Four:: (This ia my thank you to everyone that has read and reviews and loved the world of Skyrim and it's resident crazy jester. )
With a sigh she hiked up her skirt and stepped out into the tall grasses behind the house, following the torch fires that lit the way up the hill. She followed the scent of freshly turned earth and death. Where else do you find a ghost playing hide and seek? In a cemetery, of course. The grave stones were quiet and the area seemed entirely too still to her. No crickets, no wind, nothing. She shivered. It generally took a lot to give her the willies, but in that moment she felt like something sinister was nearby, something that was hunting her. That thought made her angry. She was the hunter, not the other way around. With a snarl she unsheathed her daggers, sidestepping a movement that she could barely track. Glowing red eyes and glinting fangs were inches from her face.
Dove's heart dropped into her stomach like a lead weight. Divines and Daedra, what was that!? A clawed hand swiped out at her and the white haired woman twisted away, feeling clumsy in the soft earth. Vampire. Her mind screamed at her to run, to flee, to keep away from the pale, crazed monster from every nightmare she'd ever been told of. The woman used to be beautiful, her face warped by hunger and rage and madness. When the ravenous vampire struck out again, she caught the werewolf high up on her thigh, the burning pain pulling an enraged snarl from Dove that was downright inhuman. Rage tumbled through the small female on the trail of the painful wound and her instincts kicked into over drive. The need to kill whatever had harmed her pushed aside her fear and she moved, swinging her blades in a fast, low arch that caught the vampire across the middle.
The bloodsucker shrieked and darted around Dove in blinking movements that were beyond anything the werewolf had ever seen. The vampire was just so fast! Dove abandoned any sense of guarding herself, knowing that something this quick would just dance right around it anyway and instead went on the offensive. She was not about to get her ass murdered in a fucking swamp by a vampire of all things. Another slash across her back had the werewolf downright pissed and with a startling amount of force, she jerked her blade about, the ebony dagger lodging itself deep into the chest cavity of the vampire. Dove sank into the wet mud beneath her as she fought for traction.
Shrieks and hisses filled Dove's ears and she struggled against the woman's considerable strength, ignoring the claws that dug into her arms in favor of holding back the gnashing teeth that tried to get at her. Suddenly the vampire let out a gasp like gurgle and her head rolled free of her twitching body. Stunned, Dove blinked owlishly at Cicero. He stood behind the creature's corpse, twin blades finishing their smooth movement. His eyes were filled with a murderous rage that mirrored her own and she let out a deep sigh of relief. She jerked hard on her weapon, letting out a pained curse as she yanked the still buried clawed hands from her arms. She was covered in wounds and blood, sweat trickling down her forehead as she glared down at the dead thing with no small amount of hunger. She wasn't finished hurting the vampire. Blood lust sang through her veins in an intoxicating song comprised of the harmonies of physical pain and the scent of blood.
"Dove, sweet Dove, look what she did to you," Cicero moaned in despair and her inhuman eyes that had grown slitted and glowing in the midst of her rage fixed on him. She panted heavily, trying to get a grip on herself. She couldn't let the wolf out here, not with the shouts of guards in the air and Cicero here. In her current state, she feared for his safety. The sound of his breaths and racing pulse were wreaking havoc on her senses and sheathed her weapon shakily. Cicero, however, was caught between worry over the state of her and downright aroused. She stood there covered in dirt in her torn dress like some sort of savage, her knuckles white around the hilts of her weapons as her chest heaved from either anger or exertion or maybe both. Those enchanting eyes nearly undid him with their feral intensity. He had a feeling that his aid hadn't been needed.
"I will be fine, " She murmured out on a growl, turning her stare to the ghost that had formed near an open grave. The child looked mournful.
"That is Laylette. When the fire happened, Laylette came and kissed me on the neck and then the fire didn't hurt anymore. She wanted to keep me forever, but she can't. I'm all burnt up. I am tired now. Goodnight," Helgi explained softly before fading away. Cicero jerked his attention from the ghost to Dove and back to the dead vampire, more that a little bewildered. He'd gone out looking for Dove after finishing with mother only to hear the distinctive sounds of battle and rushed to help. What he had seen sent ice through his veins. Dove, injured, with a vampire struggling in her hold. He had reacted before he could think and sliced the creature's head off, lost to the need to protect the white haired woman.
A new fear shot through the jester and he turned to his companion.
