of it. He concentrated on keeping silent, on keeping still, on keeping the green and silver and pink out of his eyes. And red, dark like blood pain anger meat hunting. Rage pulled at him, so tempting, a lurking easy rush, but that was what they wanted. He remembered. Memories of earlier hospitals assaulted him, and this time they did nothing but parallel the present. He was stronger now, he told himself. Flash would come for him. He would find Flash.

“Is the subject secured?”

“Yes, sir. After a great deal of effort.”

“Good. Its records indicate it was undergoing extensive emotional priming when we last worked with it. Let us resume.”

“Yes, sir. The stimulus is ready.”

“Commence.”

More pain. More sweat. More effort. His senses began to swirl. Boots clacking. Pen smell ink scratch on paper. Voices. Pain. Human smell. Lights lights brightness.

*****

The Rekikor had pluck. Kriver had to admit that. For such a little thing it seemed immensely strong. After a week of intensive torture – the scientists had their own stupid name for it, but Kriver was never one to beat around the bush – it was still holding out. Kriver paced around the white, sterile room that could have passed for a hospital room if not for the creature strapped down in the center, writhing in pain. Several scientists stood about him, making notes on their hand comps. Kriver held the Rekikor’s file.

“And what do you call it, again?” he asked the head scientist, a Dr. Prespor.

“Priming,” the man replied in clipped tones. “The object is to reduce the Rekikor to a state of pure emotion. Rage is often convenient for this use, but fear and love will also do. We had thought rage would be an easy emotion to incite in this specimen, since it was so encased in it when it was taken, but it has proven… stubborn.”

“So you’ve moved on to fear?” Kriver asked.

“Clearly,” Dr. Prespor was meticulously polite, but Kriver heard contempt in his tone. “Once we can isolate an emotion in the Rekikor, it becomes much easier to regulate them through a series of ingrained responses.”

“And all Rekiki go through this?” Kriver knew from the Rekikor’s file that they didn’t, but he asked the question anyway just to make a point. He didn’t need any jumped up scientists getting pissy with him.

“No,” replied the doctor through gritted teeth. Kriver smiled politely, the very picture of an earnest pupil. “This training –” And here he was interrupted by some lab coat twit: “The subject is not showing any response to the stimulus, Dr. Prespor.”

“Yes, I see that. Intensify the stimulus for two more minutes. If it shows no response, we will change tactics.” The lab coat fiddled with some switches, and the Rekikor cried out, high and pained before it cut itself off sharply. The room was quiet for a moment except for the Rekikor’s heavy breathing, before the doctor spoke again. “This training differs in two respects. Almost all Rekiki are trained from a very early age, and meet conditioning with weak resistance, if any. This Rekikor is very focused, maintaining a level of clarity I have yet to see in any specimen, and we have had to adapt our strategies accordingly.

“This specimen,” the doctor continued, “has also been singled out in the past for experimental training. My predecessors were, as it says in the file –” and here the doctor spared a glance for the file in Kriver’s hand, “attempting to isolate black pigment in the Rekikor’s irises, which they believed corresponded with a hunting instinct that would prove very valuable to military operations. My orders were to continue with this objective.”

Kriver watched the Rekikor try to keep still as it was dosed with frightening amounts of electricity. “This won’t kill him?”

“There is always that possibility,” Dr. Prespor admitted. “We have yet to give him lethal doses of drugs or electricity, however. My only real concern is that he will go mad, as has happened in several cases of reconditioning. It is a delicate situation.”

“Huh,” replied Kriver noncommittally. The electricity stopped, then, and Dr. Prespor took his leave with only a nod before going over to his little minions to discuss new ways to torment the Rekikor. The Rekikor, spared for a moment, panted, trying to regain its breath, its gaze darting all about the room. Its eyes passed over Kriver without seeming to recognize him.

“I want to talk to it,” Kriver said, and the lab coats looked at him. He smiled.

“That might be unwise,” said Dr. Prespor, his entire body screaming “fuck off.”

“I’ve been chasing this thing for far too long not to say hello,” Kriver insisted.

Dr. Prespor nodded, and Kriver approached the table. He caught himself approaching slowly, actually being cautious around this animal, who was strapped down and weak as a kitten, and kicked himself. “Rekikor,” he tried.

No response.

“Rainbow,” he tried again, and suddenly those weird white eyes were staring right at him. No hint of the cacophony of colors that must have gotten him that name. Kriver marveled that something that looked so human in so many respects could also look so… alien. “You gave us quite a run for our money, y’know.”

The Rekikor tilted its head at him, as though trying to understand.

“The Agency’s been on you ever since you were stolen away from the labs.”

The Rekikor frowned and looked away. “The farm. All those dogs…” it said, and its voice sounded remarkably human.

“Yes, we heard about your little stunts in the ring. If it helps, those men have been arrested.”

The Rekikor said nothing.

“We have access to them. Wouldn’t you want to give them a dose of their own medicine, to hurt them the way they hurt you?” Kriver was surprised that those idiots were still alive. They’d had a live, unconditioned Rekikor in fighting shape, and they had done everything possible to provoke him. Then again, he’d seen the chains they’d used to keep the Rekikor down, and the gods only knew what other kinds of tortures they’d subdued him with. If anything would inspire an emotional reaction in the Rekikor, he was betting this would.

“Where is Flash?” the Rekikor asked, as though he had not heard Kriver’s question.

“Flash is fine. He’s safe. You’ll see him when you prove that you’re good. Don’t you want to be good for us?”

The Rekikor turned back to him then, his eyes still that haunting white. And then he said with perfect serenity, “No, I don’t think I do.”

Dr. Prespor actually snickered at that.

Kriver clenched his jaws. “I’m going to enjoy watching you break.”

He told himself he wasn’t hurrying as he left the room, he was just walking with purpose.

88888

Sitting in the jail cell, waiting for someone to kill him or torture him, the way they were undoubtedly doing to Rainbow, Flash realized just how much he had failed. He’d thought his strongest moment was the day he left his inheritance and his name and resolved to be a human being. He’d run away from everything he’d ever known to become someone else, and he’d even fucked that up. The first chance he got to prove his humanity, and he fucked it up. Rainbow had needed his help, and what had he done? He’d fucked the kid and locked him up and ignored him, and now Rainbow was going to be tortured and used and slowly killed. And Flash didn’t even have the chance to help him, since he’d given up his power along with his name, and the man he’d thought was his friend had betrayed him.

Flash had had nothing to eat in the past few weeks but vitamin-rich mush and artificial water, but he didn’t feel hungry. He could have stopped this. If he had still been Frederick Hunter, no Agent would have *dared* to touch him. It had never occurred to Flash that the Hunter name could be used for anything that wasn’t corrupt.

And he’d left it all behind.

He was useless. Worse than useless. He’d been so stupid. He finally met the one slave he could actually help, actually wanted to help, and he’d been so obsessed with his own stupid need to be a good master that he’d completely forgotten about being a friend. Rainbow – gods, what a stupid fucking name – had put up with everything he’d thrown at him. What had that Fayelian said? The Rekikor would take any abuse from him. And he’d abused the poor kid, hadn’t he?

He’d been a fuck up from start to finish, now that he faced it. Born into one of the richest, most influential families in the world, and he’d hated it. He’d hated every minute of failing to be his father’s protégé, when he had been too soft-hearted for his father to look at him, and he’d hated it more when he’d been the son his father wanted. What kind of fucked up was that?

He’d run from that, just like he’d run from everything. His father had finally died, and he hadn’t been able to face being the next Hunter. And he’d run from it, and he’d fucked that up, too, hadn’t he? Because even with a new name and a new home and a new life he was still the same old ruthless, domineering Freddy, who broke slaves with a blink of an eye when he wasn’t too busy pussyfooting around. The same Freddy with the ruthless business acumen when he wasn’t being dumber than *rocks* by trusting the person who had landed him in this goddamn mess.

He was a mess. And he was going to die because of it. Flash was pretty sure he was okay with that. He’d always been a quitter. Life was just the next thing to quit.

But he wished Rainbow wasn’t suffering because of it. He wished he could have saved Rainbow.

888888

It took Adaise a week to work it out.

Adaise knew what people said about Fayelians. Chatterboxes. Social pests. More cheerful than a robo-canary on crack. Stupid, people called them.

But Adaise wasn’t stupid.

He’d known there was something odd about the boy as soon as he’d seen him. He’d recognized him, even in that dingy old apartment. Something about the eyes, the curve of the jaw. It had pinged the memory processors in his brain, so different than any human one. He had managed to stall, to keep the boy around until it came to him. He kept it revolving in the back of his mind – eyes and jaw, eyes and jaw – until all of a sudden it struck him. Eyes and jaw and chin and mouth and voice and all of a sudden Adaise knew exactly who the Agency had managed to capture.

Adaise also knew who he was going to tell this golden fact to. It wasn’t Kriver.

It wasn’t an Agent at all.

888888

Rainbow did not feel the pain anymore. He was not sure he had convinced his body to do this or if the electricity had simply burnt away his nerves somehow, but he knew that he did not feel pain anymore and that it was good. The humans spoke to him often, now, and brought in other humans and other things that brought him pain he did not feel anymore.

They brought in a dog one day. He smelled it before he saw it, and then they brought it right up to where he was strapped down and it reared up and put its paws on his chest as it stared down at him. And he remembered. He remembered many things: the snarls of the dogs as they leapt at him, the jeering of the humans surrounding the pit, the way they fucked him and hurt him whenever he lost. He remembered the nights locked in a cage reeking of shit and the shouts he heard each night, the way he used to cower when anyone came near and flinch away from the light.

But now he also remembered Flash, and the other dog. The other dog who had done nothing to him, who had not attacked him even when he had attacked it. That dog had made pained noises like he had used to make.

Slowly the two memories of the dogs superimposed themselves over the snuffling face of this dog. This dog was not snarling at him. He did not fear this dog. He did nothing, and they took it away.

He thought he might feel good after they took the dog away. But he didn’t. He didn’t feel much of anything. He didn’t feel anything when they brought in two of the humans who had made him fight the dogs, either.

The man who smelled of coffee was there. He smiled. “You’ll remember good ol’ Rob and Jorge, here.”

The two men looked much the same as he had remembered, haggard and dirty. They were wearing different clothes, but they still smelled the same. He remembered the way their come had smelled, had tasted, the way their cocks had felt inside him and the way their fists had hurt. One of them used to have a ring on his finger. He didn’t now.

“We got them out of prison just to visit you,” coffee man said. “Say hello, boys.”

“Hi, bitch,” one had said.

“Still the same slut we used to know?” said the other. “It was you who landed us in all this trouble, you know. The cunt we sold you to narced on us.”

“Lucky for us the little bitch is in the same prison we are, no bars between us, and we remind him of his little mistake every night.”

“He ain’t tight as you were, boy. No way, no how.”

He heard the words and remembered the way these men had screamed at him. They had seemed so loud then, the only sound in the world had been their angry voices. Those voices had followed him everywhere, haunting him. But now, hearing them again… he felt nothing.

“Don’t you have anything to say?” coffee main prodded him.

He looked at the men who for nearly a year had ruled his every waking moment and most of his dreams. They were just men, he realized. Just humans, the same kind he had killed, the same kind who hurt him now. They were like the dog who had come before. They could not touch him now.

“No, I don’t think I do,” he said simply.

The coffee man looked angry, but he took the men away. The doctors came back, and he stared at the ceiling once more.

Sometimes he wondered what the other Rekiki might think of him, if they saw him now. He remembered the rage he had felt as he fought with them. He did not feel that rage now, even at the humans who hurt him. He didn’t feel much of anything, anymore, except a gentle lassitude that made it easy to lie strapped to the table day after day, under the harsh lights that had once heard his eyes. They couldn’t get to him, not the parts they wanted, anyway. He was safe. He did not feel the urge to wander, to hunt, to find his family or his mate. He could lie here forever, or at least until they killed him.

And then one day they brought in Flash.

He was with the other man, the man who smelled like coffee, who had been there before. Flash’s hands were tied behind his back, and he smelled like sweat and fear. The rims of his eyes were all pink and puffy, and the hair on his face was all overgrown. There were two other humans, not the coffee man, who were holding Flash so he couldn’t escape, and he looked so small next to them. He was bigger than Rainbow, of course, but he did not look stronger.

“Rainbow,” Flash said, and he thought Flash’s voice sounded rough. The sound made Rainbow feel… something. He could not name what it was.

“Hi, Flash,” he said absently, focusing more on what was rising up inside him.

“Rainbow? Are you okay? I’m sorry, Rainbow. Gods, I’m so sorry.”

He didn’t respond. His heart felt strange in his chest. He felt hotter somehow, seeing Flash the way he did, tired and underfed and so desperate, and seeing the coffee man grinning down at him again.

“What’s wrong with him? Why is there no color in his eyes?”

He felt the urge to move again. He jerked against the straps voluntarily, but they held as they always did. That didn’t help. He didn’t do it again. But he had to do something, had to figure out what this was.

“Rekikor eyes go white when they’re not moved by anything,” said the coffee man. “What kind of idiot doesn’t know that?”

Oh. Now he knew what it was. The coffee man’s voice made it clear, suddenly. And when he realized what was happening he looked around, to see if the humans had noticed. They were so poor at reading Rekiki, but surely they must notice that his eyes had gone pink, and would soon go pure, violent red.

But they did not notice. And he did not feel the rage take him. He was angry, yes. So angry. He felt as though he would tear everyone apart right now just to rescue Flash. He felt like Flash was the only one there, the only one in the world.

“What color are my eyes?”

Flash looked confused, he though. He frowned, and that was often the way humans showed confusion. “They’re white, Rainbow.” He smiled weakly. “Guess your name seems silly now, huh?”

Before Rainbow could figure out the answer to that, another revelation struck him. “Flash, I want to leave here.”

And that was true, now. The contentment had left him. He wanted to leave, to be as far away as possible. He was desperate to escape his bonds, to wreak havoc on every human in this room but Flash. He would never hurt Flash.

He had never felt this angry without the red anger coming. He was so close to the rage: there was no fear, no uncertainty. But his mind was still clear, not hazy with wrath. His eyes weren’t red, or even pink. He couldn’t understand it.

“All right, kid,” said the coffee man to Flash. “Time to go. This was a bust.” Then he turned to Rainbow. “Any parting words, lover boy?”

“I think,” he said, and then he had to stop for a second to clarify to himself what it was he wanted. He looked the coffee man directly in the eye. “I think I’m going to enjoy killing you.”

Dreaded Creatures Glide, Chapter 6

Wed, 18 Jun 2008 07:09:44 GMT

Title: Dreaded Creatures Glide
Summary: Far Seer is an adventurous merman, and has always been curious about the human world. When he is captured and gifted to royalty, he learns far more about humans than he ever thought he would.
Warnings: M/M, Violence, Abuse, Non-Con

I've done some editing in previous chapters. Nothing that changes the plot or anything, but if you feel like a reread you'll notice that Terry has a new introductory scene and that I've rewritten the rape scene. I also made a few references to Far Seer's previous life, but that's explained more in this chapter, and none of the changes are necessary to understand what's going on.

“Live in the sunshine, swim the sea, drink the wild air…” -- Ralph Waldo Emerson

He was surrounded by heat, by dryness. He had long since closed his eyes against the sun, and it beat down on him relentlessly, tormenting him even through the nights. The rock beneath him was dry and burning. He didn’t know what time it was or where he was. He burned even through the nights, smelling the water everywhere, too hurt and hating and helpless to move. He was seaweed left on the sand, limp and leathery.

He felt as though his body was not his own. His limbs were heavy and distant from him, and the rock below him seemed to cut into him in a way it never had before. He felt scraped, raw, bled out. He felt as though his mind had melted, boiled in the sun. He shifted through memories deliriously, falling from one to the other.

He remembered his last midsummer festival. He had been home only a few weeks, filled with stories of his trip to the far end of the earth, where it had been so cold the water had frozen. No one had believed him when he had told them he found birds that swam, and black and white dolphins that had nearly torn him apart. He hadn’t cared. Everyone had been happy, filled with the bliss of summer, when the food was plentiful and the water was warm. They had laughed and leapt and sunned themselves endlessly on the rocks, thanking the sun for its warmth and the sea for its bounty and the beautiful, protected beaches for the comfort they offered.

He did not come home often, and when he did he usually found himself itching to leave very soon. But the festival had been different. Everyone had been so pleased to see him. His aging mother had cooed at how strong his travels had made him. The pups, their skin only beginning to lighten from blue to white, had raced around him in circles and begged him to tell more about his adventures.

He had been hot under the summer sun, especially after spending so much time in the cool waters of the south, but the heat had felt like a welcome, like the embraces of his old playmates, Racer and Blue Arms and Song Heart, who had welcomed him back into their fold as though he had never left. It had been endlessly pleasing to lie on the rocks, waving his fins every so often to catch the breeze, letting his mind be cleansed by the sun.

The heat was unbearable now, as he lay on the rock. He was so scorched he could not quite remember where he was. Sometimes he was in the pool with Kee-Kee, scratching out words in the sand and laughing at his friend’s antics. Perhaps he was out in the most beautiful reef he had ever seen, surrounded by a riot of color and life.

His hunger had long since dulled, and he no longer felt any thirst. He drifted in and out of consciousness, assaulted by memories, snippets and flashes that were always far more vivid than the dry, baked reality around him.

He remembered challenging Racer to see who could go deepest before turning back. They had swum out to the dark sea, where the water ran deep, accompanied by Blue Arms and Song Heart, who had agreed to judge. He had taken a deep breath and one last look at the clear blue sky ahead and then had turned down to the depths.

Racer, who was hailed as the fastest merman in the pride, had taken off like a sailfish, his glittering scales winking as he sped into the depths. Far Seer had followed more slowly, feeling the pressure close in on him as he went down, down to where the light did not reach. He hungered for what lay down there, for the creatures that swam and sang and hunted down there.

He had surpassed Racer soon enough, but that had not mattered to him. He had needed to find the secrets in the depths of the ocean. He had heard a song down there, low and haunting, beckoning him.

It had been Blue Arms who caught him in the end. She had pulled on his hair to get his attention, and he had reluctantly followed her back to the surface, where Racer was regaining his breath next to Song Heart.

“Show off,” Racer has said with a grin, fully aware that he was one to talk about showing off.

“Idiot,” Blue Arms had added, cuffing him over the head. “You don’t know what’s down there. The point is to win, not get yourself killed.”

“I know,” Far Seer had said, feeling frustrated. “I just… needed to see.” The race had seemed a little fuzzy then, like recalling a dream. He had hadn’t quite remembered what it had been that he had needed so badly.

Song Heart, always the least talkative of the group, had only clicked in agreement.

His memories shifted, blurring into each other. He was wracked with pain, as though all his dry skin was splitting apart. He smelled salt and metal and the sea. It tormented him, and he could not escape. Trapped on the rock under the sun in the heart of the human lands, dreaming of bright lights.

It had been the first human boat he had seen, when Blue Arms had taken him on a patrol. She was the youngest mermaid to ever take up the guard, and took her duties so seriously that Far Seer had had to beg for weeks before she took him along. Even then, she had lectured him for days on what to do and what not to do in the event of an attack.

“Stay close,” she had hissed as they had set out. Far Seer had obeyed. With her dark blue hair, and the unusually blue arms that had given her her name, Blue Arms was adept at camouflage, and he had been hard put to keep track of her.

And then the ship had come.

They had heard it first, a mess of human noise carried through the water, and they had gone as close as they had dared. He had seen the humans on the ship, surrounded by fire to challenge the darkness of the night. They had been dancing, and laughing, and Far Seer would have given anything to be there with them, twirling and laughing and singing.

He remembered another boat, pain and confusion and desperate loneliness. He had been unable to speak, filled with anger and frustration and fear. They had lashed at him and cursed and he had been so heartbroken that they had not been at all like the humans he had once seen. They had hurt him and starved him and left him alone in the dark.

He did not want to think about that. He did not want to think anymore.

He slept.

A raucous cry woke him in the end. He cracked open his eyes painfully, looking around in confusion. He had forgotten why he was there, and what his name was. The smell of the water filled him, torturing him, but he could not remember why he hated it so much. He needed to leave the smell of the water, wanted to so desperately.

There was a sudden flapping noise, at once strange and familiar, and then there was a weight on his stomach. The caw sounded again, and it was so sudden and sharp that he blinked despite the pain and swelling and tried to understand what was around him.

His vision had gone blurry for some reason, but he could make out a black bird stood on his stomach, shining in the sun. The bird turned in a little circle on his stomach, as though it were surveying its property, and then bent down and tore neatly at his skin.

He cried out then, his voice rasping and painful in his throat, and jerked. The bird squawked and flew off, its wings flapping noisily.

With the bird gone, there was only him and the heat once more, and now his eyes were open. He blinked painfully at the bright blue sky, and turned his gaze downward, towards his body.

Something wasn’t right.

Pricked with unease, he lifted his head a little. It seemed unbearably heavy, but he had to see. His body was a mass of tan, too much of the wrong color. Fear ran through him. Something wasn’t right, and he couldn’t figure out what it was. He turned a little, every part of his body protesting, and as he shifted the sense of fundamental *wrongness* increased dramatically.

Then he got a good look at the bottom half of his body, and began to scream.

888888

Charles aimed his bow and tried to ignore the low conversations of the nobility around him. He could not help but wonder what they were saying: were they admiring his skill, or criticizing it, or perhaps wondering why it was that the prince shot arrows while his father discussed matters of importance? Or were they speaking about something else entirely, perhaps one of the other archers, not moved at all by the sight of their crown prince?

“Message for the prince!” came a servant’s cry, and Charles nearly missed his shot. He turned with irritation at the servant who had run past a few other aristocratic archers and collapsed near Magnus’ feet.

“Highness!” said the servant dramatically. Magnus looked back at Charles for orders.

“If this is another of father’s urgent meetings it will have to wait,” Charles drawled, mindful of his audience. “He was the one who told me to practice my archery in the first place.” Charles felt a petty satisfaction that he had a reason to refuse a summons.

The servant shook his head vehemently. “No, Highness. It was the chamberlain what sent me. He said that the creature – that is, the merman – is in the royal guest chambers, and he thought you ought to be told.”

“In the guest chambers? Whatever for?” Charles could not help but picture the merman on one of the guest beds, his great tail thrashing wildly, his blue braids spilled around his head as he roared and flicked water everywhere.

“The chamberlain said he’s got legs now, Highness.”

Charles was aware that the noise around him had died completely. The other archers had stopped and turned to stare, and the people seated nearby were watching just as avidly.

Charles could think of nothing to say but: “Come again?”

The servant grew more distressed. “Legs, Highness. No one can explain it. They told me the guards heard him making a ruckus, and they found him with legs.”

“Take me to him then.” He was too stunned to make any other comment. He followed the servant into the castle, and heard conversation start up immediately after his departure.

Legs! He couldn’t picture it, try as he might, and as he strode through the castle he started to feel giddy with anticipation. Could it be true? How had it happened? The merfolk were always considered half magic, creatures too strange to be wholly of this world. But he had seen the merman. He had been strange, certainly, but clearly an animal subject to the laws of nature, however much he had first resembled a creature from nightmares. Had he been wrong? Was the merman magic after all? What strange powers might he have? He remembered the merman’s haunting gaze, how trapped he had felt by it. Was that a power of his?

Doctor Harcourt, who often tended his father and had known Charles since he was an infant, was standing outside the door, speaking with a servant. He turned as he heard Charles’ approach and sent the servant off. He gave Charles a bow and a smile, and then said in his usual gentle tones, “I’m glad you’ve come, Highness. I apologize that I interrupted you, but I thought you ought to be informed.”

“What’s going on here?” Charles asked, wishing he could sound less nonplussed.

“I wish I knew. The guards have told me that they found him lying on a rock, nearly dead from dehydration, screaming at the sight of his legs.”

“He really has them?”

“Yes. I haven’t been able to examine them closely, as he has been somewhat volatile, but they seem to be perfectly regular human legs.” Harcourt’s words were punctuated by a muffled shriek from the other side of the door. Magnus started at the sound, his hand going to the pommel of his sword.

“That’s the merman,” Harcourt explained. “He’s been roaring at anyone who tries to touch him. He was very weak when they carried him in, they told me, but apparently his agitation is overcoming his weakness. Highness, you saw him before – it pains me to burden you with this matter, but is there anything you would suggest?”

“I want to see him.”

Harcourt looked surprised at his answer, and then frowned. “If I may be so bold, Highness, I’m not sure that’s wise. The merman no longer has a tail or the sharp teeth I was told he had earlier, but he’s been quite aggressive so far and –”

“I survived him before,” Charles said with more confidence than he felt. “I will see him now.”

Magnus was right behind him as he entered the room, and Charles was prepared for attack despite his appearance of calm. But the action seemed to be restrained to the bed, where three of the doctor’s servants were fussing about a writhing figure. The servants were all holding long swathes of cotton, with which they were clearly attempting to restrain the merman. They were also clearly failing.

“Beg pardon, Lordship,” said one of the servants as he wrestled with the snarling merman, “But you might want to keep your distance.”

As the servant addressed him the merman turned and looked at him, and Charles saw at once that he had changed. Charles had been trapped the first time he saw the merman, hypnotized by the alien intelligence in those flat eyes. The merman’s hair had hung about him in heavy, wet braids, and sharp teeth had lurked behind deceptively soft lips. Now, the merman’s blue hair was dry, fanning around him messily, and his eyes and mouth looked… vulnerable. His eyes were wide with fear and his mouth was cracked and bleeding. He looked parched and worn out; the skin under his eyes seemed almost bruised.

Charles had stopped as the merman had looked at him, and the merman had frozen as well. The one of the servants attempted to take the opportunity to tie him down, and the merman jerked around and bellowed at him, the sound similar to the noises he had made the first two times Charles had encountered him, but the tone was more familiar now. The merman sounded almost human.

“Leave him,” Charles ordered, and the servants backed up with only a moment’s hesitation. The merman turned to him again, sitting on the bed naked and looking more vulnerable than ever. His eyes were almost all pupil, and his mouth was slightly open. His nostrils were flared, and his breath came quickly. His muscular body, so impressive even when the merman was far from his element, was hunched over.

He was frightened, Charles realized.

Charles felt unabashedly triumphant. This was the creature of his nightmares, whom it had cost him so much to face, who had arrested him so easily with just a glance. And now he was cowering before Charles, all of his attention on him.

The merman made a noise, then, some gibberish, high pitched thing. He frowned, concentrating, and tried again, making the same noise. He shook his head as if to clear himself of something, making the shells in his parched hair rattle and click against each other, and tried a third time, clearly just as dissatisfied with his efforts. He gestured rapidly and then looked at Charles, clearly begging for some sort of understanding. Charles could only shrug to show he had not understood.

The merman made a low, despairing sort of sound, and then looked shocked that he made such a noise. He looked at Charles and rubbed at his throat.

Charles finally understood. More than his teeth, the merman’s whole throat had become human. He was attempting to use the same language he had as a merman, and his body could no longer comply. He couldn’t even communicate in his own language, even if no one else understood it.

The realization put something of a damper on his sense of victory. This was not the creature who had called to him irresistibly, who had so effortlessly flaunted his every effort at control. This was just a mute animal begging for help.

He nodded, aware that all eyes were on him. He scrambled for a course of action. The boy had spoken to him, had he not? Charles had resolved to put the boy, as well as the entire incident, out of his head, and so naturally it had remained in painful detail. The merman had responded to the boy’s words, although perhaps it had only been his tone.

“Easy now,” he said, as though he were calming Ginger. “No one wants to hurt you.”

The merman blinked at him, not showing any particular understanding, but his pose relaxed a little. Charles took a few steps toward the bed, and the merman grew agitated, darting his glance around at the servants surrounding the bed, and beyond Charles’ shoulder at Magnus. He bared his teeth, as though he’d forgotten that they had become dull.

“Leave us,” Charles commanded, keeping his tone low and soothing. The servants seemed relieved to go, but Magnus was reluctant. “I’d not desert you, Highness.”

Charles struggled not to snap. “Don’t be foolish. He’s not going to attack me.”

There was a silence as Magnus did not point out that Charles had said that before, with disastrous results.

“He’s lost his tail and teeth, and he can’t even speak, now. He knows I can help him. He won’t attack me unless he feels threatened, and you’re threatening him. Stand at the door.”

Magnus gave his usual nod and retreated, but added, “Until the first sign of danger, my lord.”

Charles did not bother to reply, all his focus on the merman as he approached the bed. The merman fidgeted, shifting his weight as he sat and moving his hands aimlessly, although he did not move his legs. He seemed divorced from them, and did not look at them.

Charles sat down on the bed slowly, wary for any sign of attack. But the merman just watched him from beneath lowered lashes, and Charles saw for the first time that those were blue as well. Before he thought about it his gaze flicked down to the merman’s crotch, wondering if the hair there would be blue as well. But there was none: the merman’s groin was completely hairless, like that of a prostitute. The thought made him blush deeply, and he busied himself with the rest of the merman’s body, realizing that there was only hair on his head, eyes, and eyebrows. His hands still had their inky stain, although his feet did not.

The merman’s skin was terribly dry, chafed and even bleeding at places. What had happened to him?

The merman, who had bore Charles’ scrutiny with tense silence, jerked and hissed as the door opened and Harcourt appeared at the threshold. Harcourt looked alarmed at first, and then surprised. “How did you calm him, Highness?”

“He’s just frightened. I thought perhaps he might recognize me.”

“You weren’t afraid of an attack?”

Charles shared a moment’s look with Magnus, who did not change his expression. “He is less imposing than he was before.”

Harcourt nodded. “If I might beg your indulgence, Highness, does he seem injured to you? I wondered if he might have harmed himself and thus trapped himself on land. There is some blood on his stomach I had wished to examine.”

Charles turned back to the merman, who was looking at him with that same need for understanding. Did he think Charles would be able to translate somehow? “Could you lie back a bit?” he asked, feeling somewhat foolish now that he actually had to communicate something to the merman.

The merman cocked his head, a now familiar gesture.

“Lie back,” Charles repeated, doing the action himself to explain. The merman narrowed his eyes for a moment, but then complied, leaning back on his elbows. He held his head up, and seemed tense, but he stayed still as Charles put his hands on his stomach. Charles felt around for signs of internal damage, but felt only a slight trembling under the merman’s skin. The cut seemed shallow, nothing serious. The only things that the merman seemed harmed by were thirst, for he was terribly dried out, and fear. “It’s merely a scratch. Have you called for water?”

“Yes, it should be here any moment. Do you see any signs of damage in his legs? He seems unable to move them.”

Charles turned back to the merman, who was still lying back. Charles made a gesture as though to pull the merman towards him, and the merman sat back up. Charles reached out towards the merman’s legs then, and looked at the merman questioningly. The merman stared for a moment and then moved his head forward a bit, gesturing for him to go on. Charles ran his hand along the merman’s thigh, noticing despite himself that they were long and lean, as perfectly muscled and proportioned as the rest of him. The muscle twitched as he touched it, and when Charles’ hand came to the merman’s knee the merman jerked his leg away, and then gasped, as though he had not expected that to happen. It would have been amusing if the merman had not looked so frightened and dismayed. He seemed more human than ever, despite his blue hair and hands.

“He doesn’t seem to understand his limbs yet,” Charles said to Harcourt now, “But they seem perfectly healthy.”

“Indeed. Ah, here is the water.”

The servant came in, and the merman watched with narrowed eyes as the servant poured a cup for the prince, set it on the table, and left with a hurried bow. Charles barely sat down with the chalice before the merman was grasping at it, weak but determined. Charles realized the merman would not be able to hold the cup on his own, as much as he seemed to want to, and held it for him as the merman sipped water as fast as his tortured throat would allow.

Charles had never helped anyone drink before. He had never helped anyone do anything before, although he could remember many times when people aided him. It was a new experience, to see this creature get what he so desperately needed and know that it was Charles who had helped him do it. When the merman had drained the cup he refilled it, and did so once more before the merman seemed sated.

The merman lay back against the pillows, giving a small sigh of satisfaction. Then he nodded at the cup. “Wah?” he asked. His look of alarm that he had made such a noise nearly made Charles burst out laughing.

