Disclaimer: I don't own the Coldfire Trilogy, and no profit whatsoever is intended
Quotes: 'For even Satan disguises himself as an angel of the light...' is a quote from the bible (2 Corinthians 11:14 ESV). Moreover I was inspired by a few sentences from 'Captive Prince, Volume Two' by S.U. Pacat, but changed it a bit for my purpose. The original quote is 'To get what you want, you have to know exactly how much you are willing to give up.' Don't know the actual page; the book's just on my Kindle, and no pages are given.
Acknowledgements: All my thanks go to to my fellow author Silvereyedbitch. Despite having to prepare for her own exams she beta read the first three quarters of this story, corrected my horrendous punctuation, the no less erratic grammar and even helped me with some of the phrasings. I don't know what I would have done without her aid and unwavering encouragement. Thanks so much, dear! All the remaining mistakes are mine...
Prologue
„Then we do it together," he said at last (WTNF, p. 491).
"I don't think so, Vryce," Tarrant replied coolly, his face as unreadable as ever. "If you insist on indulging your accustomed helper's syndrome, it's up to you, but with my diet somewhat wanting for the last months, I don't intend to waste my precious resources on saving that bothersome little parasite. She's been a millstone around our necks right from the beginning, and all things considered, I'd rather suggest that nature should be allowed to run its course."
Her amber eyes glowing in the firelight like embers, Hesseth deliberately extended her long, curved claws. "That's not 'nature' we're facing here but evil human sorcery," she challenged hotly. "She's a child, Hunter, a helpless child who's depending on us."
"As my children depended on me, but that didn't prevent me from killing them when it became necessary. I'd strongly advise you not to tax my patience with your foolish notions of sentimentality."
Hissing, the Khrast tensed up as if preparing to pounce on her callous opponent the very next moment, and without thinking twice Damien edged himself between her and Tarrant. There was no denying that his own hands were itching with the urge to close around the adept's neck and throttle him in utter disregard of the fact that the undead son of a bitch presumably didn't need the oxygen anyway. But straining their frail alliance even further wouldn't help any of them, least of all the unfortunate girl.
Pushing down his anger, Damien looked the Hunter fair in the face. "Is it the vulking Healing, Gerald? Back in the Keep, you pointed out that the 'Workings of life' (BSR, p. 257) were beyond your grasp. If there's a risk involved, you'd better spill the beans now. Under the given circumstances, I could do without further nasty surprises."
Tarrant snorted disparagingly. "It's just killing a plant, Vryce. Remoulding the Forest to my purposes I've been weeding out unwanted specimen for centuries without any harm coming out of it. For me, that is. As long as the true Healing is in your hands, that shouldn't break the rules my compact entails, but I still consider it very unwise. Unless…"
The pale, cold eyes fixing on Damien very much in the manner a hungry predator would have beheld an especially tasty treat, the Hunter trailed off, and the warrior knight felt a cold shiver sliding down his spine like a shower of hailstones. "Unless what? Good God, Gerald, just tell me what's up!" he blurted out with rising exasperation. "Slowly but surely I'm tiring of worming information out of you bit by bit."
"Why, unless you provide an incentive, Vryce," the Hunter whispered, his light tenor barely audible over the crackling of the flames. "Do you remember the old saying that there's always a price to be paid, and that to get what you want you should consider very carefully what you're willing to give up? Against my better judgement, I might feel inclined to comply with your request, but you're going to pay dearly for it. No negotiations about my terms, and just one chance to accept my offer. What do you think about it?"
Sure as hell that he wouldn't like what Tarrant had in mind, the warrior knight came close to pigeonholing the entire matter, but idly twiddling his thumbs while his innocent ward was drifting further and further towards the realm from which there is no return would have gone against everything he believed in. "Then let's hear what you have to say, Hunter," he forced out between gritted teeth.
"With regard to the fact that I need you fully functional while we're stranded on enemy territory, I'm willing to postpone the settlement of your debt, but as soon as I'm back in my domain..." The adept smiled wickedly, and the unveiled hunger in his eyes made Damien's blood run cold with dread. "When I send for you, you will come to me at once, voluntarily and unarmed, and for one precious night you will be mine. You won't fight me, you will obey me in every respect and do as I please, or I'm going to declare our contract null and void and retaliate for your neglect of duty. Not on you personally, mind, but there are so many settlements nearby the Forest's borders I haven't paid a visit to for a while. Morgoth for example would do nicely, don't you think so? It became a ghost town overnight once before when its inhabitants dared to oppose me. Or Sheva, for a change? But let's not worry about that now. I'm sure that an honourable man like you wouldn't go back on his promise."
