Disclaimer: I don't own Kim Harrison's characters.
I'm sorry, Rynn. I just can't pretend anymore. I thought as I silently slipped from the underground chambers of my master vampire, my body still warm from the bed and tingling from the night's exertions. A fresh bite mark throbbed dully under the collar of my leather jacket, at least in an inconspicuous place this time, and I unconsciously rubbed the sore spot. I padded through the white and cream room that was the center of the underground chambers, the same rooms that used to be Piscary's. I hate this place; how many times have I come here begging for Piscary's touch? How many times have I sold myself here, body and soul, for a need that consumes me, makes me something less than human? I lost count…
I felt dead as the elevator took me back to the surface, to that outside world I felt dead to. The air was cold and sharp, snapping me somewhat from my torpor as I walked slowly towards my Nightwing. The black and purple bike looked like I felt, sleek and predatory, cold and alone. The early morning sun was starting to rise over Cincinnati, across the river from me. The Hollows were silent, but the human population in the inner city was stirring already. It was about 7:00 am, a crazy hour for a vampire to be up. I felt bone tired, but it barely registered against the pain in my soul.
Pull yourself together. You'll feel better when you get home.
Home? Home is where Rachel Morgan is.
My helmet slid easily over my face as I mounted my bike and started it. The familiar rumbling of my baby felt soothing. I had been lucky this year; the snowfalls were quite late, and even in November I still didn't have to put her in storage. My bike had always been a comfort to me; something that was my own, totally, not tied to my inheritance, my status or my… assets. Just a prize I had won with the sweat of my brow. When I rode, I was free. At least, I usually was. Lately, even the wind and the speed weren't enough to make me forget… her; the taste of her blood, the scent of her hair, the feel of her body embraced by mine…
Rachel. God, do you have any idea how much I love you? What you do to me?
I sped across the Hollows, taking advantage of the empty streets to push the Nightwing to her limits; made by vampires, for vampires. A human would have chickened out, but vamp reflexes and coordination made the incredible speed easy for me to handle, like the bike was an extension of my body. I reached the small stone church I shared with Rachel and Jenks in a matter of minutes, parking the bike before the front steps. I climbed the few steps to reach the heavy double doors that yielded to me easily thanks to my vampire strength. The sanctuary beyond them had changed a lot since I first saw it fifteen months ago. It was now cozy, basically a second living room and reception area, complete with a second T.V. and couches. My baby grand piano was tucked in a corner. For a few months after Rachel moved in with me, I hadn't really felt the need to play it, but now that Rachel spent so much time in the ever-after, I did. I spent hours playing and worrying, hoping she'd be all right. And I thanked God, or whoever was out there, every time she came home safe.
I strode through the sanctuary, my steps barely audible, my eyes lingering over the shadow that was the only thing left of the cross that used to loom over the huge, open room. Memories played in my head of the day I had asked/tried to force Rachel to be my scion in this very spot. I think it was the first time she realized my interest in her went beyond friendship. I wasn't in love with her yet, but I did respect and desire her, more than anyone in my life at the time. I offered her everything I could give, but she turned me down. It hurt, of course, but after spending nearly a year as Piscary's scion, I couldn't blame her anymore. I used to see it as a beautiful gift, a bond even more intimate than love, but now I wouldn't wish that hell upon my worst enemy, let alone the woman I love.
It is sickeningly ironic that this event, my rape at the hands of Piscary, was also the first bloom of my feelings for her. She helped me that night, even when reason should have dictated that she leave me and run the other way, as far away as she could. But she didn't. She picked up the pieces of me and pulled them back together, as best she could. Then, she took a stand for those she loved, for her mother, her brother, for that bastard Nick. For me. For the first time in my life, someone stood up to Piscary, not in a search for power or influence, but only because it was the right thing to do, no matter the risks. How could I not fall for her, for her strength of character, her soul, her devotion to those she loves? I couldn't. I never stood a chance.
My steps took me in the hallway, to our rooms. Even through the closed door, I could hear the sound of Rachel's deep, restful breaths. Like I did each time I heard that sound I longed to lie next to her and let that beautiful melody lull me to sleep. But I couldn't. I couldn't warm her bed and hold her as she slept, share her dreams and soothe her nightmares; it wasn't my place in her life, even if I felt it should be. At least she had given up the idea of installing a lock inside. I know she thought about it during our first weeks here.
The kitchen was next, our favourite place in the church, even though the worst of the fights happened here. It was trashed more times than I could count, but just like us it fixed itself up and kept going. The early morning hour coloured the room blue, just like it had been on that fateful morning a month ago, when I finally thought I could control my bloodlust and could find a blood balance with her. If I was completely honest with myself, I'd have to admit this was only a stepping stone in my plan to ease her into a more intimate relationship with me. It had been my hope that someday she would understand the height of passion I could share with her. But everything went wrong. I didn't expect her to drop all of her defences and give herself fully to me, and I sure as hell hadn't expect what happened then; the merging of our auras, that perfect instant when I couldn't tell where I ended and she began.
And then I just lost it. It as been four years now since I begun struggling with my vampiric needs, three excruciating years during which I denied the hunger completely and one year of meaningless physical satisfaction that felt so hollow and cheap, I spent it hating myself. But just as I touched that deepest desire, just as I found that true beauty, I lost it.