“Wahdah?” the merman asked again.

Charles did laugh then, even as he finally understood what the merman wanted. “Water,” he enunciated, when he had finally calmed himself. “It’s called water.”

“Wahtah,” said the merman carefully. He frowned. “Wahtah, wahtah.” He sounded like a witch testing an incantation, so engrossed was he in his own sound.

“Waterrrr,” Charles stressed.

“Watahhrrr,” the merman repeated dutifully.

“Yes!” Charles felt foolish for his outburst as soon as he said it, but the merman seemed as elated as he was. He beamed at him, and Charles realized that when his teeth weren’t so frightfully sharp, the merman had an enchanting smile. He grinned back.

Doctor Harcourt’s polite “hem” brought him back. He turned, and the sight of his father at the door wiped the smile from his face.

“So it’s true.” His father seemed genuinely surprised. “He’s human.”

“So it would seem, Majesty,” said Harcourt. “My lord the prince has been most helpful in diagnosing him.”

“Is this some sort of illness, then?” His father’s royal tone had returned.

“I’m afraid I’ve no idea, Majesty. It could be quite normal, for all we know. The lore on the merfolk is scanty and contradictory. I’ve sent for Doctor Suterno, since his time treating the merman upon his arrival at His Grace Duke Horace’s has made him the most knowledgeable man on the subject of merfolk in the kingdom.”

“If you think it’s necessary,” said his father placidly, approaching the bed. His bodyguard hovered nearby, looking surprisingly twitchy for a man who must have weighed more than Charles.

The merman did not hiss at his father’s approach, as Charles had expected, but instead leaned forward and took Charles’ arm, as though he might move to hide behind him.

The movement made his father finally turn to look at Charles. “Finally enjoying your gift, are you?”

Charles had not been expecting that question. “He certainly demands more attention now.”

“Can he speak?”

“I don’t know. He said ‘water’ a moment ago.”

“Wahtar,” said the merman, as if on cue.

“Indeed,” said his father, looking amused. “What do you intend to do with him?”

Charles blinked. “Do?”

“Yes, Charles. No man has ever spoken even one word with a merman, and you have him clinging to you. What do you intend to do?”

Charles immediately thought of the boy. *He* had certainly conversed with the merman, far more than Charles ever had. He banished that thought. His father’s light tone belied his motives: this was a test of some sort, he was sure of it. “I will learn what he knows,” he said carefully. “If he proves intelligent enough for civil discourse, perhaps we can even hope for extended relations between Tierney and merfolk.”

“Excellent. Perhaps you will prove yourself a diplomat after all. I expect to hear regular reports of his progress.” He turned back to the door, and gave a polite nod to Harcourt. “Send Suterno to me once he has made his diagnosis.”

“Yes, Majesty.”

And then he was gone.

“What now, doctor?” Charles asked after a moment.

Harcourt signaled to a few servants, who entered the room reluctantly. The merman tensed, his grip on Charles’ arm tightening. “I have a few soothing balms for the merman’s skin. If Your Highness Pleases, I’m certain the servants can handle it from here.”

Charles thought about returning to the archery field, testing his skill in front of dozens of staring eyes, and then thought about rubbing the merman’s dry, chapped skin with lotion. “No, he’s my responsibility now. I can do it.”

“Oh, I’m certain you could, Highness. But a man of your station can hardly be expected to tend to a pet.”

“He is mine, and I shall do with him as I please.” Charles felt foolish as soon as he said it. Harcourt had known him far too long to accept such an excuse.

But Harcourt only looked mildly amused. “Very well, highness. This is the balm I would recommend. I shall leave instructions for the servants for the future, and trust your man will take care of any possible incidents.” He gave a small nod to Magnus, and left as quietly as he had come.

Charles looked back at the merman, who appeared much more animated now that he had drunk some. He cocked his head at Charles and made a strangled chirping sound. Charles guessed it was the best he could approximate his language now. “I need to rub this on you,” he said, still feeling stupid as he tried to communicate to a creature who clearly didn’t understand him. He pantomimed scooping out the ointment and rubbing it on, and even rubbed some on himself so the merman would realize it wouldn’t harm him.

The merman looked at him for a moment, his blue eyes unblinking, and then tentatively reached out to Charles’ arm where he had put on the balm. Charles sat very still, and felt the merman’s dry, chapped fingertips run along his forearm, barely rustling the blonde hairs there. Charles’ breath caught in his chest.

The merman made another noise, and then lay back entirely, his arms resting passively at his side. He watched Charles through lidded eyes.

Charles didn’t trust himself to speak, and applied the balm as quickly and efficiently as he could. He knew he was nothing like the royal masseuses; he had never been taught to run his hands gently along someone, to feel for tense and tired muscles or tender skin. He worried that he agitated the merman’s burnt skin as much as he helped it.

But the merman did not seem at all displeased with his touch. On the contrary, he closed his eyes and took a deep breath, as though he had been waiting for this for a long time. His legs twitched from time to time, and Charles wondered what he would have done if he had still had his tail. Would he still be twitching, flicking his fins in pleasure as Charles’ hand ran all over his body, seeking out every inch of him?

Charles felt as though Magnus were scrutinizing his every move, even though he knew Marcus would never be so crass as to stare at his lord outright. He even fancied he could sense the servants outside, tittering over the prince’s new obsession with his pet. Perhaps they wondered at the cause of their lord’s newfound affection, or even dared to guess at the reason themselves…

“I’m done,” Charles said abruptly, nearly dropping the ointment in his haste to stand up. The merman opened his eyes slowly, as though he had fallen asleep. “Magnus, send the servants in. They will help you now,” Charles explained, and gestured to the balm and then to the three women Magnus had let in. They approached slowly, with much more grace than the previous ones had, and the merman did not seem afraid of them. He didn’t look at them at all, in fact. He stared at Charles with a frown on his face, saying nothing.

“I’ve got to go,” said Charles. He had to leave before the merman hypnotizing him again, before he could not stop himself. “You’ll be all right.” He turned to leave, and the merman grabbed at his arm, pulling him back forcefully.

Magnus leapt forward, sword half drawn, but Charles held him off with a hand. “It’s all right,” Charles repeated. He was suddenly sharply reminded of the last time he had seen the merman. The boy had said nearly the exact same thing, and the merman had stared at him in nearly the exact same way, as though the boy was the only thing that mattered.

“It will be all right,” Charles repeated, not knowing what else to say. He thought about his horse, of all things, and what he did when she got testy, and without thinking about it brought a hand up to the merman’s hair.

That seemed to do the trick, oddly enough. The merman slowly let go of him, and didn’t shrink away when the servant girls took the balm and stood behind Charles, waiting for his permission.

Charles was about to leave before he thought of one last thing. He touched his own chest. “Charles,” he said.

The merman cocked his head.

“Charles,” he repeated, hoping the merman would understand. They had a language. Surely they had names as well.

“Callz,” the merman tried, and only smiled bashfully when the servant girls giggled. “Carrrrls,” he tried again.

“Chuh,” Charles emphasized.

“Huh. Kuh. Kuuuh.” The merman was once again as engrossed as he had been with “water.”

“Charles,” he said one more time, and then pointed at the merman. The merman realized and looked up. “Kharls?”

Charles shook his head. “Charles,” he said, pointing to himself once more. Then he pointed at the merman. “Who are you?”

The merman opened his mouth, but stopped before any sound came out. He seemed like a man who had had the breath knocked out of him, and as he looked at Charles and shook his head his face was helpless.

Charles turned then, and heard the merman practice his name as he walked to the door. “Kharls. Sarls. Ksarls. Sharls.”

The sound followed him all the way down the hall.

Within a Forest Dark, Chapter 5

Thu, 24 Apr 2008 07:12:49 GMT

Title: Within a Forest Dark
Summary: A hunter learns that there are far more threatening creatures in the world than vampires.
Warnings: Angst, H/C, M/M, N/C, Torture, Violence

Santo led me back through the hall. I didn’t realize how much I had missed the moonlight the windows provided until we were back in the hall again, with the lamps lighting up and going out as we went. The floor beneath my bare feet was nearly flawless marble, and I noticed that the walls were as well. This hall didn’t have any creepy portraits, but tapestries instead, filled with hunting scenes and people wearing silly leggings. Animals were everywhere, and I smirked as I noticed two bunnies fucking in the corner of one.

But I was no art historian. The tapestry could be from the Middle Ages or the Renaissance or Mars and I wouldn’t know. How old was this place, and for that matter, how old was Santo? He had said he didn’t like modern conveniences. How modern did he mean? I hadn’t seen any telephones or televisions or computers. Maybe those were too modern. But he clearly had electricity, since there were lamps everywhere.

Unless magic could light lamps.

I put that thought away and focused on Santo instead. It was unnerving to walk with him through the castle now. The silence was creepy, almost ominous, but I couldn’t bring myself to speak to him. I couldn’t get a read on him. A minute ago he had held me pinned to the ground with my arms tied behind my back, threatening to rip open my mind for information. A couple of days ago – had it been more? – he had attacked me with teeth and claws. Days before that, he’d held me in his arms as I fainted. Now, he walked slightly ahead of the lamps that lit up and went out as we passed, as though he preferred the darkness.

“You still haven’t told me your full name,” Santo began as we walked. “I was surprised how difficult it was to find your name at all. I assumed your surname would be the one your friends knew, but Collins had only your Christian name, and none of your other contacts knew even that.”

That meant he hadn’t talked to Louis. If he was telling the truth. He knew Louis’ last name, but he could have gotten that from Lupos, if he’d wanted. Louis was pretty well known. Had the name been in my memory that he’d taken? Had he taken other memories?

“Bello,” Santo repeated, calling my attention back to him. “I understand that you’re distraught, and perhaps not in the mood to talk, but this relationship will go nowhere if you cannot hold up a bargain.”

“We don’t have a relationship,” I said sourly. But he had made it pretty clear that negotiations weren’t necessary for him to get what he wanted, and the information he’d given me had been good. I thought. For now. “Armitage. Bello Alistair Armitage.”

“Armitage. Hmm. I wondered if it might have been one of the last names of one of your aliases.”

“Stupid risk, I thought.”

“Yes, but you seem rather fond of those.” I glared at him, and he smiled back at me, teeth and eyes bright. “The vampires had better names for you, in my opinion,” he added after a moment.

The only names I’d ever heard the vamps call me were not exactly complimentary, so I said nothing.

“A rather whimsical name, ‘Bello.’”

“My mother was Italian,” I said before I could catch myself. He’d caught me away off guard. Stupid. “Is Santo your real name?” I asked to chase it away.

“That’s a new question. I’ll want something in return.”

I paused. I couldn’t think of any other piece of information I’d give up willingly. I’d already said a hell of a lot more than I’d wanted. “Nevermind.”

We walked in silence for a moment and reached the top of the stairs. He led me down another hall filled with offshoot hallways and doors to other rooms. I tried to keep track of which way the hallways went and how long they were. I’d done it before with vamp nests, but never on this big a scale. The place was huge.

“The house originally had one hundred rooms,” Santo said to me politely, like this was normal, like he wasn’t a kidnapping rapist psychotic freak. “I’m not sure how many it has now, though. Magic changes things, as you might have noticed, and the house is no exception.” He turned and opened a door, holding it open for me again. The room had more light than the hallway, at least, although it still wasn’t all that bright. The gleam of shining metal instruments brightened it somewhat. “This is my music room, and you’re welcome to amuse yourself here. Do you play an instrument, by chance?”

“No.” That was all ancient history. But I perused the room anyway, looking for something I could use as a weapon, if I had to. The room was filled with a variety of instruments: brass, woodwinds, drums, pianos and things that looked like pianos but clearly weren’t. A lot of them I didn’t recognize. I didn’t listen to music except in the seedy bars my job favored, and that was all mindless rave music and the occasional jazz. There was never anything classical.

I ran my fingers along the side of a harp. Not a particle of dust. The servants must have worked hard here. And where were all the servants, anyway? So far all I’d seen were talking mirrors and trays that moved on their own. Unless… “Wait – the changing thing – is that what happened to the servants?” I hoped that was a free question.

Santo was watching me from the doorway, and when I spoke to him he began to come closer. It made me uncomfortable, and I found myself standing behind the harp, putting it between us. Stupid. He wasn’t that close to me anyway. But I couldn’t help it.

“Unfortunately. Please try not to tip things over, as it is a pain to reconstruct them and it only hurts the staff.”

I let go of the harp as though burnt. “You mean… is everything here really a person?” I tried not to let horror creep into my voice. If it was that easy to turn into a lamp or something, was *I* going to wake up as a coffee table one day?

No, it didn’t matter. I wasn’t going to stay here long. Get in, get what you came for, get out. Easy as pie. Or sin. But I still had no idea how to go about it. How could I kill Santo when I wasn’t even sure what he could do? When I didn’t know what I was dealing with? And the more I learned, the less I understood.

But how long did it take to change you? How long did I have? I had been here so long already. How could I fight it?

“You wouldn’t be affected, Bello.” Santo had that soft voice again, the low soothing one he’d used when he washed me.

Oh shit.

“How did you know what I was thinking?”

Santo said nothing.

“Did you read my mind?” I was fiercely angry, hot and cold, but frozen. I didn’t want to attack him and wind up on the floor again. “Did you?”

“I don’t need to read your mind to tell you’re frightened. It’s written all over your face, and your heartbeat is way above normal. But I assure you the magic will only affect humans, which is why I can’t have them here even if it weren’t for the curse.”

“Is that supposed to make me feel better? I’m human!”

He took a step towards me and I practically stumbled away from him. I smacked into the harp somehow and it tipped precariously. Santo lunged forward and caught it, and I jerked back again. “Don’t touch me.” Like that would keep him out of my head if he wanted.

We must have looked so damn ridiculous.

“You’re not human, Bello. Maybe you don’t want to admit it, but you must know. Surely you don’t think a human could do what you do.”

I shook my head. “Stop it. I told you I’m human.” He was human too, and he had abilities.

“Don’t you want to know? Haven’t you always wondered what you are?”

“It doesn’t matter. It’s just a thing. I’m just like everyone else and it doesn’t matter. It’s just something I can do.”

Santo just stared at me. He was always fucking staring at me.

“So what about you, then? You said you were human – you said it – and you’re not a table or anything.”

“Oh, Bello, I’m hardly human anymore.”

That took the wind right out of me. “But you said…” He had said he was human. Had he been lying to me? Was he lying about everything? Two seconds after I’d seen him I had been sure he wasn’t normal, not with eyes like those. He had been a creature, I’d thought, a wolf in man’s clothing. But now I just wanted him to be normal. Just like me. Just… able to do things.

“Don’t look at me like that. I was human once, as I said. Even the vampires were human once. But that was before I knew anything. But now…”

“Now what?”

“Now I am far, far more.”

I waited, but Santo said nothing. He just gripped the harp and stared into the distance, like this was some soap opera and he was its tortured protagonist. Cry me a river. “What’s that supposed to mean?’

He looked up, trance broken. “It means I am doing a rather poor job of introducing you to your new home. I have not had a guest in so long, you see.”

“I’m not your goddamn guest.”

“You could be. I cannot let you go, but you need not feel a prisoner here. You would be well cared for, and all the knowledge at the world would be at your fingertips. I am not unkind. There are things I am dying to know about you, but I would wait until you were ready.”

“You’re a rapist, mind-reading bastard,” I said coldly. I was almost shaking with anger. And fear.

“Yes, I know it’s terrible. Truly, I know. But there’s no way around it. I can’t stay in control all of the time. But that first time won’t be like the others. I could drug you –”

“Drug me? You’re going to fucking drug me before you *rape* me and you think that will *help?*” I knew I sounded hysterical, but I didn’t care. I couldn’t think of anything worse than that. I’d be helpless, unable even to try to defend myself against it. And with my history with drugs, it might even leave me conscious but immobile for it, unable even to try to move away. Memories assaulted me suddenly, of being held down, of screaming, covered in blood and piss, pain wrenching through me. Santo’s hot breath on me, claws in me, raking over me, the bites on my shoulder, the fear and helplessness and –

Before I knew what I was doing I had run over to the corner, nearly tripping on a bassoon, and vomited.

I sank to my knees after I was done and leaned against the wall. I tried to breathe.

Santo knelt next to me and still managed to loom. He touched my shoulder but I shoved his hand away. He didn’t try again.

The vomit disappeared.

There was no sound, no sparkly lights. If Santo moved, I didn’t see it. One second the vomit was there, reeking and disgusting, and the next gone.

Magic.

I laughed. I had no idea why, but it seemed hysterically funny. I laughed until my sides hurt, and then suddenly I was gasping, close to tears. This was insane. I was going insane. This wasn’t like finding out about the vamps. Vamps were a reality I’d dealt with for years. Vamps I could handle. If Santo had been a werewolf, that would have been crazy, but the proof had been ripped into my body over and over. He could have just been another ugly creature I had to deal with. But magic? Break out the robes and pointy hats magic? Too funny.

“Bello, it’s all right.”

“No, it’s not,” I said breathlessly. “Nothing’s all right. I’m trapped in some house with a man who says he can do fucking magic and he *can* and you’re going to hurt me again and I can’t do it. I can’t do this.” There, I’d said it. The words were out and I couldn’t take them back.

“You’re saving lives. Think of it like that. You’re a hero.”

“I’m not a goddamn hero. I kill vamps. That’s what I do. I’m good at it. I don’t give a shit about being a hero. Or people. I just kill monsters. I can’t do anything else – not this. I can’t sit here and play the fucking piano and wait for you to – to…” I was sick again, and even when there was nothing left in my stomach I couldn’t stop. I dry heaved until my sides hurt.

I closed my eyes this time, when I was done, and when I opened them the vomit was gone again. Like it had never happened. Like none of this had ever happened, except there was still an acrid taste in my mouth and fear in my gut.

I turned and sat with my back to the wall and studiously didn’t look at the corner where I had been sick.

Santo sat down in front of me. “You’re not taking this as well as I’d hoped.”

“Oh?” It was hard to sound sarcastic when I was still trying to catch my breath. But I tried. “And your other ‘guests’ were over the moon about it?”

“No. They were dead long before I could explain. They were human, anyway. I thought you would understand it better.”

“Understand what?”

Santo gestured, but I couldn’t tell what he meant. “This. Magic. Sacrifice. You can’t have power without sacrifice. I have learned that if nothing else. And look at you – you have everything. You heal without losing anything. You are flawlessly beautiful. Your mind is practically labyrinthine in its intricacy. It’s only right that you suffer a little for it. Everyone has to sacrifice, and you’ll be saving so many people. I thought you’d be honored.”

“What? Are you serious? You actually think that? Are you that fucked in the head?”

All of a sudden Santo’s expression, which had been on the verge of pleading ever since he asked me to be his ‘guest,’ grew forbidding. He took hold of my shoulders and his grip was like iron when I struggled. “I can see you are distraught. That is to be expected. But my patience has limits.”

I opened my mouth to tell him to go fuck himself six ways from Sunday, but then, past Santo’s shoulder, I saw what I’d been looking for before. It gleamed even in the soft light. It was sitting innocently in a little tool box I must have missed before. A knife. It was small, of course, probably meant for fixing an instrument I knew nothing about, but that was no matter.

All of a sudden it was like hunting. I was in my element. My sides still hurt and my heart still pounded, my throat was still raw and acidic, and I still felt wrung out and furious, but the knife was there, waiting for me. I didn’t have to be powerless if I could just get the knife.

“I’ll think about it,” I said, keeping the excitement from my voice. Let him think me angry and broken. Little did he know.

Santo nodded and let me go. I got up like I wanted to get away from him, like I was afraid, and then started meandering around the place, like I was keeping my word and thinking about it. Santo had his eyes on me, I could feel that. I glanced at him surreptitiously and saw he was following me, watching me. I would be so glad when those harsh yellow eyes were closed forever.

I was five feet from the toolbox, running my fingers over piano keys. It was sitting on the floor, and I would have to bend down to get it. Could I pick it up without him realizing? I glanced at him again. He was still following my every move. No go.

Fuck it, then.

I lunged for the knife, just as Santo realized what I was doing. “No, you idiot, don’t –” He disappeared and reappeared right in front of me, quicker than I could follow. I didn’t stop to think about it. I was ready now. I was armed, and I was born for this. Adrenaline was pumping through me. I hadn’t felt less afraid since before Lupos had taken me. It was so good.

Then Santo pounced on me, too fast for me to avoid, and we fell crashing into the piano. I wanted to panic, to scream, to lash out wildly, but the knife in my hand kept me whole. I slashed out with it, one two. I sliced his stomach and under his arm, where the vein was. No feeling of helplessness here, even though he’d hit me hard and slammed my head into the keyboard with a resounding clang of keys. I didn’t have to punch him now, and feel the ringing pain and dawning horror when it didn’t stop him at all.

I was enjoying myself immensely.

I slashed at his eyes, and he roared like the goddamn beast he was and punched me blindly. “Didn’t your mother ever tell you not to stare?” I snarled, a beast myself, ready able and more than willing to kill this creature.

He tried to roll away but I followed easily, straddling him, riding out his struggles just like he had mine. Blood was pouring from the slice under his arm. I hoped I’d cut the vein deep. You had to cut the veins, with vamps, no shotgun shortcuts. Any hunter worth his salt was handy with a knife and I was one of the best. The sight of his blood was so goddamn exciting. I could do this. I could defeat him.

“What’s the matter, you bastard? Where’s your magic now?” I stabbed his eyes again, methodically, and he bellowed and put his hands to his face, shaking his head. He was thrashing like I had, I knew, not even trying to fight, just trying to escape. I hated that he had seen me like this. I hated him. I slashed at his throat with the knife, again and again and again. He made these awful strangled noises, his throat puking blood. I felt mad with anger. The knife came down again and again: his stomach, his face, his groin. Blood flew up into my face, into my mouth, and it tasted good. I hit him again and again, and when the knife dropped from my hand, slippery with blood, I punched him, venting all my frustration until I was exhausted.

Santo didn’t move. He didn’t breathe. The bleeding had stopped.

He was dead.

I slid to the side, feeling the red mist of anger slowly fade from me. I tried to wipe the blood from my face with my hands, but realized I was just smearing more blood on me and gave up.

He was dead.

I had done it. After all that terror and helplessness and fear, I had done it. I could leave now, through the meadow and the forest if I had to, but I could do it. Santo couldn’t stop me. Santo couldn’t do anything, because I’d killed him.

I grinned. Fuck me and call me Charlie. I’d done it.

Then the blast hit me.

I was slammed back into the wall and hit my head hard enough to make me shout. What the fuck? I looked dizzily at where Santo lay, my senses reeling. I was shivering, and I didn’t get cold easily. The room was freezing, as though all the warmth had been sucked out of the room. Santo hadn’t moved. What had that been? The last hurrah of magic, now that Santo was dead? I waited dizzily for a moment, but nothing happened. Total silence. It was over.

Then Santo moved.

He sat up slowly, facing away from me, but as he sat up he seemed to grow bigger. Blood dripped from him, rolling down his sides. His long, black hair hung in thick tendrils around his head and shoulders, drenched in blood. I was frozen in horror. Impossible. It was impossible.

Then, slowly, unhurriedly, he turned to me, and his eyes were blazing and his teeth were bared. Oh shit. He had changed again. His face was twisted into that horrible bestial grimace, and he was big and dark and menacing, like he’d crawled out a nightmare. Like he’d crawled out of Hell.

Oh god oh god oh god.

And then he lunged at me, before I could move, before I could think to move. I hit my head hard enough to make my senses jar, and pain spiraled through my head. He sank his claws into me, and it hurt like it had last time. My chest, my stomach, my thighs. He slashed at my cock, puncturing the jeans like they were nothing, and I howled with pain.

And now I could see it, could see my skin tearing and the blood everywhere, and that made it so much worse. He roared, his voice deep and deafening. I scrabbled to get to my feet, to get the knife. But it was gone, and he was on top of me, pushing me down with his heavy clawed hands, flaying me. I shouted and tried to get away, scratching at the floor pathetically, bucking from side to side as I tried to roll. I bit his arm, desperate to give him a dose of his own medicine, to do anything to protect myself, and he pulled me off his arm with a swipe that ripped my face right open. Blood poured into my eyes and nose and mouth, metallic and stinging. Shit shit shit.

It had taken my all to kill him, and he wasn’t dead. He wasn’t dead. He wasn’t even close to dead.

He bit me, then, on the shoulder like before. His teeth were huge and his jaws were immensely powerful and I was so scared. This couldn’t be happening. “No. No. Get away. Fuck fuck get away please go away stop it stop it stop it ah damn fuck you.” I was babbling and crying because he was raking his claws down my body, and I punched and kicked and screamed like hell and it didn’t do anything. It didn’t do a goddamn thing. I was so tired and blood was all over my face and my head was ringing but I kept punching him. My hands were numb and my throat was raw and he was even more frightening with the lights on.

He bit me twice more, on my arm, his teeth sinking deep into me. He was eating me, he was going to eat me alive.

But then he moved away, and almost before I realized it he had my clothes off me, torn off like tissue paper as I tried desperately to move away. I crawled while he took his own clothes off, shredding them as well, but didn’t make it very far before he leapt on me, landing hard on my ribcage. I heard the wet sound of bones breaking and shrieked as he jolted me, his nails ripping into my newly healed back. He pushed me down.

No. Not that. Not that again. Not again not again no no please. Stinging pain at my asshole oh god he was ripping at it with his goddamn claws to open me up and then there was his cock, huge and impossible like before. His hands were on my hips again, just like before, like I was dreaming this or remembering it except it really was happening, because he was pressing into me again and I was screaming. The attack had been so fast, too fast to stop, but this was slow. Slow and unbearably agonizing and inescapable. I screamed until I couldn’t hear myself anymore, until there was just the rhythmic sound of his thrusting and his snarls above me and my pathetic scrabbling on the floor as I struggled and tried to get away. I was delirious and blind with panic and pain and there was blood everywhere, bright and red in the light. And then Santo roared as he came, trumpeting his victory and my utter, utter defeat.

He was panting when he moved away, his breath loud and wet like a bear’s. I blinked at him dully and waited to pass out, and felt more than saw his eyes on me. And then he reached his hand out strangely slowly, and rolled me over onto my back. The pain in my ribs made me want to scream, but no sound came from my broken throat. Santo bent his head to my body, sniffing me like a dog from throat to groin. There was warmth on my cock, difficult to distinguish from the hurt all over my body. I looked down blearily and realized he was licking my cock, lapping up the blood like an animal. It was disgusting, and I wanted it away. My arms felt like led, and he was made of living granite.

But he stopped when I pushed at him, and looked back up at my face. And then he reached out again, slowly like before, like I was watching this in slow motion, and took hold of my throat. I struggled weakly, too tired even to move away. I felt like I was underwater; everything was silent and slow. Then he held my throat tightly, cutting off my air. My chest already felt like it was on fire already, and suffocating only made it hurt a little more. His claws scratched at the back of my neck as he held me, sinking in. Let me die. It would be an end. I wanted it to end. Let it end.

He lowered his face to mine. My vision was blurred from blood and pain, but he was right there, his yellow eyes piercing, and then he was closer, breathing my ragged breath. And then his lips were on me, and he was biting my mouth, my tongue, stealing the last of my air. His grip on my neck tightened. The pain blurred and melted with the others. My senses spun. Let me pass out. Let me sleep. Let me die. Anything to get away. Let me die let me die let me die.

I slept.

888888

Louis was a beautiful bastard even in the dull gray light of the city’s dawn.

He was standing in the alleyway outside the building that had held the vamp nest, and I knew he was there even before he spoke. I wasn’t surprised to find him there. He was the one who had called me about the nest, and he sometimes met me afterwards when it was a particularly extensive job. “Another victory?”

“Like you even have to ask.”

He pulled me in for a kiss, and I returned it with interest. Killing vamps had revved me up, and somehow the filth of the alleyway made Louis even more enticing.

“How many vamps did you kill?” Louis asked low, palming me through my pants. I gasped and leaned towards him, smelling his hair and cologne and the vamp blood I was covered in. “Eleven.”

He cursed in French and shoved me against the wall. He unzipped the coat I’d thrown over my blood soaked shirt. I started to protest, but then he undid my fly and took my cock in hand. I was already hard from the killing, and his hot hand was riveting. “How?” he demanded.

“The usual.” I struggled to keep my voice even as he started to jerk me off. “Slipped in through the window during the party. Enough humans there that they didn’t check.” There were humans that chased the high of having their blood drunk, and there were always enough of them at these parties that the vamps could take their fill without draining enough to kill. I never understood why anyone would want to be vamp-bait, since I always found it painful and tedious, but it worked in my favor. It was always easy enough to crash the party.

“Didn’t they notice?”

“After a while. I’d killed six of them by then.”

“How?” Louis asked again, making me smile and kiss him. His hand on me slowed, although his grip didn’t falter.

“Slit their beatless necks, like always. Fuck, it’s so easy. They’re practically on their knees when they drink me, they love it so fucking much, and all I have to do is take out the knife and drain them.” Over and over they’d looked up at me, realizing that what they thought was prey, easy bait in a vamp house, was their own destruction. I shuddered thinking about it.

“And then what?” Louis asked. He was hard, and I wondered how long he’d been like that. If he’d waited outside, thinking of me killing all those vamps, and been hard.

“And then they knew that one of the humans was killing them, but they didn’t know which one.” Louis got to his knees then, and licked the head of my cock. He was such a perfect bitch, on his knees in an alleyway at four in the morning. I wanted to put my hands in his hair. “And I killed three more of them while they ran around like headless chickens. They smell me and they’re finished. By that point – shit – they corralled the humans in the living room and – and –” Louis was working hard to distract me, challenging me to finish before I came. I talked faster. “They realized it wasn’t any of them because of the bite marks and made them leave and they must have known I was still there, oh fuck like that, yes, fuck, and – oh god – they – there are only too left and I get one as he’s getting his coat.” He had been shaking as he reached for his things, shaking from the thought of me.

I was talking a mile a minute now, because Louis had me in his mouth and it was so good and I couldn’t stop or I’d come before I finished. “Last one’s Tamaro, his house, his party, and he’s on the phone with whoever the fuck when I find him. He doesn’t hang up, and I don’t make him, and I make sure he screams before he dies.” And then it was over and Louis took me in his throat all the way. He looked up at me and it was so fucking perfect: he was exactly like the vamps on their knees and staring up at me. I came so hard it almost hurt.

When my senses cleared Louis was standing up again, wiping his mouth. I zipped myself up casually, high on sex and killing. “You want to do something about that?” I asked, nodding towards his bulging package.

He arched a brow at me, like he was far above fucking in alleyways. Like he hadn’t been on his knees a moment before, sucking me off like one of the cities finest whores. I smiled at him. I was in such a good mood even his pissy Gallic snobbery couldn’t shake me. “Did you drive here?”

“My car’s at the corner,” he said, his voice rough.

“What’s the back seat look like?”

He snorted. “Shameless. We’ll go back to my place.” He started to walk towards the corner, only a little stiffness in his gait.

“Why wait?” I asked as I fell into pace with him. Louis could be nearly incomprehensible at times.

He gave me another arch look and beeped the lock on his car. “One day,” he said as he went around to the driver’s side, “You will learn the value of anticipation.”

888888

There was a rushing sound over the rattle of my breath. It was calming, and I listened to it as my senses came back to me. Tingling all over my body, heat that grew until I realized I was aching unbearably everywhere, that I was sticky and suffering and blind. The pain was a weight on me. I couldn’t move. But I had to. I had to get away.

What was I escaping?

I opened my eyes with effort. My vision was red and blurry. My eyes felt strange, dry and strained. Something soft and wet descending on my face, and I felt warm water running over my eyes. The thing – soft, grainy sensation – ran along my face slowly, wiping away some of the stickiness. It left and my blurry vision cleared slowly, sharpening into defined lights and colors. I was in the bathtub, white. I was covered in blood, red. The water was running. That was the rushing sound.

And then he was there, kneeling by the bathtub. Familiar.

“Back with us, I see.”

I knew the voice. Santo. I knew him, knew what had happened, but everything seemed far away, muted by the pain. Anger and fear seemed incomprehensible. I felt nothing except pain and exhaustion.

