Sun and Moon
by Vamptanzen
You are sunlight, and I, moon
Joined by the gods of fortune
Midnight and high noon
Sharing the sky
We have been blessed, you and I
C'est impossible!
She had left Toronto to reaffirm the vampire within her, and had found, quite by accident ... mortal love.
How could such a thing have happened? Janette mused.
But yet, here it was, as fantastic as it was undeniable.
Though well acquainted with passions both mortal and immortal, tenderness was something Janette had rarely experienced in her relationships with men. Before LaCroix, there had been in her life only use and abuse -- first by a neglectful family so eager to be rid of her that they married her off to the first man who would have her; then by an unloving husband who wed her and bed her only because he wanted an heir, then cast her into the streets when he discovered her incapable of producing one; and finally by an abusive man who pimped and sold her to an endless parade of men who used her body as a receptacle for their baser needs and cruel lusts. Then, after LaCroix, men were prey -- never to love, their sole purpose merely to sustain her immortal existence. She had never before known love in its purest, most gentle form.
But even LaCroix, whose dark gift of vampirism had been her salvation from a life of prostitution, disease, and an early grave, provided only a temporary break in that pattern of use and abuse. Though LaCroix could be extraordinarily gentle when it suited him, he was not by nature a gentle man. Power was and had always been LaCroix's first love, and he didn't hesitate to wield his authority over her. He was supremely capable of treating her as the highest-born queen one moment, then demanding obeisance and loyalty the next with a bruising hand, reminding her in no uncertain terms that he was her master, now and for eternity.
Then there was Nicholas. She had desired Nicholas, and he her, from the very first, but the love had taken time ... centuries, in fact ... to grow. And, being two centuries his senior, she had always had difficulty considering Nicholas her equal; in fact, for the first time, she had enjoyed the thrill of wielding power, however subtly, over another of her kind. She had delighted in the way she could master him with a mere smoldering glance or a graceful sway of her hips ... then enslave him with the power of her kisses and caresses.
True ... she had loved Nicholas ... still did love Nicholas -- despite, or maybe because of, everything the two of them had been through over the centuries -- and probably would for eternity. But it was a love that was hopelessly intertwined with dark passions and the blood-soaked heat of vampiric lust.
Robert was different. He was the first -- possibly the only -- truly unselfish man Janette had known, the one man who had no ulterior motives where she was concerned, made no demands of her. He gave, freely and of himself, with no expectation of recompense, accepting only that which was freely given in return.
In short, he embodied the best of humankind.
And, for the first time and totally against her will, Janette began to truly believe that Nicola may not have been so tragically misguided after all in his attempt to reclaim his humanity.
It had been Fate ... and her own foolishness ... that had brought the two of them together.
She had fled Toronto, fled the Raven, fled the life she had carefully built there because she had felt herself tainted by Nicholas' quest. She had ever been content to be a vampire, had had no desire whatsoever to return to a mortal existence, to give up the power she enjoyed as a vampire. She was convinced Nicholas was a complete and utter fool, mooning ineffectually over his lost humanity. What did humanity bring, after all, but pain and weakness and, ultimately, the oblivion of the grave?
But the strength of Nicholas' convictions had introduced a seed of doubt into her unflagging devotion to the vampire lifestyle. She began to wonder what the attraction was, how Nicola could so easily discard the gifts he enjoyed as an immortal being.
In her efforts to truly understand Nicholas, Janette had begun to emulate him. To try to see what he had been putting himself through, the sacrifices he had made in his struggle to reclaim his mortality, she fasted -- completely, for she could not bring herself to dine on the blood of animals like Nicholas did. Eventually, the abstinence became as a game to her ... a test of her will, a challenge -- how long she could resist before the hunger overcame her and she was compelled to sate it with a bottle -- or several -- of the Raven's "house special", a supply of which had traveled with her upon her leaving Toronto.
And it was thus, in the throes of weakness from one such bout of deprival, that the flames had found her ...
And so had a sun-burnished fireman, come to the rescue of a 1000-year-old vampire too weak from self-imposed hunger to fly to safety on her own ...
You are here like a mystery
I'm from a world that's
So diff'rent from all that you are
How in the light of one night
Did we come so far?
