Hi everyone! We are entering the tipping point of the story. If you thought the story was dark...you ain't seen nothing yet.
"Bury…Me" Part One
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In the loneliness of an unknown language, an infant was crying...
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The smell of blood and fire.
The constant crackling of the blaze, the frames creaking under the strain of the heat, the beams giving way one after the other in a vanquished whine, crashing on the wooden and marble floors with a deafening sound.
Clouds of bitter ashes, swirling embers.
Gorgeous and out of control, the flames licked the beautiful woodwork and antique furniture with their burning breath, melted the armour and blackened the silverware, consuming the drapes and gorgeous tapestries in a ghastly roar. Insidious, both patient and furious, the fire was gaining ground, reigning supreme. It was everywhere!
Scared and lost in the middle of the blaze, the infant was crying, again and again...
Out of breath, she tried to look away from the apocalyptic sight of the fire, and winced when she curled up on herself. Her entire body hurt her horribly. When she remembered the reason for her suffering, she let a horrified whimper escape her, lost in the roaring of the flames. Heart pounding in her chest, she fought against the haunting memory, to not get lost in it without return. But as she buried her face in her hands covered in cuts and dried blood, as she ran her nervous, trembling fingers into her unkept blonde hair, panic mercilessly pounded in her despaired mind.
The cruel smiles of her torturers, the enticed gazes of the women and the covetous glances of the men. Their fangs and their nails that tore her apart without reprieve, always more excited as she cried, pleaded. Their laughter, ringing again and again, like an indifferent echo to her pain!
Paralysed by terror, unable to move despite the flames nearby, she could almost feel, on her tortured, shivering skin, the hungry lips of these monsters. Their tongues, tasting her blood with animalistic pleasure. Their hands, even the slender ones of the women, closing on her with an inhuman grip, easily pining her down as they "tasted" her...
Vampires…!
Curled up against the wall, under a window walled up by bricks, she began to cry again, her chest racking with sobs. Over her bruised skin, her torn clothes were like a rough membrane, hard and still damp with fresh blood. Here and there, near her, the bloody, lifeless corpses of the other victims were scattered, beginning to burn.
The varnished floor was covered in sand but, still in shock, she couldn't say how it came here. The smoke was slowly smothering her in its shroud of burning vapour, and yet she didn't care. Shame, terror, exhaustion, all of this only left her wishing for her own end.
Die... she wanted to die.
Then a baby's cry chased all the phantoms who paralysed her.
"Nathan…?"
With a surprised and incredulous sigh, she got up and, not caring for her injuries, looked around the great reception room engulfed in flames. Chased by the blinding, ever-present light, the shadows seemed to never have existed, and the room looked flat and dimensionless. The two great arching stairs were nothing but a great blaze. Their steps of polished woods and carved bannisters threatened to give way at any moment and, for one second, the woman wondered if they were the only way out.
Finally, her eyes, welling with tears, caught sight of a small bundle, still spared by the fire, abandoned under the balcony between the burning staircases.
"Nathan!"
Her heart missed a beat and, forgetful of the danger, she leapt forward. As if to punish her for such a toll on her body, vertigo took her and she stumbled, almost falling several times, her limbs feeling like cotton. Short of breath, she carried on despite her blood loss, which she felt with every step she took. Her gorgeous grey eyes, reddened by her tears, refused to turn away from the small bundle under the stairs, as if it could fade away in the blaze if she looked away for one second. Each of its inarticulate, harrowing cries, made her heart beat a bit faster and, when she saw a small fist freeing itself from the cloth and shake, as if angry but powerless in the inferno, she cried with relief. She shoved the remains of a burnt-out piece of furniture out of the way with a small whimper, and ran to the small bundle to hold it tight.
"Oh, My God, thank you...thank you!"
The baby's cries hurt her ears and yet she had never heard more beautiful music. Alive, he was alive! Feverish, she parted the cloth and quickly checked the small wriggling body who, unlike her, was unharmed.
"You're alright... you're alright! Thank you, thank you..."
