The assassin sat in his chair with his head in his hands. He knew the signs, he'd seen them before. Two hundred years in service to the Dark Brotherhood had not left him blind. Every carefully planned murder to a family member, and each with clues leading back to Cheydinhal… A traitor among the Dark Brotherhood, they said. Whispers in the night, all saying Cheydinhal is irreparably lost.
She came after the murders started. So innocent, like a sweet child, a glimmer of hope in the disparaging darkness. One kill only, from a man who tried to steal what belonged to her, and a score of scars to remind her of the pain.
Vicente had given her each contract from the very start. The day he met her, her youth bared its unwrinkled face to him. What all can you hear? She had demanded of him. His refusal to answer her questions on his condition resulted in her persistence. If you don't mind, I'd really like to know. Now.
His response had been cruel and angry, fueled by what he felt was an attack on his privacy.
"Very well. I could hear your hushed whisper when you questioned Ocheeva about who I am. I can hear your heart pumping blood through your body. I could pinpoint the exact spots on you to bite down and suck the life out of your body." His voice had glued her into her seat, mesmerized by a power unseen. The scent of her pain and sheer terror had clouded his senses, and Vicente had wanted nothing more than to sink his fingers into her flesh and tear her apart as he drank the vermilion liquid that ran through her veins.
Yet…he had not killed her, instead continued in his raw fury, enthralling the poor girl to his whims.
"I can tell when you're afraid or angry, and I can tell that you're afraid right now, even if you're trying to deny it to yourself. I can smell the fear on you. I can smell that you took a bath shortly before you came here. I can smell that you wore the dress you have on when the man who was courting you attempted to take advantage of you, because I can smell his death on you. Now tell me, dear sister, would you like to talk about your first contract?"
His last sentence was a simple whisper, strangely loud where his sharp voice had been moments before. She was like a helpless deer, caught in the terror but unable to move. He could have led her into his room and ravaged her until she bled, unable to cry for help or mercy. He could have drunk her until her skin withered and clung to her bones, efficiently ending her life despite her inability to fight back.
Her beauty had won him over. The purity in her green eyes had led him to touch her face and calm her down, releasing her from his hold. Instead, Vicente had become the prey and she the predator, forever mesmerized by what he did not and never could have.
With each contract he had given her and she completed, the girl had returned unscathed with bright eyes and a desire to please. Her hold on him was an infuriating wild fire that he could not escape. The more she killed, the further he fell into her wicked grasp until he had no choice but to offer her his gift.
Vicente had never let anyone close to him, not inside his head or against his skin…yet she would wrap her arms around him with a head against his chest or her nose buried in the ancient skin around his neck like it was a natural thing to be with him. He couldn't help but give her gifts and relish her in affection. She was as necessary for life to him as human blood was.
When the words left his mouth, he wasn't sure how she would react."I intend to make good on an offer I made some time ago. As a vampire, I may pass my gift on to others as I see fit. You have served me well, and now I choose to extend that gift to you."
He had watched the shock and fear surge through her body as she stood stone still, her deep eyes locked on his, her humanity beating deep within her chest to a rhythm Vicente hunted to.
She had answered simply, Okay.
He'd gone through the usual. Night, while you sleep. Three days later.
No! Her voice was strong, eyes blazing as she dared him like no mortal ever had. Right here and right now.
His conflict was eternal. The pain she'd feel as his teeth sunk into her neck and drained her life force would be crippling. She'd despise him and seek his death through her revenge. The youthful innocence, the soft but strong flow of blood, all would corrupt into stone and pain and and death, but Vicente wanted her to be his eternal companion.
He had agreed, seducing her and forcing her to feel things she never dared feel. Her arousal was like fire in his nostrils, tempting him to act on the dark and malicious thoughts he had towards her. Yet, he managed to find that gentle pulse underneath her cotton skin and sink his teeth into it, her taste flooding his senses. Surprisingly, she clung on, moaning like he was pleasuring her. The scent of her pure desire intoxicated his brain, and he drank and drank, until her small body became weak and started to slump into his arms.
Vicente didn't know how he pulled away, nor did he understand her smile and her unrelenting need for him. She had begged him to take her and make her feel, but he knew he was not strong enough to keep her alive.
Their relationship was born on the night of the New Years dance. He held her close for everyone to see and she sunk into him like he was the life force sustaining her. When nobody was looking, he sunk off into the darkness and into his chambers, claiming her as his own while he moved inside her to the steady beating of her heart, his disease and love flowing through her veins, making her his.
But that was a long time ago. She had not turned into a vampire, even when Vicente stayed with her for three days and saw that she drank no potion to cure. His heart had broken with each moment he saw her grow older, but it wasn't nearly as painful as seeing the Speaker drop from the well, holding her in his arms, bloody and broken and dying.
Sithis did not take her, and Vicente died to live another day by her side, just to watch her leave again.
Her promotions were too quick and too far ahead. She outranked him and everyone else in that Sanctuary except the Speaker. Vicente had not lived for two hundred years under the Night Mother to stay ignorant to the Brotherhood's ways. He knew what happened when a Brother or Sister became a Silencer, as he had once served there himself.
