The sanctuary echoed in a hollow, baleful way as blood dripped from the throats of its former occupants. Such a waste if they were innocent, but who could know? Lucien did say this treachery was too deep to abide. And the tenets...the tenets were law. There was no room for interpretation. Someone in her brotherhood had disregarded them, and it was her duty to Sithis and the Mother to insure their vengence.
Their bodies littered the floor. The bodies of traitors...corpses of the only family she ever knew. Only the disagreeable ones, that damned Kahjiit and bumbling jealous fool Antoinetta, gave her any pleasure at all in the kill. Possibly the hardest to fulfill was Vicente, who was always so kind to her, always so agreeable. He'd even offered to turn her, something she had never considered before that moment. But even so, even after becoming his companion in that most taboo ritual, sharing blood and darkened dreams, he lay drained and dead as dust. In his death they were one, his vampiric blood sustaining her in a way that mortal blood never could.
Thank you, my brother. She thought, a wry grinning chasing across her pale features. Abruptly she rose. No point dwelling on this any longer.
The ride back to Farragut took no time at all, thoughts flying like they were, just as the landscape flew by in ever varied shades of grey. In truth the distance was not long, and she would have arrived even sooner had it not been for her whim to check the traps she set earlier that day. A brace of coneys thrown over her saddle, she arrived and left Shadowmere at the front of the fort, making her way up the hill and to the trapdoor. She remembered her Speaker's face the first time she slid down the rope ladder; it had been sheer curiosity which brought her to the trapdoor as she explored the woods surrounding Cheydinhal. There was not a thought in the lowly Slayer's mind of finding Lucien Lachance in a full state of undress, fresh from a bath. He was furious, but after getting dressed he turned to the burning face of his fairly fresh recruit with a much more calm attitude. She had only stayed because she was sure the speaker wanted to kill her for trespassing and would rather face her death head on. She bowed her head and waited meekly, hoping against hope that his wrath was stilled.
So it shocked her greatly when, instead of swift punishment, he erupted into laughter and placed a hand on her shoulder. She looked up questioningly, unable to hope for a good outcome for this.
"Stand tall, young Slayer." he chuckled, his deep voice reverberating in the tall chamber. "The wrath of Sithis is stayed." He leaned closer to her ear, quite enjoying her increasingly panicked expression. "I just hope you enjoyed the view." If he thought that his cold blooded killer could blush no brighter, he was mistaken.
"S-Speaker!" she mumbled, shame coloring her words even as she cursed her own shyness. She chanced a look into his brown eyes to look away just as quickly at the humor she found there.
"What are you doing here? Too late to scrub my back, unfortunately."
"I-" she stammered for a moment. "Did you need my assistance to bathe, Speaker?" he met that with more laughter, then quieted, "I was exploring the area, looking for potential safe havens should my path to the sanctuary get cut off, and I found a trap door. Had I known...my apologies, honored Speaker." she bowed her head reverently, would probably have even gotten on bended knee in supplication had he not grasped her shoulder more firmly, humor fading from his countenance.
"By Sithis, you are a delight. Able to kill whomever is set before you without blinking an eye, yet seeing a naked man brings you down low. It's almost charming, my dear." he became serious then, "But you need not be so formal. I have a name, you may use it, Lana."
"Y-yes...Lucien."
Tonight was different; the fort was silent and dark as the void, not even embers glowing in the hearth. Lana snapped her fingers, causing a cheery flame to erupt in the cold fireplace. Lucien was not there, but it didn't matter. He had beckoned her to return, after all. The coneys soon meticulously cleaned and a cast iron pot soon bubbling with a rich stew of rabbit, vegetables, and herbs. Her skill in cooking was greatly enjoyed by her family, especially Gohgron who always ate every meal as if it were his last. Funny how that had been his downfall, she thought mirthlessly.
After eating, she quickly drew water for a bath, heating it magickly. She scrubbed vigorously, washing away the blood of her brethren from dark hair and pale limbs, scrubbing until her skin stung, then dressing in soft suede pants and a loose linen tunic. It wasn't until she was hanging her head near the fire to dry her hair that she heard the creaking sound of a trap door swinging open, and the steady whine of the rope stairs as weight was applied. She kept her back to him, continuing her ministration and waiting for him to speak.