She wrapped the infant up again in the cloth, knowing it would be a barrier – weak but still useful- against the flames and their hellish heat. Brought back to reality by this small being bundled against her, she could finally think about her own survival, and studied their surroundings in a new light. To her knowledge, this reception room only had two exits. The first one, on the opposite side of the room, turned out to be blocked by flames and the frame, which had already collapsed under the heat of the blaze. Distraught, she looked at the great windows, but they had all been walled up by bricks to protect the former landlords from daylight…
Desperate, she finally looked up to the great staircase engulfed in flames: it was her only chance! She had used it when she arrived so she knew it led to a long corridor, which itself may lead to the exit. The black heavy smoke rushing into the opening strengthened this possibility, and with renewed energy and courage, she ran to the stairs on the right, as they seemed less damaged by the fire. She had to try, for her and her baby! They couldn't have both survived this nightmarish orgy to die now in the flames, trapped in those basements!
It would have been too unfair...
Holding her child close to her, she bravely approached the burning stair, looking for the safest steps, when she felt someone staring at her. She looked up and saw with horror, standing on the balustrade, a silhouette as familiar as it was terrifying.
"Here you are, my dear...my dearest Elora..."
She whimpered faintly and stepped back clumsily, while holding on tighter to her precious burden. From the balcony, the man loomed over her. His riding coat and polished shoes were stained with blood, and she knew all too well it wasn't his.
"No…!"
Despite the hellish heat distorting everything, despite the smoke engulfing the man like a conniving animal, she saw well enough how his eyes were glowering at her with pride and desire. Blood-coloured eyes.
"I'm begging you," she pleaded, "I love you, I've always loved you! Let me go..."
But the man who had been her companion, the man she had been devoted body and soul for years, had hidden his true nature from her. Worse, he lied to her, betrayed her in the most shameful and appalling way: he had sold her. Her, but also his own son. Sold to his bloodsucker friends, as an evening's entertainment…
With these words, she didn't expect to soften him. It was panic talking, fear for her and her child's life.
"Let us go, please!"
The man let out a blood-curling laugh revealing even more of his two enormous blood-stained fangs. Suddenly he stopped, wide-eyed, and the woman knew with terror that he had just recognized what she was holding protectively close to her. His ruby gaze was suddenly filled with murderous rage.
"That's my son," he barked. "Give him to me, Elora!"
She stepped back again, bent in two under the weight of pain and terror, holding her child close to her chest.
"No! You can't do this to him! Take me if you want, but let him live!"
"Shut up! His blood is mine!"
Disregarding the distance between him and the ground, the man crouched then leapt from the balcony, all his body tensed toward her like a predator towards its maddened prey.
"Don't do this!"
Elora turned around and tried to run, but the man, swiftly, landed in a crash of wooden floor behind her. Sickened, she felt with horror the hand of the crazy vampire closing on her neck, his claws slashing her skin, while the other crushed her arm and threw her to the ground. The baby started to cry again in her arms. Wrecked with suffering, her neck aching, the woman watched, powerless, as the vampire jumped on her son, fangs out.
"Noooooo!"
A shot rang, a short and deafening detonation rolling in the blaze. Instinctively, the woman had curled up on the ground, protecting her baby with her body. Instead of a beast crashing on her and fangs slashing her back, burning dust rained over her. Stunned, she watched the shining sand around her, then looked up at where the shot had come from. She felt her blood turn to ice.
Upstairs, behind the balustrade where her husband was standing seconds ago, a dark and unknown silhouette had appeared. In his right hand, a gun was still smoking.
The stranger had just saved her, but she only saw his eyes, shining red in the flames. Anguish froze her again as she instinctively tried to escape this new enemy. He lowered his weapon and suddenly looked up to the ceiling. There was surprise on his face.
"Watch out!"
Mechanically, Elora followed his gaze. The beautiful drapes on the ceiling were finally consumed, after having set fire to the enormous chandelier they were attached to. At the same time, the lamp, already dangerously rocking, began to creak menacingly. Until then frozen by fear, she could finally move again and, her baby in her arms, limped out of the way. A final creaking sound, and suddenly the enormous chandelier gave way under its own weight. It crashed on the ground centimetres away from the young woman, scattering embers, crystal shards and burning-hot metal in a deafening thunder. Almost immediately, the floor creaked, bent and finally caved in under its weight.
Tossed around, the woman slid and disappeared, screaming, into the gaping hole in the floor, as if she had been caught in some voracious creature's hungry maw. Luckily, she narrowly avoided the broken branches of the gilded chandelier and hit the floor, which was thankfully a lot lower than she would have thought. Stunned, sheer instinct managed to get her up and, without paying attention to a new bleeding injury on her temple, she looked frantically for a way out. Unfortunately, she only found a dirt bed, which served as foundations for the pillars holding the polished wooden floor. Said wooden floor was still a meter out of her reach.