She was called away, and Vicente could guess where, as neither he nor Ocheeva had given her the contract. Her absence was long and his body longed to share her company, her warmth next to his cold on the flat stone slab, his coffin.
She had returned a little less than a week later, red hair fussed up and looking worse for wear than she ever had. She did not speak to him, nor did she stay in his room with him or delight in his love and affection. She was as distant as the changing tide, and Vicente could guess why.
For all signs of a traitor did not point to Cheydinhal without reasoning. Yes, they would perform the Purification and she'd be the one to do it.
The vampire sat in his room, his head in his hands. She was coming for him. As he thought, she smote each Brother and Sister relentlessly in their sleep with her strong hand or a powerful poison, pouring it into their ears and watching their chests stop moving.
She was going to betray him. She who had shared his bed and his love, allowed his gift to flow through her veins and her blood to warm his old bones. She who had loved his ancient skin and let him take her final innocence. She who served him loyally and taken everything he had.
It was pain and hate and anger and pure betrayal. It was frustration and raw fury. He wanted to hate her and kill her and rip her apart, tear her head of red hair from her soft head and watch her body bleed and desecrate on the floor. He wanted to decorate the walls of the Sanctuary with her innards and laugh as she begged for his mercy.
But he could not, for she had his heart. He would rather die than truly do any of those things. Vicente knew the Sanctuary must be Purified, as there was no other way. If she failed, surely someone else would fill her place. He would have killed her for no reason, and he'd be hunted like an animal. She who shared his love must live, for he would live through her.
"You have come." His voice was quiet as he stood up, facing the bookshelf. The blood dripped off her dagger onto the floor, he could hear it…the way her hair smelled like death and her body devoid of the sweet mint-soap he grew to know so well as Zarissis.
But the blood and death weren't the strongest smells on her body. She radiated fear and agony, her very heart pumping blood because it had to, not because it wanted to.
It aggravated his senses, and again mixed emotions clouded his judgement.
"Did you just expect me to stay still while you slay me? How could you betray me?"
It did not last, his fury. He heard the light rolling plop of tears falling on leather, the slide as they rolled down her paper cheeks.
I love you! She cried, and at last he could turn to look at her. Pure despair shone brighter than any color in the pinks on her cheeks.
He did not want to hear those words. His fight for survival battled his love for the little Breton girl. His hand found her throat, and quite before she could react, he threw her across the room and over a table and into the wall.
Something snapped with a sickly sound.
"You shared my love and my bed and my death, and now you come to bring me my doom? Why would you agree to such a thing? Was it love for Lucien? Have you led me to my demise this whole time?"
No, she had pleaded, holding a hand over her bleeding side, the scent overwhelming Vicente. Never would I have done such a thing. I wish to share the eternal night with you.
"You sure have a funny way of showing it!" His laugh was hallow, his love for her lost in his instincts.
Please! She pleaded, seeing the destruction he wished upon her in his eyes. The Night Mother commands me…
"No," the vampire argued, his face darkening. "Lucien and the Black hand command you."
His hand fights her braid and she screams as he lifts her off the ground, her scalp dripping crimson down her perfectly sculpted face.
Vicente, don't do this.
She hits the bookcase again, horrible crunching noises followed directly after. The smell of blood is overwhelming, and he knows he is close to losing it, the desire to tear her body limb by limb the strongest emotion.
With all the strength she can muster, the red-haired girl rises painfully to her feet, closing the distance. The vampire stands still, in shock as her lips caress his in a mixture of desire, pain, and words unspoken.
Instinct is forgotten, and it is her again.
"Oh gods, Zaris, no…" His hands shake, realizing what he's done. Cuts pour blood down her scalp and head and cheeks, under her chin and down her neck. Her body bruises beneath her armor, broken.
One hand caresses her cheek gently. "I am so very sorry…I will…always love you." His lips meet hers again, and the sadness in his eyes is echoed in her own.
She closes her eyes, expecting her death…but it does not come. The vampire clasps his gold necklace around her neck, a final remembrance of his love for her.
Vicente, she whispers in terror. He pulls her dagger from her belt and wraps her hands around it.
"Do it right here, right now." He echoes the words she once spoke to him. With a hand wrapped around hers, he guides her to his heart and plunges it in.
Her scream is piercing, tearing through the Void. Her breath catches in her throat as his fine wrinkled skin flakes away like powder turning to dust.
"It is okay. Better by you than someone else. We meet again, child and lover, my Dark Gift from the Night Mother herself." His flesh wastes into a fine sand, spraying around her and covering her arms. Where it lands, cuts are healed, leaving no remnants of any wound other than a light mark, softer and more papery, yet definitely colder than her own skin.
Her scream catches in the air and he collapses before her eyes. The dagger topples from her grip and lands, poofing up dust as it goes. She falls to her knees, her heart shouting for life as her lungs refuse to breathe in. The world collapses around her, with no one to come and save her.