At the cemetery signpost, she paused to catch her breath.
Like will-o-wisps, green motes of light drifted about the tombstones and trees. A spectral glow cast from the moon painted hues of gray against the dense shadows. Laz didn't need a bright night to find her path. Expecting a shiver or some stirring in her blood the closer she became to his home, she felt nothing but the night's air. Another illusion? she wondered. Had I conjured it all in my head?
Grief has polluted my mind...she thought.
Things were not looking well in the long run. With her mother deceased, if the vampire was to be spared, that meant ridding the witcher. Even worse, the premontions―if that's what they were―had yet to be deciphered. Geralt had seen the wolf but not the woman, had spared the wolf, but would he do the same for the woman?
Laz knew that answer; so did Keira.
Climbing the steep mound where she buried her mother, she paused again and strained her senses.
Still nothing...
Frowning, she continued on, eventually reaching the mausoleum where the door, unlatched once more, awaited her. Carefully taking the stairs down, she entered the main catacomb and looked for the table and bookshelf she'd seen previously in her head.
She found Regis there. He was seated quietly before a lit three branch candelabra and bookshelf. Just like her vision portrayed. He looked up without the surprise of her arrival whilst a bottle of wine sat on the table before him and two empty glasses. Geralt was nowhere to be seen. Laz twisted around to eye the small mezzanine, but the witcher wasn't there either and no sound came from the tunnel behind her.
Odd.
Drawing the cloak closer to hide her thin chemise, shambled pants and haphazardly donned boots, she collected herself with a sigh and braved the vampire with a steady look.
"Good evening," she exhaled, still winded from her fervid running.
He sat back against his chair, watching her with steady black eyes.
"Good evening."
It appeared as if she came and went as she pleased, with little regard to anyone who her efforts might affect. Not even a vampire could get some peace and quiet as long as Lazarus was around.
"Once again, I've intruded upon you," she muttered, lips thinning. "I can leave."
"No," his words halted her mid-turn. "Please, stay. I happened to have readied a bottle of wine. Care to share a glass?"
She glanced back him as he filled each glass from the bottle. In truth, she could not have heard better words. She paused a few paces away, anticipating the effects of his proximity, but her blood did not stir nor sing as she hoped.
Nothing. Not even a blush.
But she was pleased to see him. Her memory captured his features poorly, but now she was reminded of every charming detail. In fact, he looked better than their initial meeting with flushed cheeks and lips that did not look so gaunt.
"Is something the matter?" he asked, rising to pull her chair out for her.
Laz shook her head and sat. When he took his seat as well, they toasted wordless and drank. She downed the entire contents in one gasping draught, needing the courage most of all to speak freely. He did not wait to pour her another.
"Perhaps an introduction is at hand," he replaced the cork and set the bottle aside. "My name is Emiel Regis Rohellec Terzieff-Godefroy," he began. "I'm a barber-surgeon and, which you gathered on your own, a higher vampire. But please, I vehemently request that you do not share that with anyone else."
She grabbed her second serving of wine and, this time paced herself.
"My name is Lazarus. I am-," she paused. "No one."
"I disagree. You're Lazarus."
She scoffed.
You can't possibly fathom who, or what, I am.
She changed the subject.
"Emiel Regis Rohellec Terzieff-Godefroy. Quite a mouthful."
"Regis," he chuckled, "Regis will do just fine."
Laz took another large gulp, hoping if she drank fast enough it would put her in a polluted enough state to convey her suspicions carelessly and without hindrance.
"Laz is fine, too," she added softly while she mulled over her plan of action.
"I'm quite curious as to why you're here," Regis said, "Your arrival was not of my summoning."
Laz flinched. Those were words she did not want to hear.
"I came for the witcher," she admitted candidly. "Where is he?"
"You just missed him. He's back of the Path."
" The Path? "
"Yes, he is a very busy man. He's been pulled every which way since he arrived here in Toussaint."
"Do you trust him?" she said suddenly, pinning him with her narrowed gaze.
"Of course, I do. He's my friend."
" Friend?" Laz spat, repulsed by the thought. "A witcher?"
"Ah," he grinned, "You must be one of the many who holds great disdain for the witcher guild."
"No," Laz said flatly. "Just that one."
"Oh?" Regis rose his brow. "And why might that be?"
For one, she'd never met any other witcher. So far, the only one had immediately landed himself onto the proverbial shit list.
Swallowing thickly, she still tasted the blood from her sore and wounded tongue. Before she could talk herself out of reason, she tossed the remaining drink back in a single swig. Blood and wine coated her throat, rich and bitter. If she wanted him to understand her apprehension, she needed him to understand her suspicions.
"There's not many of you," she surmised. "Vampires, that is."
"We are a rare breed, yes."
Nodding, she continued.
"I imagined the worst, of course; a terrible blood-gulping fiend that prowls the night," she looked down into her empty cup.
"As do many."
"Are vampires capable of loving another?"
Regis nodded solemnly. "Vampires actually feel and care a great deal. I would even go so far as to say more so than humans."
"More so?" As if Laz could ever understand humans and their capabilities, even though she wanted to.
After a short moment of consideration, she muttered, "I'm not going to pretend like you haven't figured it out, I know you are aware of what I am. But please," she paused dramatically. "I vehemently request that you do not share that with anyone else."
He chuckled again at her impersonation, presenting a charming smile even despite the pointed teeth. Laz smiled a little herself.
"Lazarus," he assured her humbly, it sounded like a purr. "Your secret could not possibly be safer."