"Don't trust him, Damien," the Rakh snarled viciously, and Vryce didn't doubt that if the adept hadn't rid her of her fur back on board of the Golden Glory, it would have stood on end all over her graceful body. "He's up to something, that scheming killer. As soon as he doesn't need you anymore, and you're under his thumb, he won't have any qualms murdering you. He'd even enjoy it." Hesseth stared daggers at Tarrant, daring him to deny her words.
"Murdering him?" The Lord of the Forest chuckled darkly. "My dear Mes Rakh, your animalistic brain regrettably harbours a very limited power of imagination. If I so chose, I could kill your treasured priest, or everyone else for that matter, where- and whenever it pleases me, but so far ridding the world of Vryce's existence for good isn't on my agenda... at least as long as he doesn't try to finish me off first. As I stated once before, there's a certain recklessness in him I'd hate to destroy (BSR, p. 569). You may rest assured that it's not his physical integrity I'm after. Going that easy on him would take all the fun out of the game, wouldn't it? Vryce has so much more to offer. But before we get lost in details, we should refocus on the more urgent matters at hand. I'm afraid little Jenseny is running out of time, and we really should come to a decision now before it's too late. Do you agree on my terms, Vryce?"
Sighing, the warrior knight gazed at the frail body lying limply at his feet. Whatever Tarrant had planned for him, being at the mercy of a creature who didn't possess a shred of it wouldn't be pleasant, but he had no real choice. If he shied away from the bargain with the Hunter for personal reasons, Jenseny's accusatory face would haunt him for the rest of his life, something he wasn't very keen on experiencing. Smothering the surge of nigh to overpowering fear knocking at the gates of his mind, Damien came to a decision. "I presume we have a deal, Hunter," he said quietly.
His pale lips curling into one of those infuriating half-smiles he had mastered to perfection, the Neocount bowed ever so slightly. "Just so. I didn't doubt for a second you would play the martyr once again. And now let's get down to business."
Jaggonath, July 1247 A.S.
"Mer Vryce?" From far, far away a shaky voice reached his ears, but not in the least willing to break his well-deserved nap, Damien pulled the blanket over his head and buried his sleepy face in the pillow.
"Mer Vryce, it's really urgent. I've got a letter for you."
What the heck...? Muttering a vicious curse under his breath the warrior knight resigned himself to his fate and struggled to his feet. Although he had gulped down what felt like buckets of water since he had returned from his abominable trip to Tarrant's private hell, his tongue still seemed to be glued to his palate, and the foul taste in his mouth very nearly made him gag with revulsion. Rubbing his itching stubble, he staggered to the door and tore it open just to come face to face with the flustered proprietor of his modest lodgings. "What's the matter, man?" Damien inquired gruffly. "You'd better have a good excuse for waking me up in the deep of the night. I've never heard about mail being delivered at this late an hour."
The sight of his landlord in his striped pajamas and nightcap would have been outright funny if it hadn't been for the look of unveiled fear in his watery blue eyes. Taking a closer look, Damien registered that the man was white as a sheet, and a surge of apprehension twisted his gut into a tight knot. "A messenger just brought it", Mer Myers explained, shifting his weight uncomfortably. "Didn't want to wait for a reply, but rode off on his black horse as if the devil were after him. Never saw his face under the hood, but when I told him to get lost, the bugger shoved a golden disc right under my nose. I'd just as soon not find out what kind of business a man of the Church as you claim to be has with one of that kind, but I fear he came from... from..."
"I know where he came from." Frowning Vryce broke the Hunter's seal and stared in utter disbelief at the familiar handwriting. 'Do you remember the bargain we struck in the realm of the Undying Prince? Now it's time to pay your due, Vryce. Meet me in Jahanna four nights after next, or bear the consequences of your misconduct. Gerald Tarrant, the first and only Neocount of Merentha.'
Thunderstruck, Damien lowered his hand and let the letter drop onto the carpet, not even remotely aware that, beholding the expression on his face, Myers had hobbled away as fast as his old legs would carry him. As soon as he had been back on his feet, the Hunter had vacated Karril's temple and set off for his domain after informing him curtly that he had to go through his notes on the Iezu before they could make further plans to confront their nemesis Calesta. Still recovering from his ordeal, and grateful for a short respite, the warrior knight hadn't tried to get to the bottom of Tarrant's sudden travel plans, the more so as time was short and the adept could easily conquer the distance in a fraction of the hours the journey would take his ally on horseback. Burrowing into his treasured books and records for a while unquestionably would benefit Gerald, and back to his old, confident self the most brilliant brain he had ever encountered would sure as hell return with an ingenious master plan for bringing down the Iezu intent on enslaving mankind. So far, a great theory, but evidently for whatever reason the Hunter had deemed it best to change his priorities
Vryce swallowed convulsively. During all those months they had been heading from one mortal peril into another, his inane promise to act Tarrant's pet for a night had sunk deeper and deeper into the abysses of his subconsciousness, hopefully never to resurface again. That despite all the shit they had been through together, Gerald had still the nerve to insist on performance of their deal... try as he might, he couldn't wrap his head around it. After all, with Karril's assistance, he had just rescued the damned bastard from eternal torture at the hands of the Unnamed, not to mention several other almost as unpleasant occasions. Saving each other's lives again and again in their struggle for survival their reluctant alliance undermined by mutual loathing and contempt had turned into fire-forged camaraderie bordering on friendship over time, or so he had talked himself into believing until the adept's deadhearted command had reminded him of their natural enmity a few minutes ago.
