CHAPTER TWO. ANGEL OF DEATH.

DESTANI

They say first impressions are lasting impressions. As if the first way you meet someone, shows their true character. They lied.

When I first saw Rebecca in Volterra so many decades ago, I thought her to be an angel. Waves of honey gold hair fall gently around her shoulders. Pale pink lips the color of a fluffy cotton cloud at sunset curve alluringly into a deep cupid's bow. The voice that falls from those lips is surprisingly husky, smooth and alto. Like a radio announcer. Then there's the high forehead of nobility adorned with her tall elegance. Long, pale legs for miles. A thick row of delicate lashes paired with gorgeous, picturesque ruby-red eyes that seemed to contradict the usual, murky red. The eyes were so intense, like a red-hot fire. Burning and scorching and dragging you into their hypnotic depths.

Despite her devastatingly close resemblance to her angelic brother Aro, her actions were definently not in any way associated with the heavenly host.

Constanly getting into trouble under her brother's nose. But just little kid stuff like missing curfew. Obviously it wasn't long before "the angel" wanted to rebel with me, "the ingenue". Soon she became the demon and I, the accomplice.

I assumed this to be adolescense at it's best, as she was mortally 15 and hadn't really had a childhood in her day; I gladly went along with it even though I was well past my teen years at 20. Maybe growing up in the the eighteenth century under the doting supervision of a wealthy, doting father who expected the best of me, as a French lady, at all times had robbed me of a childhood as well. Whatever the cause, we realized, perhaps too late, that this wasn't the normal teenage rebellion. This had escaladed into something cold blooded and ruthless. We had become notorious.

A mafia of sorts.

A typical outing would consist of Rebecca and I journeying to some faraway village or no-name town and use our charms as succubi to have every single person--man and woman and child--under our little finger.

Especially the men. They were always the first to go.

Because within twenty-four hours they would all be slaughtered. We personally killed the over friendly, cheating husbands first.We would then have the tedious, yet fast, task of rounding all the women and children up and having them bound and gagged. I acted as the angel of death. I chose one woman and child we would spare, related or otherwise. Then I'd carry them to the outskirts of a nearby town, leaving them with a small fortune to live off. While I was gone, Rebecca would've murdered the remaining people. I knew she would've untied them just to give chase; she liked adrenaline in the blood. Then Rebecca's power would be used to burn the village and mine to pillage effieciently and speedily. Two pairs of theiving hands are better than one.

How foolish we were to think that such rowdy outings could last. How foolish we were to think that sparing two lives out of the masses and giving them the loot stolen from the previous outing was some sort of act of grace. Because eventually your conscience catches up with you. Because eventually you get tired of seeing the vermilion and scarlet flames licking greedily up into the night sky and scorching and burning their way through an entire village, killing dreams and hopes. Because eventually you begin to loathe slipping into your transparent state, because it reminds you of the task you must do. Stealing and robbing treasures without a moment's thought. Because eventually someone must answer for the dead bodies buried deep underground. Someone must answer to the nightmares of the two survivors. Someone must answer for the cries of children and screaming women and for the fear of the men that lingers in the air with the salt of blood.

So of course, we lied later to our many vampire admirers (as we'd become quite famous) that we were quitting our night-time exploits simply because of my duty to Laurent and Rebecca's duty to Aro as ladies. We lied and said that this was all in fun and that it was over and we wouldn't think any more of it.

But we never admitted that the hardest part was losing that rush of power. That feeling of control you could get when taking one life. Of being talked about among vampires in hushed voices as some sort of celebrity. If offered that chance, no strings attached, we would probably both take it without another thought. And we never admitted that the worst part was seperating from each other. Becca was my protector and defender and my leader. I was her world, her comfort. We were sisters. We were best friends. But we cared about each other so much that, we knew if we remained together, we would fall back into the old way of things.

Old habits die hard.

That was almost thirty years ago. And now here we stand beside the pool.

"Hello, stranger," Becca murmurmed cordially, her eyes( just as I remember them) staring deep into mine.

I'd already said my hellos and said conversationally, "I'm surprised to see you out of Volterra."

"Jane," she said simply, nodding. I grinned broadly and said, "I love her."