“Ssh. Don’t try to speak. You broke your voice screaming, I think, and your mouth seems rather scraped up as well,” Santo said as he wet the sponge and started to wash me. I looked at my body. I was covered in ugly tears and gouges. Black bruising covered my hips, and the bite mark I could see on my arm was ragged and hideous. I barely recognized myself. I felt like I was staring at a body that wasn’t mine.

“What’s wrong with me?” I tried to ask. I couldn’t even move my lips. Nothing came out except a broken whimper.

“Don’t be afraid,” Santo said softly. “You’ve done this before. You know it will get better.” He moved out of my line of vision as he reached behind me to clean the sponge under the running water, and I couldn’t turn my head to follow him. My neck was stiff and ached unbearably with each breath. A vision of Santo choking me passed before my eyes, his hand on my throat, his mouth and teeth on mine.

Santo washed more blood off of me. There was so much of it, and it was all mine.

“See? You’re doing very well. You’re not even crying this time.”

I was too tired to cry. Crying was a release, and I didn’t have anything more to let out.

“I know you’re in a lot of pain, but I can’t drug you now. You’ve lost a lot of blood and your breathing and heart rate are very poor. I don’t think it would kill you, but it would almost certainly slow your healing.”

I blinked dully, hearing his voice more than his words. Then he was silent for a moment, and I heard only the rushing sound of the water and the splash of the sponge.

“I know you’re probably in too much shock to really understand what I’m saying, but you’re such pleasant company when you aren’t swearing every other minute I can’t help myself.”

I looked at him. Even if I could have spoken, I didn’t know what to say. Anger seemed so distant.

“It’s been a long time since I’ve had a guest. The servants have been furniture for ages. Benedict is like a viper; we only talk about business. All of the humans didn’t last very long.”

I didn’t understand why he kept talking to me, and why my body was so insistent on consciousness. I was so tired, and yet I could not fall asleep.

“I know you probably think it’s cruel that I’m keeping you in the bath like this, cleaning you by hand. Cleaning by magic stings quite a bit, however, and you don’t need any more trauma.”

I remembered the vomit disappearing. It had been there, vile and acrid and shameful, and then gone. I wanted that to be me. I wanted to be gone.

“It will never get any worse than this, Bello. And you don’t have to keep throwing yourself at it, either. That attack with the knife was horrifically stupid, which you would have realized if you’d stopped swearing at me for a second and listened.”

He was speaking faster now, his voice urgent. “You have to realize that you can’t stop it. Hurting me only makes my control worse. It didn’t have to happen like that either time, and your carrying on only made it worse.”

He stopped for a moment. I stared at my ruined body. My limbs were someone else’s. My pain was someone else’s. I wasn’t here. “I suppose it’s partially my fault. I’ve born this burden so long I forgot what it was like to be young, to owe nothing to anyone. I was stupid to think you would settle down so fast.”

My body would heal. One day I’d look down at my limbs and see only tan skin and ready muscle. One day this would be over, and there would be no scars, and I could forget it ever happened. And I would be in my bed, or Louis’, or sitting on a rooftop, watching the sun rise over the city.

Santo seemed to have finished with the sponge. He rinsed the blood from the walls and floor of the bathtub, and then toweled me dry. Pain rippled into me wherever he rubbed me down. “Stitches would be too much, I think. You barely needed the bandages, last time.” When I was mostly dry he picked me up, and the pain was so intense I cried out, the sound a wheezing bleat through my broken voice.

“Easy, now. It’s almost over.” He carried me out of the bathroom and deposited me onto the bed. I lay on my back, my breath the only sound I could hear. I stared at the bed’s heavy, elaborate canopy. It was dark.

“I’m going to help you, Bello,” Santo said finally, staring at the window. “I’m the reason you’re here, and I’ve done a terrible job of helping you acclimate so far. But I can make it better, I promise.”

He reached out and ran his fingers through my hair. I felt the ghost of claws in his fingertips.

Santo looked at me again. “You probably won’t like it, of course, but you’ll come around.”

He left.

I slept.

Within a Forest Dark, Chapter 4

Mon, 21 Apr 2008 19:36:30 GMT

Title: Within a Forest Dark
Summary: A hunter learns that there are far more threatening creatures in the world than vampires.
Warnings: Angst, H/C, M/M, N/C, Torture, Violence

I slept for a while after that, blessedly free of dreams after that one vivid memory of Louis. I don’t know how many days; whenever I woke it was dark outside. I took that as a sign that I shouldn’t be awake. In general I didn’t need a lot of sleep, but I healed faster when I slept, and unconsciousness seemed very inviting. I didn’t dream, and didn’t think, and didn’t move.

Santo came to tend to my wounds, once. He didn’t knock or speak to wake me. I was sleeping, my mind empty of fear or pain, and suddenly his hands were on me. I woke lanced with panic. I didn’t want him touching me. I didn’t want him near me. I flailed, trying to back away, even though every move hurt. My head pounded fiercely.

“Ssh,” he said, like I was a child. I spat at him, missing by a mile. He ignored it. “I’m not going to hurt you. It’s all right. Come on, there’s nowhere to go. Let me help you.” I hated it. I hated him. I was so damn frightened. I hated myself. And what I hated most of all, what really burned me up inside, was that it helped a little. I took a few long breaths. He was right. I had nowhere to go. God, I was so tired.

I lay there passively while he prodded at the cuts as though he would clean them, trying hard to keep my eyes open. Santo’s hands were very light on me, and he kept up his soothing murmur. If I wasn’t covered in evidence to the contrary, I could almost think he meant me no harm.

Yeah, right.

“I don’t need your help,” I said, my words slurring with sleep. I didn’t want him to see me like this, to touch me like this. I knew that I couldn’t stop him from doing what he wanted, especially now, when I was like this, but I wasn’t going to let it go. I wanted him away. I wanted everything away. “I can heal on my own.”

He looked at me for a moment very calmly, like I was a bug he found interesting. “There’s no risk of infection?”

I shook my head, too tired even to feel strange talking about my healing thing.

“I’ll leave you alone, then,” he said. I could hardly believe it. “I imagine you’ll want to rest. If you feel better, and would like to speak with me, tell Clara, and she will alert me.”

I nodded again, lying my head back down on the mattress, ready to go back to sleep. I didn’t want to deal with this now. Later I could plot and fight and struggle. But I was so tired, and everything hurt. Santo was still looking at me strangely. He stood up. I watched him warily, wanting him to leave so that I could sleep in peace.

He stretched his hand out to me suddenly, and I couldn’t even bring myself to bare my teeth or move away. My eyes felt so heavy. I closed them as he pushed a stray lock of hair away from my face, and when I opened them again he was gone. I slept.

I hadn’t been lying to Santo. My wounds closed in on themselves, fading first to welts and then to bruises and then to nothingness. My headache slowly melted away. I slept through most of it, waking only to see that nothing around me had changed. The sky outside was still dark, the room still empty, my body still healing. Everything around me was silent.

And then one day – or night, because the sky outside was still dark, always dark – I woke up without pain. I felt only the sluggish sleepiness that came right after I’d healed a great deal. My stomach rumbled and my throat felt dry. I smelled water. There was a pitcher and glass on the nightstand, and I helped myself. The water was cool, and I drank my fill. When my thirst had been abated, and there was only rumbling hunger to contend with, I turned on the lamp – there was a new lamp exactly the same as the old one, as though it had never been broken – and examined myself. My skin was the same as it always was, uninterrupted by any bruises, welts or scars, or even the freckles or moles or calluses everyone had somewhere on them. Nothing. It was as though that night had never existed.

“Are you awake, dear?”

“Clara?” My voice was rough with disuse, but not broken, the way it had been right after… the thing.

“I’m glad to see you up and about. You slept for quite some time, you know.”

“Where’s Santo?” I asked, even though I wasn’t sure I wanted to hear the answer.

“Working, I imagine. I will fetch him if you like.”

“No,” I said immediately. I would go to him when I was ready, but I needed to think a few things over first. I rolled out of bed, my limbs a little stiff from disuse. The armoire drawers held the same perfectly fitted clothes they had before, and I dressed myself. The last time I had dressed had been a relief. Now, it did nothing; I still felt naked, vulnerable. I sat down next to the drawers, trying to think. I was in deep shit, and there was only me to bail myself out.

Across the room, my reflection stared at me pityingly. I scowled. Not buying it. Clara could call me “dear” and make cow eyes at me all she liked, but she was as in on this plan as Santo was. She hadn’t helped me, and she couldn’t be trusted.

I needed time to think. I had avoided thinking about anything while I was sleeping, but I couldn’t hide from this anymore. Who knew how long I had until Santo came for me again, cruel and relentless? The thought of it made me shudder.

“Bello, dear,” Clara began, but I didn’t want to listen. I didn’t want my own reflection – my damn crazy, female, spying reflection – watching me while I figured out what to do. I went to the bathroom, and my own eyes watched me go silently.

The bathroom was pristine again. No sign that I had bled all over everywhere, and cried like a goddamn kid. I hated that Santo had seen that. I hated him. My hatred burned inside me like hunger. I wanted to hurt him. But that was as distracting as wanting to sleep. I put the lid down and sat on the toilet, stared at the immaculate white tiles of the floor, and considered what had happened so far.

Fucking Hans. He’d started all of this. It had been such an easy kill. Hans had liked pretty men, and I had fit the bill perfectly. He had been hooked as soon as he smelled me, and done for as soon as he’d bit me.

And now he’d come back to bite me again, right in the ass, because apparently the dumbest vamp there was had been friends with one of the most powerful. How had I not known about Benedict, or any of the older set? Or had I just not realized? Had they just been letting me run around all these years and not cared?

I realized I was gritting my teeth and forced myself to relax.

Benedict and Hans had been pals, and when I had offed Hans it had been at Benedict’s request that Santo had agreed to hunt me down. That meant Santo either owed Benedict something or wanted something from him, because they didn’t seem to be friends. That should have worked in my favor – enemy of my enemy and all that – but Santo wasn’t looking for any sort of team up against the blood sucking freak, because he’d found a better freak instead: me. He had some sort of weird transformation curse going on, and I was a renewable virgin sacrifice.

Well, okay, not quite virgin.

But this curse thing of Santo’s. I had no idea what it could be. As far as I had known, there were vampires and humans and that was it. My healing thing was just a thing. It had always just been something I could do, that came in handy, like a natural affinity for knives or something like that. But Santo… Santo was different. Santo wasn’t human, even when he wasn’t that monster. Christ, I knew so little about him. I didn’t even know what he was. “Call me Santo,” he had said, the memory of his voice in my ear very clear through the haziness of my memories of that night. Was that even his name? Had he done all that to me without me even knowing his damn name? When he knew my name? And it was my actual name, too, not one of my many aliases. How the hell had he learned that? Only Louis and Collins called me that. Had that lying slut talked to Santo, too?

Collins had said two big guys had come to talk to him. Santo must have hired them. I hoped Collins had told them my name. They were probably the ones who told Collins the address where Santo was waiting for me. He’d waited for me with poison, just to see if I could make it. Fucker. I hated him. I wanted him dead. Let him crawl through the city abandoned and wounded and worn out, just to fall into the arms of a man who wanted to kill him. Until he proved interesting, or useful, or prettier than he’d expected.

I took a few breaths. I wasn’t going to let the anger distract me. I was better than this. I was a hunter.

Santo knew my connection to Collins, which wasn’t a secret. Neither was my capture by Lupos. But my name, that was something few people knew. Collins or Louis. If it was Collins, then he didn’t know that much. If it was Louis, then who knew what Santo had found out?

Thinking of Louis reminded me of the dream, the one dream I’d had unless you counted this nightmare. It had seemed so real. Memories were fuzzy things, and dreams of memories even fuzzier. But the dream had been perfect, every detail recalled, down to the little noises Louis made between curses as I’d fucked him. Another goddamn riddle.

If this had been a case I wouldn’t have touched it with a ten foot pole. There were too many unknowns. Who was Santo? What was he? How much did he know about me, and how had he found it out? What was his relationship with the vamps? And who were the vamps anyway, the old set that that in years of vamp-hunting had never even been a blip on my radar?

I’d had such a good thing going. I’d had a dirty job, but damn had I been good at it, and between hunting highs I’d fucked the hottest man I’d ever met until he shouted my name. Nobody had asked any stupid questions about my healing thing, and I didn’t have to worry about anybody except myself. I’d had a reputation to match my skill, and a decent set of contacts. I knew the rules of every engagement. And now everything had been shot to shit.

And there was still that other thing.

I hadn’t come into the hunting business to save lives. I didn’t give a shit about other people. I’d come into the business because I hated vamps. I had been good at killing them from the get go, in ways the vamps never even suspected. I had hardly been a hero.

But still.

It had been horrible, that thing Santo had done to me. And I would know. I’d gotten myself into some deep shit while hunting vamps, and just finished a stint in their care more than a week long. I knew about pain, and torture, and Santo was the worst I’d ever felt. If those awful claws and eyes and that – the thing had been the last thing I’d felt… I wondered if the others had died quicker, or passed out, because they didn’t heal like me. Maybe it hadn’t been as bad for them.

But still.

This wasn’t my problem. It wasn’t my curse. Santo had killed all those people – how many had there been, anyway? – and it wasn’t my job to save them.

I didn’t want to deal with this shit. I didn’t want to be here at all. I wanted my life back. I wanted to go back to my apartment and fuck Louis until we both passed out. But I’d tried running away, and it hadn’t worked out. I had to face this. It was simple, really. I had to figure out what the hell was going on, and then I had to beat it. Same as always.

And I had to do it on a deadline. I couldn’t face that again. The pain, the helplessness – it was even worse afterwards, suffering and delirious for days afterwards. I couldn’t do it.

I stood up. Focus. I had to focus. I couldn’t let Santo get to me. I had to keep my temper, otherwise I would never get to the bottom of this.

“Clara,” I said as I stepped into the room. I went over to the mirror so I could face her, even if it meant looking at my reflection doing things I would never do.

“Are you feeling better, dear?” she asked.

I nodded. “I want you to – would you fetch Santo, please?”

She seemed to perk up at that. “Of course, dear.” And then she left the frame, and suddenly my reflection was staring back at me exactly as I stared at it. It was extremely disconcerting, and I told myself that next time I wouldn’t watch as Clara left the mirror.

Next time? I couldn’t afford to think like that, like I was going to stay here for any length of time. I was on a job. I wasn’t… living here.

I took advantage of Clara’s absence to give myself a good once over in the mirror. I was the picture of health, as always. My hair was rumpled from lying around in bed for so long, but its curliness hid a lot of that. Other than that… I stared at myself and wondered if the fear on my face was as obvious to everyone else as it was to me.

“Don’t worry, you are as beautiful as ever,” came the voice to my right, and I flinched before I could stop myself. Santo was standing at the entrance to the room, although he was inside it, the door still closed behind him. How could he be that fast and quiet? It was impossible unless he was...

“That’s impossible,” I said without thinking. He couldn’t have actually… teleported.

“Nonsense,” he said, and I realized he had misunderstood. “You’ve healed wonderfully. One would never know anything had happened.”

“But *I* know.” I stood rigidly straight as he came toward me, staring at me like I was something he was considering buying.

“Yes.” He looked me in the eye, at least. “More than I do, I warrant.”

I didn’t know what he meant by that, so I didn’t say anything.

“I don’t remember it very clearly,” he clarified. He spoke hesitantly, like he didn’t want to tell me but felt the need to anyway. He was guilty, I realized. “Snips of things, mostly, sounds and smells and the like.”

The smell of my blood and the sound of my shrieking and – “Aren’t you the lucky one,” I said calmly. Focus on the guilt. The guilt was good. I could use it.

“The next time will be better,” he said after a moment. “The last attack came rather suddenly, but there’s no need for you to suffer so in the future.”

I wanted to shout that there wouldn’t *be* a next time, not *ever*, but I stopped myself. Focus. I needed to focus. I could do this. He felt guilty, and that was my chance. “What do you mean?”

“You’ll find out in time,” he said evasively. “Are you hungry? I would enjoy another meal with you, although I would appreciate it if you did not repeat your trick with the fork.” He opened the door and held it for me, like I was a goddamn lady. I glared at him but went through it.

“Dinner would be good.” I considered my next words. Verbal manipulation wasn’t my thing. I could lure a vamp in, sure, but they were usually so busy drooling over the scent of my blood I could have told them I was the queen of England and they wouldn’t have blinked. I was more of a confrontation person. Actually, maybe that was the key. I stopped him, took hold of his arm, looked him in the eye, and tried to sound earnest. “Look, I need you to talk to me. I won’t do anything with the fork – or anything like the fork thing, I mean, but you can’t keep me in the dark.” Which was ironic as hell, because this place was filled with darkness. “You’ve kidnapped me and – and hurt me, and I deserve a better explanation… Please.” It was easier than I would have liked to sound pleading rather than demanding. I hoped like hell it would work, because if not then I’d given up my dignity for nothing.

He looked guiltier, at least. “Come eat with me. I can give you a more thorough explanation this time. Last time I was… distracted.”

It was a small victory, since he’d promised me answers before and had given none, but I felt better anyway. It was a step in the right direction. I followed him again, resisting the flip the bird at the lady in the portrait. The hallway was still as creepy as other. Everything was so deathly quiet, nothing like the city I’d spent my life in.

“I would like something from you in return for the information,” Santo said suddenly.

“Are you kidding me?” He had taken so much already. Where did he get off demanding more? And why now? He hadn’t mentioned any negotiations like this before.

“Nothing too taxing, I assure you. But I imagine many of your questions are about my abilities and situation, and I have similar ones about yours.”

“You mean all your snooping hasn’t told you everything you wanted to know?” It sounded more waspish than I’d meant, and I had to bite my tongue to stop myself from swearing at him. Diplomacy, I reminded myself. Focus.

He smiled at me. “Touché. I must admit the little scene with Monsieur Thiebeaux was quite pleasurable – he is quite the saucy Frenchman, isn’t he – but you were remarkably well protected for an unconscious person.”

“What?” He’d lost me, as much as I hated to admit it.

He looked back at me, still smiling, and then he saw my expression. “You did bring it up, Bello.”

“What the fuck are you talking about?”

He stopped too, and frowned, and on him the expression was formidable. “Don’t play the fool with me. Surely you know.”

My mind raced, but came up blank. “Just tell me what you mean, ass— Just explain. I don’t— I don’t know.” The words were painful to say, but knowledge was more important. Knowledge was everything.

He looked incredulous. It was a funny expression on him, with those big yellow eyes of his. “Surely you understood. You were so beautifully guarded. If I hadn’t been in such a state I would have stopped to appreciate it further. I assumed it was all that experience with the vampires.”

“You mean when I fought you – tried to fight you off?” Fuck, I was practically choking on the words. And what did he mean, anyway? I hadn’t told him anything when he did that to me, and sure as fuck not about Louis. Did he mean before?

Santo looked at me strangely. “How do you think the vampires communicate?” he asked slowly.

I shrugged, thrown off by the non sequitur. “Talking?” Sure, they had freaky teeth, but they could still talk.

He blinked. He had tremendously long eyelashes, I noticed for no reason. “They can read each other’s minds. Only the old ones bother talking to each other. How did you not know that?”

“What? What do you mean – what? That’s insane.” But it was no more insane than vamps themselves, than all this crazy shit that was happening to me. And the vamps didn’t talk to each other, just used that infernal hissing. I had always thought it strange. But still… mind reading? It was too weird.

Santo laughed. “The only insanity is that you could hunt them for so long and not know about it. How long have you been doing this, anyway? If I had to guess I’d place you in your twenties, but I imagine your regenerative skills would decrease signs of aging.”

“I don’t… wait. You… read my mind?” The idea was too impossible to contemplate. I felt like laughing. It was ridiculous. He couldn’t have read my mind. I would have known, first of all. I would have noticed.

The dream.

Oh god, the dream with Louis.

Crazy as it was, it made perfect sense. It had been an exact recall, and I hadn’t dreamed afterwards, not anything I remembered, and certainly not anything like that. Oh god. Santo had seen that. No one knew about Louis. Had he seen anything else? Would he look again? How could I fight him if he could invade my fucking mind—

“Whoa, calm down. Easy. Breathe easy,” Santo said, like I was a fucking horse or something. But he was right, goddammit. I was gasping, bent over, and I hadn’t even realized. I took a deep shuddering breath, and then jerked away pathetically when Santo tried to touch me. “Don’t touch me,” I warned, even though I knew I couldn’t stop him if he wanted to. He’d made that abundantly clear. For Chrissake, I couldn’t even keep him out of my goddamn head. He was going to keep me here, hurting me and reading my thoughts and I hadn’t been able to stop him. I hadn’t been able to do a goddamn thing.

He didn’t come near me, but I was still frozen. “I can see you’re upset. I assure you I would have tried to tell you more… diplomatically if I had known you were unaware of mind reading techniques.”

“You raped my mind.” My voice was pathetically hoarse. The memory of me and Louis kept playing out before me. It had been nothing, what Louis and I had done. It hadn’t meant anything. But it was private. It was mine. Louis was a goddamn traitorous bastard but the memory had been *mine,* dammit, and now it was his too, along with every other memory I’d ever had, if he wanted them.

“Let’s go get you something to eat,” Santo said, his voice gentle and warm. I heard it only distantly. I felt like I was in shock. He’d raped my mind. Stolen my thoughts. And the vamps could do it too. All those years and I had never fucking known. Had they done it to me? Had they seen my fucking thoughts without me even realizing? At least they were dead. But Santo wasn’t. Not at all. Christ, he’d probably do it again if he got half a chance. And there was nothing I could do. I’d tried so damn hard, with everything I had, and there had been nothing I could do.

“I’m not hungry.” My voice sounded far away to me. My appetite had gone. How could I eat with him looking at me?

“Don’t be silly. I know this may be a shock, but you haven’t eaten in days, and you’ve expended a great deal of energy healing yourself. Come on.” He walked forward a little and then turned, waiting for me to follow.

Fuck him. I didn’t want to be anywhere near him. Or if I had to be, I wanted to kill him. I clenched my fists, half in fear and half in anger, and hated him and hated myself. Focus. This was about focus. I had already learned something. I couldn’t give up now, even though all I wanted was to go back to the room and escape into sleep, or run screaming at Santo and tear out his heart with my bare hands. But I couldn’t afford to. I wouldn’t be defeated. I wouldn’t waste any more time. “All right.”

We walked in silence. Then I said, “Why did you take that memory?”

He looked at me and then away again. “I admit I was in a rather carnal state of mind. It suited my needs.” And didn’t that just tell me fuck all.

We didn’t go to the dining hall again. Instead he took me down a magnificent flight of marble stairs, through a wide, beautiful hall, and into an astonishingly large room with an entire wall filled with windows. A moonlit meadow stretched out beyond the glass, and the forest stood forbiddingly beyond it.

“This is one of my favorite places to take tea,” Santo said, and chose a chair near the windows. I took one near him, and looked outside. The glass was tempting. If I just got through the glass and across the meadow, I could lose him in the trees…

“The glass won’t break, and I’d advise you not to try.” Santo’s dry voice brought my attention back to him. “I’m afraid I won’t tolerate any attempts at escape, although I’ve heard you’re quite talented at it.”

That was for shit sure. I couldn’t count the number of times I’d been surrounded by vamps only to get away unscathed. Before Lupos, of course. Before Louis’s set up. Before this.

“That information is free,” Santo said, and then turned as a tray, like the one that had served us before, rolled up. Could it talk too, like Clara? He took out plates of food and set them on a little table between us. All finger food, I noticed, and no utensils this time. I tried to make myself eat, since I knew I needed it even if I didn’t feel hungry.

“I will also tell you that you have free reign of the house. I have told the hallways to let you wander where you please. If you need a guide, Clara will be happy to accompany you – there are mirrors everywhere, and you’ll find them all helpful.” I didn’t really get that, but filed it away anyway. Any information was good.

“I’m sure you’ll find plenty to entertain yourself with. I have few modern amusements, I’m afraid, as I find them dull, but there are numerous rooms for you to explore, as well as an extensive library. And the gardens, of course. If I thought you wouldn’t run away I would let you peruse the grounds as well, but for that we shall have to see.”

That was good to know. If he didn’t want me in the gardens, it meant they presented a viable way to escape. If worst came to worst, I could gain his trust enough to let me into the gardens. It was definitely a worst case scenario, since it meant staying here for a while, lying well enough to prove my trustworthiness, and leaving things untied while I tried to return to the city, but it was better than nothing. Better than having no plan at all other than to face what was coming.

But I was doing it. I was facing this.

“You may also not go to my private wing. I conduct business there that you may learn of later, but I expect privacy in the meantime.”

“What kind of business?”

He arched an eyebrow. “That information is not free.”

“I could find out on my own,” I countered. Breaking and entering was a tool of the trade.

“Maybe. It would come at a much greater cost than what I’m asking for now. Tell me what I want to know, and I’ll tell you in return. No one has to go snooping around anywhere, and no one has to invade the other’s thoughts either.”

Bastard. Bastard bastard bastard. I was so stupid to have broken down like that. Now he was using it against me. So much for using his guilt against him. “What do you want to know?”

“You age, to begin with.”

That wasn’t such a bad thing. But I wasn’t giving in easy. “I want to know what you are, first. And why you are… what you are. And I want you to tell me in full detail, none of this vague shit you’ve given me so far.”

He looked wary. “That’s a lot of explanation required. I’d like to know your full name and background, for that. In full detail.”

No. I never talked about that with anyone. Ever. I couldn’t do it. But I had to. It was the best way to get what I wanted. I needed to figure out what was going on before I could do anything about it. Before he took what he wanted from my head, anyway.

And he would be dead soon, anyway. I’d talk to him, and I’d learn about him, and then I’d kill him. This was just a means to an end. It didn’t mean anything. “You first.”

“No, I don’t think so.” He was so aggravatingly calm, so in control.

“Yes. You’re the kidnapping rapist bastard here, not me. You’re the untrustworthy one. You’re the fucking asshole who ripped my thoughts out of my head and promised me answers and didn’t give me anything but—”

“I’m human. Or I was, once.”

I stopped. I didn’t believe he was human, but I was getting somewhere. “Twenty two.”

“So young? How many vampires have you killed?”

I shrugged. “I’ve no idea. What happened to you to make you like this?” I gestured at his face vaguely.

“That’s no answer. But then, I’ve told you the answer to your own question before. The changes in me are a price for the things I do.”

“Things like what?”

“Teleportation, like you’ve seen. Strength, acute senses, mind reading. I can travel to multiple planes, treat with creatures you’ve never dreamed of. I can manipulate matter in certain ways, heal myself and others – with some effort, obviously, nothing like your own talent. There are many things. I am a student of the arts.”

“What does that mean? ‘Student of the arts?’” My mind was reeling too much to cover my confusion. Multiple *planes*? Other *creatures?* He had to be fucking with me.

“I believe the common term is ‘sorcerer.’ I much prefer it to ‘wizard,’ at any rate,” Santo replied with studied calmness.

He had to be joking. Another sick fucking joke in a long line of sick fucking jokes. Did he think I was that fucked in the head? That he’d done this to me and now I’d believe whatever he told me? It was bullshit. This whole thing was bullshit.

I sprang away before I even realized what I was doing, and the expensive chair crashed to the floor. I wasn’t going to stay here and let Santo fuck with my head. I –

Santo pounced on me, faster than I’d thought possible. He was just suddenly there, on top of me, bearing me down to the floor. The scent of him surrounded me, his thick black hair hanging down in my face. My heart jumped in my throat. I lashed out blindly, panicking, desperate to hurt him, to get away, to make him go away. “It’s not true. It’s bullshit. It’s not true. You’re crazy. Fuck you. It’s not true. It’s not it’s not it’s not…”

Eventually I realized Santo wasn’t moving. He was just sitting on my chest, making it hard to breathe, waiting for me to stop. I stilled. “Let me up.”

He stared at me a moment more, his gaze hooded and piercing as he loomed over me, and then moved to the side. I was more relieved than I cared to admit, and sat up. “You’re lying.” He had to be.

Santo didn’t say anything.

“You think you’re some hotshot because you’re so damn big, but I’m not some idiot who’ll believe whatever you tell me just ‘cause you – just ‘cause. You can’t teleport, you can’t read minds, and you’re not a fucking *sorcerer.*” The words felt like poison on my tongue. But fuck, I wanted it to be true. He was just ugly. He was just an ugly man who’d done an ugly thing to me, and I could kill him and leave. He wasn’t a monster, a man who could do *magic,* who’d trapped me in this dark awful house to – to…

“Louis liked to watch the movement of your throat,” Santo said low. I looked at him sharply. Louis? Before it had been Mr. Thiebeaux. “You made him beg when you fucked him. In English and in French. You loved it, didn’t you, you lov—”

I leapt on him in a wordless shout, and he smacked me down like a lion, with a great big swipe. My head hit the floor hard and I was dazed long enough for him to flip me over. He yanked my arms up behind me, hard enough to sting, and then suddenly he was tying them with something. Rope? Maybe, but less scratchy. Something light. Where had that come from?

I realized suddenly how helpless I was, and adrenaline poured through me. I couldn’t be tied up. I had to get free. “Let me go!” I tried to buck up, to roll away, to kick or bite or do anything that would let me get away.

“Breathe, Bello. You have to breathe.” Having tied my hands behind me, Santo had trapped my legs with his, had one arm pressed between my shoulder blades, and was fucking *stroking* me on my shoulder with the other.

“Don’t touch me,” I rasped. “Don’t touch me, you sick fucking alien freak.” I nearly scream with frustration. I sounded so pathetic, so weak.

I heard him mutter something unintelligible. Then he said, “I’m not going to hurt you, and I’m not going to stop until you calm down. Now stop behaving like a child and we will discuss this like adults.”

I panted and cursed him, trying to figure out the weak spots in his hold, to shift his balance so that I could get up.

“You know,” Santo said thoughtfully. “I’ll give you a choice.”

And that makes me still, because it takes effort to twist my head around and glare at him. “Fuck. You.”

Santo acted like he hadn’t heard me. “You can tell me what I’d like to know, since I’ve answered your question about my identity. Or you can give me something else.”

“Like what?”

And then the hand that was petting me like I was a scared puppy moved down to my ass. “This.”

For a moment I was frozen, icy cold and hot at the same time. I knew I should move, should fight, should do something – anything – but fear was like poison in my limbs. “No.”

He stroked my ass lightly. “Don’t be so hasty. I guarantee you’d enjoy it a great deal more than our previous encounter. It would be a small price for information, you must agree.”

“No,” I breathed. Anything was better than that. I forced the words out: “What do you want to know?”

“I told you what you wanted to know. I am a human cursed with physical abnormality, and I have listed the arts I’ve acquired by sorcery. And now you will tell me what you are, and how you came to be it.”

“Let me up, first.”

“Idiot. So unappreciative.” I heard irritation enter his tone. “I’m of half a mind to simply take what I want and get the information straight from the source.” He jabbed at my head a bit to drive the point home.

“No. No, no, wait.” I was trapped. No, I was fucked. I couldn’t afford to make him give up the negotiation. And he’d kept up his side of the bargain so far, more or less. I had information. I knew what I was dealing with. Well, no, I still had no fucking clue how to deal with this craziness, but at least I had a name for it. This was worth it. I couldn’t give this up. “I’m human, too.”

His hand on me stilled, although he didn’t let me up or move to untie my hands. “What about your healing ability?”

“What about it? I’ve always healed like this. It’s just… a thing I can do.” The words sounded so pathetic out loud, like when you finally talked about a nightmare that had frightened you to tears and realized it didn’t even make sense.

“You’re lying. Don’t think I will hesitate to punish you for it.”

“No!” I swallowed, trying to get rid of the panic in my voice. “Really. I know it sounds stupid. But I don’t think about it much. I never talked about it with anyone.”

“Not even your family?”

I snorted. “Of course not.”

“What of your family, then? I could find no records of them.”

I tensed. “You didn’t tell me anything about your family.”

Santo was quiet a moment. “You’ve never done anything to improve or explore your abilities?”