"So the deed is done?" he asked, ladling a bowl of stew and tearing off a hunk of bread. She nodded and continued running fingers through her hair, humming softly as she stared into the flames. She stood then, shaking loose curls down her back and crossing the room to sit at his feet, arms braced on her knees, enjoying the relative quiet of the place interrupted by the creak of bones. It reminded her of the sanctuary's guardian, a comforting sound. In hardly any time at all he finished the meal and rose to set the bowl aside.
"Was the food to your liking?" she asked as he returned with a glass of whiskey in hand.
"Yes," he answered, "It is rare that I am afforded the chance for a homecooked meal. My thanks." He tossed back the drink and she rose to pour him another one grabbing her dagger and whetstone beforehand, unable to admit even to herself why she ministered to him. The act did not go unnoticed, a smirk chasing across his handsome face as she settled down and started sharpening her weapon.
"What is this? My dear Silencer playing housewife?" he chuckled as she shot a glare at him, but didn't have the wisdom to stop talking. "I didn't realize that being cursed with vampirism caused the desire for domestic bliss." she smiled a little but didn't look at him, honing her blade methodically.
"My list of family members grows thin, dear brother. Forgive me for doting." she turned her sanguine gaze to him once more, and for the first time that night he actually looked at her in earnest. The hollow look in her bloodred eyes coupled with her careless posture (she had always stood and sat straight and proud) and the cautious expression on her face assured him that not all was well. Suddenly he was in the floor crouching beside her, staring her down in a way that would have made her blush if she were capable. As it was, she returned his gaze evenly.
"You seem ill at ease, Lana." Lucien observed. She shrugged, looking down to continue her sharpening when he grasped her chin and forced her gaze upward once more.
"I told you before that you would need a clear conscience for this job. What is the problem?" his tone was almost a sneer, and she did have the decency to feel ashamed.
"I know that this was required, that the Night Mother demanded it; I would do whatever she willed, you know this." a frown crinkled her brow as she continued. "Yet even so, I never had a family before this. Never anyone to turn to for advice or companionship. They were dear to me." Hesistancy colored her words now, and she did seem a bit quieter as she said, "You are all of the brotherhood that I know now. All that I have left." she bit her lip and looked down, blood tinged tears filling her eyes. "Those that I killed today, I did so knowing that either way they would go to Sithis and the Void. What greater thing could I ask for myself? For anyone I hold dear than for them to go to the service of our Dread Father?" Lucien nodded when she spoke, knowing the truth to her words.
"Even so, my dear Silencer, you have ended that phase of your life with the Brotherhood. You and I work together from now on. " he placed a hand on her cheek, such an uncommon thing for him to do, having never comforted a woman before. So he was somewhat shocked when her gratitude came in the form of a fierce embrace that knocked the hood from his head, while her soft curves pressed against the rough planes of his body. She was so tightly pressed against him that every move seemed magnified. Every shift of her ripe body wore against his self control. The coolness of her skin only amplified how hot he felt beneath his robes, and when her breasts brushed against his chest it was a lesson in the tortures of a woman.
Soon enough he extricated himself from her grasping hands and spared a look at her now grateful and happy expression. He then set about tending to his own weapons, hoping to distract himself from the lovely creature in his floor. Whetstone in hand, he dragged his own ebony dagger across the face of it, again and again, like a chant disrupting the awkward silence of the room. She had begun to polish her blades, rubbing out any nicks or scratches she could find. Soon enough her eyelids began to droop and she set her equipment aside, content to doze with her head propped against Lucien's knee.
In a moment of carelessness as he glanced down at the sudden weight on his knee, Lucien sliced into his hand and then cursed loudly. Before he knew it, Lana had turned, eyes cloudy with bloodlust, an imploring look in her eyes.
"Spea-Lucien...please..." she said, then seemed startled at her own voice, and the invitation that lingered there mixed with the need. It was enough to snap her out of the blood's delicious song, and she backed up with an apology forming when he held out his hand in invitation.