"Dove, the vampire, she hurt you! We need a potion or-" He began only to be cut off by the white haired woman motioning violently.
"I am immune, it's fine," She snapped, still riding the anger. His eyes went wide and he snapped his mouth shut firmly as the guards reached them along with a few townsfolk. Dove explained that she'd been out for a walk and that the woman had attacked her over the cries of one of the men that had apparently known to woman. He was her husband, she guessed. The guards, of course had freaked out over the vampire thing, taking the head as evidence to the Jarl. Still angry and seething, Dove stomped back toward the inn with Cicero in tow and Laylette's sobbing husband's cries echoing behind them. She headed back to take yet another bath, the jester stepping into the bathing rooms with her and locking the door behind him.
"Cicero go away," She growled out, tugging violently on the ties to her ruined dress. The jester ignored her and batted her hands aside, much to her ire. She was shaking from the amount of effort it was taking to stay in control. She was terrified from her encounter, angry, and the pain fueled the side of her that pushed to free itself. It had been several long days since she had transformed herself and she was paying for it. The wolf was closer to the surface and despite her close proximity to the coffin, it was winning the fight.
"Calm down, Dove," He cooed, leather covered hands moving to cup her throat much the same way that he had back in Dawnstar. She growled low in her throat, eyes still that inhuman, predatory shape that had the fool more than a little excited. "Let me take care of you, Sweet Dove."
"You...You don't have to do that Cicero," She protested softly, letting the rage and adrenaline slip away slowly with each caress of his thumb against her jaw. "Don't let my blood...I.." His free hand had moved to pull free one of her daggers and her breath hitched at the heated look in his eyes.
"Your blood?" Cicero prompted, sliding the flat of her blade against her cheek, ghosting it down her throat to the small hollow between her modest breasts. The soft, yet distinctive sound of tearing fabric had her letting out a soft sound of protest and yet she found that she could do nothing but stand there under his hooded stare.
"I am a werewolf," She blurted and he stilled momentarily. The pale skinned man tilted his head thoughtfully as he teased the sensitive skin over her chest with the point of the dagger. He put just enough pressure there to let her feel the danger, the potential he had to cut her, but not enough to actually cut. The wolf brushed against the inside of her skin, the soft, thick fur begging to press outward into the world. Her senses were becoming sharper by the second, another warning sign.
"Well that certainly explains a few things," He chuckled. The knife slid lower, the ebony slicing through the fabric easily until the bloodied tatters fell to pool at her feet. His eyes surveyed her bared skin, marred with claw marks and bruises, scars that had been too deep or from before she held the wolf blood. She had opted to not wear undergarments since she'd planned on sleeping after her walk and now she wasn't sure if she regretted it. He drew in a shaky breath at the sight of her, angry that someone other than him had managed to damage her. His gloved fingers explored each marking and earned a hiss of pain from her that shot through the relative silence of the stone room. He walked her back toward a low stool near the bath, guiding her to sit. And she did, delirious by the treatment and the events of the evening stripping her of her humanity. Why was she submitting to him? Why wasn't he terrified of her for that matter?
He began filling the basin with fresh water from the hand crank, the stoked fire beneath the bubbling vat that held it crackling merrily. The jester returned his gaze to her once again with a look that had the wolf whining and the sound echoed up through her own throat. She itched to touch him, to nose the underside of his jaw and submit properly, much to her own mortification. He wasn't a wolf and here she was, acting like a pup in her first heat. The odd, unavoidable truth was that he was playing off of her adrenaline, her shaky control and fear, turning it into something sensual and pushing buttons that she did not even know she had.
"Naughty Dove, letting yourself be harmed and worrying poor Cicero," He chided and she flushed darkly at the way he looked down at her. She covered her nudity as best she could, suddenly self conscious beneath his stare. He laughed at her antics, " Cicero thinks that his little dove should be...punished for letting someone else touch her, cut her, hurt her. What does the puppy think, hmmm?"
She swallowed hard, watching the knife warily as it slid through his fingers in a lazy twirl. She averted her gaze to the floor, unable to stop red from rushing across her cheekbones and the tips of her pointed ears. What was he asking of her? Punishment? Sure she'd lain with a man in the past, a couple women too, but none of them had ever teased or brought this sort of thing to the table. It was unnerving, keeping her off balance and out of her comfort zone. The flat of the cold weapon appeared under her chin, lifting her face to look up at his. An unhappy frown marred his lips and he held an expectant look in his eyes that had darkened considerably.