I answered him without thinking, relieved that he hadn’t pressed the family thing. “What? No. What would I do about it? I’ve always just done it. It’s just a thing.” When had I lost control of the information I gave?

“Yes, so you’ve said. But would you like to?”

“Like to what?”

“Know what you are. Understand what you can do. Explore your potential. You could have everything. Haven’t you ever been curious?”

I looked at him again. His weird eyes seemed less human than ever. He looked like a cat with a toy. “What more do I need?”

He smiled at that, his strange mood broken. “Unbelievable,” he said, shaking his head as he let me up. I clambered to my knees awkwardly. “You were really happy living like that, killing and fucking in the darkness?”

A million retorts sprung to mind, but died just as suddenly. “It wasn’t like that,” I said quietly.

He gave me another weird look, and then took my arm and helped me to my feet. “Perhaps I was mistaken.” He snapped his fingers, and my hands were free. I turned, and the rope was gone. Poof. Like motherfucking magic. I could tell Santo was smirking at me. “Here, why don’t you finish your food?”

I stood warily and rubbed my wrists. “I ate already.” I had eaten about a third of what he had given me, and was too shaken up to eat any more. My heart was still hammering in my chest.

“I’ll continue with the tour, then. Come along.” He gestured for me to follow and then walked off, the shadows pulling at him.

I took one last look at the expansive windows, with the open meadow and forest beyond. Freedom.

I turned and followed Santo into the darkness.

Dreaded Creatures Glide, Chapter 5

Sat, 12 Apr 2008 09:02:38 GMT

Title: Dreaded Creatures Glide
Summary: Far Seer is an adventurous merman, and has always been curious about the human world. When he is captured and gifted to royalty, he learns far more about humans than he ever thought he would.
Warnings: M/M, Violence, Abuse, Non-Con

But how many find the courage to look deepest in their heart
To find a dream they can follow till they fall
And when my heart cries out to wander I can hear him
Answering the call
-- Ewen and the Gold, Brian McNeill

It was the kind of morning that made women sing and horses feel their oats. The sky was an energetic blue, the weather clement, and all the lands were flush with summer. Charles was pleased to be out for once, dressed in comfortable riding attire, rather than stuck in some silly meeting with his father’s fawning attendants. He was even shockingly unaccompanied today, with only his bodyguard Magnus and his father’s toadying manservant Simon to accompany him. Charles had tried to make his father let him go only with Magnus, since the man was fiercely loyal and would never dare disobey any of Charles’ orders, but his father had insisted Simon accompany them.

Simon had not shut up since.

“Such a beautiful day, Your Highness. I was just remarking to your esteemed father the other day that ever since he has taken the throne Tierney’s summers have become more and more pleasing with each passing year. Come to think of it, it reminds me of the days I spent in a choir as a youth.” And then, to Charles’ horror, he began to sing, “Ah, fair land of my fathers, so lovely and green, most beautiful land I e’er have se—”

“Stop that!” Charles snapped, and Simon looked at him askance. “If you cannot keep your counsel to yourself, go home. If I had wanted useless chatter I would have stayed inside.”

“As you wish, Young Highness,” Simon snipped, and Charles struggled not to roll his eyes. Simon had been a servant of the king for longer than Charles had been alive, and from time to time mistakenly believed it gave him some sort of seniority over Charles.

They rode on in silence for a while, and Charles enjoyed the warm summer air, tilting his face to the sun. To his left Simon sulked, and to his right Magnus glowered at the shrubbery as though it might attack at any moment.

Simon, naturally, had to ruin everything: “By your leave, Highness, perhaps we should be turning back soon.”

Charles scowled at him, and promptly turned Ginger towards the part of the garden that was least manicured. Simon had no say over his actions, and he was going to prove that once and for all. Simon was far too foppish to ever enjoy anything that remotely resembled a natural landscape, and Charles took silent satisfaction from his disgust. The woods were pleasant: cooler than the meadows, and filled with filtered sunlight and birdsong. He aimed for nowhere in particular, but found himself thinking that they would reach the merman’s pool eventually, if they kept up this track.

It had been weeks since he had gone to the merman’s pool. As he had after the first time he saw the merman, he dreamt of the creature for days afterward, of the staring eyes and flashing fins. He had intended to return as soon as possible, but his father had been loath to let him go unguarded after the incident. He knew nothing of Charles’ brush with the creature, of course, but could hardly stand to let Charles out of his sight, never mind on his own for hours at a time.

“Highness,” said Magnus, interrupting the silence. Magnus’ voice was low and gruff; he did not speak often. Charles turned to him, giving him leave to speak. “Someone has come by here. Recently. On foot.”

Charles frowned. There were no guards this way, and gardeners only went by the path. Who would risk royal wrath for a stroll in the gardens? Thieves, maybe? Or even lovers, if they were particularly foolish. Or perhaps…

The one who had made the ball for the merman! He must have come back!

Charles twisted in his saddle, scanning the trees for sign of the man. There was nothing. He descended from his horse, and Magnus and Simon quickly followed suite. “Do you see any other tracks?” he asked Magnus in a hushed voice.

Magnus looked confused, and did a cursory inspection of the nearby grounds. “None, Highness. But there are the beginnings of a path here. My guess is someone has walked through here often.”

Charles ran his hand through his hair, feeling excitement build inside him. He had dismissed the ball eventually – the merman could have received it from a guard back at Uncle Horace’s, or even stolen it off of one of the people he had killed. The fact that he had a ball, and knew how to play with it, had not necessarily meant someone had been visiting him at the pool.

But he had known, deep inside himself, that there was someone. Someone who had approached the merman bravely, and taught him not to kill but to play. Someone who had not flinched or run when faced with what could be certain death. A warrior, most likely, scarred and experienced, who had seen enough battle that he could look death in the eye without flinching.

“Let’s go,” he said, and set off for the pool on foot.

Magnus was clearly unhappy with the decision, but immediately moved to follow. Simon, however, nearly squawked in dismay. “But your *Highness!* We cannot proceed on *foot!* The indignity alone is unthinkable, and to leave the horses would be most imprudent.”

“The horses will be fine and so will we,” Charles snapped, now set on teaching Simon a lesson. “I refuse to have my actions dictated on my own estate.” He turned and set a smart pace for the merman’s pool. Simon could do nothing but obey, although Charles could practically feel the man’s indignation.

They reached the pool soon enough, and Charles came to a stop before he stepped out onto the marble surroundings. He scanned the waters, as much as he could see that wasn’t blocked by the rocks or distance, and saw only uninterrupted waters. For one horrifying moment Charles was sure that no one was there, and he had led Simon on a wild goose chase that the man would surely never shut up about until the end of time.

And then there was a splash. And another. And a peal of laughter that was definitely human.

Charles grinned, and stepped forward, only to be caught up by Magnus’ grip on his arm. He turned and scowled. “What?”

“I beg your pardon, Highness,” said Magnus, sounding like a man unused to platitudes, “But I would never forgive myself if the merman were to attack you and I had done nothing.”

“Nonsense. He won’t hurt me.” Charles realized that he was about to give away the fact that he had been here before, and stopped himself. He settled for looking arch.

Magnus seemed confused, and said gruffly, “At the very least let me go first, Highness. I would rather the merman killed me than you.”

“The merman’s not going to kill anybody,” Charles snapped. He gestured to where the noise was coming from. “Can you not hear that? He’s – he’s *playing* with a *human.*”

Magnus still looked confused, and Simon, for once, looked like he didn’t know what to say. Charles threw up his hands and stepped out onto the marble. He heard Magnus and Simon shuffling after him.

He was surrounded by idiots.

He walked as quietly as he could, but he needn’t have worried, for the scene that greeted him was one that took no notice of its surroundings.

There was indeed a human in the deep end of the pool, splashing and laughing as the merman – the wild creature famed for his lethal speed and teeth – did circles about him like an excited puppy, tickling his feet. The boy – for he was at most a young man, and not a scarred veteran in the least – pulled at the merman, finally, and the merman broke the surface with a joyful, bestial noise.

“By the gods,” said Magnus, uncharacteristically talkative, and Charles spared a glance at him. That was when he realized Simon was no where to be seen. Charles cursed, and scowled at Magnus. That sniveling idiot had almost certainly gone running back to the castle, which meant that Charles had limited time.

And then he noticed Charles and his entourage standing at the edge of the pool, and froze.

The boy quickly caught on to the merman’s distress, and turned, still half-smiling. Charles watched as all color and expression left him, and he looked at his liege lord with blank horror. The moment stretched out as Charles stared at the boy, and the boy stared at Charles from beneath a sopping mop of hair. This was the fierce warrior who had done the unthinkable and tamed the merman. Charles had considered himself brave to even approach the pool, and this man – this *boy* -- was flouncing about in the water as though he had been born in it!

It was the merman who broke the silence. He spoke two syllables in his high and incomprehensible tongue, and then grabbed the boy and whisked him away to the other side of the pool. Even pulling a full grown human the merman’s movements seemed effortless, his tail pumping with seeming laziness as he glided through the water.

“Well don’t just stand there, Magnus, get him!” Charles yelled, and Magnus snapped out of his apparent reverie and ran to the other side of the pool, where the merman had lifted the sopping young man up and out of the pool. He rounded on the boy, and Charles watched, seemingly frozen, as the boy backed towards the pool, eyeing Magnus’ blade. Behind him, the merman thrashed the waters agitatedly and reached out for the boy, apparently regretting his decision to help him onto land.

Charles approached that end of the pool, standing next to Magnus, who awaited his orders with sword drawn. “Come here,” he ordered the youth imperiously, making sure his voice was more level than before.

“Please, Highness, I meant no harm.” The young man was obviously frightened, but he did not use that craven whisper Charles so hated to hear in his supplicants. He spoke clearly, if humbly. He was so young. He had the frame of a man, and his limbs were ropey with muscle, but he had not yet broadened into manhood. His sopping wet clothes were simple and dull, and his hair was lamentably messy. And yet, despite everything, he stood upright, daring to look Charles in the eye.

And for all that he was clearly nothing but a lowly servant, he was quite comely.

“I beg your forgiveness, Highness,” said the young man. He spoke like a servant. A low servant, for he was dressed too poorly to be one who worked inside. He was not even a soldier, or a guard. He was nothing!

“How did you do it?” Charles asked, feeling his voice grow tight with anger. The young man stepped back at that, and Charles barely realized that he had stepped forward in his anger.

“Do what, Highness?” asked the youth, his voice showing a little more fear in his confusion. Behind him, the merman grew stone still, his flat blue eyes locked on them, his deceptively beautiful mouth flattened into a hard line.

“How did you tame him?” It had been this damned boy who had done it, after all. Charles had thought himself so clever to have done what no man had yet done – to have faced the merman unscathed. But it had all been the work of this boy, this poor, lowborn rag of a *child.*

“Please, Highness, I didn’t mean to do anything.” He spoke faster now, his words tumbling over each other. “I fell into the pool, back when he was back at His Grace’s. The guards had – they were chasing me, because – I hadn’t done anything, but they were after me, and it was night and I just fell in, and Kai – that is, the merman… saved me.”

Kai? The boy had *named* him? “You expect me to believe that nonsense?” Charles was nearly bellowing now. “You were skulking about Uncle’s estate, then, thieving more like, and you expect me to believe that he simply took a *shine* to you?” Charles grabbed the boy’s soaking collar, ready to demand the truth, when suddenly everything changed. One moment he was standing by the pool, about to shake the truth out of him, and the next he was bowled over by what seemed like a wall of muscle. He hit the ground hard enough to lose his breath, and struggled frantically at the wet, snarling monster that was grappling with him.

He cried out, or tried to. He couldn’t breath. All of his extensive tutoring came to naught, here. The merman did not fight at all like a gentleman, snarling and snapping his teeth, his strange blue hands gripping hard enough to make him cry out. He could hear Simon shrieking, and Magnus cursing as he grappled with the merman, who shrieked at him in that unearthly, incomprehensible tongue.

“Kai, stop!” he heard the servant yell, and suddenly the weight on him was gone. He backed away ungainly, gasping wretchedly, and saw that the servant had pulled the monster away. The boy was looking at him with frantic worry. “I’m so sorry, Highness. He’s only doing it because he doesn’t – no, Kai, stop!”

Magnus had rounded on the merman, sword drawn. The merman, for all that he was on land, and thus forced to face Magnus propped up awkwardly on his elbows, seemed just as ready for a fight. His eyes were predatory slits, and he welcomed Magnus with teeth bared as he snarled and hissed. Even on land he lashed his tail, swiping at Magnus awkwardly. But Charles remembered with sudden clarity one of the tales his excited uncle had told him about the merman: even wounded and out of the water, he had killed a sailor with one blow of his terrible tail. The thought made him freeze, terrified and yet fascinated. On land the merman seemed such a ridiculous, impossible creature, and yet it was obvious that even out of the water he was horribly dangerous. Already now he had Magnus on the ground, and was scrambling to tear out his neck. Charles couldn’t move. What could he do?

But the boy approached the merman with barely a second thought, and seemed far more frightened of Marcus, who was cursing and struggled as he tried to prevent the merman from snapping his neck. “Kai!” the boy repeated, his voice surprisingly demanding. The merman seemed to pause at that. Magnus, wisely, froze as well. With a strange, clicking growl, the merman let go of Magnus and backed off slightly, maneuvering awkwardly with his hands.

Charles let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. He stood up, willing his knees not to shake. Magnus did the same, his eyes trained warily on the merman. He was bleeding from several bites, but looked all right on the whole. The boy crouched by the merman, and stared first as Magnus and then at Charles. “Please don’t hurt him.”

Charles almost snorted at the idea that he would damage his uncle’s gift. His father would have a fit. But he caught himself, and said instead, “Hand yourself over and I won’t need to… You have my word,” he added when the boy looked doubtful. It galled him unbearably to parley so with a commoner, but he contented himself with the fact that he had the boy trapped now.

The boy did look torn for a moment. But then he sighed, and moved to rise, only to be caught up by the merman’s grip on him. The creature that had been so terrifyingly raging only a moment before now seemed… worried.

“It’s all right, Kai. You’ll be all right.” He smiled, then, of all things, and said a few words Charles found entirely incomprehensible. Charles knew many languages of the realm, of course, but he did not recognize a single word. The merman responded, however, with his own unintelligible language, and then let go.

The boy rose, trembling only a little, and bowed his head. Charles was momentarily at a loss. The boy’s very existence was an insult, and his father could not know about him. Simon might have heard someone, but he had not seen the boy, and above all Charles wanted no one to see him. Jailing him was out of the question, then, and killing him would mean a body to get rid of. Magnus could be trusted with such a thing, perhaps, but…

“Let’s go,” he said, to give himself time to think. They turned back and began to return to where they had left the horses. Magnus kept his sword trained on the boy, although he frequently glanced back at the merman, who had not moved. Charles himself could not help but look back as they neared the trees, and he saw that the merman was still looking at them, his head arched proudly and his eyes piercing. He shrieked something as Charles looked back, high and haunting. The boy stumbled slightly at the sound, and while Charles managed not to flinch, he did not look back again.

They reached the horses too quickly for his liking. Only Ginger and Magnus’ horse remained, which reminded Charles that his father’s men would likely be looking for him.

“Father will have sent a search party. Stay here and I’ll find them,” he said as commandingly as he could. Fear from the encounter with the merman still fluttered through him, making his heart race and his tongue trip.

“Highness,” assented Magnus, even more terse than usual. Charles half expected him to try to insist that he should accompany Charles, but he only gave his customary nod to acknowledge Charles’ order. His gaze was still trained on the boy, who had not spoken. The youth seemed resigned to his fate.

Charles rode off quickly.

He found his father’s men quickly. Charles saw that Father himself had not come – he was too busy for that, of course – but Ector, captain of the royal guard, rode with ten men, and was accompanied by Simon. He was riding at the back of the line, naturally, but shouting orders at Ector as though their places had been switched. Charles hailed them easily enough.

“Are you well, Highness?” Ector asked, as he and his men dismounted so that they could bow.

“Yes, of course. My man has taken a few injuries, but nothing serious.” Charles said nothing about the boy. His mind was racing. What had Simon told them? He could think of no way to make out the situation anything other than what it was, and ran his hand through his hair in exasperation as they neared the spot where Charles had left Magnus. This whole affair had been too humiliating. He kept seeing the boy in his mind: his happiness in the pool, his fear at seeing Charles, the way he had leapt so fearlessly at the merman, and how he had hovered over him as though the merman had been the helpless youth and he the powerful creature. Most of all he saw the boy’s drawn, resigned face, surprisingly old on such a young man. He steeled himself to face it again.

But there was only Magnus, standing by his horse’s head, looking not at all as if he had just lost his sole, unarmed charge. Charles found he could say nothing.

“Highness, Captain,” Magnus greeted them, bowing to Charles and Ector in turn. Charles glared at him, trying to communicate, but Magnus was studiously avoiding his gaze.

“Are you deathly wounded, Magnus?” Ector asked sharply.

“No, Captain. The bites are deep but not fatal.”

“Then why did you not attend His Highness when he rode?” Ector sounded genuinely confused.

Charles realized that without the captive boy, it did look strange. “I told him to stay here,” Charles cut in. “He’s not a very good rider even when he isn’t wounded. He would only have slowed me down.”

Ector was bound to accept even a lame excuse from his prince. “Very well, Highness, but he is here for your protection. I beg you not to abandon him so lightly in the future.”

Charles knew this was only the beginning of many long, drawn out lectures he’d get on his behavior, but he found himself relieved. Everything had still gone wrong, obviously: Simon would crow for weeks over this, he had nearly died at the hands of a wild beast, and the boy was somehow gone. And yet, it was far easier not to have to do something with the boy. He longed to speak to Magnus alone and demand to know where the boy had gone, but he also could not find it in him to fault Magnus for losing him.

88888

Far Seer had not swum this many circles since he had left the white pool. The sunshine, which had seemed such a blessing after the cavelike captivity of the white pool, now beat down on him. He swam faster to escape it, splashing water everywhere, as though going faster could make him forget Kee-Kee.

Kee-Kee was not coming back. He was sure of it, now. Much of the events that had happened had confused him, but he knew that much, at least.

The day had started out so perfectly. Kee-Kee had taken to coming into the water more and more, and that day Far Seer had been unable to resist pulling him in. He had regretted it immediately, because maybe Kee-Kee wouldn’t want to get his clothes wet and maybe he didn’t want Far Seer to touch him like that and he didn’t want to make Kee-Kee scared like that ever again. But Kee-Kee had laughed and splashed him and Far Seer had been so happy.

He had been surprised when the other human had showed up, but not necessarily displeased. The other human, which his pretty light hair and blue eyes, had been charming in his own way, and he had thought the two of them could be friends. It had been the guard who had made him wary, because guards were enemies to Far Seer and Kee-Kee both.

And then it had been the pretty human who had started to attack Kee-Kee, and Kee-Kee had not fought back. Far Seer had thought he was afraid, and was determined to protect Kee-Kee even if it meant pitching himself out of the water. But Kee-Kee had told him to stop. Far Seer had been confused then, thinking that perhaps he had misread the situation, and it had been only the guard who was the problem. But Kee-Kee had stopped him from killing the guard, too, even though Far Seer was about to do it. Far Seer had been sorry again, because now he had hurt two of Kee-Kee’s friends, and Kee-Kee had sounded so sad when he talked to Far Seer. Far Seer had wanted to apologize so much, because Kee-Kee was upset, Kee-Kee was sad, and the other human had looked so frightened. He had felt awkward and stupid and foreign and ashamed to have done so wrong.

But then Kee-Kee had walked off with the guard pointing a weapon at him, and Far Seer had known suddenly that he had not been wrong. Maybe the pretty human was an enemy and maybe it was only the guard, but Far Seer knew with absolute certainty that he had been a fool to let Kee-Kee walk away. “Kee-Kee!” he had called out, wishing desperately that he had not let Kee-Kee out of the water, out of his arms. But Kee-Kee had gone, and now he was alone.

He was tired of it. He was tired of everything. He didn’t eat now, didn’t sleep, but spent all of his days lashing around the pool. The guards were back now. He could hear them milling about in the trees, lowing like sea cows. Maybe the Watcher would be back too, to spend his days staring at Far Seer as though Far Seer were a pretty shell.

The human world had seemed so exciting, once. Far Seer remembered the way his friends used to tease him for thinking about it. His name itself had come from his need to travel, to see things no one else had seen, to explore what lay beyond. All it had gotten him was a cage.

He was tired of this stale water. No amount of clever human tricks could disguise the fact that this was not the sea. There were no waves to buffet him, to challenge him or cradle him, no creatures to play with besides the dumb fish he was supposed to eat. There were no smells or sights or sounds that tantalized him.

Kee-Kee had done all of that. Kee-Kee had been his adventure, had made all of this bearable. Kee-Kee had been his way to learn things no merman had ever learned. Far Seer had always accepted that his was a lonely life, but Kee-Kee had changed all of that. Kee-Kee, for all that he had been human, and could say only a few words in the merfolk tongue, was his friend.

“We were the same, once,” his mother had said, so long ago. Far Seer had marveled at it then, that the merfolk could once have looked like humans, or the other way around. It had seemed impossible, like all the other strange wonders he had heard about the human world. But he understood it now. Humans could be strange and frightening and grotesque, but they could also be kind and generous and trustworthy.

Kee-Kee had been those things, and Far Seer had lost him. Kee-Kee had but to walk away from the water, and Far Seer could not follow. He could not protect Kee-Kee, no matter how urgent the danger. He was trapped here, his need for the sea binding him better than any chain, and he would never get Kee-Kee back.

The thought made him leap out of the water with a savage cry, as though the water itself had planted that thought in his head. He landed hard on the hot rock, the same way he had landed when Kee-Kee had come to meet him. That thought comforted him in a way, and he fancied that the rock still smelled of Kee-Kee, that fascinating human smell of dirt and plants and any number of things Far Seer could only guess at.

Far Seer looked at himself. Never before had he hated what he saw. He had always been proud of his strength and his speed. He had laughed at the humans’ silly limbs, thinking that it was infinitely better to have a fine tail such as his. But now the tail seemed useless, pathetic. He smacked his fins against the rock, reveling in the pain that vibrated up his body. He writhed this way for a few terrible moments, as though he were a fish that could not breathe air. He flailed until he was exhausted, and then he lay back, hearing only his own gasping.

The sun was pleasant enough at first. Like most of his kind Far Seer liked to sun when he had the chance, floating on the surface of the sea and taking in the light. But he didn’t want to feel good. He wanted the sun to bleach him of his thoughts, of the ache inside him. He wanted it to dry his memories out of him, to free him of his pathetic cage. The rock beneath him was hot and dry and the sun began to beat down on him, searing his eyes and making his head ache. He wanted it. He wanted to be drained of the sea that kept him trapped here, pacing in circles until madness took him. He refused to succumb to it. He would die first.

The summer days were long, and by the time night fell he was dry and tired. But it was not enough, and he hated that the night was dark and cool and quiet. In the dark he had to think, had to miss Kee-Kee, and the sea ran from his eyes. But then the sun returned, making him feel blank and empty once more. He closed his eyes and opened his mouth as though the sunshine were rain that he could drink his fill of.

He had survived on the human ship for several days without water, and he knew it would take a long time before the sea left him. It would be a long time before hunger gnawed at him unbearably, before thirst started to tear at him and the dryness made his skin crack and bleed. He would dry slowly, like bones on the beach. He accepted it. He could wait. He had nothing but time.

88888

A week later Terry plucked mint leaves and waited to die. It had been so easy to accept it in those few short moments before he gave himself up to the prince. He was going to face it without flinching, without running away, his last way to take back what the guards had stolen from him. It had seemed simple. Kai had saved his life once, and that had been the way to save Kai. Walking with the guard to his death had been easy. He had felt numb save for that one painful moment when Kai had called after him. But he had told himself that he had been doing the right thing, and had not turned back. But then the prince had left them, and the guard had said, “Go quickly.”

“What?” Terry had been unable to believe his ears.

“You saved my life. Go,” the guard had repeated tersely, and Terry had done it. He had run away again, nearly as blindly as that first time. He had run all the way back to the garden, his clothes nearly dry by then, and had sat down in the dirt and sobbed and shuddered with all the fear he had not let out before.

Everything had been ruined. He dared not go back to the pool, but it seemed to pull at him. His dreams were of Kai, and he woke with the sea in his mouth. He felt Kai’s scales beneath his fingertips, and the cool pull of the water. He felt hot and dry all of the time, and no amount of water quenched him.

“Are you all right, then?”

Terry looked at Peter, who waited for the mint leaves. He stood at the edge of the garden like touching the dirt would sully his reputation. Over time Terry had come to find Peter tolerable, but they were hardly friends. “Fine.” He knew he was being terse, but he didn’t care.

“You seem a bit feverish. Your skin’s gone all splotchy and you look tired.”

“There’s no need to insult me,” Terry snapped. His head ached, and he felt more irritable than usual. This waiting was torment.

Peter seemed uncharacteristically flustered by that. “I didn’t mean – it’s just – Maggie said you stopped running off in the afternoons.”

Terry said nothing and held out the bag of mint.

Peter stared at the bag, although he did not take it. “Look, I know you think I’m some poncy git, but I’m not blind. You stopped running off and now you look terrible, and whoever he was he’s an idiot and didn’t deserve you.” Peter blushed suddenly, looking younger than he ever had.

Terry blinked. “What?”

“And I think it’s pretty brilliant that you used the pool, too,” Peter said, talking quickly. “But also kind of stupid, you know. I mean, I guessed, didn’t I? And someone would have had to have shown up sooner or later. And there are guards there now – I heard from the doctors who know everything about the royals. I’m very close to the doctors, you know. But no one’s looking for you. You can stop worrying.”

The rush of words took Terry by surprise. How close Peter had gotten to the truth scared him. “I don’t understand.”

“I’m saying you don’t have to play dumb with me,” Peter said, sounding almost irritated, staring somewhere past Terry’s shoulder. “My theory is that he was – or is, rather, married, so you had to meet somewhere no one would find you, and I guess near the merman’s pool is as good a place as any, long as you didn’t get too close. And my guess is that someone discovered you, or almost discovered you, and now you’re scared. But I don’t think anyone will come for you. I heard from the servant girls that the prince just wanted the guards to be put up and be done with it. He wants to forget it, I think. Probably pretty embarrassing, to be attacked by your own pet.”

Terry struggled to find something to say. His heart was pounding at how much Peter seemed to know, even though he still couldn’t wrap his head around the fact that Peter was so interested. The boy had never talked to him this much before. “What – what makes you think it was a he?” he asked finally.

Peter looked him in the eye suddenly. “Wasn’t it?”

Terry nodded after a moment.

“Right, well, that’s what I thought. I’m very good at seeing these things, you know.” He paused for a moment. “Anyway, I just wanted to tell you. So you would stop looking so awful. And… if you want to discuss plants, or something, sometime, that would be okay, too.” And then he snatched the mint out of Terry’s hand and all but ran off.

Terry watched him go, and then looked around at the bunches of herbs and plants that sprouted around him, patiently waiting for his attention in neat, organized rows. He sat down in the dirt and wondered how his life had gotten so complicated.

Within a Forest Dark, Chapter 3

Thu, 27 Mar 2008 02:21:26 GMT

Title: Within a Forest Dark
Summary: A vampire hunter jumps right out of the frying pan and into the fire.
Warnings: Angst, H/C, M/M, N/C, Torture, Violence

I heard Santo bellowing with pain as I fled the dining hall, and pumped my legs faster. I had only a vague plan of action – the fork move had been far more impulsive than I would have liked. I was just furious with Santo, with the house, with this whole goddamn situation, and the fact that talking to Santo was like trying to talk with the fucking Riddler.

I ran down a long unfamiliar hallway, not the one Santo had led me down only a little while ago. But I didn’t care, as long as… shit. The portrait was back again. I didn’t bother trying to get past it, but bolted into the bedroom. It was the same room, but things had been added now. There was a full-sized mirror, for one thing, on an elegant wooden stand detached from the wall. There was also, and more importantly, another door on the right that hadn’t been there before. I found it unlocked and opened it, ready to pounce on anything that jumped out. It was a bathroom. Dead end. I dashed to the window and saw that the moon had risen. I could see trees beyond the house, stretching on for as long as I could see in the dim moonlight. There was no hint of the city. Fuck. Where the hell was I?

Fuck it. I didn’t care, as long as I could get out of here. I braced myself and hit the glass hard with my elbow. Nothing. I hit again, on the same spot. Nothing. Again, again, again. I had to break out. I had to get free. I couldn’t take this anymore, it was too insane. I—

“You’re only going to hurt yourself, dear.”

I spun, tense and alert. I hadn’t sensed anyone when I’d entered the room. Had I grown that careless, or was there someone else like Santo, who could seemingly appear and disappear at will, without a sound?

“Who’s there?” I demanded. The voice had sounded female, and friendly, but if I knew anything about this house – and about life in general, for that matter – it was that nothing was what it seemed.

“Don’t sound so nervous, dear. I won’t hurt you.” The noise was coming from near the mirror, but I couldn’t see anything, and I knew my night vision was quite good.

“Where are you?” I hated feeling this helpless. I wished I hadn’t thrown the fork: at least that way I would have had some sort of weapon.

“Over here. I just moved in.” Still near the mirror. I approached cautiously.

“Well, come on over. Let’s have a look at you. I get bits and pieces when you’re not looking at me but it’s much easier when you’re standing right in front. The light is so poor, too. Such a shame.”

I walked towards the mirror, wondering if there was some sort of hole in the wall behind it. I hadn’t noticed it earlier, but that was the only way I could think for how someone could hide there. I reached the mirror and started to move it aside.

“Oh, stop it, that tickles!”

I jumped, letting go of the mirror as though burnt. “What the fuck?” I said to my own reflection. It had – the mirror had actually – how was that even possible?

And then my reflection frowned at me, when I was definitely not frowning. “Tut, tut,” said my reflection in that same female voice, like an elderly nurse. “Such language. The master would not be pleased.”

“What’s going on?” I asked, barely able to make my voice work.

My reflection laughed, and then covered its mouth with its hand, a feminine gesture that looked completely out of place on my body. “Oh, poor thing. You must be terribly confused. My name is Clara. I’m the mirror, these days. And you, my dear, are quite handsome. Tom – he’s another mirror in the hall – saw you when you were asleep and said you looked young, but he certainly didn’t mention how gorgeous you are. I simply love green eyes!”

I was frozen, dumbstruck.

My double prattled on: “It’s rare to see true green eyes, you know. I can see yours have a few flecks of gold in them. You may think it’s silly of me to notice, but notice is all I do, these days. And I simply love your hair. The master has such lovely hair, black as yours, but I do find curls ever so attractive. You two are perfectly matched, I think.”

I touched my hair, noticing that my reflection did not do the same. I didn’t pay much attention to it, as long as it wasn’t in my face, but it did have a tendency to curl. I dropped my hand again, and finally found my voice: “Can you tell me what’s going on here?”

“Has the master not told you anything?”

“We’re not exactly on the best of terms.” We certainly weren’t now. Which reminded me of why I was in the room in the first place. My situation came rushing back. “Fu—scratch that, actually. Can you tell me how to get out of here?”

My reflection frowned again. “Oh, but you can’t leave.”

“Yeah, I’ve heard that before.” On more than one occasion, and always from vamps who wound up dead by sunrise.

“But not from a mirror, I imagine,” said my reflection, with a sympathetic sort of smile I hoped never to see on my face again.

“No, you’ve got me there. Look, Clara,” I said, feeling ridiculous talking to my own reflection. But then, my life had taken a definite turn for the ridiculous recently. “I need to get out. Santo – the master – he’s insane. He’s out to get me, and you have to help me.”

Clara looked troubled. “Look, dear, I know you’re upset, but it’s really quite simple. Perhaps you ought to get the master to explain it to you, though. I’m sure he knows more than I do.”

I rubbed my temples, trying not to give in to panic. I knew it was only a matter of time before Santo caught up with me. A fork to the eye was a good distraction, and painful as hell, but it wouldn’t kill him, or even slow him down that much. “Please, Clara,” I tried, giving her – or me, it seemed, in the mirror – my most soulful look. “Please help me.”