Bitterness welled up inside him, as black and corroding as on the day he had thought the Hunter had betrayed them to the Undying Prince. What a vulking idiot you are, Vryce, the warrior knight reprimanded himself. Setting his mind on it, he still might pass for a human being if you don't look too closely, but he doesn't think like one anymore. The man you foolishly care about is nothing but an undead abomination, a damned minion of hell embodying everything you fight against. Did you really fool yourself into believing that your shining example had changed him? That a creature who willingly forsook humanity and wholly committed himself to evil a millennium ago gives a damn for your welfare? At this very moment, the son of a bitch quite rightly is laughing up his sleeve at your stupidity and planning how to make the most of your damned bargain. Redemption? Don't be ridiculous! It's too late for him, has been too late since the fateful night he slaughtered his family. How could you possibly believe that you would fare better than his own children and the deplorable woman who gave birth to them?
His hazel eyes burning with unshed tears, the warrior knight picked up the cream white sheet of hand-made not paper and forced himself to read through the message again. Each and every single letter was neat and aesthetically pleasing, a veritable reflection of the writer himself. Marvelling at the artistic swirl of the Hunter's initials at the bottom of the page very much against his will, Vryce didn't quite believe his eyes as the ink strokes suddenly rearranged on their own account, forming a squiggly frame for the small but vivid picture appearing seemingly out of the blue.
Gerald Tarrant was sitting in a high vaulted chamber crammed with thousands and thousands of books, writing on a sheet of not paper looking the spitting image of the letter which had shaken Damien's world to its very foundations. Flickering candle-light reflected on soft, golden-brown hair flowing around silk-clad shoulders and lent the flawless but utterly unearthly alabaster complexion a deceptively human veneer. The delicate features unmarked by either the passing of centuries or the trials and tribulations of the mortal plane showed no traces whatsoever of the malevolence and cruelty lurking right under the angelic facade, and for a precious moment frozen in time, the warrior knight could pretend that he was beholding the Prophet of the Law, working on one of the holy scriptures destined to become the backbone of his faith.
Something inside Vryce snapped, and as if a veil woven of religious abhorrence and desperate denial alike was suddenly lifting for the first time since he had met the Hunter, he allowed himself to truly acknowledge Gerald's breathtaking beauty. Feasting his eyes on the perfect proportions of the facial bones, the long, dark lashes casting shadows on cheekbones to die for, and the gentle curve of a mouth inviting for a kiss or two, he very nearly forgot how to breathe. There wasn't a sliver of doubt that this creature sitting regally on an intricately carved novebony armchair like a king of old was corrupted to its very core, but surely riding the wings of dawn their forefathers' legendary archangel Lucifer couldn't have appeared more alluring in his prime.
Lost in his reverie, Damien very nearly dropped the letter when Tarrant looked up and seemed to stare right at him, his eyes brimming with unveiled mockery. "Come to me, Vryce," the Hunter's silky, utterly inhuman voice wove through the defenseless labyrinth of his brain like an unclean serpent. "Meet the bill and bow down to me for one night as you promised, and you can have everything you want. It's all there for the taking, waiting for you." All at once the striking features hardened to a mask carved from precious, but utterly cold, numarble, and the warrior knight shivered as the glittering silver of Tarrant's irises gave way to an ungodly red glow. "Should you feel tempted to go back on your word on the other hand," the adept continued menacingly, "you'd better deliberate whether you really desire the blood of all those innocent lambs doomed to pay for your perfidiousness on your hands. As you very well know, I'm not a man given to empty words."
In the next instance, the picture vanished without leaving a trace of its existence behind, and the black ink strokes were nothing but the Neocount's initials once again. His heart galloping inside his heaving chest like a veritable herd of unhorses, Damien tore his gaze away from the accursed slip of not paper and availed himself of his vast repertoire of swearwords to his heart's content. "For even Satan disguises himself as an angel of the light," he choked out at the end of his tirade, barely aware in his wrath that he was quoting from an ancient text which had travelled with the human colonists to Erna so many years ago. However the bastard had managed that cunning piece of sorcery, the adept had manipulated him once again for his benefit, had forced him to think... to want... Oh damn you, Merentha!