For the first time in her life, someone other than Keira knew of her terrible secret. If he only knew how terrible it was… Such a moment called for rejoicing and celebration, but she wasn't here with happy tidings.
Her smile fell slowly, somberly. "My mother was the only one who knew. I promised her I would never tell another soul, for my own safety. In fact, her efforts were so clandestine, not even I know what I am. She kept all questions at bay."
Regis poured her another glass and she took it into her hands to stare at her reflection within the blood-red surface.
"I'm telling you this because...," she met his dark eyes and concerned features sharpened in the candlelight. "I was afraid at first, given you're a vampire. But if I exist, so can you, then I realized we were much alike; both shunned by humans, poorly understood, hunted and slaughtered for a price. You said you are a rare breed, so am 's not many of you, Regis, but there's only one of me― that I know of, at least."
She leaned in closer, whispering coldly. "Your friend killed my mother; my human mother."
Regis furrowed his brow. "I think you are mistaken. Geralt would never… What was your mother's name?"
"Does it matter?" Laz snapped. " She's dead! What use is her name now?"
"Are you positive it was him?"
Laz tried not to roll her eyes.
"Yes, Regis! Listen to me, he is not on our side. If he is your friend, and you trust him, he will turn on you as he did my mother!"
Her warnings were falling on deaf ears, she realized when he shook his head.
"Geralt is a voice of reason." he began, "He does not kill intelligent creatures like higher vampires, aside from that it is impossible for humans or witchers alike. Although, I do not wish to speak ill of your mother, take heed and try to understand, perhaps she was behaving in a manner that threatened those around her?"
Furious, Laz chugged the rest of her wine, slammed the glass down onto the table, and rose to her feet. The room swayed and her hands gripped the edge of the furnishing to steady herself as anger and wine flooded her veins.
"My mother was a healer in the town of Midcopse," she seethed, "Locals, day and night, stood outside our home wailing and pleading for her to break their fevers, mend their bones, rekindle their love. Where is the threat in that, dear vampire?"
"Your mother was a witch."
It was not a question.
"Do not," her voice quivered with fury. "Call her a that."
Regis dipped his head, "My apologies; sorceress ."
The vampire had stopped drinking at some point while Laz was properly drunk.
For a moment, they sat in a tense silence. Heat flushed her cheeks and grated her ire perpetually. Keira was here savior. What did this vampire know about family? Did he even have parents? Weren't vampires created like a disease, passed on from one host to the next?
"Did she do this to you?" he gently queried. "Made you...who you are…?"
What a sharp creature… But his question was almost too concerning... pitying, even.
Yes, she thought, but it's not what you think. She was trying to help me.
"My mother gave me a Gift, she did not curse me," she said slowly. "If you're one of the many who holds great disdain for sorceress, spare me the lecture."
Parting with the vampire was never her intention, but as their discussion grew more heated, the more attractive fleeing began to sound. She was already alone now that Keira was gone and Regis had suddenly become the only person to accept her for what she was. And here they were amidst a tiff. More specifically, Laz was in a tiff. Regis couldn't be more bothered.
Only problem that remained was the damned witcher.
That weak, desperate decision closed around her. This secret was too heavy to burden alone, she did not want to lose Regis.
He stood and came around to table to her side. Taking her wrist gently into his hand, he turned her palm upward, then ran his fingers across the smooth skin of her wrist and forearm, tracing the veins. She closed her eyes, savoring this touch. No visions interrupted her thoughts. Her blood did not vibrate. It was quiet in the catacombs.
"My blood has faded," he said. "It's for the best."
Laz tucked her tongue between her teeth and bit down, hard. The hot wound split and reopened, the coppery tang flowed. As the assaulting taste coated her tongue and painted her teeth, she looked up.
All her life, it'd just been her and Keira. Now alone and confused, Laz wanted it to be just Regis and Lazarus, and most importantly, without witchers.
No one was there to protect Keira and now she was dead.
Because of a witcher...
A rare breed, he had said.
A gentleman; an even gentler vampire.
If she could help him as he had help her―unwittingly, sure―it was certainly worth a shot. She could protect, serve and care for him if it meant preventing one less victim for the witcher, it was worth the risk.
The decision was made and now flowed freely across her palette with the unsuspecting vampire before her. If he could smell it, he gave no indication.
Stepping closer, her intentions were clear. Laz tilted her head back, rising to meet him, and pressing her lips to his mouth softly.
Regis stiffened, at first , then he melded against her responsively. His arms came around, wrapping across her back and pulling her close. Her hands slid up his torso, gripping the folds of his tunic and pulling him down to her, crushing their lips together. With or without his blood, she didn't have a name for how it felt having a male to press against. Her heart throbbed, feeling his cool lips respond appropriately. She could see now why Keira was… Keira. Why men were important to have and utilize. They felt wonderful; they tasted even better.
She draped her arms around his shoulders, arching against his sinewy chest. The cloak slid away from her shoulders, revealing her threadbare chemise tucked loosen in a pair of wrinkled trouser. Regis readjusted him embrace, slipping his arms beneath it to feel her figure more fully.
With a soft groan, Regis yielded to her, parting his lips so that she could delve further and taste him.
And he could taste her.
Laz combed her fingers through his hair then gripped it firmly by his roots. Their tongues lapped, blood trickled over her lips and down her chin as she deepened the kiss.
Regis gripped her tightly, nearly squeezing the air from her lungs. He moaned, tasting the blood, snarling in her mouth until―
"Regis?" came Geralt's voice.