Clara crossed her arms – my arms – and didn’t look me in the eye. “You can’t leave. You’re saving lives here and it’s simple as that. Ask me something else, and I’d be happy to help you.”

I struggled not to swear. Clara was clearly sympathetic, and curses wouldn’t arouse her pity. “Do you know where I could find a knife?” I knew that question was probably a useless one too, but what the hell, right?

“Try the armoire drawers,” she said, to my surprise. I turned and went to the drawers where I had found the clothes before. I opened them again, and they were empty. Strange. I checked all of them, and the upper compartment as well, but it was all empty.

“You’re not allowed a knife, then,” said Clara from behind me.

I turned. “What?”

“The drawers, dear. That’s Evelyn, I think. It’s difficult to remember who they are when they don’t talk. They’ll give you anything you can think of, but it has to be allowed. I imagine the master doesn’t want you to have any weapons. Wouldn’t want you to hurt yourself, now.”

“I’m not the one who’s going to get hurt with them,” I said angrily.

Clara just gave me another sympathetic look with my face. I struggled to come up with a way out, and there was silence for a moment.

And then the doors exploded.

The force of the explosion blew me back against the window with a painful thump. It wasn’t that Santo knocked down the door. He was just there in the room suddenly, larger than life and twice as raging, and both of the doors, to the hallway and the bathroom, just splintered. The mirror cracked at the same time, and I could hear Clara shriek. The lamp fell over with another crash, and the room was plunged into darkness but for the moonlight coming in from the window. And then Santo was at me, roaring like a beast from hell, his face twisted and hideous and *changed,* somehow. I snarled right back at him and launched myself at him. If I was going to go down, I was going to go down fighting, dammit.

When I’d hit Santo before I had managed to back him up a bit. Now it was like hitting a raging bull. He was a bull, snorting and roaring and tossing me around like I was a damn matador. He swiped at my side and pain tore along my skin. I turned and punched him in the face, and his head only snapped to the side a little before he turned back to look at me. His eyes were fucking glowing in the dark, and right before he socked me in the face for the third time I realized that the one I’d gotten with the fork was just peachy keen now.

I tackled him low, at his knees, and he fell hard, but in the next second grabbed me and slammed me viciously into the ground, pinning me with his weight and pinioning both of my arms behind my back. My arms hurt viciously where he held onto them. My legs were trapped underneath his body. I could only writhe and curse as he bent his head down to me, his breath hot on my skin. Panting, I craned my neck to watch him as he studied with those freakish eyes. He bent his head to my side, where he’d hit me before, and suddenly I felt his tongue on that painful spot. His tongue was disgusting, hot and wet, and I realized suddenly, past the rush of adrenaline, that my whole side felt wet. Was I bleeding?

Santo shifted suddenly, and his crotch pressed up hard against my lower back. Even through his rich man’s pants I could feel he was hot and hard. “No,” I said, feeling adrenaline pounding through my veins again. “No, you fucker. Don’t you even fucking dare. I’ll kill you first.” I leapt up again, pain practically forgotten, ready to kill or be killed, ready to tear out Santo’s throat with my teeth if I had to. For one crazy moment I thought I drove him back, because he got up, but then he was picking me up and throwing me hard. I landed on the bed, which softened my fall, at least, but Santo pounced on me a second later, driving the breath out of me. I fought hard anyway, clawing at his eyes, his nose, his throat, trying to kick him or knee him or do anything to stop him. He was immovable, indomitable, and he just kept hitting at me, swiping at me. There was pain everywhere, and the blankets below me were wet and slippery with blood. How was I bleeding? My vision was hazy; my eyes were stinging. It was hard to see in the darkness anyway. I was getting lightheaded from losing blood and breath, but I wasn’t going to give up.

Santo bent forward then and bit me hard in the muscle on my shoulder, right next to my neck. It felt like I was being bitten by a bear or a dog. Not a human. Not even a vamp, who have long teeth but nowhere near this kind of power in their jaws. I cried out, grabbing at Santo’s long hair and pulling hard, moving to reach his eyes so I could shove my thumbs in them. I bucked up, trying to force his weight off of me, but he was too heavy and I was too worn out. I heard a tearing sound distantly, and then suddenly Santo wasn’t biting me anymore. He was sitting up and moving away, and in the process shucking me of my pants, which he must have torn practically down the middle.

I gasped and tried to take the opportunity to get up and off the bed, to launch myself at Santo again, but my muscles weren’t obeying me and my ribs were on fire and I could barely breathe and my head hurt like a son of a bitch. I sat up and was struck by such a wave of vertigo I nearly threw up, and then Santo pounced on me again, making me shout with pain as my head smacked into the bed again.

I heard a tearing sound that must have been Santo’s pants, and then his hands were at my ass, and I wished he’d hit me harder. I wished I’d never had the abilities I did, because if I didn’t surely I would have died by now, and I wouldn’t have to be here for this. And then there was a ripping, stinging pain at my asshole. I tried to whip around, to protect myself, to do anything but lie there and fucking take it. I only managed to flail pathetically before Santo smacked at my face with the flat of his hand. I actually saw stars, which up until then I had thought was only a cliché.

I only dimly felt the head of his cock at my hole, because I was already so disoriented and in so much pain, and he had already done something to my ass to make it burn. But I felt it when he shoved into me. It was like a gut punch, but worse, because anybody could punch you, but this was personal and painful and horrible. I think I pissed myself then, or maybe later as he fucked me, as viciously and messily as he’d beat me. I couldn’t bring myself to stop struggling, to try to ride it out and make it easier on myself. I was too angry and it hurt too much and I couldn’t think straight if I tried. Santo gripped me harder every time I tried to move, and it felt like his fingers were sinking into my flesh, making me burn and bleed. Blood was everywhere and Santo’s breath was hot on my neck, and pain and shame were eating me up inside. He bit me again as he came, at nearly the same spot he had before, and I shrieked again at how much it hurt.

I felt like I was sinking, drowning in pain and exhaustion. When he drew away finally, his movements slower now that he’d raped me, I could barely prop myself up. I was so tired. Then I saw how much blood there was on me, and on the bed, spilling onto the floor, black in the darkness and reeking. I vomited weakly, gasping at the effort.

There was a hiss at that, and I looked blearily at Santo. He was still there, covered in blood himself, his cock still out, his clothes all messed and torn, his hair and eyes wild. “Go away,” I said with all the effort I could muster, thinking crazily that if I just wished it hard enough it would happen. But he was still there, frozen but for his heaving chest. I wanted to get up, to face him, or maybe to run away, or hide, or tell him…

I collapsed on the bed, still reeking of blood and piss and vomit, and knew no more.

88888

I dreamt of Louis.

It was the last time we had seen each other, and he was smiling at me. Louis smiled at me a lot, although I wondered if it wasn’t because he was happy but because he was trying to assure me that he was not a vamp yet.

“They say the Lupos nest is in shreds now that you took out his sister,” Louis said as he handed me a beer. Alcohol had never done anything for me, but it did wash away the gritty taste of the city. I took a long swallow, and watched Louis’ eyes follow the movement of my throat.

“That’s what happens when you let the family get involved.” That was the problem with Louis. He had a cousin who was a vamp, and it made him stupid. He didn’t hate vamps the way he ought to. Hell, I suspected that not a few of the targets he’d given me were to help out his cousin, who was back in France.

“Like you would know,” Louis countered stiffly.

I smirked at that, and started to take another swig of beer. Louis pushed the bottle aside, and I tasted his mouth instead. He was hot and insistent, his tongue pushing on mine. I took hold of his throat and pushed back, and he moaned into my mouth, his hands all over my chest. He was hard. I unzipped his jeans and fisted his cock, letting him thrust into my hand. I ground myself against his hip, enjoying the rising tension.

“Take your fucking clothes off,” said Louis, breaking the kiss. I gripped his dick hard enough to make him squirm before letting go and stripping my shirt off. Louis did the same and then fell to his knees, unzipping my pants himself. He took my cock in his mouth and I tangled my hand in his long hair.

Sex was just a thing we did, because we didn’t like each other enough to do anything else. But damn, his mouth was hot, hot and alive and everything my work was not. He was noisy and lewd about cocksucking and I loved it.

I pulled him off me by his hair, something I knew he hated. “Get on the bed. I want to fuck you.”

“Really?” he asked as he got to his feet. “I thought you just wanted to admire the view.”

It was a nice view. Louis’ ass was made for fucking. I followed him into the bedroom and shoved him onto the bed, feeling him glare at my back as I got the lube from the bedside table. When I turned back he was on his back, shucking his pants. I did the same and then climbed on the bed, knelt between his legs and lubed up a few of my fingers. I took his hot cock in one hand and shoved two fingers into him with the other. He hissed and twitched away slightly, like he always did, but I could feel his cock get even harder in my hand.

“You like it, don’t you?” I asked, scissoring my fingers in his ass and watching him buck his hips.

“Shut up and fuck me, you asshole,” Louis gasped out, his accent getting thicker. I knew he’d be cursing at me in French before we were through.

I obliged him, cursing at the hot tight heat of him as he wrapped his legs around me and grabbed my back, pulling me in deeper. He was panting like a whore and I loved it. I pulled back and thrust in harder, making him shout. His cock, hot and thick between us, was dripping precome on my hip. I stilled. “You want it?”

He looked at me with wide eyes. “What?”

I smiled. “Beg me for it.”

“Fuck you,” he snarled, and started to shove me off, but I was already on top, and stronger than him, and when I gripped his hips and gave another thrust he cursed and thrashed in a different way. “Please,” he begged, first in English and then in French.

I gave it to him hard and fast, and he jerked himself off with the same rhythm. He started cursing, low and dirty, the way he always did before he came. And then he did, face twisted in ecstasy, all his muscles tensed, including the ones on my cock. I cried out and fucked him harder, riding him until I came, staring at him because I couldn’t look away.

I collapsed onto him afterward. He was warm and slick beneath me and his hair smelled good, so I wasn’t inclined to move. He breathed under me for a few minutes before shoving me to the side, and I let him, rolling over to lie next to him. I stretched luxuriously, enjoying the relaxation that always came from a vigorous fuck. Louis got up and cleaned himself off in the bathroom, and then tossed a washcloth at me before leaving the room for his post-fuck cigarette. I wiped myself off and pitched the rag to a corner, settling down on Louis’ bed for the first long stretch of sleep I’d gotten in days. Louis could be an uptight asshole, but damn, working with him had its perks. I settled onto the bed more comfortably and closed my eyes.

88888

There was a whistling, rattling noise, stuttering on its rhythm.

My breath.

I opened my eyes.

It was difficult. I had to blink a few times, although it didn’t make much difference in the darkness. My eyes felt sticky, and I tried to reach up to rub them. My arms were heavy, and moved like they didn’t belong to me. I lifted my hand to my face with difficulty, and only succeeding in batting at my eye a bit. That hurt, so I dropped my hand. I was tired again, so I slept.

It was still dark when I opened my eyes again. Or maybe a day had passed, and it was the night from a different day. The pain was the same. I hurt everywhere, and I was terribly cold. I looked around groggily. The bed was still black, presumably still covered in blood and all the rest. It reeked, although maybe that was just the blood in my nose. It was in my mouth, too, along with that horrible acid taste from vomit.

I felt the distant need to get up, to move away from this somehow, and I tried to move. Pain lanced through me, and I moaned. My throat was raw from screaming.

“Oh, he’s awake!” said someone. I knew that voice. The mirror. My reflection who talked to me with a woman’s voice. Clara. I was facing away from the mirror, and I tried to turn over. I only twitched. The pain was getting worse as I grew more conscious. I listened to my ragged breaths and tried to stay conscious. I needed to deal with this before –

Suddenly his hands were on me, and I flinched before I could stop myself. I groaned with pain, and heard him curse. “Easy now, I’m not going to hurt you.”

I laughed at that, or tried to. It came out as a pained, strangled cough. I groaned again when Santo rolled me over, into his arms, and then lifted me up. I had never been a meathead, but I was no lightweight, either, and yet Santo lifted me up as though I were a baby. I heard the patter sound of my blood dripping to the floor as he carried me. Where were we going?

He took me through a door, and then put me down. I was in some sort of basin, half sitting against the back, and it was cold. I shivered. Then, suddenly, there was bright light all around me. I squinted; even the light hurt me now. I was in a bathtub, I saw. This was the bathroom that had suddenly appeared in my room.

Santo turned back to me. “My word,” he said, as though he couldn’t comprehend what he saw. “It’s worse than I thought.” Which made two of us. I had never seen so much of my own blood, not even when the vamps had jabbed glass into me. It had been black in the darkness but in the harsh light of the bathroom it was a vivid red. If I’d had the strength, I would have vomited again.

I couldn’t help but stare at Santo as he knelt beside the tub. There was no remnant of the monster who had beaten me so thoroughly, who had done that – that awful thing. His face was no longer twisted and terrifying, although he still seemed huge, more alien than ever. He didn’t even have a bruise from when I had fought so viciously to beat him. He reached out to me, and fear shuddered through me, fear I’d never felt for any man or vamp.

He must have turned the faucet on, because suddenly there was cold water on my back. I jerked. The water was freezing. “Shh,” Santo said quietly, “I’m adjusting it.” In a minute the water was much warmer. He tore the tattered remains of my shirt off, shifting me minimally. The pants were long gone, of course. The first decent set of clothes I’d had in forever, and they were ruined in a couple of hours. Perfect.

Santo wet some sort of sponge, big and soft, and started wiping me down. I watched dully as the blood began to wash off me. Santo hadn’t put the plug in the tub, so the water drained quickly, but there were still splashes of red and pink all over the tub. My blood.

I realized, as Santo ran the sponge gently over my body, why it was that I had bled so much. I was covered in long, ugly cuts. My blood had congealed at the wounds: the long gashes at my chest, arms, thighs and stomach. There were ugly holes where he’d held onto me, caked with blood. I could feel more long runs of pain along my back. Dried rivulets ran from the gashes all over my body, blurred messily where I’d passed out on them. And I was covered in bruises, from where he’d thrown me and punched me and pressed on me. I looked like I’d gone ten rounds with a bear.

Santo had clawed me. With claws. He’d had claws.

That realization led to another. I barely believed it, but the proof was scratched into my body, and it was the best guess I had. I turned to Santo slowly – my neck was stiff and achy – and annunciated carefully, “Werewolf?” My voice was raw. I sounded nearly as bad as I had when I had been with Lupos’ crowd for a week.

He looked me in the eye briefly and then turned back to my thigh. “Close. I – Inasmuch as a werewolf is a man who becomes a monster.”

“Moon?” I asked, hoping he’d understand. The moon hadn’t been full the night he attacked me. Waxing gibbous, maybe, but not full. And Santo had not been a wolf. He had been farther from human than he was now, but besides the claws, and his face…

He nodded. “It does not depend on the moon. It’s rather complicated, and – I’d hoped to tell you all this before it happened. The change, the way I look, they’re the price I pay for the things I can do. Every so often I turn into the thing – the thing you saw before, and I kill someone.”

“Kill me?” My voice broke. Would he drown me into the tub when he had washed me? Or stab me with a fork, one last payback? It didn’t matter. I was powerless to stop it. I could barely talk.

“No,” said Santo quietly. “No, I’m not going to kill you. I’m going to help you and in a little while you’ll be better than ever.” He even smiled at me, then, and maybe he meant to reassure me but now it just looked like a parody of his snarl. I looked away from him and tried to sort out what was going on.

“You’re saving lives,” Clara had said. At the time I had thought it had been a reference to my vamp-killing habits, but she must have meant this. Santo turned into a monster and killed people, but he hadn’t killed me. I took a moment to think of all the people who had died like that, shredded and crushed under some inhuman monster, their last sight the ugly yellow eyes of some hideous beast.

But I had lived.

Santo had fixated on my healing powers. He had known I would live, hoped that I would.

And Clara had said “lives.”

Plural.

I was saving lives because I was trapped in this house. Santo wasn’t kicking me out. He was helping me, cleaning me, trying to speed the healing process. Why?

The answer came as though someone whispered it in my ear: because he was going to do this again.

He had me trapped in his house, running in circles around that damned portrait, powerless and unarmed and practically naked, subject to mirrors and drawers and little trays that moved on their own. He was going to keep me here and do this again, hurt me again and again and again.

And I couldn’t stop him. I had fought with everything I had and it had been like nothing to him.

Santo cleaned me thoroughly, shifting me as necessary, but he didn’t talk to me again. There was only the sound of the running water, of Santo rinsing out the sponge, and the hitching, uneven sobs that racked my chest.

Within a Forest Dark, Chapter 2

Fri, 21 Mar 2008 07:51:43 GMT

Title: Within a Forest Dark
Summary: A vampire hunter jumps right out of the frying pan and into the fire.
Warnings: Angst, H/C, M/M, N/C, Torture, Violence

“Handsome, isn’t he?”

Hearing was always the first sense to return. Apparently this was true even in death. If I was dead. I had no idea of where I was or what was around me, but I could hear just fine.

“Indeed. Even before the filth was removed he rivaled Caravaggio’s best.” I knew that voice. That was the not-human. Santo.

“Quite.” The other voice had a trace of an accent that sounded familiar, but I couldn’t place it. “Attractiveness aside, Santo, I would like him dead. I am certain I made that clear in my request.”

So I hadn’t died, then.

“Clear as crystal, Benedict. I assure you I sought him out with those intentions. However, he has proven… interesting.”

“How is that?”

“He was quite lively when I found him, and managed to walk a great distance immediately afterward. I had to give him twice the usual dosage to render him unconscious.”

“But you did ‘render him unconscious.’ And then you didn’t kill him.” I was so close to recognizing that voice.

“I was intrigued. I took the liberty of removing the glass shards that had been implanted in his back. They had clearly been there for days, and some of them were beginning to become embedded, but once removed he made a full recovery. It’s quite remarkable. It has been two days and there are barely any scars.”

I did notice a distinct lack of pain on my back, now that I was paying attention. I was lying on my stomach, on something hard.

“And you would like to use him for your own agenda, I take it. Despite our agreement.”

“Of course not. Well – It’s not only that. I don’t think you understand my point. I spoke with Lupos, the ruler of the little gang he had run afoul of, and he told me they had not given him anything to eat or drink for more than a week.”

“So? They’re exaggerating. You know how the young ones are.”

Feeling was coming back to my hands and feet. My fingers twitched.

“That is always a possibility. So far the evidence has spoken for itself. I think he would be perf—ah, you see, he wakes.”

I was pushing myself up unsteadily, lolling gracelessly. I might have drooled. My muscles felt sleepy, and it was a more difficult task to sit up than I would have liked. I blinked at my blurry vision, and looked down at a mass of tan. My skin, I realized. I was naked. I looked around dazedly. I was sitting on a table, which seemed odd. Waking up in a bed might have been more appropriate. But then, I was surprised to wake up at all.

“Where am I?” I tried to ask. I only managed a groan. Pathetic.

“I’ve had to drug him every twelve hours or so. His resistance to the drug is growing.” There were hands on me, hot and indomitable, manipulating my limbs effortlessly. I tried to protest but could only make wordless noises. Santo, for the hot hands had to be his, only moved my arms and legs about, pushing me to lie back down. I was too weak to protest. “As you can see, he is flawless. Not a scar anywhere, and the skin is almost unnaturally smooth.”

Another pair of hands on me. Cold. Cold like death. I focused with effort on the stranger, seeing black clothes and white, white skin, and dimly realized where I had heard that accent before. It was a much diluted version of the way vamps sounded when they spoke around their fangs. This creature was a vamp.

“Fuck off,” I snarled, or tried to, and gave over all my strength to shoving him away. I hit his chest but succeeded only in pitching over to the side. I would have collapsed completely if Santo had not held me. He put one arm around my chest, trapping my arms to my sides, and one on my neck, holding my head uncomfortably tipped back. I swallowed nervously, even though I knew from painful experience that only excited vamps.

“You may taste him, if it pleases you. The drug certainly won’t affect you.”

A snicker of laughter from the vamp fucker. My hands itched for a knife. “Oh, it pleases greatly.” My drugged vision couldn’t follow his vamp-quick movement, but in the next moment there were teeth at my neck. The sting of fangs, and then the vamp was bleeding me while I writhed helplessly in Santo’s arms, too weak to escape or even kick at him. I groaned, clenching my jaw with rage.

Thankfully, the vamp drew away after only a moment. Blood stained his lips, a blurry gash of red on his pale undead face. He was shaking his head. “I don’t know what that is, Santo, but it’s not human. It’s – if he weren’t so weak…”

“Intoxicating, isn’t he?” Santo let me go at that, his hands running over my back before he moved away. I managed to stay sitting upright on my own this time. Whatever he had doped me with was beginning to lessen. I needed to move.

“Kill him.” I jerked at that. I wanted a weapon: a knife, a stake, a fucking rusty nail if I could just shove it through his icy jugular.

“What?” Santo sounded shocked, and I could see he was starting to become agitated. I forced myself to turn away and begin to move towards the edge of the table. I needed to find a weapon, or a way out. Some clothes would be nice too. “How could you say that now, after what I’ve told you? You said yourself he can’t be human. Don’t you see how he could be perfect? Aren’t you curious?”

“You know as well as I do that going down that road will only lead to trouble. Kill him, Santo, if not for your own sake than for mine, as it was me you to whom you made the promise.”

“Benedict, I –”

“He’s trying to escape again.”

“Damn it.” Those hot hands on me again, and I didn’t like it, but at least they weren’t the vamp’s. I struggled, my limbs flailing, but wasn’t able to stop Santo from sticking the syringe in me. My vision blurred, my muscles relaxing as I collapsed back down on the table.

“Lemme go, you fucking bastards,” I slurred. I slept.

88888

When I woke again it was because there was a knife at my neck. There was no sleepiness this time, no weakness from any drugs. I grabbed at the wrist holding the knife as I opened my eyes, twisting my body away. I was still naked, and still on a table, and hunger was twisting painfully in my belly. But I was ready. My neck felt wet, and I checked it for blood. Instead my hand came back covering in soft, white… shaving cream?

I looked at Santo, who was holding the razor. He smiled. To my practiced eye his white teeth seemed unnaturally sharp, although not enough to make him a vamp. “I thought this might wake you. Hold still, now.” He reached for me with his other hand.

I tightened my grip on the wrist of the hand that held the razor, hunting for weak points. He didn’t seem to have any. Was I that weak? Maybe it was the lack of food. “Don’t touch me.”

“Don’t be difficult, Bello. I just want to shave you.”

“Like hell you—” I paled. “I never told you my name.” At least I thought I hadn’t. My memories of my time being drugged out were hazy, but surely I would remember if I was conscious enough to tell him my name.

He smiled unapologetically. “There are a lot of things I know about you that you haven’t told me. Now tilt your head back.” I planned to do no such thing, but he reached out faster than I could follow and tangled his fingers in my hair. I twisted and kicked, trying to pull his hands away, but he was strong and had a good grip on me. He used the hand tangled in my hair to knock my head against the table, and not gently. “Hold still for a moment,” he snapped, his patient tone suddenly demanding. “I’m doing you a favor.”

“I can shave myself.” Mysterious monster freak or not, I refused to be cowed.

“Yes, you seem to be a creature of many talents.” For some reason it was jarring to hear dry sarcasm from such a big, alien creature, and I paused. I didn’t trust him as far as I could throw him, but decided to give him the upper hand for the moment, since I was still naked and alone, and owed my life to him. He hadn’t hurt me yet, besides the drugging, and he had taken the glass out from my back. I made myself keep still as he drew an unnecessarily large razor over the skin of my neck and chin, meticulously shaving off eight days of growth. More than eight days, I realized, judging by my hunger. “How long have I been asleep?”

“Quite some time. I imagine you must have been very tired after your ordeal.” My eyes narrowed as I noticed both the vagueness and the lie. My memories of what had happened right before I’d passed out were hazy, as well as that conversation between him and the vamp, but I distinctly remembered the syringe. “Very tired,” my ass.

Santo was surprisingly dexterous, considering how big he was. I took the opportunity to take better stock of him, now that I was more conscious and less in pain. He wasn’t quite as big as I’d originally thought. He stood perhaps half a head taller than me, although he was broader. He was also, I noticed, not ugly, but not exactly handsome, either. His features were clear and even, but they were unnatural. His eyes were too big, his brow too heavy, his jaw too strong. Anyone who saw him in daylight would move away from him. He was out of place in the room, which was the picture of dusty upper-crust elegance. Marble floors, useless furniture, fancy paintings, the works. He was far too bestial to fit in, with his dark features and great big eyes and limbs ropey with muscle under his fancy clothing. Which reminded me: “Where are my clothes?”

Santo scowled as my speaking made him nick my jaw. I found that funny, since I never cared. It healed over in the next second anyway. “I destroyed the ones I found you in. They were filthy. I may get you new ones later, although it would be a shame to cover up such a flawless body.”

It was my turn to scowl. “I don’t want your clothes. I want mine.”

“We can’t always get what we want,” Santo said with extremely irritating serenity. He finished shaving me and let go of my hair. I sat up. Santo took a small towel and started to wipe off the excess shaving cream, but I grabbed it from him. “I can do it.”

He smiled patronizingly and walked to an elegant table at the side of the room where poured himself a glass of wine from. The wine smelled good. I wasn’t all that thirsty, but my stomach clenched painfully at the smell of something edible.

“So who are you?” I asked as I wiped myself off, ignoring the hunger pangs. It felt odd conducting a conversation like this while I was naked, but I suppose I’ve been in more awkward situations.

“God, as far as you’re concerned,” said Santo, and his tone made me pause.

“Ah, well, hate to break it to you, but I’m an atheist.” I finished taking off the excess shaving cream, and considered what to do with the towel. It was too small to prove anything more than measly coverage, and had shaving cream on it besides. I put it on the table and got up. The marble floor was cold beneath my bare feet. There were three doors in the room, and I headed for the closest one. I didn’t like turning my back on Santo; I could feel his eyes boring into my spine.

“Where are you trying to go?” he asked, and a peripheral glance told me he was lounging in an overstuffed armchair, drinking wine and generally looking like a reclusive wealthy lunatic. This whole thing was too surreal.

“I thought that would be obvious,” I snapped as I tried the door and found it locked. It was solid, made of heavy wood, and I knew kicking it down would be difficult, if possible at all. I moved on to the second door, on the opposite side of the room. The third was the one nearest Santo, and I didn’t want to get anywhere near that creep without a weapon and some clothes. Life saver or no, he was another goddamn problem for me to deal with, and I didn’t want to. I had enough monsters and mysteries in my life as it was. I didn’t need this shit. I tried the second door.

“Oh, then please continue. I do so enjoy the view.” I heard the smirk in his voice, and punched the door hard. It made pain shoot up through my hand, but I didn’t care. I turned for the third door, doing one last scan of the room for weapons. Nothing except the wine bottle on the side table, and I was wary of handling glass at the moment. I straightened and made for the door, trying to ignore Santo while still keeping him in sight.

He sipped his wine. “Saving the best for last?”

I wouldn’t let him bait me, at least not until I was armed. The door was unlocked. I opened it cautiously and found a darkened hallway, as ritzy as the room had been. I was halfway in shadow before Santo grabbed my arm, pulling me off balance. I moved with it, almost relieved to have a reason to attack. I socked him right under the chin, and his head snapped back as he staggered back a few steps. I nearly launched myself at him, but I was in no shape for a fight. I was no longer barely conscious and covered in wounds, but I was still naked, unarmed, and starving. I bolted for the hallway.

Being a vamp killer means sometimes you often got yourself into situations that were awkward, uncomfortable, strange, unsanitary, or just plain fucked up. Pelting naked in the mansion of an oversized monster was a new one, but I could handle it. I just needed to keep my wits about me. I couldn’t hear Santo behind me, but that didn’t mean he was still in the room I’d left. I just needed to avoid him and find somewhere to reconnoiter.

The hallway was like the yawning mouth of a beast, dark and intimidating. The top of the towering hall was dark enough that I expected bats to come screeching down at me any moment. There were lamps along the walls, but they only lit up as I walked by, and the darkness beyond refused to be scrutinized. Creepy portraits of stuffy old people stared down at me as I walked by. I tried not to look at them, but my peripheral vision kept giving me visions of a hawk-nosed dame in a red dress. Why the hell would anyone want to paint so many damn pictures of her?

Another portrait of the lady. And another, and another.

No, wait.

I stopped, checking that no one was following me, or waiting to attack me, and gave the portrait a good look. No. That was impossible. I walked a bit further, and stared at the next portrait. Same damn lady. Same goddamn fucking portrait.

I walked back in the other direction. It was towards Santo, as far as I knew, but I didn’t give a fuck anymore. If Santo didn’t want to play ball then I would make him. I didn’t care anymore that I was naked and starved. I needed to know what the fuck was going on.

Another portrait. Same damn portrait. I wanted to tear the canvas to shreds. This was insane. I was insane. I needed to get out of here.

There was a door in the shadows near the portrait. I approached it cautiously. It didn’t look like the same door I had left, but I couldn’t be sure. Fuck it. It had to be better than patrolling the same ten feet of an empty hallway over and over. I opened the door.

It wasn’t the room I had been in before. I did a quick sweep before I stepped in. The only light came from a small lamp by the bed, but it was enough for me. Santo wasn’t here, nor anyone else, as far as I could tell. I took stock of the room. It was a bedroom. The giant bed took up about a quarter of a room.

I really hoped this wasn’t Santo’s room.

There was a big armoire near the bed. I opened one of the drawers near the bottom, hoping for something relatively near my size and maybe a clue as to who’s room this way.

Inside the drawer were several pairs of jeans, neatly folded. This house hadn’t struck me as a jeans sort of place. Santo had worn snazzy button downs and dress pants both times I saw him. I put the jeans on. They fit perfectly, and that was even weirder than finding them in the first place. Whatever. I was too grateful to be covered to care. I opened another drawer, and found a neat pile of shirts. I took the one on top, a black one, and slipped it on. It fit better than most of my clothes back home.

Having clothes again took away a weight I didn’t realize I was carrying. I was still alone and unarmed in the house of a freak, abandoned by everybody I thought I could trust, but at least I wasn’t at the mercy of the slightest breeze. I took a deep breath and considered what to do.

Huge, heavy curtains covered the wall opposite the door. I walked over and shoved one to the side. The glass panes of the window were thick but clear, and beyond them I could see only night. I pushed the other curtain over and looked for a latch. Nothing. Maybe there was something in the room I could break the glass with. I would be happy with anything that wasn’t my elbow.

I turned around, and jumped when I saw Santo standing by the door. How the hell had he entered the room without me noticing? No matter how silently he moved, I should have heard the door opening, at least. Had he been in the room the whole time? “How did you do that?” I blurted out. “And what the hell is wrong with your house?”

“A pity you had to cover up all that perfect skin,” said Santo, his yellow eyes practically glowing in the dim light of the room. “But there’s something to be said for anticipation, too.”

“Look, you fucking – just – just tell me what’s going on,” I said, not knowing if I wanted to hear the answer. “What is this place? Why am I here? What the fucking fuck *are* you?”

Santo stalked closer, his dark features heavy with shadow. I didn’t even realize I was backing away until my back hit the glass. He stopped right in front of me. His breath was hot on my face but I felt frozen, my every muscle tensed, waiting. But he did nothing, and said nothing, and I punched him again, right in the face. It felt fantastic. I launched myself at him, not caring that I had only my fists and anger against him, pushing him down onto the bed and laying into him. I was practically blind with the need to hurt him.

It was a mean fight, but a quick one. He was bigger and heavier and faster than me, and there was still the fact that I was unarmed and getting fainter with hunger by the minute. All too soon I was bent over the bed, my arm hiked up my back high enough to make me wince and pause a bit. Broken limbs were the pits.

“That’s enough,” Santo said low, pulling my arm a bit for emphasis. I nodded quickly. “Okay. Just let me go.”

He released my arm, but then he said, “I can’t do that, I’m afraid.”

I sat up and rubbed at my wrist where he had gripped me. “Who said you had a choice?”