For a moment the warrior knight considered backing out and worrying about the consequences later, but with regard to Tarrant's overt threat, there was no denying that he had landed himself in a tight corner. As much as he wished otherwise, he would go to Jahanna and face whatever the Lord of the Forest had in store for him, but if Gerald thought he would have a walk-over with him, he was in for a nasty surprise. Seething, Vryce tore the letter to tatters and threw it into the dustbin. Then he started to pack his belongings.
Roundabout a hundred and ten hours later, Damien was deep in the heart of the Forest. Although dusk had fallen long ago, the shadows of night hadn't entirely embraced the world of the living in their raven black wings, but under the thick canopy of trees it was already so dark that the warrior knight could barely see his hand in front of his face. No moon was guiding him, no friendly star was sending him compliments from the depths of space denied to them since Casca's sacrifice had robbed them of their forefathers' wondrous technologies, and he was deeply grateful for the small storm lantern he had stuffed into his pack at the last minute.
Well aware of Tarrant's preferences, Vryce had braced himself for sharing the fate of those thousands of deplorable women who had suffered for the Hunter's pleasure more cruelly than a sane human mind could possibly devise, but so far neither the lethal predators of the Forest nor anything remotely resembling the horrendous visions the adept had repeatedly employed to wring the last drop of visceral fear out of him had appeared on the scene. In fact, the balmy night was fallaciously peaceful. Every now and then a pair of glowing eyes would stare at him from the shadows, or a four-legged fellow nocturnal wanderer would scurry through the dense undergrowth in his never ending search for food and shelter, but if the winding path leading ever northwards hadn't become overgrown again right after his passage, he could have pretended that he was travelling through natural wood land with nothing worse to fear than an occasional demonling hungering after his flesh or blood. But this was the Hunter's sinister lair, and sure as hell the Prince of Jahanna hadn't summoned him because he intended to throw a cosy tea party in that black nightmare version of a Revivalist castle.
Presumably the nastiest predator at the top of the food chain has commanded his pets to keep away from your hide, Vryce thought wryly. Wants to have the culinary delight all to himself, the greedy bastard.
All things considered, Gerald's taunting statement that he didn't intend to kill him wasn't as reassuring as he would have liked it to be. Not that Damien doubted his words. The last faint spark of humanity bound to his deeply ingrained sense of honour, the Hunter was wont to speak the truth, or more precisely the truth according to Gerald Tarrant's warped and twisted soul. Notwithstanding the memory of the black-hearted glint in those molten pools of silver when the adept had stated that his brother in arms had so much more to offer than 'mere death' was scaring the shit out of him. If his accursed message provided a small foretaste of the things to come, Tarrant had doubtlessly prepared a very special welcome for his benefit, something infinitely darker and more terrifying than all the faeborn horrors combined their fickle planet could throw at him.
Stifling a sigh, Vryce kneed his mare into motion again. All at once the winding path led into a clearing, surrounded by gnarled trees covered in lichen and ugly vines the warrior knight had never encountered before. The intertwining twigs evoking unsettling associations of skeletonized fingers in the eerie light of the full moon built a solid wall of wood, and try as he might he could neither retreat nor blaze a trail, even if he would have been willing to leave his mare behind. Stalled for the time being, Damien warily eyed his surroundings. Evidently he had run out of luck, or, more likely, the mastermind behind all this insanity finally had him exactly where he wanted the trap to snap shut.
Shrugging off his anxiety, Vryce was just about unscrewing his canteen when a pitiful sobbing stilled his hands. His finely tuned warrior instincts flaring up with a vengeance, he tensed up, his thirst utterly forgotten. In the next instance, the twigs which had barred his advance parted, and a young woman staggered into the clearing on bare, bloodied feet, her clothes torn and her delicate doll's face marred by long scratches. Dropping the water bottle, he was off his unhorse in a blink, but he hadn't come far when several of the vines lashed out and pulled him into a tight embrace. Bound to one of the ancient trees whose leaves rustled in the light breeze as if it was laughing gleefully at his predicament, the warrior knight's heart skipped a beat as the Hunter stepped into the moonlight, his midnight blue, heavily embroidered cloak sweeping the ground at his feet.
The eyes burning in that pale, cold face devoid of any human expression whatsoever were pitch black, glittering like two precious jewels containing the very essence of night itself and as bottomless as the demonic hunger of their owner, never to be satisfied regardless of how many victims would breath their last under his hands. Without acknowledging his presence, Tarrant crossed the distance to the kneeling girl in one single, fluent motion so utterly alien to the mortal plane that it made Vryce's flesh crawl and towered over her like a deadly raptor swooping down from the skies to catch his cowering prey.
"Please, oh please don't kill me," the girl whimpered imploringly. "Just let me go home, and..."