"How could I deny such an earnest plea?" he whispered teasingly. She looked from his blood to him and began to protest, but he waved the words away with his good hand, beckoning her to him. It didn't take much to persuade her, and she soon was on him, cool lips pressed against his palm as her tongue slid out and lapped at the cut. Soon she was lost in the delicious taste of him, his blood beckoning to her in a way that was delightful and unholy, and she gave as good as she got, making the experience as pleasurable for him as she could with little moans and caresses to let him know how good it was for her. Her saliva eventually healed the wound, and she raised her face to his, staring at him with lust that had nothing to do with blood.
Slowly she ran trembling fingers up his clothed chest, licking her lips clean as she stared at him hesitantly. Vicente had once told her about this, about making the taking of blood pleasurable, showing that you appreciated the offering, but she thought that maybe that wasn't good enough. Lucien was dear to her, hadn't she known that for some time? And he was so warm and alive compared to the many hours she spent doomed to death and decay. His eyes were those of a hunter, a fierce predator that merely toyed with his prey for a time. Yet even so she stalked him, fell willingly into his trap, climbing into his lap and pressing cool lips to his. He moved his lips languidly to her rhythm while his hands caressed down that lean back and over firm buttocks, pulling her tighter to him. Soon he was groaning beneath her, hips thrusting unevenly against her own as his tongue slipped into her mouth, tasting blood and a lingering sweetness.
The sweet thundering of his heart echoed in the hall, reverberating through the cavernous room like a drum to her ears. She moaned as her mouth pressed against his pulse, the molten hit of lifeblood flooding her senses. His words were almost incoherent, a beg and a demand all at once. Who was she to resist, if it was what he wanted? With a final glance at his half open mouth and heated eyes she slid razor sharp teeth into his neck.
A brief instant, so brief that it didn't count, of sharp pain and then Lucien's body was so sensitive and pleasure filled that he felt he'd never be satisfied. He wanted her to devour him, for them to become one in such a resounding way that they may never again come undone. A dull throb started in his joints, settling in his loins, but it was so much more than that. He could feel her grow warmer in his arms, hear each luscious gulp, and when he slid a hand down to investigate, he discovered that she was practically soaked with want for him. Torture, that's what it was to him, but such delicate work that he wanted to revel in it.
Without warning he seized her in a strong grip and lifted them both from the chair, causing Lana to stop her feeding in surprise. She gently licked the wound at his neck, stopping the bleeding and then healing it completely, and then she was sprawled out on his bed. Lucien's deft fingers were quick to undo her clothing, so feather light and minimal that she was soon groaning under his ministrations. Soon enough she was bare before him, and he jerked off his clothes in such a hurry that it would have been comical had it not been so serious a moment.
His hot, naked proximity stretched out on the bed beside her was enough to make her cold body become hot with nervousness, the slightest blush rising to her cheeks due to his earlier donation. Unconsciously she pulled at the covers, trying to hide her nakedness from him, but he seized her wrists with one large hand, pinning them as he traced the line of her neck with his tongue. Each nuzzle and swipe of his tongue was gentle and light, and she was lost in the feeling, floating gently along until his teeth clamped onto her neck. A stifled, pleased sob wrenched from her throat at the pain of his blunt teeth tearing into her skin, not enough to break it, but she knew there would be marks later. Rough, calloused hands grated against her skin, too rough, but how she needed more. She pressed her trembling body up, pushing into his caresses in invitation, and he was only to happy to oblige, tracing a hand up her thigh with bruising strength until he came to her core, where his touch was a ghost, teasing and tormenting before he drove a single finger into her, then stopped, a surprised expression lighting his features.
"A virgin? Truly?" he asked humorously, and she groaned in embarrassment, turning away. "Such an innocent! I'd never have guessed." She struggled then, pushing him away as best she could, but he only laughed and pressed his lips to her cheek as he released her hands, pulling her closer.
"S-Speaker-please...you shame me." her voice shook as she said it, and Lucien's grin widened. He brushed his lips against her ear, breathing hot and slow in the pink shell and nibbling the lobe.
"Hush, my dear Silencer." his voice grew more husky, and the deep timbre sent shivers across her skin. "There is no cause for shame." his hand slid once more across her skin and down to her slick core, where he gently rubbed against the hardened nub there. "I've dreamed of this, Lana." she moaned at his words and actions, "Having you spread before me, writhing under my hand." and writhe she did, each caress of his fingers causing a shudder, "watching you beg. I've brought you to the end so many times, only to deny you until your sobbing and mad with desire beneath me, a wild insatiable thing in my arms." her whimper greeted him as he teased her entrance with his finger, place a thumb over her nub. That whimper bloomed into a choked moan, and she lifted her hips to meet his questing hand. She turned her eyes to him in silent appeal.
