A/N: Okay, hullo there lovely readers! This is my first fanfic on this website, though I do have a few on Wattpad (LilMunchkin01) and Quotev (Jessamine). This takes place after The Dying of the Light with a few obvious changes, most notably that Anton and Ghastly are alive and Ravel is not a traitor. This is a Saracen/OC story with some Dexerie on the side (Valkyrie/Dexter). Anyhow, I hope you enjoy!
Blood trickled down her face, her vision obscured by crimson. She groaned quietly as she pushed herself off of the freezing, cobbled floor, forcing herself to stand despite the burning of her muscles. It appeared she was unable to support herself for more than a few moments as her knees buckled, the trembling grip she had on the rough wall was the only thing that prevented her from meeting the ground again.
Her stomach felt as though it was on fire, whatever she'd been cut with wasn't an ordinary knife and it hurt a hell of a lot more than she remembered over one hundred years ago. The injuries were worse this time around, she'd been lucky to be alive after the last incident. She gingerly brushed her scarlet stained hair out of her face and wiped her eyes, her hands, like the rest of her, slick with blood.
"Need some help?"
Max glanced up. While everything was still blurry, she could just make out the sight in front of her and her lips twitched in spite of the situation. "You have never looked more like Hugh Jackman." She croaked.
Saracen rolled his brown eyes and helped her up, holding her firmly to his sir as he tried to ignore her wince and gasp as he did so. "Blame Ghastly." He grumbled. "He wouldn't let anyone come without protective clothing."
"He was obviously watching Van Helsing when he made yours." Saracen was clad in all black, the trench coat her wore have the illusion that he was taller than he actually was and the hat on his head was definitely something Skulduggery would wear. "Don't worry," Max continued, her voice hoarse, "Hugh Jackman was hot in that film."
"You're suffering from serious blood loss." Saracen snorted. She hadn't complimented him in over a century, not that he blamed her. He wished they were in different circumstances, though he supposed they wouldn't have been honest or open otherwise. The threat of death often made people speak the truth or attempt to reconcile, and Saracen thought if when he had revealed his power to Erskine.
"Probably." Max agreed. "But you're still hot, even if you have let yourself go." She poked his slightly chubby stomach.
"I haven't let myself go!" Saracen exclaimed indignantly. "I just care about my six-pack more than most people so I chose to protect it with an extra layer."
"Of fat."
Saracen huffed. "I'm not fat."
"You are a bit."
"Hush you."
Just as she quietened down there was a soft whisper that had the two straightening. Max felt dizzy as her eyes flickered about the dark alley. Her dizziness only got worse as she heard the whisper again. "Please tell me I'm not going insane."
"You already are." Saracen murmured. "But yes, I can hear it."
Somehow, that didn't comfort her. "Did you come alone?"
"We all came."
"Then where are the others?"
Saracen now had a gun in his calloused hand as he handed Max her two signature blades. "That," he said, "is a very good question."
Max did feel comforted by the cool metal that rested perfectly in her palms but she knew that she wouldn't exactly pose a threat in her current state. She stiffened as she felt someone that definitely wasn't Saracen trail their fingers across her back, gliding their hands through the tips of her hair, but as soon as she turned she knew they were gone. It wasn't as though they could see much anyway. The alley was practically pitch black and the gathering fog only served to make matters worse. It was like something out of a cliché horror movie, except this movie was now reality and Max felt a lot like a blonde that got killed off near the beginning for being too weak or idiotic.
"Aoife..."
Max swallowed nervously. She'd fought in wars before, she'd been captured and tortured before, but right now she was scared and she wasn't going to deny it. This man, this creature, was the only thing that terrified her. She would rather take on Mevolent by herself than face this thing with even the famous Dead Men by her side, or one of them at least.
"Aoife?" Saracen questioned quietly. His eyes watched the space around them wearily as they slowly made their way forward.
"My given name." Max muttered.
"How does he know it?"
"I don't bloody know."
"Aoife..."
It was closer this time and Max gripped her daggers tighter.
"Aoife..."
"If I end up dying," Saracen said softly, "I want you to tell Dexter and Erskine that they're not getting my goldfish, Ghastly or Anton can fight over them."
"I might not be able to relay the message, who says I'm not going to die?"
Another gun appeared in his hand as he let go of her waist, Max immediately missing his warmth - the same way she had done for a century and a half since they'd met in the early 1800's. He gently left her leaning against the wall and Max took the moment to appreciate how loving he was being with her even at a time like this. It was a shame they probably wouldn't have long together after this, they had an awful lot to catch up on. Saracen clicked the safety off of his second gun and pointed it directly ahead of him, the heavy weight in his hand not wavering as a face appeared in the darkness. "Me."