Tarrant silenced her with one slender index finger to her trembling lips and smiled, smiled so venomously that Damien shivered with sheer, unadulterated dread. Then the adept gracefully bent down to kiss her in a vile mockery of human affection, and listening to the girl's frightened whimpers rather resembling the sounds of a dying animal than anything a human throat should produce the former priest decided that this had gone far enough. "Gerald, cut the crap!" he yelled at the top of his lungs. "Don't do this to yourself. I'm here. Just take what you need from me but let her go, for God's sake! Gerald, listen to me, you goddamn son of a bitch!"
Ever so slowly the Hunter's unearthly eyes fixed on him. "Don't get all worked up, Vryce. It's bad for your blood pressure," the adept replied haughtily, utterly unfazed by his tirade. "Your company isn't so pleasant that I called you here for a small talk, but we don't want you to suffer from an apoplectic fit before it's your turn to sate my needs, do we? This is nothing, just an appetizer serving as a small reminder of what's laying in store for you."
In the next instance, Tarrant focussed his attention on his hapless prey again, slicing through her white blouse with a fingernail transformed to a lethal claw. The girl cried out as a thin, red line was appearing on the pale, smooth skin of her bosom. Sobbing, she tried to cover her nakedness with both arms, but under the merciless gaze of her tormentor the last remnants of her resistance crumbled into dust like old bones crushed by a booted foot.
Effortlessly the adept dragged her up by her long, black hair and licked at the gash with a low, wistful sigh. Witnessing that swift tongue circling one of her small, pink nipples and moving upwards to her throat, something not entirely abhorrence but uncomfortably akin to the illicit longings he had felt while gazing at Tarrant's image ignited deep down in the warrior knight's abdomen. For a few seconds stretching into a small eternity filled with want and gut-wrenching horror alike, he wished nothing more than lying in those deceptively slender arms in the girl's stead, relishing in the press of firm, male muscles against his awakening body and offering himself up to the Hunter like a lamb on a pagan sacrificial altar.
Oh merciful God in Heaven, what has become of you? Vryce ranted inwardly. The creature arousing your sexual desire is brazenly torturing his latest victim not even an arm's length away, and in full view of that vulking atrocity you can think of nothing else but trading places with her? Not because you want to alleviate her suffering but for you own ungodly pleasure! As he foretold so many months ago, he corrupted you to the core, stripped you of your humanity step by step until you became a monster yourself, a wolf in the sheep's clothing of a priest..."
Feeling sick to his very bones, Damien tried to tear his eyes away from the revolting but yet so damnably alluring tableau enfolding before him, but there was no escape. A pale, deathly cold hand touched his flushed cheek as light as a feather, and his entire perception changed. All at once the clearing was ablaze with the purple tendrils of the dark fae, its delicate strands moving in perfect harmony with an unearthly tune not meant for mortal ears. "Listen to the music of the night, Vryce," the adept whispered longingly. "A veritable symphony of power so potent that it can conquer death itself. So very beautiful..."
Transfixed the warrior knight stared at the angelic features so close to his own. Sharing Tarrant's Sight, he could sense the red rivers of life coursing through the girl's veins, could feel the pulse of the blood-filled creatures all around him in his very bones, and he shivered with the force of Gerald's need to take those lives, to devour them until nothing remained but the icy silence of death.
An eyebrow raised in sardonic amusement, the Hunter smiled his terrible smile again, letting him watch as his perfect, white teeth were transforming into something out of the abysses from which the nightmares crawl. Beholding the long, pointed canines glittering in the moonlight Damien snapped out of his trance-like state, but still tied to the damned tree there was nothing he could do as the adept buried his fangs in the girl's throat like a poisonous snake, the motion so inhumanly fast that it was all but invisible for mortal eyes.
Although it felt like hours to the priest, in fact the terrible feasting couldn't have taken more than a minute or two at most, and before long Tarrant carelessly discarded his victim like a bag of dirty laundry. The deplorable woman was still alive, moaning and stirring faintly on the soft forest floor, and somewhat heartened by her unexpected signs of life, Damien tried to talk some sense into his undead companion again. "Let it go at that, Gerald!" he pleaded, keeping his voice deliberately low and gentle. "You made your point, showed me what you can and will do in case I won't submit to you. I solemnly swear that I'm going to take anything you've planned for me lying down, but please don't inflict further damage on that innocent girl. She has suffered enough tonight."
Tarrant just sneered at him, and the faint flutter of hope the priest had allowed himself gave way to an icy wave of dread as the woman started to scream, writhing and thrashing about like someone experiencing intolerable pain. A look of sheer ecstasy on his ageless features the Hunter tilted back his head and closed his eyes in a perverted parody of human pleasure, evidently gloating over each and every moment of his victim's agony. Revolted beyond words by the sight of Gerald's sadistic delight in her suffering, the warrior knight very nearly lost the fight against the surge of acid bile rising in his throat.
