Title: Fool's Misrule
Author: Mon Petit Pierrot
Fandom: Morganville Vampires
Rating: T (for safety)
Summary: He is as Janus was. Two faces. Two lives. Too many lies to count. He just prayed that he would be able to keep up the charade.
Note: This is the sequel to "Playing The Fool". While I would recommend reading that first before this, it's not required. It would just make a lot more sense. And THANK YOU THANK YOU THANK YOU for those who stuck with me for the first installment of this little mini-series. I'm so grateful that you convinced me to continue this. Myrnin's backstory is so much fun to write.
And I'm sorry that the sequel is so late and that this is so short. This is sort of a prologue/first chapter. Next chapter will definitely be longer. I currently do not have my book with me so that is why I am now updating. Please enjoy!
- Fool's Misrule -
Chapter 1
He didn't know where he was; it was far too dark to tell.
But there was something familiar about this place that he welcomed gladly. Warmth was wrapped around his old body, a comfort that he had lacked since he had been turned all those long years ago.
He could barely remember what it was to live as a human, to have real emotions. He missed that.
And then there was something brushing against his awareness, prodding for entrance, waiting to bring him forward. He recognized the signature, but he ignored the call out of spite. Oliver. Go away, you son of a bitch.
But the foreign mind was persistent and did not leave. He sighed internally. So typical.
He didn't want to go back. There were far too many responsibilities.
He wanted to stay in the safety of the darkness, far away from the web of deceit and lies that awaited him; however, Oliver had another itinerary in mind. He was pulled out of the warmth, and awoke immediately to a reality of pain. His back arched in silent agony, but he would not allow himself to reveal his weakness; not in front of Oliver.
He could feel the calloused skin of his hand pressed against his forehead, working to revive him, he knew, and still he tried to escape, refusing to accept his help. But Oliver's awareness was too strong – stronger than he wanted to admit – for his current state, and he was forced to comply. He collapsed back onto something soft, something that was more desired at this moment than Oliver touching him.
He knew that he was gasping for air. Oxygen was not what he needed at this moment, but that human instinct was integrated too deeply to be ignored, surfacing when it was least wanted.
Carnal hunger carved viciously in his stomach, bringing him into full awareness. He swallowed and coughed at the burning sensation in his throat. It didn't really help that some stupid humans were standing too close for their own safety, and for his concentration.
He could just reach out and snatch them, prey of their own ignorance, and slice open their throat to taste the rich, sweet blood...