( I don't claim to own anything of the following; any characters mentioned belong to Sherrilyn Kenyon.)
Anelise went through her morning schedule, killing time until it would be dark in New Orleans. It'd been a few months since she'd met Aimee Peltier- the Bearswan who ran Sanctuary Bar in New Orleans- officially, and they'd been seeing a lot of each other since. If Anelise had been more adept at having friends, she might have counted the Bearswan as one. But she wasn't, so she continued to write off their unusually pleasant interactions as anomalies. The Bearswan seemed to find Anelise interesting, amusing even, at some times, and went out of her way to speak with Anelise, to continuously invite her back to the bar, to continue to count her as a friend.
Not that Anelise acted like a friend most times. She tried, but she'd be the first to admit she failed more often than she didn't. She was surly and prickly by nature, and try though she might, those traits were hard to overcome, even in the face of someone as unapologetically sweet as the Bearswan.
She drifted to the kitchen to prepare herself breakfast after tidying the few things that needed tidying. Living alone up in the Siberian arctic made for very little cleaning to be done. As she pulled out ingredients for pancakes, her mind strayed to a few days ago, the last time she'd been in the bar.
"So, Regis," Aimee had opened with. Since Anelise typically referred to people and animals by either their official title or their -swan/-swain title, Aimee had taken to calling her 'Regis' when speaking to or about her. "Why do you live up in the arctic? Doesn't it get lonely?"
Anelise had rolled her eyes. It was an amusing trait of the Bearswan's that she was so consistently worried about being alone and being around others. The girl had probably never been left alone- in the true sense of the word- in her entire life. She was like Anelise's polar opposite in every way. The Bearswan was warm, endearing, if a little overly friendly for Anelise's taste. But still, she continued to return to the bar at the Bearswan's behest, continued to answer the girl's constant questions and pester the largely-Slayer barstaff. "I don't get lonely, Bearswan. I consider it relaxing, rather than lonesome. And I live there because the climate and territory is what I'm accustomed to." She'd answered patiently. For all her short fuses and quick tempered-ness, she found the Bearswan's constant curiosity about her life didn't annoy her as much as she'd have expected.
"You don't get lonely? Bullshit. Everyone gets lonely." The girl scoffed, scrubbing at the bartop with a vigor to match her words.
There was a quick flash of memory of her older brother, dead now for almost a century, and she frowned. "Well, I don't." She said, an edge to her words.
"That can't be-"
"Drop it, Aimee." She'd snapped, causing the Bearswan's mouth to snap shut and her eyes to cloud with hurt. They'd drifted back to neutral topics, and she'd been surprised the Bearswan didn't finally kick her out and go back to her normal routine. But at the end of the night, the girl invited Anelise back for tonight, just like every other night she'd come.
She had left as two Slayers came down, a Leopardswain and Lionswain. The Lion seemed determined to ignore her entirely, which was fine by her, but the Leopard and she had a violent, volatile relationship and it usually came to confrontation if they were in the same room. She'd left, head held high, ignoring the Slayers but baiting the Bearswain bouncer at the door with a taunting grin and a wave as she went to the alley she normally used for flashing.
She shook her head, banishing the memories, and went back to making herself breakfast. A few hours later, it was late morning in Siberia, and dark in New Orleans, and she flashed to her usual alley. She immediately felt that telltale prickle that signaled the presence of daimons, and looked around the corner, sighing in frustration when she saw no bouncer at the door to the bar. She cautiously made her way to the front door, ears pricked for the sounds of trouble, and was surprised to find the door shut and locked, a 'Closed until further notice' sign on the door. Her bad feeling intensified, and she wondered what was going on, but became distracted as a muffled crash sounded on the side of the building.
She ran to the mouth of the alleyway, and ducked as a daimon swung at her blindly, but wasn't quick enough to completely dodge the fist to her face, and felt rings on his fingers cut across her face, leaving little scores trailing blood across her face. She snarled and manifested a dagger and thrust upward, embedding it his chin, coming up out the top of his head. She yanked it out and stabbed his daimon inkblot, but instead of bursting into golden dust, he fell, his eyes blank and staring, the dagger still embedded in his blot. She only thought about it for a second as Aimee shrieked as she fought off another four. Anelise manifested a second dagger and jumped into the fray. She yanked one daimon back by her hair, driving the dagger downward toward her inkblot. Right as she made contact with the daimon woman, another man screamed in agony and jumped Anelise. His dagger dug into her side, and she yelped in pain. He wretched the dagger upward, opening her side up, blood spilling to the floor with a sickening splash. She dropped the daimon woman's dead body, and reached backwards to cup both hands around his head and flip him over her shoulder to slam his back onto the concrete, feeling her side scream in protest. She heard another screech from Aimee as the Bearswan finished one daimon and another attacked her from behind. Anelise focused back on the daimon on the ground in front of her, but the brief moment of hesitation gave him the opportunity to kick her feet out from under her. She landed hard, and he was on top of her, a foot coming down on one wrist, snapping it cleanly and causing her to snarl darkly and kick up at him. He rolled to the side, off her, but not before slamming the hilt of the dagger that had ripped open her side into her other side and causing a few ribs to crack. She finally gave in and shrieked in fury and manifested a sword, swinging it at him and slicing the sinew of his neck clean apart, causing him to suddenly stop moving and fall, motionless to the ground, his head detaching from his shoulders. She swiped an arm across her face, feeling the blood smear, and went to the Bearswan's side as she dug her own sword into the last daimon and shot Anelise a grin. "Thanks." The girl panted. "Dunno what I would've done if you hadn't showed up."