When the blood-curdling screams were pitching up to unprecedented heights, his own agitated yells mingled with them to a cacophony straight out of hell. Half out of his mind with horror and impotent anger, he alternated between begging for mercy, praying and railing against Tarrant like a man possessed, but he could as well have talked to a stone wall. Apparently fed up with the racket he produced, the adept languidly raised his right hand, and Vryce lost his voice altogether. Literally incapable of uttering so much as a groan, he redoubled his futile efforts to break free from the vines entrapping him, but to no avail, and he had to watch helplessly as the Hunter finally tired of the game and snapped the girl's neck.
As soon as Tarrant's victim was dead, the vines let go of him, and Damien fell to his knees, at the end of his tether. Crying, he buried his face in his hands. "How... how could you, Gerald?" he choked out in between the racking sobs forcing themselves out of his constricted throat. "To hunt and kill that woman right in front of me... Why? I would have fed you willingly if you had given me the ghost of a chance."
"But you did feed me, priest. In fact you're still feeding me at the very moment. Your terror at being utterly helpless, your deeply ingrained fear of becoming corrupted by my presence... I haven't had such a nourishing meal for ages. And now stop whining and look about. You might get to see something interesting."
The words were but a whisper, but there was no way to resist the faeborn power oozing from every syllable. Abruptly Damien raised his tear-stained face like a puppet on a string and let his gaze wander around. The clearing was utterly peaceful again, the damned vines which had prevented him from coming to the girl's aid no more than a part of the flora and her mortal remains gone as if they had never existed. The warrior knight blinked in utter bewilderment. "What have you done to her, you crazy bastard?" he ground out viciously. "Spirited her away to feed your damned beasts? Merciful God in heaven, it's bad enough that you murdered that innocent child, but couldn't you have shown some respect for her corpse at least?"
The Hunter raised an elegantly arched eyebrow. "But there's never been a corpse," he replied mockingly. "It was just an illusion. You don't truly believe that I would want to spoil my appetite, do you?"
Relief welled up inside Damien, instantly followed by a surge of wrath so intense that he didn't waste a thought on the possible consequences of an unarmed attack deep in the heart of the Hunter's power base. Beside himself with anger he was on his feet and at the adept's throat in a blink, closing his hands around Tarrant's neck in a death grip. "You vulking, manipulative bastard...son of a bitch..." At the loss of words he trailed off, digging his fingers deeply into the cold, undead flesh.
"Would you kindly get a grip on yourself and take you hands off me, Vryce," the adept snapped icily. "Slowly but surely I'm becoming somewhat bored with your tirades, not to mention that I haven't given you permission you to touch me yet. Being considerate of your sensibilities, I decided not to invite a third party to our rendezvous but to settle for employing a simulacrum instead. But if you insist on breaking the rules, I could very well change my mind at the eleventh hour."
Remembering Tarrant's barely veiled threat to take out any potential misbehavior on his part on the human settlers nearby, the warrior knight valiantly pushed down his ire and let go of his tormentor with a muttered curse. Gerald acknowledged his defeat with a satisfied smirk, but to his astonishment he didn't step back but stayed very, very close, watching his new prey intently until Damien found it rather difficult to draw a breath.
A faint noise at his back drew his attention, and he whirled around, relieved to escape the scrutiny of those mesmerizing silver eyes. The very ground seemed to move in slow, rippling waves, and he stood petrified with horror as something black and misshapen was pushing through the forest soil. Fearing that the Hunter had summoned a whole horde of his disgusting worm-creatures to make him pay for his insolence, his sword hand reflexively went to his empty scabbard. Then he almost succumbed to a fit of hysterical laughter. Those gnarled forms were nothing but the roots of the strange trees surrounding the clearing, presumably raising from their chthonic realms to serve whatever sinister purpose the Lord of the Forest's inhuman mind had hatched.
Bracing himself for the worst, Damien fixated his gaze on the roots crawling over the ground like a coil of snakes, intertwining with each other until they resembled nothing more than a primitive bunk wrought from blackened bones. As soon as the wriggling, teeming mass of wood had assumed its final shape, hundreds of leaves obediently left their lofty residence high above their heads, fluttering downwards at the beck of their master right in midsummer to provide a somewhat softer layer. Tarrant's cloak came in last, gliding off his shoulders and floating through the balmy night air as if it had a mind of its own, just to find a new resting place atop the pile of plant parts.
When he was reasonably sure that the show had come to a temporary end and nothing nasty other than the Hunter had it in for him for the time being, the warrior knight turned round again and refocussed his attention on Tarrant. "Gerald, what the hell are you up to now?" he blundered out. "God is my witness that I've slept in places no more inviting than your vulking forest, but certainly you don't intend to take a nap here?"
"But this is for your convenience, Vryce," the adept retorted sweetly. "You're a guest in my domain, and no one should be able to accuse me of being a bad host. If you prefer to make it out on the ground, though... well, I'm amenable to suggestions."