Her instinctive frenzy disappeared as quickly as it had come when she understood she was trapped. Trapped for good…!
Panting, exhausted by her wounds, her anaemia and the horrible night she had just lived, she suddenly felt herself on the verge of giving up. Against her, her baby was moaning softly, as if aware of their doom. When, from the bottom of the hole, she saw the flames creeping up, she thought their final hour had come. There was nothing else to do.
She fell on her knees, her legs refusing to carry her further. Tears finally ran down her blood and dust-covered cheeks covered and, with a whimper, she hid her face in the cloth protecting her baby, kissing his little blonde head.
"Nathan, I'm...sorry..."
The baby wriggled, shaking, starving. Her understanding of that shook her up once more, and she stood up without noticing it. No, no! She couldn't give up. Not as long as Nathan was alive! But how, how to get out?
And, as if to answer her, a clear and strong voice rang, far above her.
"Are you alright?"
She froze in surprise. A few moments later, a shape appeared in the outline of the hole. The silhouette seemed to look for her frantically. Standing still, she didn't recognize the gunman at first; his eyes weren't red but another, darker colour. In the flickering light of the fire, his features revealed him to be far younger than her, who was merely twenty-six. Swift and alert, he stopped when he finally saw her in the glimmering ember light. His voice, clear but commanding, rang again above the whizzing inferno.
"Can you walk? Climb on that beam!"
Stumbling, without thinking, she obeyed, saw the beam, one of the biggest ones supporting the floor, taken down by the chandelier. She climbed on the wood, twice as big as her, and automatically raised her hand toward the man's outstretched one.
"Hold him close!"
Upon these words, he leaned even more and quickly caught her forearm. With a scream, she felt herself being pulled toward the light with a strength she wouldn't have guessed at. A little shook-up, she was barely standing next to the hole when he wrapped her in a drape miraculously spared by the flames. Then, without warning, he picked her up.
"Be brave," he whispered.
Without hesitation, the stranger ran to the blaze devouring the stairs. In his arms, terrified, the woman thought the steps would give way at any moment. Yet he safely reached the balcony and ran to the hallway, also prey to the flames. A maze of rooms and corridors followed, all devastated by the fire. On the edge, she chose to stop looking at the apocalyptic surroundings and held her baby tighter. Exhausted, her eyelids fell over her dove-grey eyes.
In a holster against the man's chest, Elora could feel the gun that had scared her so much, but chose not to worry about it. Tired as she was from fighting, she accepted the need to put herself in the hands of a stranger. He was carrying her as if she weighed nothing, this adult barely out of his teens, running through the underground citadel turned inferno, as if guided by a sixth sense.
Whatever happened next, she would never forget that night when her husband betrayed her and their son. As she would never forget the face of the man who saved her. This unknown young man who, like an avenging archangel, had struck down her torturers and pulled her from the blaze.
An angel with strange grey hair, and shining eyes of the purest amethyst.
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"Talk about a first meeting... Zero, I'm starting to believe you always knew how to make an entrance."
Yori shut the book with a sigh, and closed her eyes. As if called out by the story she had just perused, written seven years ago, a memory came up, as evanescent, gentle and colourless as a ray of sun on a winter morning. It took the shape of this woman, a mere human, met during a mission. A soul with an unseen courage, a kind smile, a warm gaze where hope and life never ceased to shine...
"Zero?"
After a while, Yori smiled faintly as well. She felt a lump in her throat as Zero's memory took over, with various ambivalent feelings toward this woman she never knew. She half-wanted to carry on with her reading, to learn more – or relearn more – about this stranger who once meant so much to Zero, to the point that he still remembered her with a deep regret.
Reluctantly, she put the heavy tome on the desk, stroking the bound cover with the palm of her hand. She had started to write their story years ago, and there were still many things to say about her, about what bonded her to Zero. But…
"Not now. This is not the time."
As if in acceptance, the woman faded away, and the memory went back to the sleeping void in the depths of her mind. Yori took a deep breath, her mind painfully clear, fear inside her. She sat at her desk, meticulously tidied up her pens, her notebooks and blank sheets of paper. She looked at her shaking hands: they were clean, but she knew without a doubt they would end up covered in ink and charcoal before the end of the day. Once the memories were released, she would completely lose herself in her gift, this memory that did not belong to her...