He smiled, although in the darkness it just looked like he was baring his teeth. “None of us have choices, Bello.” He stood, looming over me as I sat on the bed. I didn’t look at him, even though I could feel his eyes on me. I was trapped.

“Are you hungry?” he asked after a moment, in a tone so kind I almost punched him again. “I’m between meals at the moment but I’m sure the kitchen could fix you something.”

“Like hell I’m going to—” I paused. I really was hungry, and if there were servants in the kitchen maybe one of them would explain what was going on.

“I’d be happy to answer a few of your questions,” said Santo, as though reading my mind.

I narrowed my eyes at him, searching his face. It was obvious he wasn’t trustworthy, and even if he was I wasn’t going to trust him anyway, because Louis and Collins had taught me very well about that, thank you very fucking much. But he did seem genuine at the moment, and a moment was all I would need. And he still hadn’t hurt me. “Okay.”

He smiled. “Right this way.”

He led me out into the hallway again, and I followed with trepidation, but there was nothing freaky about it this time. Now it was only dark and creepy, the shadows eating at Santo’s limbs as though trying to pull him into the darkness. There was no sound but the click of his boots on the marble and the softer sounds of my bare feet.

“Why is this place so dark?” I asked, wanting to break the silence.

Santo looked back at me and frowned, as though noticing for the first time how far back I was hanging. “Does it not suit you?”

I shrugged. “You seem pretty well off. Can’t you afford lights?”

He gave a breath of laughter, and in the next moment was walking beside me. I jumped, and then kicked myself for acting like a damn girl. “How do you do that?”

“What, walk? Years of practice.”

“No, how do you move so quickly? Even the vamps can’t go that fast.”

“Ah, well, I think you’ll find I can do a lot of things your undead friends cannot.”

I opened my mouth to say a bunch of things, like that I was *not* friends with the vamps, or that he was doing a bang up job of answering my questions, but thought better of it. Instead I said, “Like what?”

He arched an eyebrow at me. “You’ll see.”

I stopped. “You said you’d answer my questions.”

“I said I’d be happy to answer a few of them. You musn’t stop now, however, as we are right next to the dining room.” He opened a door on the right and held it for me, and I entered reluctantly, unhappy to have him at my back.

The room was dominated by a long, elegant dining table. Shining chandeliers lit up its length, highlighting its every panel and giving a soft glow to the rest of the room. The darkness that had been in the hall and the bedroom was here too, but in lesser measures. It stayed in the corners, lurking.

“Do you get company a lot?” I asked, eyeing the extravagant table.

“No. I have dined alone for quite some time.” I followed Santo to the far corner. He took the head of the table, and I settled for the right side. I thought about taking the other end, just to spite him, but he had promised me answers, and a momentary jab at him wasn’t worth losing them.

“There aren’t other… people like you?” I tried to think of a way to get information out of this creature that didn’t involve torture. I was used to conducting interrogations when I wanted answers. Santo seemed to require finesse.

I hated finesse.

“There are, but not in the sense you’re thinking of,” Santo replied, which was still vague as answers went, but I seemed to be getting somewhere. I was considering what to ask next, and when a servant would show up about dinner, when I heard the tinny sound of wheels rolling. I turned my head, and saw a covered tray on a stand roll out of the darkness. I wondered at first if someone standing in the impenetrable dark had simply pushed it towards us, but then it turned to correct its path towards us, and turned again when it reached us, as though presenting itself with a flourish.

“Remote control?” I asked, eyeing the tray for wire or some sort of contraption.

Santo smiled. “A good guess, but no.” I was about to question him further, but then he removed the cover from the tray, and steam wafted up from two huge bowls of pasta. I had no idea what sort of sauce or ingredients were in it, but it smelled better than anything. I practically drooled. Santo handed me my plate and I barely waited for him to take his own before I dug in.

“Shrimp scampi,” Santo said as he took two glasses of water from the tray and set them down. The tray wandered back into the darkness on its creaky wheels. “Very simple fare, but I wasn’t sure how your stomach would be after your ordeal.”

“It’s very good,” I said. I was reluctant to give compliments, but the food was fantastic. Santo called it simple, but it was better than anything I’d had in a long, long time.

“Yes, I can see that your appetite is quite healthy,” said Santo, and he actually sounded genuinely pleased. He didn’t touch his own food, I noticed, and I paused in my frantic food-shoveling, even though it took effort to do so. “Not to your taste?” I asked warily.

“On the contrary. It used to be one of my favorite dishes, but my eating habits have changed over time. I do not eat in front of others. I assure you the dish is not poisoned, however.”

Like that was reassuring at all. But poison had never been a big concern of mine, and if Santo had wanted to poison me, he had had plenty of other opportunities to do so. I continued eating, and Santo continued watching me, his eyes flicking back from the bowl to my face.

“So are you friends with the vamps?” I asked eventually, after the pasta was mostly finished.

“Not quite. We have little in common, but the older ones prove useful from time to time, and at any rate difficult to ignore. I remain on friendly terms with a few.”

“Does that include Benedict?”

“Ah, I wondered how much of that you heard. Benedict is not one whom I would call a friend, but he’s certainly one of the oldest. You did poorly to cross him, I might add. He was quite fond of Hans.”

I shrugged. “Not my problem.”

“I beg to differ. That’s the reason you’re in this mess.”

“How do you figure that?”

“Before you killed Hans you were just another irritating human. The older set has never cared for the young ones, and wouldn’t have bothered you. Hans was young, but he was Benedict’s favorite, and now Benedict considers it an insult that you’re still alive.”

“But you beg to differ?” I was dying to ask about the “older set” Santo had mentioned, but there was an opportunity here I couldn’t afford to waste.

“I think it would be a terrible shame to kill you.”

“Then we agree,” I said. “Clearly we have a lot in common.” Santo had already saved my life, and had defended me against Benedict, even though Benedict clearly wanted me dead. If I played my cards right, Santo could be an incredible ally, even if I hated his house and his eyes and his irritating tendency to speak around a question. I didn’t like Santo, but desperate times and all that crap.

“Not as much as we will soon, I think,” said Santo, his eyes fixed somewhere around my mouth.

“How do you figure that?” I asked, trying to get eye contact with him again.

He looked at me and his eyes were half-lidded. “You are so beautiful, to have such marvelous gifts.”

I floundered to think of something flippant to say to that, but nothing came. I arched an eyebrow instead.

“Do people realize that you heal as you do?”

“People see what they want to see,” I said as coolly as I could manage. I had never tried hard to hide that particular trick of mine, and Santo had seen too much for me to bother trying. I was half ghost to most of my contacts anyway, and my reputation included enough exaggerations that I knew anyone who tried to talk about my healing abilities would be dismissed. The only ones who had really noticed had been Collins, who had been too devoted to neutrality to say anything, and Louis, who had too many secrets of his own to go prying into mine. I had never talked about it with anyone, and no one had ever asked. “Do people notice that you’re not human?”

“Oh, yes. You see, I have a few talents of my own, but I have paid heavily for them. As have Benedict and his kind. There are prices that must be paid for power.”

“And what price is that?” I asked, sensing that Santo, for all he liked to speak in riddles, was working up to a point.

“Suffering,” Santo said flatly.

I blinked. “Benedict made you suffer?” Maybe this conversation was going back to where I wanted.

Santo snorted. “Benedict? Benedict is only an irritation, and at the moment has done more to help me than he realizes.”

“I don’t follow you.” But I was remembering the conversation I had heard earlier, and I was starting to get the picture. I gripped my fork, the only pathetic weapon I had at my disposal, tightly.

Santo saw my white knuckled grip on the utensil. “I think you do. But let me clarify. You have marvelous power. More, I’d wager, than I’ve discovered so far, and far more than any of your acquaintances ever guessed. But you’ve never suffered because of it.”

Anger made my face flush hot and my jaw clench. “That’s a matter of opinion, asshole,” I said tightly.

Santo smiled gently. “Oh, I’m sure you’ve had your scuffles here and there. You hunter types do like to have your tales of woe. But I promise you this, Bello: what pain you’ve known in the past will be nothing compared to the kind you will know here.”

I flung the fork, still covered in bits of pasta sauce, directly into Santo’s right eye, and took off running.

Dreaded Creatures Glide, Chapter 4

Sat, 15 Mar 2008 09:18:13 GMT

This chapter is a bit short, but the next one should be very plotty. Enjoy!

Title: Dreaded Creatures Glide
Summary: A captured merman explores the human world
Warnings: M/M, Violence, Abuse, Non-Con

The sea has never been friendly to man. At most it has been the accomplice of human restlessness. -- Joseph Conrad

Prince Charles IV, heir to the throne of Tierney, kicked a pebble along the pure white marble, enjoying the sound as it skittered across the stones and then plopped into the water. It was the only sound around, with the exception of a few buzzing dragonflies and the noise of Ginger grazing. There were no twittering servants or irritating councilors or general fawning idiots. He was alone. Finally.

Uncle Horace had told his father not to put any guards around the merman’s pool, and at the time Charles had thought the idea laughable. Guards were there to *guard* -- what use were they if they could not be used just because the task was dangerous? But now, as he stood in the sunlight, enjoying a bit of time for himself, he thought it was a perfect idea. It was peaceful here, as long as he stayed away from the merman’s pool, and there was no one to bother him or tell him what to do. Better yet, now that he had lost his escort, no one would think to look for him here for some time. It had been months since Uncle Horace had given him the thing, after all, and he had yet to come look at it for himself.

Charles had been there when the merman had been brought in, of course. He remembered when the canvas had been thrown off of the cage, revealing the magnificent blue hair of the creature. Charles had been surprised despite himself. He had seen all manner of strange creatures in his life – his childhood pet had been an elephant – but the merman still came as a shock. It had seemed more human than any animal he had ever seen, except for that blue hair.

And then the merman had leapt out of the cage entirely, revealing for certain that it was anything but human. Charles remembered the way its scales had sparkled as it had flown through the air. It had been so much bigger than Charles had anticipated, so much faster and stronger, able to launch itself out of the cage seemingly without effort. Charles had thanked his uncle and had decided not to come back.

Now that he was here, however, Charles was determined to stay. He’d chosen the merman’s pool because he knew it would be abandoned at this time of day. But now he wanted to prove to himself – had to prove to himself – that the merman would not hurt him. He was the crown prince. If such a low beast as an elephant could recognize his lordship, then surely a merman could.

“I’m not afraid of you,” Charles said to the pool, knowing that the merman was lurking in it somewhere. He made himself start to approach the edge, just to demonstrate that it was true.

And then the little pebble he had kicked into the pool bounced back up.

Charles stared. The merman was there, right *there*, beyond the overhanging rocks. He couldn’t see the creature. He couldn’t even hear him. There were none of the unholy cries that he’d heard about in tales as a boy, or even a splash of water. Just that pebble.

It was too late to turn back now. A prince must have some dignity, after all. And there was something about the merman, a sense of lurking challenge, that made Charles walk closer, even as he wished for a sword or a guard. He felt as though he were being pulled, as though the merman could be a siren even without song. He reached one of the flat rocks that hung over the deep end of the pool and looked tremulously over the edge.

It stared up at him with eyes only barely above the water. Its strange blue braids fanned out about it, floating in the water in horrible tendrils. It was so frighteningly still, like a ghost or a creature from dreams. His heart thumping in his chest, Charles held his head as high as he could while still looking down at the merman and told himself that the heat in his veins was anger and not fear. “I am Prince Charles IV, son of King Edmund, heir to the throne of Tierney.”

It stared back defiantly, and Charles felt less sure about the merfolk’s respect for royalty. “Do you… have a name?” he asked, with far less princely surety than he would have liked.

It cocked its head at him, and as its hair fell to the side and Charles saw its face in detail for the first time, he realized with a shock that the merman was perfectly, breathtakingly beautiful. His features were strong and statuesque, surprisingly classical on such an exotic creature. Charles stared in wonder.

“You’re – you’re not like I thought you’d be,” he stuttered, feeling stupid. The creature was bewitching.

The merman spoke then, a shrieking sort of noise that sounded like a curse. Charles felt fear race down his spine. All the tales he had heard as a boy came rushing back: how the merfolk haunted the shores of Allenor, circling like sharks, and the way they always preceded their kills with haunting, fearsome cries. He felt trapped, panicked, and yet unable to move, even though his every muscle was tense with the urge to flee. But he could not, could *not*, he could barely breathe as that horrible thing stared at him, its flat eyes unblinking as it spoke its devilish tongue.

And then it was gone.

Charles gasped, feeling as though he had been drowning. The merman had barely left a splash. He scanned the pool frantically, looking for a glimmer of scales. He found it, and realized the merman was heading right back for him, and abandoning every pretense of princely dignity Charles turned and ran.

He had made about ten strides when he heard a splash and a wet, smacking sounded. Charles stopped, frozen, but there was nothing more. The merman had leapt out of the water, he was sure of it. The image came to him of the merman crawling forward on his hands and elbows, awkward but efficient like an alligator on land, those horrible teeth bared and those fierce eyes narrowed as he closed in on his prey.

Charles turned quickly, nearly overcompensating in his rush. The merman was not, as he had feared, snapping at his heels, but lay on the rock Charles had been standing on moments before. It was impressive even out of the water, but did not look overtly threatening. It looked, if Charles were to judge an animal by human standards, inviting. It held something in its hands, Charles noticed, and in the next moment threw it at him.

Charles caught the thing by reflex just before it hit his face, and then examined it as he held it. It was a ball, he realized, although a rather poor one, fashioned mostly with cork and tweed. Nothing a prince would ever be expected to hold. Charles looked back at the merman, which was holding its hands out in a clear invitation. “You want me to throw it?” Charles asked.

The merman made an encouraging motion with its head and chirped a bit. Charles tossed the ball. He felt removed from the situation, as though it could not possibly be him who was doing this, who was playing a *game* with a *merman*. The merman caught the ball easily, and bared its teeth widely before rolling back into the water.

It had smiled at him, Charles realized with a shock, before the ball came flying back up at him. It was wet, and a few salty drops of water flew up in his face as the ball smacked into his hand. He wiped his face and walked towards the pool. The merman had backed away from the rocks somewhat, and floated with half of its chest out of the water, as unearthly as it had been before. As it saw Charles it lifted its hands out of the water, clearly waiting for the ball. Still feeling confused, as though his actions were not his own, Charles tossed it. The merman caught it, before arching backwards into the water and backing farther away from him. It was even more graceful than the seals Charles had seen perform at his thirteenth birthday, curling and arching in the water with careless ease. It surfaced and threw the ball again, and Charles caught it.

Charles had not played any game so mundane since he had left the nursery, and even then every game had been fraught with lessons about winning and losing and the proper behavior of a prince. This creature, on the other hand, clearly did not care a wink that one day Charles would be ruler of all he saw. In fact he seemed to delight in making Charles run for the ball in a most unseemly way, darting back and forth in the pool so Charles never knew where the ball might go. Charles surprised himself by not caring, by abandoning himself to the simple pleasure of watching the merman leap about in the water and smile at him in his freakish way when he caught the ball. It was only when the sun began to set that Charles realized how much time had passed, how tired he was. He stopped, the ball in his hand.

“I have to go,” he explained, hoping the merman would understand somehow.

The merman did seem to realize that Charles did not want to play anymore, for he cocked his head again and stared up at Charles. Charles was not so frightened this time.

“Everyone in the castle is probably looking for me. I’ve been gone for hours and I’m sure my father will have practically declared a national crisis.” The merman swam to the edge again, at the shallow edge where Charles was standing, and stared up at him, his brow furrowed and his lips pursed. Charles realized that the merman was pouting, and he smiled as he called Ginger to him. His mare pricked her ears and started to amble over, clearly reticent to leave the grass. Charles tossed the ball to the merman started to approach his horse, when the sharp sound of the merman’s speech stopped him. He turned back, and saw that the merman was staring past him, at his horse. He looked back at Charles and spoke a bit, pointing at the horse.

Charles shifted his weight a bit, thinking. The merman had been not at all violent so far, but he did not know if the merman’s courtesy extended to horses. Perhaps the merman wanted a meal. He dithered, trying to decide if he was willing to risk it, when Ginger walked right past him and thrust her nose into the merman’s face, sniffing loudly.

The merman backed up a bit, alarmed, and Charles rushed forward to pull his horse away before he saw that the merman was not baring his teeth or making any threatening noises. Instead he was reaching out to Ginger’s face, surprisingly tentative for a creature said to kill without mercy. Ginger certainly didn’t seem afraid, smacking her lips over his fingers and butting at his face. The merman smiled and touched her face a bit, running his fingers along the long bones of her face and the muscles of her jaw. He pressed down on the soft skin of her nose, something Charles often did himself, and Ginger did a horse’s laugh, tossing her head and showing her teeth. The merman jerked back, and stared at Ginger with wide eyes as she turned to Charles and began to nose her way around his clothes, looking shamelessly for a treat. Charles laughed and swung up onto her saddle. The merman was still frozen, staring at the horse. “Goodbye,” Charles said, and the merman’s gaze flicked up at him, startled. But then he waved and said something Charles could only assume was a merfolk farewell. He waved in return and turned Ginger towards the castle.

He met the servants as far from the merman’s pool as he could manage, and told them only that he had felt like a ride across the grounds. He made no mention of the pool, and certainly did not say he had been playing catch with a merman. It was only later, after his servants had fussed over him and his tutors had been cross and his father had looked at him with his usual mix of irritation and frustration, that Charles wondered how, exactly, the merman had gotten hold of a ball.

88888

Far Seer twirled impatiently in the water as he waited for Kee-Kee to arrive. Life in captivity had become remarkably more interesting since he had moved to the new pool, and he was no longer tortured with boredom and apathy, but he still hated having to wait for his amusement to come to him. Far Seer had made a life out of exploration, and there was little he found more frustrating than being unable to seek out what he wanted.

At last his sensitive ears picked up the unmistakable sound of Kee-Kee crashing through the trees. Far Seer wondered what it was like to be in the midst of trees, if they were anything like kelp or some other ocean plant. Plants on land seemed to be so impossibly big.

Kee-Kee came into view and approached the shallow end, where he and Far Seer had met every time after the first. Far Seer was more than able to leap onto the higher rocks of the deeper end, but the landing was always awkward and difficult. Kee-Kee had apparently noticed, and had politely taken to going to the shallow end, where he could sit on smooth sand and Far Seer could lie near him, half in the water and half out. Sometimes they spent their time just like that, next to each other in the afternoon sun, close but not touching. Far Seer had been very careful about touching his human ever since that awkward first day that had sent Kee-Kee running away. Kee-Kee had returned a few days later, apparently not angry, and Far Seer tried to show his gratitude by doing as little as possible to upset him. Touching Kee-Kee had been exhilarating, but speaking to him was more than enough.

“Hello, Kee-Kee” he said, and Kee-Kee replied with the human word for “hello.” Far Seer had tried to mimic it once or twice, just to show that he understood. Kee-Kee had tried Far Seer’s version of the greeting, and they had laughed at each other’s renditions. Language was at once the biggest barrier between them and the greatest source of entertainment.

“I met another human the other day,” Far Seer said proudly. Kee-Kee stared back at him attentively, listening even if he didn’t understand. Kee-Kee was always very patient about listening to him, and Far Seer was grateful. He would have gone mad without someone to talk to, even if his audience couldn’t understand. Kee-Kee often spoke to him, as well, and Far Seer liked that, too. Humans could be very nice to listen to, their voices as low as whales but with much more speed and variety. It was interesting.

“It was another male, a bit bigger than you. He had very shiny hair, like the color of dry sand but prettier. It was curly, too. Humans have such interesting hair. And he had blue eyes, although obviously they weren’t like mine. That was kind of strange, seeing human eyes that were blue. Anyway, he was a bit stupid, I think, because he moved rather slowly and it took him a long time to realize how to play with the ball.”

“Ball?” Kee-Kee repeated, clearly recognizing the word. “Ball” was part of their slowly growing vocabulary.

Far Seer nodded, cupping his hands to make their little sign for “ball,” and continued: “He got it eventually, though, and it was fun to play. I’m glad I didn’t kill him. I was going to, at first, especially since he kicked rocks at my pool, but then I thought you might not like it. I wouldn’t want to kill a friend of yours accidentally. I’ve decided not to kill humans unless I have to, because of that. Except anyone who hurts you, of course.” Ever since the frightening moment in the strange moving pool, when he had been terrified that he would never see Kee-Kee again because he had killed one of his friends, Far Seer had been wary about killing humans. His meeting with the blue eyed human had given him the first chance to test himself, and he had found it surprisingly easy to get along with him.

“Oh, and I met a horse. It was much bigger than I expected. They look very strange, horses. Humans look a little like us, at least, but horses are just strange. And they smell funny, and make weird noises. They have nice eyes, though, and soft noses, and it was very friendly. It was fun. I wish I could see more land animals.”

He looked at Kee-Kee, and Kee-Kee smiled in a friendly way. Far Seer sketched a horse in the wet sand. As drawings went it was a little pathetic, but he had not done such things since he was a pup, playing on the beach with his friends. “Horse,” he said. It felt strange, teaching a human about horses, if only their name. By all rights Kee-Kee ought to be teaching him. Far Seer wondered if Kee-Kee saw horses often. Perhaps he even rode them!

Kee-Kee stared at the picture. “Horse,” he repeated in a pretty passable accent. His human voice had nothing of the merfolk range, but in the weeks they had been speaking each had improved at the other’s language. Kee-Kee gave the human word for “horse,” and it sounded like a cough or the bark of a seal. Far Seer imitated it. There were some sounds the humans could pronounce that he knew his tongue could not manage, but he had become adept at recognizing them, at least.

Kee-Kee grinned at his attempt, and then made a noise like the horse had, shaking his head and pawing the ground with his hands. Far Seer laughed at that, clapping his hands and nodding to show that Kee-Kee had gotten it exactly.

They played with words for a while. Far Seer loved learning new things, and had always had a strong memory. He also had nothing better to do than learn and practice. Kee-Kee seemed to have a similar gift for language. His pronunciation was as poor as Far Seer’s, but he had a very quick mind and was adept at illustrating the words. They communicated simple concepts well enough, and had fun discovering the other’s term for something. Far Seer’s favorite word so far was “pebble.” It made him giggle every time.

Kee-Kee suggested they play with the ball, and Far Seer happily agreed. Kee-Kee, unlike the other human he had met, was very good at playing with the ball. He jumped and twirled and did all sorts of interesting human things to get it, and when Far Seer clapped and cheered he smiled and blushed, which Far Seer liked even more. When Kee-Kee threw the ball for him, Far Seer tried to leap about as much as he could, making sure his shining scales were portrayed in the most flattering light. It was a hot day, filled with sunshine, and he knew his scales glistened in it.

After they had played a while, Kee-Kee stopped suddenly, ball in hand. He looked confused, shifting his weight from side to side in a way Far Seer had come to realize meant he was upset about something. “What?” he asked, another word they both knew.

“Hot,” replied Kee-Kee, a human word Far Seer recognized.

“Water?” he suggested in his own language. Humans drank water, apparently, although not the kind he was used to. Kee-Kee brought it with him in a little container of animal skins sometimes, and had offered it to Far Seer once. It had tasted sweet, although a little strange. Far Seer only got his water from the fish he ate.

Kee-Kee shook his head, and shifted his weight some more. “Water?” he asked, and pointed at Far Seer’s right.

Far Seer looked to the right and saw nothing except a few small fish. He snatched one up and offered it to Kee-Kee. “Fish?”

“No,” said Kee-Kee, starting to look frustrated. “Water.”

Far Seer frowned. Humans didn’t drink sea water. Kee-Kee couldn’t want the water to drink. Unless he meant… “You want to come in?” he asked, and waved a bit at the water in front of him, unsure how to show that with gestures. Kee-Kee frowned, clearly confused, and Far Seer waved him over to the shallow end of the pool. Kee-Kee followed, and when they were both at the sand Far Seer held out his hand, curling one finger as an invitation. “Come in!”

Kee-Kee grinned, and said something incomprehensible, before he stripped off his shirt. And then his pants as well! Far Seer practically twirled with excitement at getting to see human legs again. How strange they were, more so now in the light.

Kee-Kee took off his clothes easily enough waded into the water, but was tentative in taking Far Seer’s hand. Far Seer tried not to pull, although he was desperately happy about having Kee-Kee in his pool, close enough to touch and all for him to see. He led Kee-Kee in gently, and didn’t try to hold on as Kee-Kee finally dove into the water, coming up for air a second later and shaking his exotic brown hair.

Far Seer had never seen a human swim before, and Kee-Kee did not seem adept at it. He mostly flailed his limbs, and used his arms a great deal. Far Seer marveled at how difficult it must be to swim without a tail. “Help?” he asked, offering his hands.

Kee-Kee seemed hesitant for a moment, before nodding and taking tentative hold of Far Seer’s arms. His skin seemed so soft compared to Far Seer’s own, and Far Seer could see that there were little hairs on his forearms, lighter than the hair on his head. He wondered if all humans had that, or just Kee-Kee. Everything about Kee-Kee was so fascinating.

Kee-Kee was long for a human, but not particularly broad, and Far Seer did not have trouble supporting his weight. He led Kee-Kee around the pool slowly, careful not to kick him with his tail. Human flesh seemed to bruise so easily. He offered to take Kee-Kee into his cave, but Kee-Kee shook his head emphatically and lost a bit of color, and Far Seer led him away quickly. After a bit Kee-Kee seemed to grow more comfortable with the water, and let go of Far Seer, splashing and paddling about on his own while Far Seer did circles about him, trying to see his beautiful human body from every angle. Then Kee-Kee ran his hand along his scales as he passed by, and Far Seer froze as his heart jumped to his throat. He wished more than ever that he could speak with Kee-Kee freely, even though for the life of him he knew not what to say.

Suddenly Kee-Kee splashed him, and Far Seer sputtered. He was almost angry, but Kee-Kee was laughing at him, and so Far Seer laughed too, and splashed him back. It quickly descended into the kind of fight Far Seer had not had since he was a pup, playing on the beach of his homeland. He kept getting water in his mouth because he was laughing, and he kept missing Kee-Kee even though he could not stop staring at him, and he realized in the middle of it that he was happy. Even if he was trapped in a human cage and not in the open sea he longed for, he was more happy than he had been in a long time. He had been lonely even when he was free, he realized.

He felt that loneliness clench him again when Kee-Kee had to leave. Far Seer watched him put on his clothes said goodbye with a forced smile, and stubbornly did not cry after him. Kee-Kee had returned many times now, for weeks and weeks, and Far Seer could be patient. He had a friend now. No one could take that away from him.

888888

Terry’s life had settled into a pleasing routine. Every morning he did what gardening was required of him, and then sorted and categorized what herbs were ready. He worked often with Maggie, one of the royal cooks, who told him when certain herbs were required for a particular elaborate dish. Maggie was a strapping girl, of heavy peasant stock, and generally rather free with her affection, but she had seemed to catch on quickly that Terry did not like to be touched, and did not push the matter. He was grateful, and strove to be warm to her in response.

His other acquaintance these days was Peter, an attendant to the royal doctors, who came sometimes to request one herb or another. He had learned early on that Terry had used to work for the duke, and had perhaps thought his position was under threat, for he was cold and imperious for weeks. Terry had made a point of saying how happy he was working in the garden, and eventually Peter calmed down. He was polite enough, when his insecurity was not piqued, and Terry did not dislike his visits.

Wolscraft dropped by on him from time to time, standing at the edge of the garden and asking after his health and happiness. Terry had thought him an extremely efficient overseer, who cared enough to attend all of his workers. He mentioned it one day to Maggie, while she cut leeks and he had his supper, and she had laughed. “Wolscraft? That old bugger? He’s as efficient as ol’ Billy over there.” She gestured with the knife at the sleepy old dog who lay curled up by Terry’s table. “You ask me now, Terry, he’s just got an eye for pretty lads who like to get their hands dirty.” She winked at him lasciviously, but must have noticed the look on his face, for she amended quickly, “Not that he would take liberties, mind. He’s a good man and no doubt about that. Never took advantage of any of the lads here and if anyone gives you trouble you can count on him to sort it out right proper. He’s just got good taste, don’tcha know. Besides, anyone with half a mind could see that you’ve got a sweetheart already.”

She smiled at him, and Terry tried to smile back. It was true that every other day, whenever he got the chance, he hopped the old stone fence and rambled his way over to the pool, where he spent the rest of the afternoon with Kai. Maggie and a few of the other cooks had asked where he ran off to whenever he had the time, and he had, if not lied exactly, let them believe that he was meeting someone close to him.

He was, although he doubted any of them guessed that his friend had scales. Kai was his closest friend these days, and the only one he could be touched by at all without flinching. It was only with Kai that he felt he could be himself, laughing and marveling at Kai’s antics, drawing pictures in the sand and imitating Kai’s words as Kai imitated his. They did the stupidest things together, splashing water at each other and playing catch with the lumpy ball Terry had made, but he was always ridiculously happy to do them. The pool, with its flat rocks warmed by the sun, soft white sand, and cool, clear water, was a haven to him. Kai’s arrival at the palace, which had seemed like a curse at first, the memories of his ordeal following him wherever he went, had turned out to be the best thing for him.

Even though there were no guards to catch him, since none were posted and Kai’s food came in through the same tubes that delivered and filtered his seawater, Terry was always careful to remove any traces he had been there. He wiped his footprints away from the sand, and never went by the path. It had been months, and no one had bothered him. It was even whispered about at court that the prince must disdain his uncle’s gift, for he spent no time near it, essentially ensuring that others did the same. Terry kept his ears open for news that the prince would be making a visit to the pool, since undoubtedly it would be nothing less than a procession if he did, and in the meantime considered himself safe.

Within a Forest Dark, Chapter 1

Thu, 14 Feb 2008 19:30:56 GMT

Title: Within a Forest Dark
Summary: A vampire hunter jumps right out of the frying pan and into the fire.
Warnings: Angst, H/C, M/M, N/C, Torture, Violence

Midway upon the journey of our life, I found myself within a forest dark, for the straightforward pathway had been lost. -- Dante Alighieri, La Commedia, trans. Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

I tried not to shift in my bonds as I sat hunched in the corner. Noise only attracted them, and they had excellent hearing. I had enough trouble without their attentions. Breathing alone was difficult: each inhale and exhale brought more pain, like claws were raking down my back. I tried to keep my breathing slow, as though I were sleeping, to spare myself.

One of them approached me, and I began to breathe more heavily, despite the way it jarred my wounds. I cursed myself, and the goddamn bloodsucking *leech*, as he came closer. He didn’t bother to speak to me, or even smack me, but he did jiggle one of the pieces of glass embedded in my back with more force than usual. The blood, which had gone sticky and dry, flowed freely again, and the vamp held his cup against my back to catch it. Painful, humiliating moments passed as I bled into the cup, and then the vamp drew the cup away and replaced the shard of glass. I couldn’t grit back a gasp at the pain. The cuts were deep, and there were a lot of them, and they had been there for days, not healing. The vamps preferred this to biting me. Lazy fuckers.

The vamp ruffled my hair obnoxiously as he walked away, holding up his glass as though in a toast. I spat at him, even though I felt dry as dust. The vamp just smirked, saying nothing. It was always nothing, except the occasional hiss or laugh. Unnerving, even though I knew why they didn’t speak. Vamp fangs were awkward things, and it was difficult to talk around them. They could pass for human, or mostly human, as long as they kept their mouths shut, but none of them seemed able to talk around the teeth. I thought about the ones that had begged for their lives before I had killed them, and how pathetic they had sounded. It was a comforting thought. If I had to rot here for however long it took me to escape, I was glad I had those memories.

No other hunter killed so often. I did it nightly, almost. I didn’t need to sleep much, and most times it felt like I couldn’t even if I had wanted to. They were always so stupid and gluttonous, going glassy-eyed at the taste of my blood. It was candy from a baby to kill them.

Until Louis, that frog-eating, backstabbing bastard. It served me right for trusting anyone so close to the vamps. I had spent hours cursing his name as the vamps had messed with me, and now my rage had fizzled to a slow, smoldering hatred. I’d repay everything they’d done to me, I promised myself, every piece of glass they'd shoved into my back would make a trip to his.