"'To make it out'? What are you talking about, man? After enduring your little performance I don't feel exactly inspired, and just in case you haven't noticed there isn't a living soul around but you and me. In a way."
Tarrant smiled pleasantly. "Just so. For a man of your intelligence you can be astoundingly slow on the uptake."
Slack-jawed Damien stared at the Hunter, not quite trusting his hearing sense. "You.. and... me? As in 'we'?" he spluttered incoherently. "You can't be serious, Gerald! I've always suspected that you aren't quite right in the head, but now you're outdoing yourself."
"Have you already forgotten about the terms of our contract, priest? You promised to obey me in every respect and do as I please. No discussions and no renegotiation. And now it would please me if you kept your mouth shut for a change and made yourself comfortable. Oh, and don't forget to take your clothes off. I suppose dispensing with unnecessary preliminaries is to your taste as well.
Tarrant looked as if he was having a field day. Or night, and he warrior knight shivered. Under different circumstances, he would have bet any money that this was just another of the Neocount's sinister schemes to scare the living daylights out of him. The damned son of a bitch would feed on his terror and then back-pedal before something irrevocable happened which would change their lives forever, doubtlessly having a good laugh at his expense. But registering the utterly unwonted seductive lilt in that silky voice, the almost palpable air of breathless anticipation radiating from the adept, suddenly he wasn't so sure anymore.
Just as a precaution, Damien retreated a few steps, racking his brains for a way out of this mess. "But the Unnamed... your compact..." he stammered helplessly, clutching at every available straw. "You're undead, and any acts of procreation whatsoever are forbidden to you. You told me so, remember? Why risking your vulking existence for a thing you've been able to do fine without for centuries?"
"My motives are none of your business, Vryce. Call it testing the waters. In terms of my compact with the Forces of the Dark..." Tarrant shrugged. "As you very well know it's broken, and after nigh to a thousand years I'm finally free from its restrictions. With regard to certain obvious obstacles I don't deem it very likely that you'll get me into trouble, anyway. And now stop trying to be clever with me and speed up. The night isn't getting younger."
Close to panicking the warrior knight feared that his legs might give way under him. All things considered, Gerald's desire to torture him in the most perfidious fashion imaginable didn't come as a complete surprise. Not after their deal back in the realms of the Undying Prince. With regard to the adept's chosen fare, there had been no need for him to strike that bargain. He'd been wining and dining on his blood and fear for months on end and could have continued doing so with or without his consent. But whatever could be said about Tarrant's sanity, he did nothing without a reason. Very likely he'd been looking forward to this very day for months now, had planned meticulously how to punish his bothersome ally for his obstinacy and for having to put up with what he called the 'taint' of Vryce's humanity.
Come to think of it, it wasn't too far fetched a thought that the whole insane situation was indeed a part of the game. Perhaps the bastard wasn't even there in person but had sent another one of his damned specters to wreak havoc on his fallible human soul. After travelling for years in the Hunter's company, Damien wasn't foolish enough to put gloating over his predicament while sitting safely in his Revivalist Castle like a spider in her intricately woven web beyond that unrivalled master in matters of psychological manipulation and control.
A low, amused chuckle brought this unsettling train of thoughts to an abrupt halt. Snapping out of his musings, Damien found that Gerald had deliberately invaded his personal space again, his pale eyes, for once not cold and detached but sparkling with an emotion the warrior knight didn't dare to put a name on, locked on his face. "But I'm here, Vryce," the Hunter breathed. "No illusion but a man with a physical body. Not human by a long shot, but we shouldn't be bothered by trifles, should we? Feel free to touch me and satisfy yourself of my existence."
Long, slender fingers caught his hand and pulled it towards the neckline of Tarrant's tunic. Soft silk caressed his fingertips, followed by even softer skin, and blind, ravenous want arched through him like a bolt of lightning. Trembling in every limb, Damien snatched his hand away as if he had burned himself. "Gerald, no. Not that. Do with me what you want, but please don't ask this of me. I won't..."
"Oh yes, you will," Tarrant purred throatily. "I know your heart, Vryce, your long suppressed desires. I can taste the scent of your arousal on the wind, feel your need eating away at the brittle walls of your self-control. Deny it all the way you want, but this is your deepest fear, and tonight I verily intend to drink my fill of it. Not that you desire a man, mind. I grant you that you aren't that bigoted a fool, but facing the fact that you're yearning for me the way I am, an undead abomination existing beyond the grace of God, that's an altogether different matter."
Mortified the warrior knight averted his eyes, his cheeks burning with embarrassment. As usual Gerald was seeing right through any pretenses, and there was no use denying the obvious any longer. However it had come to pass, he wanted the fallen prophet of his faith, wanted him with a primeval hunger he hadn't thought possible in his wildest dreams. 'For you I've become the most subtle creature of all: a civilized evil, genteel and seductive' (BSR, p. 378) the Hunter had stated once, and as usual he hadn't wasted his breath on talking nonsense. You should have seen it coming, Vryce berated himself. What part about 'seductive' did you miss, you blind, pompous idiot? You closed your eyes to the truth, and now you're damned. Bound to the inner circle of hell for all eternity by your promise and by the feelings for a man who isn't above exploiting them for his own ends.