She wouldn't fail this time, she promised herself. But where to start…?
She grabbed a pen, re-read feverishly what she wrote yesterday. The memory of a dark and cold night unfurled, insidious in her mind. A frantic run. An uncontrollable thirst. The taste of danger, the desire of murder, blood on her tongue and fangs, the red and sticky coat on her hands and lips.
Where to start…!
The smell of gunpowder and torn entrails. The victims' screams of agony. A fight to the death, An innocent's sacrifice. The horrified and enraged voice of a cornered hunter, the scream of rage and suffering of a Pureblood in agony.
"KANAME!"
The knocked-over chair thumped against the floor. Yori was startled, back to her senses. In her terror, she had jumped from her seat and stepped back to a corner of the room. Trying to control her breath, she curled up under a bookshelf. Her heart pounded in her ears, while, out of control, chaotic memories rose from the void. Memories of a murderous spree before unseen, engulfing her like a dark tidal wave.
Memories that almost drove her insane, seven years ago.
"I can't..."
She grabbed her head in both hands and rocked herself instinctively, mindless of the muffled sound of her back hitting the shelf.
"I can't! Yuuki..."
A bloodlust nothing could sate. A flood of horror and violence no one could prevent. An unbreakable vow, absolutely null and void, and yet! And murder, murder, destruction and madness that dispossessed her of herself, brought her to her lowest instincts...
"Yuuki, I cannot follow you…!"
But the images, the feelings kept on coming, filled with perceptions and memories belonging to the Pureblood. Memories from Lisenthard, this distant town marked by horror. Memories of Kaname, linked with so many regrets they had led their owner to do the unspeakable...
How to write such a storm of broken images...where to start!
"Zero, please…!"
She had whispered the hunter's name without thinking, and suddenly everything stopped. An otherworldly silence engulfed her and, surprised, she looked at the room in a new light. Breathing raggedly, her back damp with sweat, she stood up slowly.
"Yori."
In a corner of her muzzled memory, the hunter's blurry but proud silhouette seemed to stare at her with attention.
"You don't have to do this. You have your own life."
She wiped her forehead with her sleeve and shook her head.
"Of course I have to, Zero. I cannot live until it's over."
He didn't answer, but she felt him clearly disapproving. She shrugged, as Yuuki used to do when faced with the hunter's pessimism. This reflex troubled her for a few seconds.
She slowly went back to her desk, and a lump formed in her throat as the inevitable question came to her, again and again: where to start? The memories of this nightmarish night were too harsh, too violent: awakening one of them would always lead to a storm of sensations so brutal it left her exhausted and broken. Seven years ago, she had had to give up, about to lose her mind.
To unfurl this skein of burning memories, she would have to find the right thread, the right start, the one which, properly activated, would untangle absolutely everything, and would allow her to put them all together, making sense to the rest of the world.
She would need protection to not lose her feet and fall into this never-ending flow of demented memories. An Ariadne's thread to find her way in this maze of foreign urges and sensations. Her survival was at stake...
Shivering, she put her hands in the pockets of her vest, and suddenly her face lit up. She took her mobile phone, opened the drawers of her desk and finally found her old headphones. Mechanically, she crossed the room and sat on the camp bed she had recently installed to compensate the exhaustion of her long sleepless nights. Doubtful, she plugged in the headphones, and put them over her ears. A deafening silence surrounded her. She fidgeted with her screen for a while and, led by an intuition, made up her mind.
The first notes rang, only for her. The lyrics followed, filling her mind, her body, her soul. Unstoppable, like her memories. They would be her guide, her anchor.
What if I wanted to break
Laugh it all off in your face
What would you do?
Her inspiration, but also her safeguard. A link with the real world.
She put on the automatic repeat, then laid down and closed her eyes. After a few seconds of silence, the music started again. And, at her invitation, a memory unfurled, took her away without drowning her.
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A heartbeat. A hoarse breath.
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Under the Moon's icy and mysterious grin, time seems to stand still. Through the silent and shadowy city, someone runs.
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A heartbeat. An aerial stride in silver snow.
What if I wanted to break
Hair whipping in the cold air, long and silky. A panting sigh, drowned in the deep abyss of the night.