I’d have to thank him, when I found him. If not for hating him I’d have nothing to hold me through the long days and even longer nights. Had it been only eight days? Barely more than a week since I’d walked into the biggest trap since the Trojan fucking horse.

A knock on the door. That usually meant trouble. Vamps came back to the nest high and jittery from their blood lust. Ready to play. I tried to prepare myself, knowing I didn’t have a whole lot left. I needed time to heal, to think, to crawl in a corner and lick my wounds. My heart was pounding. I could feel the blood dripping down my back. Disgusting. I knew they’d smell it and come for me.

But it wasn’t a vamp who bent to get through the low door, who stood in the dank room surrounded by my hissing captors. At least, if he was a vamp, he was like none I’d ever seen. Vamps, in my experience, were scruffy creatures, pale and sickly looking. They did nothing but hiss and glare and bare their grotesque teeth. They were strong, but wiry, and only ever attractive if you liked them twitchy and undead.

All of the vamps had gotten up and approached the stranger. I used their distraction to work on my bonds. They were only ropes, but the shards of glass in my back were messing with my movement. My legs weren’t bound, at least, and I could get to my feet if I had to, but I’d be slow. I’d be much more lethal with my hands free. Unfortunately, bondage had never been my forte. I fidgeted in them and studied the stranger.

He was the picture of culture: his dress was immaculate; his hair was pulled back with almost mechanical neatness; his skin glowed with health. He was broad-shouldered and tall, towering above the baleful vamps. I could only see his profile, but the man – if he was a man, and not still some vamp freak – had a chiseled face, with a strong jaw, straight nose, and heavy brow.

“Have I come to the abode of Carlos Lupos?” he asked in measured tones, his voice surprisingly level for such a big man.

The vamps said nothing, staring with their flat reflective eyes. I saw some of them reaching for their knives in what they probably thought was a subtle way. I jerked harder on the ropes. The vamps had come to realize that I wouldn’t give up trying to escape them, but instead of putting me in cuffs, they just tied the ropes tighter, painfully cutting off my circulation. Lazy fucking bloodsuckers. I let the anger refuel my efforts.

Clearly the big newcomer was not an expected guest. He might or might not have come on a friendly mission, and he might or might not be powerful enough to take on the vamps if they turned on him. I had no idea who he was or why he had come, but I knew anything was better than sticking around with a bunch of sadistic subhumans intent on my pain. “He’s the asshole with the mole on his eyebrow,” I called out. My voice was hoarse enough to be barely understandable, but at least I’d made the effort. No time like the present to make friends.

The newcomer looked at me, and I knew at once, even from across the room, that he wasn’t human. No human had eyes like that. They seemed huge, almost freakish. I shuddered, but held my ground.

The inhuman thing turned towards Lupos. “You have something I want.”

Silence.

“Naturally, I am prepared to compensate you,” the stranger continued.

Lupos, ruler of this pathetic nest, hissed and spat. Not big on diplomacy, vamps.

The not-human smiled. I could see his pearly whites from across the room. “Yes, I realize monetary compensation has little value to you. I'm referring to something more useful. I am prepared to guarantee immunity for you and the rest of your coven in return for your cooperation.”

There was another silence, this one tenser. I watched Lupos as I struggled awkwardly with my ropes. He was the leech who had been responsible for most of the pain I had suffered. He was smart, for a vamp, and seemed to be actually considering the offer, from what I could see in the weak light. The stranger was standing perfectly still. It might have just been the shadows, but it looked as though a smile was playing about his lips. The other vamps shifted silently, clearly waiting for Lupos’ signal.

Lupos nodded once, and the stranger smiled more noticeably. “Excellent.” Lupos said nothing, but turned and rummaged through one of the pathetic excuses for cabinets. He came back with a black bag of something, and the stranger took it. I had no idea what it could be. What could vamps possibly have that this guy would want?

He looked at me again, his features dark and forbidding in the poor light. I straightened as much as I could, which wasn’t very much. My hands were nowhere near free.

He walked towards me, only a few strides with legs that long, and cocked his head. “You’re the one that killed Hans.”

I had no idea who he meant. I was never exactly on a first name basis with my prey. Louis gave me the info, and I killed them. Simple as that. Or it used to be.

My confusion must have shown. “A German fellow, on February 2nd of this year, in an apartment near the park.”

I remembered now. He had been one of the ones that begged. “Friend of yours?” I asked in a barely understandable voice. I’d had nothing to drink for eight days.

“Not exactly.” He crouched down, and up close I could see that his eyes really were big, and almost totally alien, a wolfish yellow with dark rims. Looking at them made it hard to breathe, and I wasn’t exactly breathing easily to begin with. Still, I had enough breath to gasp as the stranger took hold of my arm and pulled me to my feet. My muscles protested, cramped from being curled up in a corner for so long, and my back was on fire. I staggered, and the stranger caught me, keeping me upright. He had a pulse, I noticed. That meant he definitely wasn’t a vamp, at least. What the fuck was he?

The vamps looked on in silence, knives still at the ready. It was clear they weren’t excited about giving me up, but it was just as clear they were too pansy to do anything about it. As the stranger helped me out the door, I briefly considered grabbing a knife and having at them. I could probably have managed to take out three or four before they got me. But I could kill more if I left now and recuperated. I could hunt them all down one by one and tear their beatless hearts out with my own hands. That sounded like more fun, so I focused on staying on my feet and making no sound as we left the dank, dark basement that had been my prison.

We came to the dark, filthy alley outside and stopped. It was raining. It felt good, actually, despite the stings on my back and the way it made my naked skin shiver. It made me feel alive, and washed the worst of the filth off. I refused to throw back my head and drink it, but I wasn’t above licking the drops that rolled to my lips. The stranger kept hold of my arm with one hand and deftly undid my bonds with the other. The blood started to return to my hands in earnest, a new pain to grit my teeth against.

“I think it would be best if I carried you,” the stranger said politely.

Thanks but no thanks, Lancelot. “I can walk.” I rubbed my hands, trying to speed up the recovery. That pain was beginning to dull, at least. “Who are you?”

“You wouldn’t have heard of me.”

Not helpful. “You’re not a vamp.”

“No, I'm not.” His voice was warm in the cold rain.

“But you’re not human.”

“Not quite, no,” he agreed. I waited, but he added nothing more. Fine. I never wanted to see him again. I'd have to face this whole thing at some point, but not now. Right now all I wanted was a quiet, safe place to pass out for a long time.

“I can take it from here.” He arched his brow, as though he begged to differ, but I ignored it. I had a rough idea of where I was. Louis had been my main contact, but I had a few other connections, and they weren’t that far. I wouldn’t collapse. I refused to.

“It’s not often that a human survives so long in a vampire’s nest,” he said, his tone questioning. He was so fucking calm about it, like he was discussing the weather.

I focused on making my legs move instead of answering him. He let go when I moved away, although it was obvious I couldn’t have forced it if he hadn’t wanted to. I ignored that, too. One step in front of the other. I was leaning heavily against the wall, naked and tired and starving and in a great deal of pain, but I was making progress.

The stranger walked beside me. No, not walked. He *strolled.* Like he was on his way to an opera or a ball or wherever the hell it was that freaks with class went to. “You’re not like the other hunters,” he remarked.

“Not quite, no.” Let him chew on that for a while.

He chuckled irritatingly. “I don’t intend to let you go, you know.”

I had nothing to say to that. I was almost at the end of the alley. A flickering streetlight loomed like a beacon ahead of me.

“Still,” he continued, “I’d like to see how far you get.”

I turned to tell him where he could shove his attitude, but he had disappeared. I looked down the alleyway and the street, but saw no sign of him. Good riddance.

I hobbled down the street, on the lookout for vamps or even humans, even though no one seemed to be about. It was a Sunday night, after all, and even the city that never slept took cat naps once in a while, especially when it rained. Everyone was probably home watching television, or sleeping peacefully, or something equally foreign and exotic.

My legs were getting stronger, although that was only relative to the rest of me. I still looked and felt like shit. I had no clothes, unless you counted those fucking pieces of glass, and no weapons. But I did have a plan.

The Fifth Circle was considered neutral territory, which meant that a hunter could show up naked and barely conscious without fear of attack. I would be mocked, but I didn’t care.

I bellied up to the bar and ignored the sniggers. I didn’t sit down, since I was still wet and filthy, but leaned heavily on the bartop, gasping like a retching drunk. “Water,” I demanded.

Collins, the bartender and the owner, handed me a glass. “You look like shit.”

I drank deeply. My throat began to feel better almost immediately. “It’s been a long week,” I said.

“Word was you were dead.”

“Rumors of my death and all that crap.”

Collins breathed a laugh. “So I gathered.” He refilled my glass and I drank more slowly this time. My hands had returned to mostly functional, at least.

“You pissed off a lot of people, you know,” Collins said after a few moments.

“They made themselves pretty clear about that.”

“I don’t mean the vamps,” Collin replied quietly. I looked at him. I’d known Collins for a long time, and he had always been straight with me. He claimed to take no sides, enforcing strict neutrality in his little kingdom, but he’d patched me up more than once. I’d taken to giving him most of whatever I found when I knocked off some rich vamp. I had little use for money, and Collins had a bar to run. It had added up over the years.

Oh, and there were the times I’d saved his life, too.

“What do you mean, then?”

“People came looking for you. Big people.”

“So?”

“You can’t stay.” He said it almost gently, like he was telling me my mother had died.

“What happened to neutrality?” My voice, improving but still shaky, broke on my anger.

Collins shook his head. “Some guys came by two days ago. They could shut me down in a heartbeat. It’s not worth it.” He didn’t say “You’re not worth it,” but we both heard it.

“Not even after all this time? All I’ve done for you and you’re shutting me out because they’ll shut down your goddamn bar?”

“They told me the exact location of my mother. Down to the direction her bed faced,” Collins said tightly. I looked down.

“How’d you escape those vamps, anyway?” Collins asked after a moment. “You don’t look like you waltzed out.”

Things were becoming clearer. Of course it wouldn't be that easy. I had been stupid not to anticipate it, really. But then, continuous torture for days on end did tend to dull your mind a bit. “What do you know about him?” I asked, trying to keep my voice calm and looking around for eavesdroppers. No one seemed to be paying much attention to us, beyond the occasional sneer or snigger at my pathetic state. It was that kind of bar.

Collins looked more tired than ever. “I don’t know anything about anybody.”

I nodded, even though it sent stinging pain down my back. Fuck my back. “Is there anything you can do for me?”

Collins cleared his throat. “I can give you the direction of a guy. He might be able to help you with your back.”

“Can he be trusted?”

“I can give you a knife, too.” That was answer enough. A gun would have meant possible trouble with humans – the law or something – but a knife meant vamps. “And some clothes.”

It wasn’t what I had expected, but it was something, and more than Collins was obligated to give. It was more than Louis had done for me, that was for shit sure. “Thanks.”

“Yeah.” Collins had me follow him to a back room, which I was grateful for. I wanted desperately to get dressed, but I knew it would be an undignified business. Collins helped me with some loose pants, which were long enough even for my legs, and then helped me into a trench coat, which hurt like hell even though I knew it was relatively light.

"Jesus, is that glass?" Collins asked as he helped me put on the coat.

“Yeah," I said between panted breaths, struggling to force my arms to cooperate.

Collin's only reply was a curse.

Thanks,” I said when I was dressed.

“Stop fucking thanking me.” Collins’ voice was rough, and he didn’t look at me as he slipped the knife into my hand. I put it in the pocket of my coat. “There’s a hundred in the inside pocket. Don’t stab anyone until you leave the bar.”

“Won’t.”

“The guy’s between Fifth and Spindle. One twenty-four, apartment 7D. Buzz and tell him I sent you.”

“Okay.” I started to limp to the door. Collins walked me out to the front of the bar. I don’t know if anyone watched.

“Good luck,” Collins said as he held the door open.

“Thanks,” I said, and heard Collins curse as the door shut.

It took me most of the rest of the night to get to the address. I must have looked like a junkie or a drunkard, strung out and staggering in the rain, dripping blood. My feet got cut on bits of glass as I walked. I didn’t care. I was starting to feel delirious. Everything had been shot to hell: Louis had turned on me, Collins was nothing but a closed door, along with all the other contacts I had at the Fifth Circle, some strange-faced freak was after me, I could barely walk, much less fight, and my only hope rested on some schmuck I’d never met. I was sure someone would jump me before I got there, a vamp or even a human, but no one approached me. Maybe I looked too pathetic to be worth it. Maybe they just didn’t want to be out in the rain.

I nearly collapsed at the doorway, and it was all I could do to press the buzzer. I had no idea what time it was, and didn’t care.

There was the click of the buzzer being answered, but no voice on the line. “Collins sent me,” I said loudly, to drown out the rain.

Another click, and then the buzzer sounded, indicating the door was unlocked. I shoved it open, nearly falling onto it, and stumbled towards the elevator. It opened with a pleasant ding. Seventh floor. The quiet hum of the elevator seemed oddly muted after the rain. I could hear my breathing. It sounded less than stellar.

I staggered out of the elevator, looking blearily at the numbers. A... B… C… Bingo. 7D, in tacky fake gold letters. I knocked weakly. Nothing. I tested the doorknob, and found it unlocked. Strange. I walked in, one hand clenched around the knife.

It was an ordinary apartment, as far as I could tell. Off white walls, hardwood floor. A sad looking couch. Nothing very threatening.

The creak of floorboards from another room. Someone was coming. I tensed, trying not to sway where I stood, trying not to give in to dizziness and exhaustion. But then I saw who it was.

In the light I could see that his hair was a rich black. His yellow eyes were as freakish as before. He had something in his left hand, but I couldn’t see what it was.

“It’s not often that I’m so pleasantly surprised. You’ve achieved more than I anticipated.”

“Fuck you,” I said, feeling the last of my strength go out with those words. I was so tired.

“So stubborn. It’s not often I meet someone with a will like yours.” He was approaching me slowly, practically circling me, drawing out the moment. I was too tired to hate him for it.

“Can’t you just leave me alone?” I all but slurred.

All of a sudden he was in front of me. I swayed, and his hands came to my shoulders. I felt what was in his left hand, some sort of cylinder. I turned to look at it, and saw it was a syringe.

He batted the knife out of my hand, and it clattered loudly to the floor. I was going to die, I realized distantly. All those fights, all those hunts and escapes and Lupos' insanity, and now I was going to die in some empty apartment, filthy and bleeding and abandoned. Louis had abandoned me. Worse. And Collins. Collins had set me up. I had to be the biggest sap in the world. I didn’t care. I didn’t blame Collins. It was all my own damn fault.

“I’m tired,” I confessed.

“I know,” said the stranger. He pushed my coat off my shoulders and it hurt, snagging on some of the shards. I was tired of it hurting.

He cupped the back of my neck and I waited for him to twist, hoped it would be quick, but he just held me still while he pierced my neck with the syringe. I barely felt it. The pain started to dull, and warmth started to come back to my extremities. I couldn’t stand anymore, and he pulled me towards him. My head was on his shoulder and it was warm and dry and smelled good. Not so bad to die like this. I was sinking to the floor, and he was kneeling with me.

“Who are you?” I asked, closing my eyes and waiting for death. It would be a relief, really. I had wondered if I could die, but that had to be what this was, this peaceful numbness stealing me away. It was so good not to be in pain.

“I am called Santo,” he said, close to my ear.

“Pleasure to make your acquaintance,” I said lightly, feeling encapsulated in warmth.

Santo laughed. “I cannot believe you need another dose.” Another pinch at my neck. Warmth flooded through me. I felt light as air. My senses were spiraling. I was drifting away and wasn’t fighting it, but there was something I was missing.

Something important.

I needed to tell him something.

Oh.

“My name is –”

Dreaded Creatures Glide, Chapter 3

Sat, 09 Feb 2008 22:07:51 GMT

Title: Dreaded Creatures Glide
Summary: A captured merman explores the human world
Warnings: M/M, Violence, Abuse, Non-Con

“Wouldst thou” - so the helmsman answered. –
“Learn the secret of the sea?
Only those who brave its dangers
Comprehend its mystery!”
-- Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

Paetor found his lord standing in one of the castle’s many rooms, staring at an elephant head mounted on the wall. The craftsmen who’d worked on it had arranged for the trunk to reach out realistically in the air, its trumpet silent in death. Beneath the head was a plaque commemorating its service to the royal family.

“If Your Grace is not busy, I have news regarding the prince,” Paetor announced. The duke spared a glance at him, waving him over, and returned to contemplating the elephant. “You were in my service, were you not, when I captured the beast?”

Paetor looked at the elephant and then back at the duke. “Yes, Your Grace.” He had been new to the duke’s service, then, and terrified of his lord’s fiery temper.

The duke nodded. “I caught my prizes back then, instead of purchasing them.”

Not wanting to infer any insult, Paetor said nothing, but His Grace did not seem to expect a response. His Grace went on: “It was quite a fight, you know. No one had ever captured one alive before, and everyone made a terrible fuss, but I was determined. I had to have him. It was a close thing, too. Quite close. I still have the scar from where he got me with one of his tusks.”

“How terrible, Your Grace.”

The duke laughed. “Terrible? Hardly. I was never happier. I remember the day I put him in the gardens. I had to have the bars for the pen redone twice over, because no one could conceive of an animal so strong.”

If memory served, even the bars had been useless. “And he was moved to the pit eventually, Your Grace, was he not?”

“Indeed, after he killed the third man.” The elephant had trumpeted its raucous cry for days, and then fallen unnervingly silent, Paetor recalled. Paetor and the other servants new to the household had been dared by the older servants to go near the pit, but no one would go. “I thought he was dead for some time,” the duke continued. “I ordered him brought out because I wanted to see if it was true. I imagined that a creature that large might have a soul like a man’s, which would prefer death to defeat.”

The elephant had been quite alive, Paetor remembered, but it had changed. It had moved that lethal trunk only to accept food from its trainers’ hands. It had stood still under all manner of poking and prodding, merely blinking its large brown eyes. It had become a favorite of the royal children, eventually, who liked to feed it peanuts and whisper in its large ears. It had died old and beloved. Paetor had forgotten its early days until now.

“That merman is the most damnable thing,” the duke said, interrupting Paetor’s reverie.

“For that, Your Grace, I fear I must take the blame. It was I who purchased the animal, and I truly belie—”

“Oh, psh, that’s not what I meant. The merman is a marvelous creature. Marvelous. I am very proud to own it, and as ever your taste was impeccable. But I’ve heard the reports. The creature does nothing but wail all night, and that – that sorry business with the guards. I – I might as well have put him in the pit.”

Paetor swelled at the compliment, and once more cursed the guards for the incompetent fools they had been. It had been a shame to the entire household when the night shift had been discovered the next morning. The amount of alcohol they had imbibed alone would have been humiliating, but to add insult to injury one man was dead from a savaged throat, another from an embarrassingly intimate wound, and the third alive but gibbering. He had relayed the story that one of the guards had tried to force his attentions on the other, and in his efforts to escape the man had first wounded his comrade and then run afoul of the merman. Paetor had dismissed the man, but the damage had been done. “If it is not above my place to ask, Your Grace, what do you intend to do?”

“I won’t kill him, certainly. You may rest your fears in that respect. He’s far too precious a commodity to be thrown away. But I am not… That day when he leapt out of the water…” He was silent for so long Paetor was about to ask him if anything was the matter, when suddenly the duke said: “I will gift him to my nephew, I think. He would know what to do with such a beast, and if I cannot have the prize myself, I would want to no one but him to have it.” The duke seemed to contemplate this for a moment, and Paetor tried to make sense of it, wondering if he should voice his objections. His Grace often grew tired of his obsessions quickly, but he was not in the habit of giving them away. Paetor started when the duke spoke again: “Your news of him. Is he close?”

“He arrives two months hence, Your Grace. His campaign against the bandits was quite successful.” Paetor paused, and then ventured, “The merman would serve as a victory gift, if Your Grace wished.”

“Indeed. I just hope he understands the nature of this particular present.”

Paetor hoped so fervently as well. It was useless to argue with the duke once his mind was set on something, and not his place besides, but he could see far too many opportunities for disaster in this plan to believe it a sound one.

88888

As a pup, still blue all over, Far Seer had once asked his mother why it was that merfolk looked so different from other creatures in the sea. Why was it, he wanted to know, that humans, who lived on land, looked more like the merfolk than any fish or mammal in the sea?

“Because we were the same once,” his mother had replied, with her usual impatience for Far Seer’s ceaseless questions. “But now they live on land and we stay in the water and that’s that.”

Lying against the shallow side of the pool, Far Seer smiled slightly at the memory. He remembered how badly he had wished to explore the land then, beyond the shallows where the merfolk swam, to see how the humans lived. He had even crawled about the rocks near the shore a few times, before his mother had yanked him back into the water by his ear. She wasn’t here to pull him back now, he thought, but he had no wish to explore the human gardens. He probably could have now, since the humans stayed away, but what was the point?

Far Seer heard someone enter the gardens, and perked up, hoping against hope that it was his human. But no, he heard voices that weren’t Kee-Kee’s. The humans came into view and he saw that they had the ropes and nets. He lay back down. They were going to drag him out again. They had done it before, when they wanted to poke at his wounds, and every time before he’d given them as much trouble as he could, darting around the pool faster than they could run. They had always caught him eventually, but he had settled with giving them a difficult time of it, even when he was wounded. But now… what was the point? They would do what they wanted anyway. He closed his eyes.

After several moments, he realized nothing had happened. He opened his eyes and saw that the humans were standing motionless, just looking at him.

“Kee-Kee?” he asked tiredly, hoping half-heartedly that one of them would recognize what he meant.

They muttered low to each other unintelligibly. “You’re all as dumb as sea cows!” he snapped, and slapped his tail against the water for emphasis. The humans cowered from the splash. “Pathetic,” he said, half to himself. “Just get it over with.”

That, at least, they seemed to understand, for they descended. He was netted and hoisted into human hands. This time, however, instead of laying him out so one of the humans could poke at him, they tossed him into an unnervingly strange contraption. There was water in it, a little pool with walls, and bars above those. The top was open, which calmed him, because he could jump out if he had to, but he balked at the thought of spending any amount of time in here. Was this his new cage? He would die first!

And then it began to move. Far Seer cried out at the shock, and rushed to the bars to see what was going on. There were humans, he saw, moving his new little pool. How were they doing that? He craned his neck, trying to understand. He could see very little, and as ever the humans poked at him with their weapons if he came too close. He bared his teeth at them and watched his surroundings change as he was moved along. Excitement warred with fear as he was moved out of the garden and down strange human hallways. He had been in a bad state when the humans had first taken him to his pool, and his memories of the lands around the pool were hazy. He admired the beautiful stones and metal contraptions despite himself. Merfolk could be skilled craftspeople, but never had he seen anything so grand as this. Each hallway seemed more grandiose than the last.

A final set of doors led them to the outside, and Far Seer blinked at the sunlight. He looked immediately for the ocean, hoping for a chance to escape, but could see it no where. He had not realized that he was this far from the sea, and it made fear grip him. Where were the humans taking him?

His cage was heaved onto another human contraption, large enough to hold his cage. The humans used chains and rope to secure his cage to the platform below him. Strange creatures stood attached to it, breathing hard. They were covered in hair white as beluga whales, and stood on four legs, not two. They were densely muscled, and looked far stronger than any human. Horses, he guessed. He had heard of them, but never seen them in the flesh. He wondered how humans had managed to tame such beasts, since they were clearly far stronger than any human.

Further study of the creatures was cut off as a giant canvas covering was draped over his cage, cutting him off from his surroundings. He pushed himself up and tried to pull it off, but it did not budge. His teeth could find no purchase in it. The humans must have secured it somehow.

“Where are you taking me?” he asked, even though it was useless. No one responded. Far Seer resolved to simply be ready for whatever came. He was frightened, but felt more alive than he had in weeks. Finally, something was happening.

Far Seer could not see anything beyond the canvas, but he could hear everything. There was a steady clapping sound that must have been the horses, for humans never made that sound as they moved. There were humans all around him, he realized with a jolt. They were muttering in their usual tones. He strained his ears, but could not hear Kee-Kee among them. He wondered, sitting alone and practically blind in an alien cage, if Kee-Kee had died. He had been wounded, after all.

Or maybe he was alive somewhere, and simply did not want to come back.

That thought, which for some reason had not occurred to Far Seer before, hit like a particularly vicious smack from a tail. He had killed humans, after all, and Kee-Kee was a human. He had thought he was killing Kee-Kee’s enemies, but maybe they had been friends after all. Or maybe he had liked the other stupid human Far Seer had killed when they had surrounded him. Or the one he had killed on the boat, when he had first been captured. Each kill, which he had counted as great victories before, weighed on him now. He had driven his only friend in the human world away. He was sure of it.

Far Seer felt he was going mad. He could practically feel the bars closing in on him. There were humans all around him, now, louder than he had ever heard them. They were yelling things he did not understand, he could not even see them. He had to get out, to get away from here. He tried to tear apart the canvas above him, but it was as secure as before. He rattled the bars, but they did not budge. “Let me out!” he begged. The humans just yelled louder, and he moved inexorably on to wherever they were taking him.

The din tapered off and died as they continued. It calmed Far Seer somewhat, but in a way hearing nothing but the clip-clop of horses was worse. He heard birds, from time to time, but did not recognize their songs. They must be birds that did not live by the sea.

He smelled saltwater when they stopped, but did not hear the ocean. A human began speaking. He recognized the voice from the early days of his captivity, but did not remember the human’s face well. He was struggling to remember when the canvas was ripped off of his cage and he could see his surroundings clearly once more.

They were still outside. There were many guards about, pointing their weapons at him, and several other humans. One of them was Watcher. He saw trees around, many more trees than there had been by the white pool. There was a large pool in front of him, perhaps ten feet away, smelling of saltwater. It was bigger than his old one, and made with more recognizable stones. He gasped as he saw that one of the stones formed a cave at the other end of the pool, where he could have plenty of room to breathe but be hidden from human sight.

Far Seer scanned the waters for danger. It would be just like the humans to make the appealing pool a trap. But he saw nothing except for a few small fish. There were certainly no lemee or orcas, which would have presented the greatest problems. The humans began to fuss with his cage, and he made up his mind. He leapt out of the cage, high above the humans, and dove gracefully into the pool. He headed straight for the cave, and found it blessedly empty. It was deeper than he had realized from the other end, and he huddled in its depths gratefully, happy to be away from human eyes at last.

88888

Terry pulled up a weed and tried to convince himself to go see the merman. He had no excuse not to go. It was a beautiful day, and he was almost finished with his work. He had promised Kai, and he meant go back. His word was his word, even if the merman had not understood him. Kai had saved his life, and protected him, and Terry owed it to him to see him again. He knew Kai must be lonely, in a cage surrounded by humans, even if he was owned by the prince himself.

But it had been enough trouble to look after himself, lately. He had returned on that horrible night barely able to walk, nearly babbling, and had been useless for days afterward. No one had believed his lies about getting into a fight with a few ruffians on the way home. Jerry and the others, who had only tolerated him at best, had begun to pick on him outright for the way he jumped whenever anyone touched him. It had grown worse and worse until finally they had said it outright.

“Why don’t you just tell us the truth?” George had asked one day, the last day he had been in Suterno’s service. “We all know you’re a little fairy.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Terry had said, all of his attention focused on the herbs he was slicing. It had to be done just so, he reminded himself, or they would be useless.

“Don’t play coy with us,” Jerry had said. “We know what you want.”

“I’ll bet that’s why Suterno likes him so much.”

Terry had kept slicing, his teeth gritted. He could not afford to get angry, he had told himself. He hadn’t wanted trouble. He had spent his entire life making sure these boys didn’t get angry at him, and he hadn’t been about to start then.

“Yeah, I’ll bet. Do you give him what you gave those men, fairy?”

“I’ll bet you like it, even,” Jerry had said, baiting him. “I’ll bet you beg for it.”

And then suddenly Terry had had it. He had whirled around, the knife he had been chopping with held threateningly in his hand. “Shut up,” he had said. “Just shut up.”

Jerry had looked surprised at first, immediately showing his palms in surrender. He had backed up, his look of shock changing to a smile. “You’ll pay for that, Terry.”

The boys had left, then, and Terry had put down the knife and punched the wall until his knuckles were red and swollen. He had known what he had to do, and had hated it.

It had been hard to tell the doctor, the closest thing to a parent he had ever had, that he was leaving. Doctor Suterno had looked at him steadily after Terry had announced it. “Are you sure, Terry?”

“Yes, sir. I could never ask for any master more honest and fair, but I think it’s time I, um, made my own way in the world. They say there’s jobs a plenty in the prince’s household, now that he’s returned, and I hope to make my way there.” How many times he had fantasized about saying similar things. In his dreams, he had always been about to depart on a great journey, one only he could complete. He hadn’t been running away, practically lying to his master’s face.

The doctor had looked at him with an unreadable expression, before turning and beginning to rustle through the papers on his desk. “You have my blessing, of course. Give me a moment and I will write you a recommendation.”

“Thank you, sir,” Terry had said, his face coloring as he watched the man write. Doctor Suterno served the duke himself, and his word would reach a long way, even for a lowly servant like Terry. “That means a great deal to me.”

“Of course.” The doctor had signed with a flourish and applied his seal, and then handed him the slip of paper. “You’ve always been very dear to me, Terry, ever since your poor mother died. I’ve always known you to be a dedicated worker, and I couldn’t ask for a better assistant. I’ve heard you had a spot of bad luck recently, and if you find yourself ever needing further help, I hope you will come to me. I am a doctor, you know.” The smile he had given Terry had beem very kind, but his penetrating gaze, and the weight of his last words, had made Terry go hot with shame. Did the doctor know, he had wondered. Did everyone know?

“Thank you, sir,” he had said, his throat closing on the words, and had all but run out.

His letter had been well accepted at Prince Charles’ castle, but hadn’t done much good in the short run. His overseer, a pudgy man named Edward Wolscraft, had explained apologetically that what they really needed at the moment were cleaners and scrubbers. “You look like you’re familiar with honest hard work. Stick it out,” Wolscraft had offered, “And I’ll see to it you get a more suitable job once the prince returns. We’re always looking for ones who are good with herbs and the like, and you don’t have the weedy look most of them have. No pun intended, o’ course.”

Terry had been heartened by the offer, and had put his all into whatever work he was assigned. He – along with dozens of other servants – had cleaned rooms and floors that had gone unnoticed while the prince was off campaigning, but had to be made spotless for his return. It had been tedious and exhausting, and harder work than he’d ever done for the doctor, but he had been grateful. He spent each night too tired to miss the only home he had ever known, too tired even to dream.

He had also never found the time to make his way back to that horrible place, to see the merman. Kai.

When the prince had come home, Wolscraft had been as good as his word, and had found Terry a job in the royal herb gardens. And then the damned merman had followed practically at his heels, an extravagant gift from the prince’s uncle.

He was less than a quarter of a mile away, Terry realized as he gathered the weeds together and put them in the mulch pile.

Just a little walk, he told himself. He probably wouldn’t be able to get that close, anyway. But he had to try.

It was easy to slip in to what was called “the gardens,” but what was really a sprawling landscape. The lands were well within the castle grounds, so there was little worry about squatters and bandits. Only a low stone fence separated the gardens from the rest of the property, and Terry hopped it with little effort. He could have gone in by a worker’s entrance, but felt a deep-seated urge to avoid any attention from the guards.

He headed in what he hoped was the general direction of the merman’s pool. Terry had never been very good with directions, but he knew that the pool was located in a particularly tangled knot of greenery, away from the harshly manicured landscapes that grew on the fringe. Terry progressed cautiously, on the lookout for other people, and tried to remember the way he came. He passed nothing but carefully trimmed willows and clear ponds, however, and came to the thickest part of the garden without confrontation. He felt somewhat claustrophobic in the tighter greenery, with memories beginning to tear at him. He knew that there had to be a path somewhere, because the cart that had pulled the merman in could not have simply plowed through the forest, but Terry refused to find it, and hurried towards the sound of water.