"P-please Lucien..." she keened, but he ignored her pleas, instead kissing down her chest until he seized a pale nipple and sucked vigorously, all tongue and teeth against her, and she felt herself grinding against his hand in earnest. His free hand seized the other breast, massaging and pinching until he switched to lave his tongue against it as well. She was a whimpering, panting mess beneath him, body arched and shivering at each touch; his fingers increased their pressure against her nub, and a tense feeling began all over her body. She met each swipe, wanting the feeling to continue, moving toward some goal of which she knew little. Her voice was husky as she begged and pleaded for release, but as soon as she uttered those words he removed his hands from her, moved his mouth against hers in a slow caress that left her unsatisfied and aching.
Soon enough his mouth travelled down her body, licking and nipping as he went until he settled at her core. His tongue teased, sliding up her thighs and nipping under a knee before returning just below her navel. After ages of teasing he slid that warm mouth over her center. He felt her stiffen and smirked, flicking his tongue out to taste her, rubbing the tip against her nub before sliding the flat of it across her. Her legs clamped against his shoulders, and each time he licked a tremble jolted through them. Then began the game. He would bring her so close to the edge only to stop right before completion, over and over for what seemed like days to her frazzled mind. The covers were getting soaked from her juices, as was Lucien's face, but still he would not let her release. She sobbed in earnest, her pleas turning incoherent.
Finally he pulled his face away, and she was so on fire for him that she pulled him to her, devouring his lips despite tasting herself on them. His body was flush against hers, and she felt his throbbing erection pressed against her leg. She was far too aroused to be nervous anymore; shifting her legs she welcomed Lucien's body to hers, pressing her hips up until his manhood grazed her entrance. He groaned a bit at that, so she did it again. He did not seem to have her patience where teasing was concerned, however, and soon he seized her hips with one hand, the other pressed to her neck. He stared into her face as he pushed against her entrance, slowly, deliberating, her fluids coating his cock, making him slick and ready for her. With one slow, steady push he was inside her, and the expession of otherwordly pleasure disappeared for a moment, replaced by the burning pain of her first foray into penetration. Her eyes clamped shut for a moment, nails digging into his back as she stretched to accomodate his significant girth. Quickly the pain receded, replaced by a dull throbbing in her loins that had nothing to do with pain. She looked up at him once more, and he seized the moment to pump into her again, sinking himself within her as deep as he could. Her moan encouraged him to continue, and soon he was setting a rhythm against her while she rose to meet his hips experimentally. He smiled his agreement and guided her hips, helping her achieve it, and soon they both were sweating, panting messes, straining against one another.
He seized her hips as she raised them, changing their positioning so his back was pressed against the headboard and she was straddling his lap. Breasts brushed against his toned chest, just as her body seemed to take him in even deeper, swallowing and engulfing him in soft flames. His mouth found her breasts once again as he guided her hips, showing her how to move, how to please him. She readily complied, and soon his fingers were digging into the flesh of her buttock, gripping her as he thrust up hard into her. She cried out with each thrust, and he felt her muscles clench around him, her release upon her as she shuddered and thrashed against him. His confident smirk was back as she stared at him in amazement, never having peaked before that moment. He continued filling her before pushing her off of him and turning her body to face the bed beneath, making her push that delightful arse into the air.
Again he found her entrance, and once more he was fucking her, only with that different angle the pleasure was much much more intense. He was hitting all the right spots inside her, and his hand rubbing her clit made her a sure victim to his prowess. She sobbed as another climax, much stronger than the first, hit her, and she sank beneath him, tired from the exertion. His hands gripped her hips surely as he finished inside of her, shuddering and spasming against her.
The two of them lay on the somewhat narrow bed, panting and grasping at one another as the room seemed to right itself slowly. No words were needed, and they certainly didn't seem either of them capable of speaking coherently anyways. Lana drifted off into the sensual nightmares of vampirism soon after, wrapped in one of Lucien's threadbare blankets, and not a thought of their slain brethren hindered slumber for either of them.