An ember shine swings in the wind, strays away, disappears into the night. She doesn't realize it and carries on her maddened run.
An exhausted heart, its song ever quicker and more chaotic. A crystal tear sliding on a tensed cheek.
Fangs gleaming behind tortured lips. And the sharp, lashing, perpetual burn.
Unbearable.
Laugh it all off in your face
Nevermind the flight, the ache remains. She knows it, feels it. The ancestral call rings out. No way out now.
Within the darkness of a harrowed soul, the monster exults.
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What would you do?
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Time stands still.
Inside the depths of Lisenthard, in this great room where an old hunter forges and keeps the deadliest instruments, complete silence reigns, disturbed only by a ragged breath from between two canines that have betrayed him in front of an enemy.
On one knee, he struggles against this feeling, both familiar and foreign, burning his insides, rousing his instincts, drenching his back with cold sweat.
The Beast has awakened. But not his, he suddenly understands. The monster he has been hiding and controlling for years is only exulting behind its cage, still under lock and key. Aghast, he studies this foreign and vile, almost unbearable urge. It possesses him to his deepest core, but doesn't belong to him.
A distant wildfire, roaring and out of control, brushing him with its inhuman heat. But it's not him who stands at its centre.
It's not him who screams and struggles, maddened by pain at the heart of the blaze.
What if I fell to the floor
It's not him who begs, not with words but with gestures and bestial screams, for a bloody and unlikely respite.
Couldn't take all this anymore
If he feels this unspeakable desire, this unimaginable, sometimes unbearable pain, it is because of the chain bonding him to the true victim.
What would you do?
His pupils blazing from this unintended and monstrous fate, he stares at the man with the gun, his elder and equal. He doesn't have to lower his eyes. The other knows enough already.
And the man winces, as his index finger clenches on the trigger, ready to shoot. His lips move, he's about to say something…
Facing Death itself, tortured by thirst, the youngest of the two hunters remain frozen. Struck by an idea he keeps pushing away, not sure if it is really his.
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Yuuki...
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She's in danger!
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Once a promise bonded us
A secret you chose to keep
In my darkened suffering
I couldn't stop you
Today it's high time
To face our torments
Once more, you challenged me
And the link you created weighs on both of us…
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Bloody Cross Chronicles
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Chapter 7
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"Bury… me"
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"I thought you were smarter than that, Kelos!"
Zero shuddered, suddenly brought back to reality. In a jolt of lucidity, he overcame the dizzying spell that had brought him to his knees. His vision came back to him, and with heightened wariness, he glanced around him, at the room that, despite all his composure, had made him shudder with surprise when he entered.
Shining blades, carved with runes, were carefully aligned on their stands, from the smallest knife to the double-headed axe on the wall. Guns, from small revolvers to rifles and all sorts of firearms, in all shapes and all sizes, gleaming and threatening in their metallic silence, dozens of them in cases or shelves. Wherever he looked, he only saw weapons, no two alike. Kept here waiting, safe from time; some of them were carved in the old pure hunter style, imposing in their faithful years of service and still quick to deliver death. Others prided themselves in their technology, menacing and elegant even in their still silence.
What almost everyone in the city thought to be the basement of an unknown butcher was in reality the hideout of one of the greatest hunters who ever lived. Now retired, he had made a new name for himself, forged alongside the deadly weapons he created and only bestowed to the best.
The "Butcher", who inherited this nickname not because of his feats in battle – said to be a model of stealth and efficiency – but because of his peculiar cover, was among the legends for those who belonged to the Hunter Association, no matter their age or their country. To meet him was a rare honour. To use one of his creations, a privilege granted to even fewer people.
Yet it was a favour that Zero – under his Tristahn Kelos persona – had more than earned, during his mission in Lisenthard years ago. Much to the surprise of several of his elders, the young hunter broke down in a few weeks an entire human trafficking ring, a vampire business spreading through the entire region and involving some of Lisenthard's most famous citizens. Tristahn Kelos' efficiency was only matched by his discretion: the horrible massacre had been, for the humans, nothing but a fateful fire, which took the life of the town-hall council. No one among the civilians knew the truth. And the young hunter had, according to rumour, earned the Butcher's gratitude, as well as the right to one of his weapons.