Robert turned over in bed to watch the sleeping woman nestled beside him. He fingered the luxurious dark curls spread across his pillow, then his hand moved to his neck, where he could feel the small, raised puncture wounds, still tender to the touch, which had remained after their lovemaking. He recalled with an illicit thrill the ecstasy of her sharp kiss, bestowed at the peak of their passion ...
The words she had spoken that night came back to him ...
I am a vampire ...
He could still hardly believe it -- it was all just too fantastic, too weird! -- but here, on his neck, was the evidence ... and he had seen the indisputable truth for himself the first time they had made love -- her eyes aglow with an unnatural golden light, the delicate ivory curve of her fangs glinting in the firelight as she surged above him, then fell against him like a cool wave on a sun-drenched beach.
I have lived for centuries ...
He could still barely believe that she was here, with him. That this magical creature had entered his life, and now shared his bed -- this pale goddess, an ethereal vision of pearly skin, ruby lips and raven black hair ... and crystal blue-violet eyes a man could die for. And probably had, he added in his thoughts, though he found it difficult to reconcile the vibrant woman who laughed and regaled his son, Patrick, with fantastic tales of times past ... this beautiful, passionate, loving woman ... with the cold, vicious killer she had avowed to be for centuries.
Yes, indeed ... they did have issues, far beyond that of any "ordinary" couple.
But seeing her now, in his bed, after what they had shared ... her face kissed by the silver moonlight filtering through the bedroom window, her lashes a dark fan against those pale cheeks, as vulnerable as any woman in the afterglow of lovemaking ... he knew that he would do anything for her, overcome any obstacle, so they could be together. He loved her, as he never thought he'd love a woman again after Patrick's mother ... And in that moment of ecstasy when her fangs had slipped through his skin, in that instant when they two had become one in perfect communion, he had felt her love for him, too, wafting through his soul like a soft ocean breeze.
His finger traced the curve of her jaw, and those lashes fluttered up and her blue-violet gaze met his ... and he was captivated all over again.
"Mon amour ..." she purred in a husky whisper, and unfurled her lithe body, stretching like a cat, as a slow, languid smile graced those lush red lips. The feel of her cool skin sliding against his as she flexed fired his blood anew, and, laughing in concert like any passionate, lovestruck mortal couple, they made love again as the false dawn began to light the sky...
Outside day starts to dawn
. . . Your moon still floats on high
The birds awake
. . . The stars shine too
My hands still shake
. . . I reach for you
And we meet in the sky!
Janette gently extricated herself from the tangle of masculine limbs now relaxed in post-coital slumber, and began to reclaim her discarded articles of clothing. True dawn was fast approaching and, as much as she hated to leave Robert's side -- and his bed -- she needed to return to her own daytime haven before the sun made its fiery debut.
It was getting harder and harder to leave him each day, as feelings she had denied herself too long grew and flourished within her, nurtured by the warmth of the love they shared.
Oh, yes. She admitted it now. She was hopelessly in love. With a mortal.
C'est impossible!
Or so she had thought, until recently.
How LaCroix would laugh at her in derision -- his vampire daughter, fallen victim to Cupid's poisoned arrows. He would, no doubt, berate her as a fool, even as she herself had taunted Nick about his futile quest for a mortal life. An old tenet came to mind: What you mock, you are doomed to become.
But now, as she gazed at Robert's cherished face in repose upon his pillow, she didn't care. She didn't give a damn about what LaCroix would say or do.
She was in love. And she had rediscovered the sun -- in the face of the mortal man who had won his way into her cold immortal heart, and in the young son he held so dear.
LaCroix's daughter of the night, captivated by this child of the day.
She brushed her pale hand through his silken hair, and feathered a soft kiss against his sun-bronzed cheek before turning to go.
The door closed silently behind her as the moonlight slowly surrendered to the soft gray light of dawn.
You are sunlight, and I, moon
Joined here
Bright'ning the sky
With the flame
Of love
Made of
Sunlight ...
Moonlight
(Song credit: "Sun and Moon", from the musical Miss Saigon. Written by Alain Boublil, Claude-Michel Schönberg, and Richard Maltby, Jr.).