Anelise tried to catch her own breath, the wound on her side and broken ribs making simple breathes labored. "No problem. I love to start my night with a good bloodbath." She attempted a joke, but it came out strained and annoyed. "What was that, anyway? Does it have to do with the bar being closed?"
Aimee nodded, falling back against the wall for support. "Yeah. There's a group of daywalkers that threatened to burn the bar down. It's a..." The Bearswan paused to take another deep breath. "A precaution."
Anelise nodded, mimicking the motion, hearing the others coming out to the side alley in a panicked group as Aimee slid down the wall to crouch down. The Leopard and the Bearswain bouncer ran to Aimee's side, speaking with her in low tones, trying to keep her awake and conscious. Some others ran to see if there were any other daimons and to inspect the bodies of the day-walkers. The Sentinel alone came over to her, where she was braced against the wall for support, dabbing at the blood on her arms with a manifested rag, trying not to wince to obviously. She watched him as he came nearer, feeling her torn muscles tensing as though he were another threat, even though she knew that was absurd. And still, even with her feral reaction to him, he offered her a hand as the Leopard flashed out with Aimee, the Lion right after him, leaving two Bearswain brother's of Aimee's and another Pantherswain Slayer continued to inspect the day-walkers. "Let me help." He offered.
She felt like snarling at him, but she knew that was the pain talking, and she wasn't Katagaria, spitting and snarling at everything that moved, so she forced a civil reply, working to keep her voice level. "I don't need help."
Colt watched as Justin cocked his ears toward the door. "Did you hear that?" The dark-haired panther asked low. He moved to the door to listen, and did, in fact, hear a small, muffled sound. But then Dev was clapping him on the back with a meaty hand, and laughing. "Guys, relax. We're locked up tight, ain't nothing getting in here without our permission." He said assuredly.
Colt wasn't so confident, and he looked around, cataloguing who was here and who wasn't. The cubs were upstairs with the moms, his brothers were scattered around Peltier House and he'd accounted for them earlier; Justin, Dev, Kyle, and Angel were present, Trip and Dame were somewhere in the medical wing with Margie and Carsen and Aimee...
"Where's Aimee?" He suddenly snapped, causing the others to look around, the beginnings of fear in their eyes. Dev and Kyle exchanged a look and ran up the stairs to look for her where the rooms were, while Angel and Justin ran down to the bar. Colt headed for the offices and medical rooms on the current floor, and flashed to the bar when he had no luck. Dev was pacing back and forth in a rage, and Remi was cracking his knuckles over by the kitchen, Kyle at his side, wringing his hands nervously. "Et and Zar are staying up with the women and cubs, but Aimee's not up there with them." Dev reported grimly, pulling out a cell phone to try her.
A crash came from the front of the bar, and Dev and Remi were the first two out the door, Justin and Colt on their heels, while Angel and Kyle positioned themselves by the door in case whatever was outside decided to come in.
They didn't see anything, and a flash of movement directed them to the side alley, but by the time they got there, there were only day-walker daimon bodies, and two injured women. Aimee was slumped against the wall, lowering herself to crouch on the ground, her arms circled protectively around her still bleeding chest and stomach, her leg jutted out at an awkward and unnatural angle, her face a mess of cuts and bruises. Anelise Romano, the Arcadian Regis Aimee had recently become fascinated with, was still standing but leaning heavily against the wall, slowly and methodically cleaning the blood from her arms. She looked as bad as Aimee, with a nasty looking stab wound baring her side open and what looked like a potential broken wrist. She was leaning to one side over her ribs, which he knew from experience meant they were cracked, if not broken as well. But it was her face that made him pause. She eyed him dangerously as he neared her, her stormy gray eyes flashing, hair falling to shield part of her blood-smeared face, giving her a creepily feral look. She looked like she could do some serious damage, and judging by the five bodies lying down that she and Aimee took out on their own, the assumption probably wasn't that far off. He slowly offered her a hand, hoping she was coherent enough to realize the threat had passed. "Let me help." He said softly, trying to entice her back to the overly formal, proper woman who taunted the bar.