A favour that the famous Kelos came to claim today, and his debtor had been more than eager to honour his word...until suddenly, the young hero's eyes took a crimson hue the old hunter would know anywhere. A truth still shining, burning, in Zero's pupils, as he stared, without any fear, at his elder about to execute him.
"I knew that your efficiency in this case was hiding something, Kelos. But to think that it was you, the famous "Silver-Fanged Hunter"..."
The Butcher cringed at the name, as if hesitating between contempt, horror and curiosity. Zero didn't answer. Ever since his condition had stabilized, a few years ago, there had been a rumour among the hunters, saying that one of them was a vampire himself. The identity of this ambivalent character had never been revealed, kept secret by Zero and the Association Council of his home country. Such precautions had led the story to become a small urban legend. Someone under the bloodsuckers' curse, as such gifted with vampire grace and deadly abilities – speed, instinct, sheer strength – and who yet had joined their ranks. No doubt that if such a person actually existed, they would be quick to rise among the Hunter hierarchy, led by their exploits...
"But you're quite stupid to come here to my lair without being prepared," continued the Butcher in a harsh tone. "If there's anyone in this city who shouldn't discover your secret, it's me, don't you think?"
Zero took a long breath. Inside him, the urge, hunger for blood and violence, was still burning, barely bearable. He still didn't dare linking it to Yuuki and not to himself. It seemed so crazy, to suffer thirst by proxy! But he couldn't let himself be swept away by this discovery. It was neither the time nor place…
"I know that," he whispered, his voice a lot more assured that he would have thought. "Now, the question is: what you are you going to do?"
Zero got up slowly, trying to make it look like carefulness instead of exhaustion – the struggle against the horrible urge to jump at the man's throat and bleed him dry took almost all of his strength and will.
"Even if it would be a great loss for the Association, I won't hesitate to kill you if I have to."
To kill, but with what? A true rookie's mistake, he had left his sabre with his hemi-blade at the inn, and thus had nothing on him that could harm a human. The Bloody Rose he had raised instinctively would only cause a fleeting pain to the Butcher, and Zero knew it wouldn't stop a former Hunter with such a glorious past.
Seeing his opponent smirk, he knew they both had the same train of thought. Insidious, the fact that, in his state, he was himself a living weapon, faster than a human and terribly efficient passed through his mind... Zero chased it away immediately. To jump, fangs bared, on a human, to tear him apart was one of the last things he would ever do.
But then... what could he do? The fleeting fear that he was cornered made him sick. Without speaking, to avoid showing his canines even more as they lengthened, keeping his opponent in his cross-hairs, he simply looked him in the eyes, knowing that the storming desire and madness within him illuminated in red his inquiring stare.
At the slightest threatening gesture, he would use the Bloody Rose. The pain caused by an anti-vampire bullet would only be momentary, but it might be enough to slow down the Butcher, and to allow him to flee without taking a deadly blow...
In the heavy silence, weapons drawn, the two men stared at each other. In the crude neon light, the strange grey irises of the Butcher shone with the same deadly coldness as the surrounding weapons. After some dragging seconds, his craggy face hardened, and his finger tightened on the trigger. Zero recognized the barely-discernible aura of someone who had just taken a crucial decision. Heavy-hearted, still fighting against the relentless fire torturing and starving him, he cocked the Bloody Rose as well…
Then, with a resigned sigh, the Butcher lowered his weapon. Surprised, Zero hesitated before doing the same. With a new bitter cringe on his craggy face, the old hunter flicked the safety catch back on, and returned the weapon to his belt.
"Your life for hers. Let's say that my debt is paid," he groaned, crossing his arms, still threatening. "Well, with times like these, I'm not sure that to shoot you down would be the best thing to do. You're a valuable asset for the Association."
Taken aback, Zero's eyes widened. A debt? The Butcher scoffed impatiently, and his grey eyes glared at him.
"Since you seem not to know, Elora's my niece. Without you, she would have died that night in the town hall fire. Your life for hers," he said again. "Now take off, and never come back to see me in this state."
Zero flinched, seized by distant memories. Another basement, another inferno. Fire, devouring everything. The Bloody Rose singing relentlessly that night, never missing a shot. A run through the smoke-filled corridors.
A young blond-haired woman. Covered in blood and injuries. In her bruised arms, a baby, safe and sound.
Her grey eyes, the same as the Butcher's. But more tender, filled with determination and love for her child, eyes that never faltered as she put her life within his hands.
