-This is an RPG-related work of fiction based on Vampire: The Masquerade, a d10 system created by White Wolf. It is drama/angst with a hint of lemon. Rated K+ for innuendo. The Malkavian and Brujah Clans are © White Wolf, and reference to them is used without permission. Devereux, Sebastian, and the vampiric race 'Kuwalakant', are the property of J Tice, and are used with permission. Skin-walkers are creatures of Navajo legend. This work is written purely for entertainment value. Please don't sue me.-
They were in the isolation ward. He cracked his shoulder.
"I think it's set wrong," he muttered.
"I'll break it for you again, if you like," she joked.
He looked up at her. "Would you?"
She nodded and pushed on his shoulder. Devereux grunted in pain as the bones broke anew. She reset the bone and he healed it quickly.
"Ah," he said, moving his shoulder around. "Much better." He drew her down to him. "There was something you asked for once."
She nodded.
"Perhaps it can be soon." He reached out for her face and pulled her towards him. His lips were cool on hers.
It was a good kiss. When they finally parted, she smiled and traced the lines of his face. "There is someone I need to see." Rising, she turned and walked away. She could feel his eyes on her back.
But Sebastian wanted too much for the secret of the Kuwalakants. So she asked Devereux. He was only too happy to tell her - on the condition that she take him with her when she stepped.
She could do nothing but agree, so they discussed the location and looked at charts and mapped out their route. And when they were ready to leave, she reached for his hand, took it in hers, and they were there.
The pressure at the bottom of Lake Ontario was tremendous. Devereux had fallen into unconsciousness during the journey.
There were figures floating towards them through the deep green-black water. Her eyes glowed red as they adjusted to the darkness. One of the figures approached, and she could see the gills on either side of its head. It was Devereux's dream to see these creatures, but he remained unaware of his surroundings.
The creature touched her face and she understood it when it spoke.
"Is food?" it said in broken French, pointing at Devereux.
She shook her head. "Friend," she explained.
It looked puzzled. "Is food?" it asked again.
In desperation, she said the only thing that she knew would get through.
"Skin-walker."
The creature recoiled in horror.
She spoke quickly. "Am I a skin-walker?" she asked. She patted her chest with her right hand. "Am I a skin-walker?" she repeated.
The creature grasped her hand and looked at it. With the speed of a stingray, it bit into her palm and began to suck her blood. Its eyes burned through her.
She did not panic - it would be useless here. She merely looked at the creature that fed from her. "Let go," she said softly, and it did.
There was a moment of silence. The pressure under the lake was becoming more than she could stand. The creature shook its head.
"No." It hissed and burbled. "You are not skin-walker. Seed is there. If you kill many, you will be skin-walker." It looked at her quizzically.
She expelled an unnecessary breath. "Thank you," she sighed. "Thank you so much." She turned to Devereux. He was beginning to awaken.
"Oh my God," he murmured, looking around him. "They're real. They're here." He rose shakily to his feet. "My God."
"Have you seen them?" she asked, shaking his shoulders. "Do you see them?"
He nodded and looked about in wide-eyed wonder. "Yes. My God, they're real. I've found them."
That was all she needed to hear. There were only seconds left before the pressure down here destroyed them. She shot a glance at the creature who had fed from her.
"Thank you," she said sincerely. "Goodbye."
She jumped.
When she arrived in High Park, she was soaking wet. And alone. Devereux was not with her.
Panic filled her. Frantically, she tried to home in on his pattern, the special colours that identified him. She jumped again. Her blood level dropped sharply.
She was three feet below the surface of Lake Ontario. Devereux was not here.
In desperation, she returned to High Park. Sebastian's angel loomed over her. Her strength held out long enough for her to summon Devereux to her, but she was sure that he was dead. Slowly, she sank to the ground and leaned her back against the angel's pedestal. Blood tears coursed down her face.
There was a crackling of leaves beside her. A voice.
"They always exact a price," Sebastian said.
Without opening her eyes, she shook her head. "It wasn't worth it," she whispered.
"Did you learn what you needed to know?"
She nodded. The tears ran like blood rain.
"They always ask for something," he said again.
She opened her eyes and stared at him. He stepped back. In those eyes was the pain of a thousand inquisitions. They were dead; more dead than the woman herself.
"It wasn't worth it," she repeated. Her voice was flat and betrayed no emotion.
Sebastian nodded. "I'll leave you now."
She closed her eyes again. "Thank you," she murmured.
The Malkavian walked away. The night grew deeper.
Her Brujah blood boiled, and she knew what her next move would be. She would go back to the Kuwalakants and slaughter them. Kill them one by one and watch their blood run between her fingers. And she would not stop the massacre until they were all dead. If they had hurt Devereux, they were all doomed.
She stood and leaned her back against the angel. The marble felt so cool against her skin. She was thirsty, her body drained from the stepping she had done. And she was tired, not in body, but in spirit. A fresh cascade of tears streaked her cheeks with blood. She talked to the angel, not caring if anyone could hear her.
"I killed him," she whispered to herself, to the angel. "I should have gone alone. My question wasn't that important - but now he's dead, and I'll never have the chance to love him." More tears. "And he'll never love me." She buried her face in her hands and mourned her loss. "It wasn't worth the price."
There was a voice behind her. "I'm not so sure," he said, and she turned with frightened eyes to face him.
Devereux moved closer to her. "I tried to step with you." There was no preamble. "But I didn't make it. Desperation led me to learn what Sebastian could never explain."
"I thought you were dead." There was disbelief in her voice.
He shook his head. "No."
"I thought they'd killed you," she continued, as if he had not spoken. She looked away. "I was prepared to wipe them out, even if it took the rest of time." She glanced back at him, at his face. There was surprise written there, and something else.
"You wanted something," he said. A claw came out, and he slit his wrist. The blood welled there. He held out his hand.
She smiled tentatively. Then she, too, drew a nail across her arm. Amazingly, the nail became a claw.
He grasped her wrist and pressed the wound to his own. Their blood mixed, and she could taste it in the back of her throat. An aftertaste. It was sweet.
"Now you are a sister, as well," he said, drawing back.
She licked her wrist and tasted their blood together. The wound healed. She gazed up at him.
He smiled softly, and her heart began to melt. She reached out to touch his face, saw her hands for the first time. Bloodstained. Her fingers touched his mouth, and he kissed them, tasted her blood, pulled her to him and buried himself in her scent.