"Speak, Dove," The jab at her canine nature did not go unnoticed and she growled softly, unamused, only to feel a sharp flick to the tip of her nose that shocked her enough to silence the sound. Did he seriously just have the nerve to flick her across the nose like a misbehaving pup?! She was going to strangle him! And then his lips were on her's, bruising, consuming, teeth biting at her lower lip and dragging a needy moan from her. He grinned against her lips, free hand skimming ever so lightly down her arm and making a ripple of gooseflesh rise in it's wake. Her hands shot out to wind about his neck, to pull him closer, only to be brought up short by the bite of ebony blade into her throat.
"Ah ah ahhh, answer Cicero, Dove," He repeated, watching as she slowly removed her arms with a wariness, knowing that despite his affection for her that he would have little to no problem with hurting her. She was pretty damn sure that he would get off on it, honestly. The werewolf watched him fish a small clear vial from a pouch in his belt and the jester downed the sharp, pungent, bitter tasting potion in a quick swallow with a grimace. Potion of cure disease, she figured, or something very similar. She wasn't much of an alchemist but she knew the basics and every Companion was required to learn that particular potion mixture more for the sake of dosing anyone that happened to get a little too close to their blood. Lycanthropy was much harder to catch than Vampirism, but she was relieved that he was taking precaution. Her own strain of Lycanthropy was special, like all of the Companions. They were not directly born from Hircine, like most, but cursed into the wolf form by some of the Lord of the Hunt's worshippers. Because of that, it took a good deal of blood to turn another and even more luck.
Hircine had swam through Claret's veins like a fish to water, however. The wolf loved her, meshed far better with her than most. Aela and Skorr were both very close to the wolf side as well, but Claret had adapted and felt far more at home as the wolf than even them. And that wolf was all but eating out of the palm of Cicero's hand.
"Punishment?" She asked with trepidation and more than a little excitement. A slow, sinfully wicked smirk curled the man's generous lips and heat shot through Dove's limbs to gather low in her belly.
"Yes, of course. We can't have you thinking that you can let just anyone leave marks on your beautiful body, now can we?" He replied as he returned to rolling the tip of the blade along the plains of her skin. She flushed darker and swallowed hard, painfully aware of her own nudity and the fact that he was so very close. The scent of his arousal was thick in the room and it only made her more crazed. She shook her head in agreement instinctively and he rewarded her with a light kiss on the cheek. The blade had found one of the long, jagged claw marks that Laylette had left on her shoulder. The skin had already begun to reform thanks to her healing abilities and with a careful, shallow movement, Cicero sliced it open again. Dove snarled loudly, baring pointed teeth as the hackles of her wolf rose on end under the feel of the pain he'd given her. His free hand was already moving however, a wet cloth she hadn't even seen him pick up clearing the reopened cut of dirt and dried blood.
Fresh blood welled up along the clean cut and she watched him distrustfully as he knelt before her on the stone floor and leaned in close to the wound. His hot, wet tongue flicked across the cut and she let out a startled moan against the sensation. What in the hell was he doing!? His warm breath fanned over her skin between each slow and purposeful lick and she swallowed a second moan when he let the hand not holding the dagger cup one of her breasts in a gentle juxtaposition of the pain he inflicted on her. Cicero repeated the process with each claw mark, taking his time to lavish attention on all five until Dove was visibly shaking in his grip. He then moved on with his exploration, finding the deeper slices from where the vampire had latched onto her forearms with both hands.
He cleaned the area, then brought the knife down in a slow, controlled manner, claiming each marking for himself. And Dove began to anticipate each painful stroke, tensing and shuddering, hissing out under the painful sensation that had very quickly become the only thing that she could focus on. His eager mouth acted as a balm when he sucked and traced the wounds with his tongue. And as much as her head tried to tell her that this was wrong, that this was a terrible idea and that she should kill the man and run far away, the much louder part of her was begging for more. She was hyper aware of everywhere he touched her and leaned into his every touch. The other arm received the same treatment and then he was moving behind her, constantly trailing the flat of his blade along as he explored her, looking for more damage.