Succumbing to a bout of black despair, Damien very nearly choked on his breath when slender arms were circling his waist, pulling him into a close embrace. "In case you really need an excuse for giving in to your needs, you'd better take into consideration that there's no clearly defined line between black and white, good and evil," the Hunter whispered into his ear. "Laying with me you will betray everything you believe in, but yet that act of utter corruption might prove a further step on my road to redemption. And you want to redeem me, don't you? Want it so badly that everything else pales before it, your vocation and your wish to rid the world of Calesta's manipulations included. Have you ever thought of the possibility that you were chosen for guiding me back into the light? That your damnation is part and parcel of God's unfathomable plan?"
"Gerald, that's... that's blasphemy!"
"Is it?" Tarrant smiled. "I thought as a priest the idea might appeal to you, but maybe I've miscalculated. But if you need a more convincing incentive..."
A cold mouth came to rest at the curve of Damien's neck, teasingly nibbling and licking at the sensitive skin until his breath was coming in short, ragged gasps. "I appreciate what you did for me, and I don't want you to believe me ungrateful," the adept murmured softly, his voice barely audible over the blood pounding in Vryce's ears. "Hence I'm willing to make certain concessions. From this point on I consider your debt settled. If you can prove to my reasonable satisfaction that you don't desire this, you're free to go wherever you want. Enforced sexual congress has never been my style. As a token of my esteem, I even promise that I won't kill tonight whatever you decide to do. But before you make your choice let me show you what you would miss out on. Afterwards, you can tell me whether you still deem the integrity of your priestly soul more important than seizing the one and only chance of having what you're truly craving for."
The next second the Hunter kissed him, and the last remnants of Damien's resolve crumbled under the onslaught of most pleasurable sensations. The adept felt like something wrought of ice, so utterly inhuman that it should have repelled him instead of igniting his passion, but all he could think of was the alluring softness of Gerald's lips and the mind-blowing surge of arousal racing through his body like a wildfire. Very likely he would pay dearly in the afterlife for this one unspeakable act of debauchery tainting his soul beyond any possibility of cleansing, but as he was eagerly returning the kiss like a drowning man he couldn't have cared less.
Half out of his mind with want he pulled Tarrant down with him onto the makeshift bunk, barely aware of an amused voice whispering "I take this for a 'no'..." As the Hunter narrowed his eyes in concentration their clothes vanished in a heartbeat, and laid bare to the touch of those slender fingers which he had seen wielding a sword and lovingly browsing through ancient volumes with equal skill, the world splintered into fragments of flawless ivory skin and soft, brown hair reflecting the golden glow of the Core.
With a wistful sigh Tarrant pulled him on top of him, and in the next instance he was pressing in without wasting a thought on lubricants and adequate preparations. All at once the sounds and sights of the night faded into non-existence, obliterated by the incredible feel of Gerald's chill body opening up for him, the shudder of lust rippling through the lithe frame in his arms and the adept's low, sensual moan. Sinking deeper and deeper into the bottomless well of his desire, all he could do was keeping his thrusts slow and shallow, fighting the overwhelming urge to let go of any restraint, to pick up the pace and bury himself inside his lover to the hilt until both of them found release.
Gerald was laying perfectly still now like a beautiful numarble statue, staring upwards to the starry skies with wide open eyes which had gone black as True Night again. No heartbeat was visible in the nigh to translucent skin at the side of his neck, no breath of air was stirring his chest, and for a terrifying moment reality caught up with Vryce. Dear God in Heaven, it's like having it off with a vulking corpse, he thought rather dejectedly. Maybe after a thousand years of enforced celibacy, he has lost the ability to react to normal sexual stimulation. Or probably I'm just doing it all wrong. After all I've never lain with a man before...
Before he could open his mouth for an inquiry, Tarrant tensed up beneath him, his muscles rigid as stone and the long, graceful limbs tightening almost painfully around his bulk. Then cold fingers dug deeply into his buttocks, spurring him on, and as the rhythmic pulse inside his lover was triggering his own climax, Damien finally stopped worrying altogether.
Much later, as they were resting in each other's arms after a passionate encore, the warrior knight gazed lovingly at Gerald's angelic features. In stark contrast to everything he believed in, he had lain with a creature considered evil incarnate, but as far as he was concerned eternal perdition was a somewhat fair price for a night with the Lord of the Forest. Evidently reading his mind Tarrant's mouth curved into a languid, utterly satisfied smile, and Damien bent down to kiss him once more.