I opened the fridge, grabbed the carton of orange juice and took a long swig from it. As usual, the juice did wonders to help wash down the taste of blood in my mouth. My hunger was calm and sated, but my soul felt empty. It wasn't news, really; I had never found true satisfaction in my needs, but never before had it felt so bad afterwards. Rachel believes that that morning didn't change anything, that we were still friends. She was at least partly right; we were still friends, and nothing would change that, but everything had changed for me. I'd had a taste of my most prized desire, and I realized now that I wish I never had; how could I go back to my old lifestyle when I knew what beauty lay just out of my reach?
I walked around the kitchen, taking in the strange, familiar mix of my life and Rachel's; her copper spell pot next to my computer, her ceramic spoons and my coloured markers, my maps and her spell books… It meant the world to me, but as I sat down in front of my computer with the carton of juice in hand, I didn't recognize the woman whose reflection stared at me on the shut down monitor. I was losing myself in the mess that were my emotions. My hand slid through my black and gold hair as I wondered what Mia, the woman whose hairstyle I wore as a reminder of what I wanted, would think of me now.
She'd laugh in your face and call you pathetic. She'd tell you to move on.
Maybe I should move on. Leave Rachel and my hopes, my feelings behind, to try and pick up my life where I'd left it before I met her. Maybe I would if I could stand the very thought of being without her. Maybe I would if she wasn't all I had left. Kisten was gone. Skimmer was in jail. I couldn't pretend to believe Rynn loved me anymore. As much as Jenks loved me, he would realize that Rachel needed him more than I did and stay with her. I would be alone if I left, and I didn't have it in me to exist that way anymore, not when I'd found true companionship, but at the same time, living here was a constant heartache that was becoming more and more unbearable.
Damned if you do, damned if you don't…
A sudden impulse had me rising from my chair and walking up to Rachel's door. Slowly, I opened it, thankful for the silent hinges I installed to replace the old ones after they waked me up one too many time. Her room was quite different from mine; where my room was kept in careful order, hers had a more chaotic, more lived-in feel to it. Even though her furniture was less than a year old, her very essence had seeped into it, making the space definitely and irrevocably her own.
Rachel was asleep, her beautiful red hair spread like wildfire over her pillow, her sheets covering a body that was both graceful and powerful, at once a work of art and a finely honed weapon. She called to me, like a moth to a flame.
Step back. STEP BACK! You already overstepped you bonds, don't make it worse!
I couldn't stop myself. I entered her room and walked next to her. The leather of my pants creaked as I kneeled next to her immobile form. She smelled wonderful, the rich, earthly scent of witch mixing headily with the scent of vampire that clung to her like silk ribbons, my scent. Three small scars marred the pearly perfection of her wonderfully pale skin, all of them from me, all of them so carefully given; I never wanted to hurt her, but I had, once. I quelled the desire to touch these scars and make her come alive with the need to be bitten; I had sworn never to touch her again unless she wanted me to, and I wouldn't do this to her. Never again.
Rachel moaned and stirred slightly before me, and I had a moment of panic before I realized she was having a nightmare. I could feel her blood pressure spiking and fear seeping from her. My eyes dilated, but I didn't feel the bloodlust rise, at least not threateningly.
"Ivy… please… don't… Ivy…" She was mumbling in her sleep, and I felt my heart drop like a stone. It seemed I was starring in her present torments. I pushed to my feet, wondering if it was even possible for me to feel worse; she said she wasn't afraid of me, that she trusted me, but I could see now that her subconscious felt differently. Deep down, she did fear me. There was no mistaking this. A tear rolled down my cheek as I slowly moved to exit her room. I was in the threshold when her mumbling gave me pause.
"Please… don't leave me… Ivy…I need you… please…help me…" Her voice sounded like a sob now, and I could definitely smell tears. I padded to her quietly, not daring to hope. "Don't leave me… help… me…"
Hearing her beg wrenched at my heart. Without any conscious thought, my long fingers slid in her hair, deep into those wonderful red curls that were so much softer than they looked. I moved my hand over her head in a soothing motion, stroking her back to peace and oblivion. I don't know how long I stayed by her side, my hand in her hair, but when I glanced down at her face, two green eyes I would kill and die for were looking back at me, filled with sleep and shining with tears.
"You're here." She whispered, clearly unsure whether or not she was still dreaming. She was reaching for me weakly.
"I am." I whispered back, taking her warm hand in my cooler ones and squeezing very lightly.
"I thought you were gone. That you were fed up with me and you moved on. I thought I pushed you away."
"It was a dream, Rachel. Just a dream. I'll always be here, I promise. Whenever you need me, I'll be here."
"I'm so sorry, Ivy. I'm sorry I can't love you like you need me to." Her tears spilled down her cheeks as her voice caught in a choked sob. I leaned in to take her in a hug.
"Shhh, Rachel. It's all right. Go back to sleep." My voice was steady and slow. I consciously focused my pheromones on her, not to bring her scars alive but to bespell her into sleep. I normally couldn't do it if she wasn't willing, but in her half-asleep, confused state she wasn't focused enough to stop me. Soon, her breathing grew deep and peaceful again. I gently ran my hand over her face to wipe away the tears, and as I adjusted the covers over her, I realized I meant what I said. I'd always be here for her, no matter what happened or didn't happen between us. I walked away from her bed, feeling lighter than I had in a month. I had found my resolve to go on living with her.
Is it really worth the cost? All the pain and emptiness, all the blood you've shed? A dark voice sounding disturbingly like Mia's resounded in my head, and as I stood in the threshold of Rachel's room I stopped to ponder. It didn't take long; one look at the peacefully sleeping witch was enough to provide an answer.
Yes, it was.