"Such a good girl," He cooed in her ear, freehand capturing the mess of her hair and laying it over her uninjured shoulder so that he could get at the cuts that ran horizontally across the small of her back. Cicero knelt again and she shivered in anticipation. This was beyond sensual, something that she never would have imagined herself being into at all. In the past she had gotten aggressive and walked out on anyone that tried to control her, but here the jester was manipulating her like clay effortlessly. She whimpered at the nip of the blade again and all but leapt out of the stool when he laved his tongue over the sensitive area. And then the lithe man was slinking back around in front of her, his large golden eyes fixated upon the deepest of her wounds which rested on her left hip. The cut gaped open unhappily and ran from just above the top of her hip bone at a dramatic angle to taper off somewhere near her inner thigh.
"C-Cicero," She breathed out in warning. He wouldn't. Dove swallowed thickly, her throat constricting as he looked up at her flushed face with all of the heat of the sun. The young woman trembled beneath his stare that fell to the Sithis amulet that rested in the hollow of her throat. He gave her a serene smile as he turned to rinse out his cloth with hot water, pink clouds rolling free from the once white rag. And then he turned back to her and with barely any pressure, parted her shaking knees so that he could ease between squeezed the hot water over the wound, watching the grime and blood slide away over her twitching muscles. Again and again he rinsed the wound until it looked clear of anything foreign. And then he was pressing the dagger to it, following the cut exactly, but not deepening it any. She realized then what he was doing in a moment of disturbing clarity. He was straightening the cuts.
Was he that OCD about it that he had to ensure that all of her scars; if they became scars, were perfectly straight. Fresh blood followed the wake of the weapon and he tossed aside the jagged pieces of clotted blood and skin that would have healed crookedly before setting the blade aside. He wiped away most of the excess blood, at least intelligent enough to know better than to take too much of it into his system, even with the use of a cure disease potion. He was taking such a big risk. Oh Divines say that he wouldn't. He lowered his lips to her hip, skimming his mouth and tongue along the abused flesh and she found it impossible to breathe. Her heartbeat thundered in her ears and she could not stop the keening whimper that ripped its way out of her throat. Lower and lower he followed the cut, his strong grip holding her firmly in place. When he reached her inner thigh, he all but purred against her skin and slowed his descent to tease her further. Needy fingers buried themselves in his hair, needing a hand hold, something to root her to the ground.
"Cicero...please," She gasped out as he latched onto the flesh right above her cut, so close to that place that throbbed for attention, but so very far. And then ever so slightly, he pressed a kiss to her entrance, breathing in the scent of how he had affected her.
"That's it, my Dove, beg me to give you more," He murmured, voice deepening into that darker, baser tone that had her toes curling against the stones. "Tell me what you want Cicero to do."
The hands in his hair tightened and she let out an animalistic snarl that spoke of her frustration. She'd apparently reached her limit and Cicero found himself being yanked upward hard so that she could ravage his lips with a hunger that spiraled away from her. He groaned throatily and matched her furious pace. To Sithis with it, he thought and lifted her from the stool with far more strength than she would have given him credit for. She wrapped herself around him and groaned at the feeling of his hands on her rear, the press of his length against her. He backed her into the wall hard enough to earn a growl from her. And then there was a loud pounding on the outer door and the two of them froze, breathing halted and eyes locked. There was a terrible rage within Cicero's eyes, something that should have scared the white haired woman, but instead only had her skin crawling with need.
"What?" She called out, surprised by how steady her own voice was.
"The Jarl wishes to speak with you," Was the hesitant, male voice that answered her. She was just as if not more angry than Cicero in that moment, but she banked it in favor of running her fingers through his long hair in long, slow strokes, sliding her hips against his in a teasing manner that had the redhead calming considerably. Or at least, refocusing his attention somewhere more productive and likely to involve less murder.
"Can't I meet with them in the morning?" She asked, letting her head fall back as the jester lowered his talented mouth to her chest.
"'fraid not, Miss, Jarl Ravencrone was very insistent," The guard replied. She let out a heated huff, biting her lower lip hard when Cicero sank a single leather clad finger up inside of her.
"D-did she say what she wanted?" Dove continued the conversation, watching the smirk that grew on Cicero's face when she writhed against him. Fuck.
"No, only that your assistance is needed immediately in an important matter involving your encounter this evening," The stranger reported professionally. Cicero had begun stroking her inner walls in a circular motion and she was tempted to say damn the guards and the Jarl and to just have her way with the rotten fool. With a sigh she lowered her legs to the floor and mournfully let the redhead remove his hand from her.
"Give me time to finish binding my wounds and I'll be out," She called. Claret was really starting to hate Jarls.