She looked about to snap at him, but reigned in the impulse, and settled for tightly responding, "I don't need help."
He sighed inwardly. He couldn't leave her like this. She was a Regis, after all. It was his duty to protect, even her; especially her. If Omegrion found out he'd let her bleed and leave without doing everything within his power to help her, he'd be in deep shit. But he could already tell this was going to be harder than it needed to be.
She was still glaring at him, the edges of a snarl curling her lips, but he could see the wariness and apprehension in her eyes, and he realized she was debating the pros of him healing her versus the cons of having to go inside and be trapped with a group of Slayers while injured. "I won't let anything happen to you." He reassured her. "Please." He added, knowing the guys would be back any second to retrieve him to heal Aimee. The last thing he needed was Justin or the others around the Regis, especially with her hurt and snappish.
Finally, she pushed off the wall, uneasy on her feet, and nodded. "Fine." She said loftily. He reached out quickly to help her steady herself, and she recoiled from his touch. Fan-fucking-tastic. This was going to be loads of fun. He reached further to touch her shoulder and flash the two of them to the medical wing, to a bed a couple yards away from Aimee's bed, where she was sitting as Carsen checked for a concussion and some the guys hovered by the door. She swayed, even more unbalanced on her feet after flashing, and he lifted her by her waist to set her on the table gently before it became obvious how weak she was. Her eyes calmed a trace, and she looked for a second about to thank him, but instead she looked at Aimee, her eyes icing over.
"Help the Bearswan first." She ordered, the kindness of her words all but completely nullified by the rude, commanding tone she said them in. He nodded, reigning in his impulse to snap, and handed her a bucket of warm water and a rag to start cleaning the blood from her arms and face while he went to tend Aimee.
She looked dazed, but not dying, and he sighed in relief. He went to her side, and waited for Carsen to finish. When the young vet did, he turned to Colt with a faint smile. "She's got a concussion, but she'll be fine, in my opinion. She's all yours." He said, stepping back to give Colt room to step forward. He did, and caught Carsen glance to Anelise and start to go over to her, but he stopped the doctor with a hand on his arm. "You might wanna leave her be. She's kind of... rough around the edges."
"She's a fucking bitch, is what she is."
"Thank you, Justin." He snapped in a tone that said 'Enough.' and Justin rolled his eyes and smirked as he and Remi turned to leave, satisfied that Aimee was going to be alright. He turned back to Carsen. "She's the Arcadian Snow Leopard Regis and she's really uncomfortable being here. I'll take care of her, just leave her be for now."
Carsen nodded with a frown. It went against his principles to leave someone unattended, but he trusted Colt's opinions, and rarely argued with his subtle orders. So the doctor washed his hands and disappeared to the back room to confer with Margie about Aimee.
He ruffled Aimee's hair affectionately, as he bent to inspect her. "Just can't keep yourself out of trouble, can you?" He scolded playfully. She gave him a sad, guilty smile, and he nudged one of the few unscathed parts of her arm. "I'm just kidding, Aims." He said, falling silent as he healed her leg, setting it properly and splinting it, despite her shriek of sudden pain and her trying to jerk out of his reach, causing his concentration to break. She'd be fine tomorrow at the rate Were's healed, with his help speeding up the process. He cleaned the gashes on her chest and stomach, and fixed a few deeper knife wounds littering her arms, shoulders and one particularly nasty one on her back. One she was mostly healed, he called for Margie and told her to start cleaning the remaining blood off Aimee's skin. Margie nodded, and began her task, and he went back to the Regis, who'd scrubbed most of the blood from her arms, hands, and side, but made only a faint progress with her face. The blood was faded, but she couldn't see where the blood was, and there was still some reddish/pinkish spots on her face where she hadn't scrubbed quite enough to completely rid herself of the bloody stains.
He approached her slowly, ignoring Dev and Angel as the latter loudly complained about tending useless Arcadian bitches as they left the room, and paused by the table, holding a hand out for the rag. "Can I help?"
She glared at him, but her tense posture relaxed a fraction after Angel and Dev had left, and she handed over the rag. He tossed it in the sink and knelt by the table to inspect her side. It was cut open, and it took a fair amount of effort and concentration to close the wound back up properly. She hissed in annoyance and pain, but didn't move, which he was grateful for, and he finished the wound and the ribs behind it, and stood, starting to feel the wooziness kick in from over-reaching himself. He moved onto her wrist, and set that one as well, but she stopped him from continuing to the other, smaller wounds. "You look sick," she said with an edge of distaste that made his blood spike. "Cuts and bruises I can handle."