Her eyes had been cautious before but now she grinned wickedly and said, "But she doesn't reciprocate. She gave me a hard time after what happened with you and Alec."

Incredulous, I asked, "It was just harmless flirting." Surely Jane would know that.

Becca laughed in her husky voice and answered, "Yep, catching you two in the courtyard was nothing. Right." I threw back my head and laughed wildly, just to hear the sound of my voice mingled with hers. "Is this your house?" she asked after a bit.

I shook my head and answered deviously,"The human family that lives here hasn't even noticed my prescense. I mostly reside in the little girl's room, as she mostly lives in the adjoining playroom. She's the only one who's ever seen me. She's quite intelligent for a seven year-old. She actually thinks I'm an angel, and she confides in me mostly. She's told her family about me but her parents think it's just a phase, her older sister blew her off and her big brother thinks she's lying."

Becca smiled and mulled over that before asking warmly, "Where's Laurent?" I froze at the name of my father. She noticed my sudden solemnity and her body hardened in response. There was a heavy silence.

Then I spoke with a soft whoosh of air, "It's a long story." She didn't respond but laid back on the smooth pool-side cement, her long arms under her head. I sat down beside her nimbly, folding my short legs under myself and began my tale:

"When we separated, all I had was Father and I was okay with that. Because of our previous fame, Father quickly gathered a reasonable sized coven. Things were fine for the most part, but then feeding would come and I would have to face my dark past again. Nothing like hot blood trickling down your throat to bring back memories. And each time I would be sorely tempted to go back to that life. This mind game continued and I became more and more withdrawn and brooding. It wasn't soon before I found myself, seemingly of my own accord, wandering towards the next town, my mind set on the past. Prepared to kill."

I took a deep, steadying breath and continued, "I was so upset. I couldn't believe what I'd done. So I ran into a church and I knelt in front of the altar--" I could almost hear Rebecca stiffen. "--and I prayed to whoever could hear me. I begged that nothing like that would ever happen again. That I couldn't bear to kill an innocent again. That I would rather kill myself. And I guess someone up above was listening, because the preacher heard me. To him he thought this was merely a call for help. He thought he was preventing suicide. If only he'd known that he was saving much more than one life. He talked to me. Told me that there was a way to be redeemed. That all my sins could be forgiven if I just, how you say, 'stuck to the primrose path'. Of course when Laurent found out I was spending so much alone time with the preacher, he expected the worse because I was a succubus and...he killed the man," I ended grimly.

Rebecca remained in her position as she said, "There's more isn't there." It wasn't a question. She repeated, saying, "That doesn't explain your eyes."

I sighed and explained, "Laurent and the coven relocated to a new town."

"And you didn't," Rebecca finished.

"I did. I just didn't go with them." Now Rebecca looked up at me with a mixture of horror and amazement in her eyes. She knew how I adored and loved my Father. How I would willingly die for him and how he would fight to the death before we had to part. How I hadn't seen him in twenty-five years. I didn't want to talk about how I ran away. I didn't want to discuss how my dead heart had hurt and ached and been torn in two with every step away from him. So instead I said, "I wanted to be an angel of death, you see. But in another way. I didn't want to kill humans. So now I hunt animals. I am an angel in death. Pure and clean and holy." I toyed oblivously with the cross around my neck.

Becca's liquid eyes hardened as she said chillingly," But now you've gone and lost your father." I winced. I hated talking about him. It only made the pain hurt more.

I reached forward and grasped her long, pale fingers in my darker, small hand as I said happily, "But now you're here and I'm nearly healed again."

Rebecca smiled down at me like the angel I once thought her to be and said, "And I have a brilliant beyond brilliant idea."

"Shoot," I commanded, still fiddling with my cross.

"What do you say to forming our own coven? It's not as if we're doing anything. And I've missed you sooo much, sweet sister. We could have a coven to occupy our time instead of dwelling on the days of old. And being tempted," she added quickly. Then she whispered, like she admitting a dark wish, and I leaned forward childishly even though I could hear her, "Your way of life intrigues me. If I were with you, perhaps I could harness my more carnal desires."

How much like Aro she was, easily fascinated and entertained with this test of her strength.

I nodded appreaciatively and said, "Well said, sister."