She sagged sideways against the wall, keening and clutching at her side. The chamber was dark and cold, and the floor was hard stone. Pain arched through her. Every movement sent a bright sharp flash of it flooding outward from her ribcage. She clawed at her cotton tank top, her jagged nails catching in the ribbed fabric. She looked down to untangle them and saw the vivid red. An invisible angel was stroking the blotches, brushing and blending, spreading them outwards.
Her head fell back slowly, a moan dragged from her in a parody of ecstasy. Sweat trickled slowly off her chin and dripped down her neck. Her lips were chapped and torn, and her skin was deathly pale. Hair the colour of cream fell in a tangled mass half way down her back, the strands sticking to the skin of her neck and face.
"Please. I was weak. Please." Her voice was cracked and ragged. She closed her eyes and slid to the floor. The pain of the movement whipped at her and her body jerked even as her mind shut down. Blood seeped out of the wound.
The angel was painting, painting, painting.
"Oh, Light be with us." Cara groaned and rubbed her face tiredly.
"Want me to slip something in his drink? I could knock him out for the entire trip." Cara turned to see Darian leaning against a wall behind her. He was a worgan and a rogue. Neither made his appearance very friendly, but she loved him to death, furry muzzle and all. He was in full wolf form, and his fur was a rich charcoal. He kept his mane tied back with a strip of leather but let the fur on his chin go free. Two knives were strapped at his waist in plain black sheaths. He had dressed in his nice clothes—a dark green button-down shirt and smooth black leather pants—in preparation for an evening in the ship's bar. Unfortunately, that evening was quickly spinning out of control.
Their party was small but effective. Darian took care of stealth and scout work, the night elf Elennia was both a tactical genius and a strong warrior, Cara was a ruthless human sniper, and the draenei Chaklor was a vibrant and powerful mage.
Chaklor was also the most social of the group. After a long mission into the desert of Tanaris he was pining for some new company. The ship was a fantasy come to life for him, and he seemed to be making the most of it. Cara wasn't sure whether to laugh or cry as he stripped off his coat to reveal a black fishnet tank and stepped up onto the bar.
It wasn't as if he was the only one dancing on the wooden counter, but he certainly was the most unusual. He was slender and toned, and the tail that poked out through the hole in his low-rise jeans was tattooed with tribal designs. His hooves were lacking their normal polish after the Tanaris mission, but his skin was still velvety smooth and pale blue. His face was angular with high cheekbones and a faintly pointed chin. From his jawline sprouted four long, thin tendrils, two on each side of his face. He decorated them with the same tattoos that covered his tail. He kept his eyebrows neat and his eyelashes tinted. His hair was silvery and he allowed his side bangs to hang low enough to sweep into his eye and partially cover his smooth forehead plates. He was strikingly beautiful, and he knew it. He was also flamboyantly gay, but that didn't stop him from collecting a fair amount of female gazes as he danced over the countertop.
"If we knock him out we'll never hear the end of it." Cara sighed and sank into a chair at a nearby table. "Besides, he deserves a good party. He's saved our skins half a dozen times."
Darian grinned lopsidedly and sat down opposite her. "So have you." He pulled a flask from his belt and handed it to her. "I'd buy you a drink, but…well." He grinned back at the bar. Chaklor had found himself a suitor and they were tangling lips, still rocking to the music.
Cara laughed despite her exhaustion, and took a long drink from the flask. Warmth from the alcohol spread through her blood, and she yanked a suede bag from her back pocket and turned it upside down on the table. Carved dice and painted wooden sticks fell in a scattered heap. Cara grinned at Darian. "Play me?"
He ran a wolfish tongue across his teeth. "Loser has to carry Chaklor home in the morning."
"Deal." She snatched up the dice.