He knew he should argue, but his legs were starting to give out on him, so he simply nodded, and fell into a chair a little harder than he meant to. He looked back to Margie and Aimee, but Margie had finished and gone into the back to dispose of the used rags, and Aimee was asleep, so neither saw his almost collapse. "You're free to leave now, if you want." He said, letting his eyes drift shut, hoping to still the room, which had started to tilt, like it did when he'd drunken too much.
She wasn't quite so tense after the Slayers left, but she was still wary of the Sentinel, even if she knew she had to trust that duty would win out over a sense of divine justice for his friends. She reluctantly handed him her rag and tried to stay as still as possible as he healed the worst of her injuries, but she couldn't help the hiss of pain that escaped, glad now more than ever that the Slayers had left the room, and Aimee was passed out in her own bed. She did stop him as he moved to start fixing her minor injuries. She was a Regis, not a fucking cub, after all, she could take a little bit of pain. Besides, he was looking more and more drained with every injury he healed. She could tell his nature wanted to argue with her, insist on finishing the job, but his exhaustion won out and he nodded wearily, sitting on the chair to his side with a heavy thud. He sat for a moment, then raised his very blue eyes to her. "You're free to leave now, if you want."
She immediately moved to get off the bed and flash home, but she paused. He'd been kind to her, healing her despite what he probably felt about her. She owed him at least something in return. She grabbed a new rag and ran the sink to soak it in cool water, and went to the Sentinel's side. She couched by his chair and pressed the rag lightly to his temple. He opened an eye to look at her curiously, and she sniffed at him. "You should've stopped while you were ahead. The ribs and wrist would have healed." She scolded, moving the rag to touch his forehead.
"I couldn't. It was like a compulsion." He joked wearily. She shook out the rag to cool it down again and pressed it back to his temple, not responding.
"You don't have to do this." He pointed out looking to the rag and back to her. He really did have exceedingly blue eyes, almost unnatural in their color. She shrugged. "The Bearswan's out cold, what else do I have to do? Besides, you didn't have to heal me, yet here we are."
"Yeah. Here we are." He repeated softly. She looked up to see if anyone was coming in. It wouldn't do for her to be caught tending to him like some lovestruck child pining after a Sentinel. But the door was solidly shut, and she could still hear Margie and Carson speaking in low tones. So she turned back to face Colton. "I suppose I owe you a thanks for helping me." She said.
"Stating that you do doesn't count as the actual apology, just so you know." He said, and she recognized the intent of teasing, but it still made her hackles rise a bit.
"I also didn't say I was going to thank you, just that I should." She snapped, and she watched his jaw work as he refrained from snapping back, though why he bothered refraining she had no idea. She glanced back at the Bearswan, but spoke to the Sentinel. "I owe you." She said as he started to rise but swayed on his feet, and she watched as he grabbed hold of the nearest counter for balance, realizing too late she should have offered support for him. "I have to go rest before I keel over." He said.
She nodded, stepping away from him, and tried to contain her smirk as the shriek of young cubs rang out. "Well. Good luck with the resting." She said sarcastically. He shot her a look, but it faded as thoughtfulness replaced it. She waited a few second, pure curiosity imploring her to know if he'd share his thoughts, and then he looked up at her. "You owe me? I've got a favor to ask."'
"How'd I know I'd regret saying that?" She said rhetorically. "What favor?"
"I've got a place away from the bar. I can't harness the Rytis as well as I need to. You can help me with that, and get me out of here."
She eyed him unhappily. "If you and I both leave, who's going to watch the Bearswan? Your little Slayer pets?" She snapped, and she saw the anger in his eyes at her flippant insult.
"Yes, as a matter of fact. Are you going to help me or not?"
She rolled her eyes. "Fine. Let's go. Whenever you come back, tell the Bearswan to call me so I can insure she's alright." She said. He held out a hand to her, and she hesitated a second before taking his hand and flashing them both, her focusing on the Rytis itself, and him on the destination. They landed in the middle of a marshy part of a bayou, near a small shed on a dock. "You're kidding. This is where you're going to get some rest?" She said doubtfully. He made his slow way inside, and she walked alongside him, in case he needed support.
"It's quiet, ok?"
"It's a shack." She said distastefully.
"Don't you have somewhere to be?"
"Once you're inside, I'll be gone. I'd hate for you to collapse after all the interest I've invested in you today." She said, her sarcasm making him roll his eyes. He got inside, but she hovered in the doorway, wrinkling her nose at the small, studio like space. He made it to the bed, and she flashed out, escaping before he could turn to say anything else.