He knew he had found it when he tripped on the marble. He scrambled to his feet and blinked at the polished white stones that surrounded the pool. He remembered the huge blocks of marble being rolled in by the cartload when he had first joined the prince’s household. “Renovations,” Wolscraft had said dismissively, but clearly it had been much more than that.

Terry felt distinctly filthy on the flawless polished stones, and his first instinct was to turn back. He had been working in the herb gardens all morning, and had a lot of dirt to show for it. But he had come all this way, he reminded himself, and he wasn’t around to turn around now.

He walked forward a bit, past the marble surrounding and onto rougher stones. The pool was distinctly larger and more grand than the duke’s had been, and looked far more natural. The architects had manipulated a natural grouping of large rocks to create the sides, and Terry saw that one at the deepest end had a hollowing that created a cave. There were a few more flat rocks nearby that projected out over the pool, and he sat down on one of them, finding it hot from the sun.

“Kai?” he called out hesitantly, not wanting to attract attention from anyone else. He had seen no one on his way to the pool, but surely there had to be guards somewhere.

The response was immediate. He heard a splash from within the cave, and then a shining blue blur darted out under the water and headed straight for him. Kai burst out of the water and onto the rock in the blink of an eye, and pounced on Terry just as fast, keening something in an almost painfully high pitch.

Terry panicked and lashed out, and thankfully Kai backed off quickly. Terry struggled to calm his breathing and his heartbeat. He cursed himself for reacting so poorly to what was clearly only a greeting, but ever since the incident with the guards he’d been… jumpy.

After a moment Terry looked up at the merman. It was the first time he saw him in the light and out of the water, and the sight was arresting. Kai was leaning his weight on his elbows and forearms, and it brought out the muscles in his arms and chest. No wonder he had dragged that guard down so easily, Terry thought. There were also scars he had not noticed before, pearly lines on his chest and arms.

And there was the tail, glistening iridescently in the afternoon sun, flicking idly.

“Kee-Kee,” said Kai, and Terry looked back at his face. Kai was staring at him curiously, his flat blue eyes even stranger in the light.

“Hi, Kai,” Terry said, feeling suddenly shy and slightly frightened. The merman truly was alien.

Kai smiled, showing sharp teeth, and began a round of incomprehensible chatter. He gestured at parts of the pool and surrounding area, and Terry assumed he was describing it. He seemed happy, although Terry couldn’t be sure. “It’s very beautiful,” he said when Kai had finished. “Especially after that other pool you were stuck in. Lots bigger, anyway, and it must be nice to be outside. I – I bet the cave is really nice when you want to get away from people looking at you.”

Terry felt slightly silly talking when he knew the merman wouldn’t understand, but it made Kai smile, at least. Kai stared at him for a bit when he was done, and then turned to one of his braids and deftly removed a shell from it. He held it out to Terry silently.

“Thank you,” said Terry automatically, and took the shell from the merman’s blue-fingered hand. The shell was an iridescent white, flickering all the colors of the rainbow as Terry looked at it. “It’s beautiful. I don’t think I can braid it in my hair, though.” His hair was shorter than Kai’s, only long enough to hang in his eyes and get in his way. He put the shell in his pocket, instead.

“Here,” Terry said. “Let me give you something.” He rustled through his clothes for something to give him. He was beginning to feel some of the lightheadedness he had experienced the last time he had seen the merman. He was not in pain or hysterical with fear, as he had been the last time, but the strangeness of his situation was very real. The merman was dangerous; he’d killed more than once. He didn’t speak or move or act like a human. And yet, Terry found he could communicate with him with relative ease, although they relied on gestures and tones rather than words.

He found only a copper piece, and held it out with some reluctance. He was not sure how much the merman valued his shells, and did not want to insult the merman by returning his gift cheaply.

But Kai seemed delighted with the small disk, making chirping noises as he turned the copper over and over, holding it to the light to admire it. King Edward’s stern profile was stamped on one side, and the royal emblem of Tierney on the other. Kai seemed to find each equally fascinating. After a careful inspection of the copper, he put it down gingerly, as though it would break. Terry could not help but smile.

Kai returned the smile with a show of his frightening teeth, which gleamed rather eerily in the sunlight. Then he stopped smiling, and his face had a more tentative countenance as he reached out and gently, gently touched Terry’s left foot.

Terry jerked back instinctively. He had been extremely averse to touch ever since the incident with the guards. Any contact brought that awful night rushing back, making him feel filthy and stained and miserable. He bathed more than he ever had before, trying to scrub away the feeling.

Kai jerked his hand back nearly as fast, and ducked his head, clicking apologetically. Terry smiled nervously, clearing his throat uncomfortably and running his hand through his hair. He knew, although he had yet to figure out why, that Kai would not hurt him. The merman had had many chances, certainly, and not a little provocation when Terry had plunged into his pool. He knew Kai was just curious. It was natural that Kai would be curious about human legs.

And it had not felt so awful, really.

Terry reached out tentatively, only half sure of what he wanted. He took Kai’s blue fingered hand, so smooth everywhere. Kai looked up at him, blinking questioningly, and let Terry guide his hand to his foot. “I don’t mind,” Terry said, trying to smile. Kai had saved his life, after all. He could satisfy the merman’s curiosity. He leaned back on his hands and tried not to flinch away.

Kai was as fascinated by Terry’s feet and legs as he had been by the coin. He ran his dexterous fingers over one foot and then the other, inspecting each of his toes with great concern. Terry wiggled them, and Kai squeaked, clearly shocked. Terry grinned. It was not at all as bad as Terry had feared, and he even managed to giggle when Kai ran his fingers up Terry’s sensitive sole. Kai seemed startled at Terry’s laughter, as if it had not occurred to him that feet could be ticklish. He touched each pad on his foot carefully, following the whorls of his skin with his fingers, and ran his fingertips along each of the delicate bones in Terry’s feet and ankles.

By the time Kai moved from Terry’s feet to his calves Terry was more relaxed than he had been in weeks, leaning back on his elbows and breathing slowly. He had still heard no sign of human life, and was beginning to lose his fear of being discovered. Kai’s hands were strangely warm for a creature that lived in cold water, and had yet to hurt him. He let Kai push his trousers up to his knees without comment, smiling at Kai’s look of concentration as he examined Terry’s knees. Knees were strange things, Terry reflected. He had never really noticed before.

Kai took his time examining each of Terry’s legs, prodding at the muscles and running his fingers through the short hairs that covered Terry’s calves. He seemed especially intrigued by Terry’s kneecaps, and Terry had to bat his hands away when Kai tried to move one to the side. “It doesn’t go that way,” Terry explained, laughing despite himself.

He was still laughing when Kai slid his hand up Terry’s trousers, along the inside of his thigh, and Terry felt suddenly frozen in the afternoon sun. He could not even bring himself to flinch away. He felt hot and cold at the same time, all of his muscles tingling with fear. The night was very close to him, making him taste copper in his mouth. He couldn’t move. He didn’t want this. He wanted it to end. Please let it end.

It was the merman’s hand on his face, now dry from his time in the sun, that brought him back to the present. Terry jerked, and saw Kai quickly drop his gaze, so that Terry only saw the frown on his face. He was speaking, Terry realized. The same phrase, over and over. An apology, Terry guessed, from the way Kai pulled Terry’s trousers back down over his legs quickly and gently, and backed away slightly on the rock, as though Terry might break at any moment. He already had, Terry thought bitterly.

“It’s okay, Kai,” Terry said roughly, feeling weak and pathetic. “I know you didn’t mean anything. It’s my problem. I know you would never hurt me. I know you didn’t mean anything.” He babbled as much as Kai, who refused to look at him, until eventually both of them fell silent, staring at the rocks.

Terry did not want it to end this way. He refused to let his weakness stop what had been – what had been *nice.* He had been enjoying himself, for the first time since those hateful guards had changed his life forever, and he was not going to give up. He reached forward, as tentative as Kai had been before, and touched one of Kai’s glistening fins.

Kai didn’t move, and Terry looked at him, wondering if he’d broken some merman rule of etiquette. But Kai didn’t seem mad at all. On the contrary, he smiled and shook his fins a bit in a way that could only be described as playful. Terry managed to smile back, and started his own exploration, feeling only slightly foolish. Kai was fascinating, after all. His tail fins were more delicate than Terry had assumed, elegant and flexible. Terry had reached out to them only to show that he bore no ill will, but he found himself as sincerely entranced by Kai’s tail as Kai had been by his legs. Kai was still smiling at him, clearly granting him permission, and Terry leaned in and began to explore.

He had assumed that the tail would feel like any other fish tail, slimy and scaly. Kai’s tail was comprised of scales, but felt remarkably smooth, no matter which direction he stroked. He could feel the sleek muscles beneath the skin, and Kai twitched his tail from time to time, as if demonstrating how effortless it was. His antics made Terry calm down, the fear once more draining from his muscles. By the time he made his way up to Kai’s more human parts he had become almost completely engrossed. The scales shined more than any precious stone, flickering as though they had a life of their own. Kai’s tail, the thing that above all made him so strangely, unequivocally alien, was as fascinating up close as it was from a distance. Terry had not seen many strange things in his life, working as a doctor’s servant and now as an errand boy in an herb garden, and here was one of the strangest things the world could offer, right under his own hands.

He was almost disappointed when he reached the strange junction of skin and scales where Kai’s body became more human. His fingers studied the way the scales melted into smooth skin, and he felt the hard, inhuman muscles that connected tail and torso. Kai’s stomach was more human, a recognizable map of muscle and tan skin. Did he spend much time near the surface, to get skin this color? There was a scar on Kai’s left pectoral, Terry saw as his gaze traveled upward, a thin line that must have come from a weapon rather than a bite. Terry reached out to it curiously, wondering if it had been a human that had given it to him. Kai’s chest was strong and hairless, the skin perfectly smooth but for the scar. Terry followed it down from the middle of his chest, and felt Kai’s nipple harden as he brushed it was his fingers.

Kai gasped, and Terry looked up, and the spell was broken. Kai was staring at him, his strange blue eyes suddenly very, very close, and Terry felt his cheeks go hot. His throat closed up as he realized what he been doing. How could he have – he’d been so stupid – what had he been doing, thinking? He scrambled to his feet, nearly falling over in his haste, forgetting his shoes altogether as he dashed to the trees, not even checking to make sure he was going in the right direction and barely hearing Kai’s cries of “Kee-Kee!” behind him.

Dreaded Creatures Glide: Chapter 2

Tue, 08 Jan 2008 07:27:23 GMT

Title: Dreaded Creatures Glide
Summary: A captured merman explores the human world
Warnings: M/M, Violence, Abuse, Non-Con

The most haunting time at which to see them is at the turn of the moon, when they utter strange wailing cries; but the lagoon is dangerous for mortals then… -- J.M Barrie, Peter Pan

Of course it had to be him, Terry griped as he wandered through the halls, trying not to bump into the furniture in the poor light. Of course he would be sent to the duke’s mansion to fetch a few lousy papers in the middle of the night. What good was it to be considered the master’s favorite assistant if it didn’t let you escape from this nonsense?

Suterno had been apologetic about rousing him, at least, and insistent that the papers had to be fetched immediately. They concerned the merman, he had said, and only Terry could be trusted to fetch them. Terry had glowed at the compliment then, but wished now that Suterno had stowed it and spent more time on directions. He had found the papers stashed in the office Suterno had told him about, but he must have taken a wrong turn at that hideous fountain because now he was lost and doomed to wander the halls for eternity.

He turned a corner, and saw that he was near a set of doors with light showing through thick glass. Terry had a good guess as to what lay behind them, and if he was right he was much closer to getting out than he had thought. The doors were heavy, and swung shut loudly behind him, but it was worth the effort. He was in the duke’s gardens, all the way on the other side of the mansion from where he had started out. He was still confused about how to get out, but there had to be people here somewhere. Ever since the debacle with the merman, which people were *still* talking about weeks later, guards had been posted throughout the day, even at this ungodly hour.

“Hello?” Terry asked with a little trepidation. The duke’s appetite for the exotic was rumored to be extreme. Who knew what kind of monsters he had lurked around in the gardens? At least the merman was confined to his pool.

Terry was never going to run this kind of errand again, he promised himself, not for all the gold in Tierney.

“Hello?” he called out more loudly, walking slowly along the cobblestone path. “Is anyone there?”

“Who said that?” replied a deep male voice. More noise followed, although Terry could not make out any words from where he was.

“Over here!” he called out. “I’m very sorry to trouble you, but I’m lost and…”

The men came into view, then. There were three of them, shaggy fellows dressed in guards’ uniforms. They staggered slightly and didn’t look terribly sharp, but Terry assumed that the best and brightest would probably not be assigned to the graveyard shift of the duke’s gardens.

“Hey, it’s a pretty one, is it?” said one of the guards in a voice made loud by liquor.

“What’s it want?” asked another with a weedy look about him, peering at Terry with great effort.

“Yes, what do you want?” asked the third, the sharpest looking of the three and the most belligerent.

“I do apologize for troubling you, sirs,” Terry said. He assumed the best route here would be a polite one, and spoke in the tone he usually reserved for Doctor Suterno. “I came to retrieve a few papers for my master, Doctor Suterno, and have since become lost. I’d be much obliged if you could direct me to the exit.”

“He’d be much obliged if we could direct him to the exit,” mimicked the weedy-looking guard in falsetto. “Speaks like the captain, he does, little sniveler.”

“’Xactly,” said the first guard. “Like I was telling you ‘bout that dog-fucked idiot who got all of us into this mess. Inbred idiots, all of ‘em. You’d think anyone’d know better than to mess ‘round with the merman.”

“You come to look at the merman, boy?” asked the third guard, still sounding angry. “Thought you’d sneak in for a look maybe, did you?”

“No, of course not. I’m not stupid,” said Terry, trying to keep himself from snapping. “I’d really just like to get out of here.”

“Oh, so you think we’re stupid?” said the weedy guard. “Hear that? Some poncy little brat thinks we’re stupid!”

“No, I didn’t say that,” said Terry, growing irritated despite himself. “Look, if you would just tell me where to go I’d be happy to leave.”

“Call us a liar, now?” asked the third guard. “You’re not going anywhere.”

He grabbed at Terry, and wasn’t it just his luck that he was the biggest of them. Terry tried to back away, but was loathe to throw a punch. He was alone with three drunk and angry men, and it wouldn’t do to get angry. “Let me go,” he said as calmly as he could muster.

“What do you think, boys?” asked the third guard, ignoring Terry. “When whores are few a boy will do, hey?”

“Looks like the type that’d like it,” said the weedy guard with a sneer.

“Hey, wait a minute—” Terry tried to interject.

“I dunno,” said the first guard, looking a little dazed as he tried to reason through the alcohol. “If he’s some master’s brat he’s not worth the trouble.”

Terry picked that up. “Yes, my master would be terribly angry. Just let me go and I won’t tell him and we can forget this ever happened. Really, he would have your heads for it. He’s friends with the duke and—”

“Shut up!” said the guard holding him, and pushed him down. And then the second guard fell on him and that was that.

He fought the best he could. He had never been a laborer, but he wasn’t a weakling either, since lugging around Suterno’s bags and packages was often a duty of his. He’d gotten into a fair share of scraps, too. But these men were trained to fight. They might be inebriated, but they were bigger and stronger than him, and there were two of them.

“Want in, Smith?” asked one of the guards holding him, unruffled by Terry’s frantic struggling. “Teach the little noble brat a lesson?”

“Have your fun,” he heard. “Too much rum, anyway.”

“Suit yourself,” said one of the ones holding him, and then they started in on him.

There had been a few men who had bothered him before in his life. Jerry and George and the others teased him about his looks, of course, saying he was light on his feet and all the rest. There had been the occasional visitor to Doctor Suterno who had said something or tried to touch him, but Suterno had always told them to leave off and told Terry to never mind about it. He knew he was comely, as much as a servant might be, but he never did anything to encourage it and was nearly a man now besides. He didn’t understand this, how it could have happened so suddenly. He had tried so hard to be polite to them, not to aggravate anyone, the way he had tried for his whole life. He had done all that and they were still hurting him badly enough to make him cry out. There was a hand on his mouth, then, muffling him, and he was scared and confused and in pain.

It seemed to happen fast, at least, although it hurt miserably. It was a blur of pain and their laughing and cursing. He heard them curse a man he’d heard of, who’d died at the merman’s hands, and the duke, and him, and smelled wine and the sweat on their hands and maybe blood too.

There was shifting near his hands, and a belt around his wrists to tie them together. The guard in front of him moved, and then there was something near his mouth, he saw through tear-soaked vision. They slapped him and when he gasped there was something in his mouth. He realized what it was and bit down reflexively, coughing as blood spurted. A round of cursing followed and the men left off to tend to the guard he’d bitten, and he backed away like a scared animal, wiping at his mouth obsessively.

He realized they weren’t hold him anymore, and took off running.

It was awkward to run with his hands bound behind him, and the pain lancing up his gut. And the gardens, though lighter than the rest of the mansion because of the glass and skylights, were still dark. He ran almost blindly, knowing he was dead if the men caught him. He could hear them behind him, cursing him and promising every kind of terrible death. He needed to hide until he could get his bearings, but where? Surely the guards knew this place better than him. He came to another door and shoved it open with his shoulder, hoping against hope that the guards wouldn’t hear. He ran on, smacking into bushes and shrubs and cursing and crying, blinded by tears and branches that smacked into his face, until the ground ended beneath him.

He flew, it seemed, and then cold water swallowed him up, burning as the saltwater touched his abused mouth and behind. He thrashed, trying to open his eyes, closing them against the salty sting of the water, trying to scream and feeling salty, cold water choke him. Which way was up? He had never had much opportunity to swim, and could barely remember how. He was in so much pain.

He thrashed blindly, hampered by the water and the belt tying his hands together. Random images flashed before him: Doctor Suterno, Jerry and Vincent and the others, the cook that always pinched his cheeks, the dog whose leg he had healed, the slice of plum pudding he had eaten on his last birthday. Time slowed, the water seeping into him past the memories. The burn in his chest began to ease. He stopped struggling, feeling himself drifting through the water, sifting gently to the bottom. Maybe the rest of the pain would stop soon, he thought blearily.

Strong, warm hands grasped his torso, pulling him up. The guards again? He struggled, trying to cry out, swallowing water. He broke the surface and thrashed harder, jerking his arms against his restraints, coughing up lungfuls of water. He kicked at the man holding him, panicking, blinking frantically, shivering. His feet hit scales. One of the pool’s fish?

Then his vision cleared.

Flat blue eyes stared at him, almost glowing in the soft light. Terry froze. It wasn’t a guard holding him. It wasn’t a man at all.

Oh, no. No, no, no.

Not all the notes in the world could have prepared Terry for this. This was no wounded animal. This was a monster from the deep. Suddenly all the rumors Terry had heard from the other servants came rushing back. He’d killed a man, they said – a noble, even. They said if you came too close he’d snatch you, drag you down to the bottom of the pool and rip your throat out with his razor teeth. They said he moved so fast he was like lightning. Like death. They hadn’t mentioned his eyes, Terry thought, bright and blue and mesmerizing. Terry’s heart was pounding in his throat. He couldn’t move.

He waited, trapped in the merman’s firm grip, and barely breathed as the merman brought one hand up to Terry’s face. It was indeed blue at the fingertips, just as the doctor had said, as though the merman had been carefully stained with ink and hadn’t quite succeeded in washing it off. The merman touched his hair and Terry flinched away, but the merman didn’t hurt him. He seemed to be… stroking him, almost.

He was beautiful, Terry realized, even in just the dim moonlight that streamed down from the glass panes on the ceiling. His cheekbones were high, his mouth full and proud. And he was strong. His skin was smooth over lean muscle. He was holding Terry up effortlessly, barely bobbing in the water.

Scales brushed Terry’s leg again and he gasped. The merman cocked his head at him like an inquisitive dog. Struck by sudden, irresistible curiosity, Terry looked down. The blue tail swished below him, blurred by the barrier of the water. Terry had known that the creature was a merman – the blue hair alone made him alien – but the sight of the tail made him feel faint.

“Could you –” his words cut off for a moment in his rough, sore throat, “Could you put me down, please?” The words seemed empty and pathetic when he said them, but what else could he say?

The merman narrowed his eyes at Terry, and then made strange clicking noises. Those teeth really did look sharp, Terry noticed, fear spiking in him.

“Please, just put me back at the edge of the pool and I’ll go, please please.” He pointed at the edge awkwardly with his chin, trying to squirm out of the merman’s grip. And then he was moving, gliding, because the merman’s torso barely moved as his tail propelled them to the side of the pool. He set Terry down at the edge with surprising gentleness, took hold of Terry’s bound wrists and bent his head to them. Terry craned his neck and tried to jerk away, but the merman’s grip was as inescapable as the guards’ had been. Terry held his breath, waiting for a bite, but suddenly his hands were free. The merman had freed him, when he could easily have torn him apart. He rubbed at his sore wrists, trying to make sense of what was happening. It was as though time had slowed.

He looked at the merman again. “Do you – understand me?” The merman just stared back at him with those unreadable blue eyes. He began to click again, his speech high and rapid, but was cut off by the crashing of the guards coming into the garden. “You can’t hide, you little cunt! Fuck, this garden’s a fucking forest.”

Terry jumped and began to get up, but the merman took hold of his arm. “No, no. Please,” Terry begged, trying uselessly to escape the merman’s grip. “Please let me go. I need to go. They’ll kill me. Let me go, dammit.”

The merman only clicked at him, his gaze penetrating. Terry groaned. He was going to die.

More crashing, and suddenly two guards appeared from the bushes. It was the third guard and the first one, the one who hadn’t wanted to hurt him. “There you are you – oh, fuck.”

Terry felt the merman’s grip leave him, and then he was just a blur in the water, barely visible until suddenly he leapt out of the water at the other edge of the pool, where the guards were standing. He rose straight out of the water, freakishly silent, and grabbed the big guard by the neck. He crashed to the floor as the merman fell back into the water, but did not fall into the pool. And then the merman leaned forward to the guard’s neck, and blood was everywhere, black in the dim light, spreading through the clear waters. Terry gasped, horrified. The man was thrashing at the side of the pool, grasping at his neck, but it was useless. His movements stilled to twitches as the merman turned to watch the first guard run off. The merman shrieked at his fleeing back, fierce and inhuman, and Terry had to clap his hands to his ears.

Terry watched, spellbound, terrified, as the merman turned back to the dead man, who was still and pale. The merman was doing something to his body, but Terry couldn’t discern what, and wasn’t sure he wanted to. Oh gods, was the merman… eating him?

Suddenly the merman turned back around, and skimmed across the water back to Terry, his human half almost entirely clear of the water. Terry knew he should run, should try to get away, but he was still stuck in that slowed time, and the merman was looking at him again with eyes as fascinating as they were terrifying. Caught in the merman’s gaze, it took Terry a moment to realize that the merman was holding something out to him. He looked at the dark bundle, and back at the merman, who held it out more insistently. He reached out tentatively, and took it. It was cloth. Clothes, Terry realized. The merman had taken Jed’s tunic from him. Terry realized he was cold. Freezing. He put the tunic on, feeling wetness at the neck that had to be blood. He didn’t care. Any sort of covering was welcome, even the tunic of his dead rapist. It was big on him, and he crossed his arms, glad for the warmth.

The merman was still staring at him. Anticipating, it seemed. “Th – thank you,” said Terry, hesitantly. He bowed his head a little. The merman, after a moment, inclined his head slightly in return. Then he held his hand to his chest and made another noise, something that began as almost human and ended in a high, alien lilt.

Terry stared, uncomprehending. The merman repeated the motion, and the noise, and then held out his hand to Terry, pointing.

His name, Terry realized. He said his name, and he wanted Terry to respond.

“Terry,” he replied, holding his hand to his chest as the merman had done.

“Kee-kee,” the merman pronounced carefully. Terry laughed, a pathetic, gasping noise, the result of looming hysteria, and saw the merman start slightly at the noise. Terry caught himself. He couldn’t give up now. “Kai?” he tried. He knew he was butchering the merman’s name, but it was as much of it as he could pronounce.

The merman, amazingly, smiled, although it took Terry a blood-freezing moment to realize he wasn’t just baring his oversharp teeth. “Kee-kee,” the merman repeated.

“Kai,” said Terry. He laughed again, feeling hysteria and exhaustion creeping up on him. He was sitting in a dead man’s clothing talking with a merman after being raped.

“I need to go,” he realized aloud, before he broke down completely. The merman cocked his head again. “Thank you,” Terry said again, trying to rally himself. “Thank you for saving my life and not, um, eating me or anything.” The merman just looked at him silently. Terry clambered awkwardly to his feet, pain lancing through him. He needed to get home. Distantly he realized his master would be angry that he did not retrieve the papers he was sent for, but right now Terry couldn’t care less. He just wanted to go home. He turned to head for the door, making sure it was a different door than the guards had come from.

“Kee-kee,” the merman said, the sound strange and sad, and Terry turned, almost against his will, to look back at him. The merman was staring at him still. “Kee-kee,” he repeated. The loneliness in the name was out of place in the lethal mouth.

“I’ll – I’ll come back, Kai,” Terry promised, the words tearing at him, and then he turned again, and forced himself not to look back.

88888

Far Seer rested at the shallow edge of the pool, leaning his head on his forearms, waiting to drift into sleep. It was not night, but he rarely felt the urge to swim about the pool anymore. It was pointless: there was no where to go, no way to escape the humans who came to poke his wounds or watch him. Instead he replayed in his mind the events with the human Kee-Kee.

He had been sleeping when something had entered the garden. He remembered the fear he’d felt, especially when he had realized it was night. The humans never came at night. He’d waited underwater, curiosity warring with fear. Any change in routine was tremendously exciting.

He remembered the crash that had been Kee-kee falling into the water. At the time he hadn’t been sure what had entered his pool. He’d smelled blood, and rut, but whatever it was had been thrashing, making enough bubbles to obscure its shape. Far Seer had approached cautiously, drawn by curiosity and the scent of the blood, on the lookout for a trap. The humans were insidiously crafty.

Then the thrashing had slowed, and he had realized that it was a human that had fallen into the pool. The ponderous legs, it had appeared, were not very effective in the water. Its hands had been bound behind it. Far Seer had come closer, still on the lookout for a trap, trying to decide whether to kill the human or just let it drown on its own.

The smell of sex had been sharper up close. Males, Far Seer had smelled, and more than one. The smells had confused him: this human was clearly a male, but not one of the ones Far Seer had smelled.

The human was wounded, Far Seer had noticed. There were bruises about his hips and chest. Tendrils of blood were snaking through the clear water, growing lazier as the human stopped thrashing the waters. He lay still finally, sinking to the bottom. He would die soon. Someone had bound his hands and hurt him, and now he was drowning.

Goaded by an urge he hadn’t been quite able to identify, Far Seer had borne the human to the surface. He had struggled when he was able to draw breath again, but Far Seer hadn’t minded greatly. Humans had remarkably dull teeth, and this one didn’t even have the use of his hands.

Far Seer could see quite comfortably in the darkness, and he had been struck, up close, by the exotic colors of the human. He had hair the color of wood, of earth, of things Far Seer had only heard about in the tales from wizened merfolk. His skin was pink at the ends, softer than merfolk skin. The human had finally looked at him, and his eyes had been the same strange brown. Far Seer had been entranced, and had reached out almost without realizing to touch the exotic hair. The human, Kee-Kee, had stayed very still. It had been the first time a human had been so vulnerable before him, not even struggling. Far Seer had vowed to himself, as he did circles in the white pool, that he would kill any human whom he found so close, but instead he had found himself wanting to protect this creature looking at him so clearly.

The human had made noises at him then, low and soft, afraid. “Don’t worry,” Far Seer had said. “I won’t hurt you.” He knew the humans did not understand merfolk tongue, but perhaps it would understand his tone. Instead the human had sounded a little more desperate when he spoke, and had pointed to the edge of the pool. Far Seer had understood then. He had begged the humans as eloquently as he could to let him go after they’d pulled him aboard. He’d pointed and gestured and even crawled, pathetically, towards the side of the boat, until they’d grabbed him and pulled him deeper into the boat. Looking at the human then, Far Seer had felt the urge to pull this human deeper into the water, down where he could not escape. But the feeling dissipated as he looked into the human’s sad, brown eyes. He took the human to the edge of the pool and set him down gently, mindful of his wounds and his strange, weak legs.

Noticing the human’s hands were bound with something relatively soft, not metal or rope, he had bitten them through. The human could have tried to hurt him then, Far Seer realized as he recalled the moment, but he hadn’t. He had rubbed his wrists and stared at Far Seer, as Far Seer studied him. He had never seen legs so close up before without clothes covering them. Why, even the human’s genitals had been visible. Far Seer had also seen the bruising about the human’s hips. The blood smell had been stronger there. Perhaps these places were more vulnerable on a human, he had pondered.

The human had spoken again, his voice questioning, still low and fearful. Far Seer had been struggling to understand when a crash had announced the presence of the humans. Far Seer had nearly grabbed the human, who had flinched at the sound, into the water, but settled for making sure the human didn’t run away on land, where Far Seer could not follow. Then the humans had come closer, and Far Seer had smelled the blood and rut on them.

Even now, alone in the pool, Far Seer bared his teeth, wrath pulsing through him at the memory. The men were his guards, whom he heard from time to time, who had struck him down when he attacked Watcher, who had hauled him out of the water whenever the humans had wanted to poke at his wounds. They had hurt this pretty human and he had wanted them dead. He had caught the first by the throat easily, and he had collapsed under Far Seer’s weight. The second had run crying into the night. “Coward!” Far Seer had yelled after him, the word stretching to contain all his rage and contempt. The human, his human, Kee-Kee, had cried out at the sound, and Far Seer had hoped he understood.

Thinking of the human, Far Seer had turned back to the first guard, wondering if the human would want his weapon. Humans seemed very fond of them. Maybe the guard had a shell or something Far Seer could give him as a trophy. Or maybe…

Manipulating the human clothes had been difficult. Far Seer had always been considered dexterous amongst his people, but clothes were foreign and confusing things. He’d only managed to get one of them, and that had blood on it, but his human had snatched it up gratefully, and clothed himself with practiced ease. Far Seer had admired the skill even as he’d lamented the chance to see the human body up close. Most of the human’s legs at least, had still been visible.

More speech from the shivering human, and then he had bowed his head to Far Seer. Far Seer had tried to speak to the humans many times before, and had come to think it was useless. They always snapped in their incomprehensible tongue, always angry or afraid. But this human, this human had *communicated* with him. Far Seer had bowed his head in return, elated that he could understand the human without words. He had done something, then, that he had never done with a human before.

“Far Seer,” he had said, touching his hand to his chest. Names were not easily given amongst the merfolk. Far Seer had worked a long time to achieve his name, and he did not speak it very freely. But this human had done more for him in minutes than any human had ever done since he’d come to them, and he had wanted to introduce himself. He had hoped the human would understand. Humans had names, did they not?

The human had taken a few moments to comprehend, but had spoken his own name, hand to his chest. Far Seer had tried to pronounce it, his tongue tripping against his teeth. That had gotten a laugh from the human, Kee-Kee, like the bark of a seal, and Far Seer would have been offended if he hadn’t heard the exhaustion in it. Kee-Kee had gamely tried to repeat Far Seer’s name back to him, and had soundly butchered it. Far Seer hadn’t cared. He had spoken with a human!

The human had rambled then, clearly near breaking point, and Far Seer had wanted to help. Kee-Kee was his connection to the human world, and he had found himself filled with the urge to help this human. Watching the human try to stand, he had wished suddenly, and for the first time, for legs, so that he could help Kee-Kee stand. It had seemed so certain that he would fall. But Kee-Kee had managed on his own, and Far Seer had wondered for the first time if humans were not as weak as he had thought.

The sight of Kee-Kee leaving had hurt him. He had meant to keep still, but had found himself calling out after the human. And he had turned! He had turned and spoken, even though he was tired and wounded and afraid, and then he had gone.

And he had not come back.

Far Seer left the side of the pool in a splash, restlessly flitting down to one side of the pool and back. It had been weeks, and Kee-Kee had not come back. Far Seer called his name over and over each night, eyes and ears pricked, and each morning he lamented that the human had not come.