Lips that thanked him with a smile that no torture, no horror managed to erase.
Soft and warm lips, thankful and loving…
Injured hands, yet still so beautiful, so skilled to dress an injury he hadn't been able to avoid. So soft once danger was behind them...
A gentle, whispering voice, a life-saving tenderness in the heart of some winter nights...another regret amongst so many others...
Blood, for heaven's sake!
The urge hit him at his core, turned his stomach upside down so violently he almost stumbled again. Memories of a short-lived peace – which he had never forgotten – disappeared before the violence of countless feelings of anger, desire and hatred. Madness brushed him again, blackening his thoughts for one short moment.
Yuuki!
Without knowing exactly how, he knew time was of the essence. He turned back to hide his blazing gaze and, his entire mind set toward the one who had chained him to her thoughts, he walked to the stairs leading to the surface.
"Kelos!"
He stopped abruptly at the Butcher's call. His enhanced senses warned him of an object thrown in his direction. Carefully keeping his face out of sight, he raised his arm and seized it. He recognized easily the small box, bearing the Association seal.
"This ammunition will perfectly fit your Bloody Rose. There's liquid silver in it. It dissolves in the body after the impact. Nasty pieces of work, so think twice before using them. I don't know any aristocrat who would survive one of these bullets in the chest, and even a Pureblood would have a hard time brushing it off."
"Thank you," Zero whispered without looking at him. "Thank you very much."
Such bullets were priceless. Few people could afford them.
"That's because thanks to you, my great-nephew won't have to grow up with scars. Now get the hell out of my lab, hunter, and don't ever come back."
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xxxxxxx
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Like a mysterious and cold grin, the moon played with the misty clouds, throwing a harsh light on the sleepy town. Behind a few shutters, one could make out the flickering light of a candle, but inside the houses, the careful whispers slowly gave way to silence. With the last shops closing, the deserted streets were left to the cold darkness of the winter night. Under the silver moon rays, the virgin snow covering the rooftops sparkled with new-found beauty. In this still scene, filled with shadows and secrets, the bustle of the day was forgotten, out of place. On the river and in the docks, the boats rocked lazily, like gigantic and idle creatures, their ropes creaking in the breeze.
With the curfew, Lisenthard became a ghost-town for a few lingering hours, until the day came back to free it from its cradle of shadows and fears.
Forgetful of the rules, a silhouette roamed the streets, running breathlessly, almost stumbling on the cobblestones several times because of the grey dirty snow. In a clenched hand, an amber stone was shining, its centre throwing strange reflections of the silver moonlight.
A noise seemed to bring them to a sudden stop, and the silhouette listened carefully, wary. Anguished, they recognized a roaring engine, and the furious barks of a dog. They ran off immediately, short of breath, heart pounding. But soon the engine sounds became numerous and deafening, and out of the corner of the street appeared several motorcycles, their lights piercing the darkness, revealing the fleeing form who accelerated once more, terrorized. One of the men mounting the machines let go of the leash of the hound accompanying them: free, the dog ran straight to the person at the end of the street, soon followed by the motorcycles. Once they caught up with their prey, they cornered them against a wall.
In their fists, each one held a rifle, a gun of average conception, silver-made. Every one of them was wearing the black armband adorned by a red four-fanged mouth pierced by a white arrow: the Listenthard Anti-Vampire Militia sigil.
"Freeze!" screamed one of the pursuers.
The cornered person, a forty-something man, fell to his knees.
"Please! Please! I was just going home!"
"Your eyes! Show us!"
At once the man widened his eyes as much as he could, tearing up in the blinding lights of the motorcycles, their engines still running. To back up his innocence, he grimaced to show all of his teeth.
"Look, look! I'm not a bloodsucker, please! Don't shoot!"
"Never heard of the curfew?"
"I had to work late! I thought I would be home before the curfew! I'm sorry!"
He was flailing, unaware that this anxious attitude might play in his favour. But it was without taking into account the dog of the watch group: baring its teeth, its fur bristling, the animal kept barking angrily at the culprit.
"The dog doesn't seem to like you," said one of the militiaman, to the unfortunate man's despair.
"But if that guy was one of them, the collar would have reacted by now," said another, staring at the animal's collar, threaded with silver.
Another, more vigilant, noticed that their dog's eyes were riveted on the man's hands, groaning even louder when he moved them.
"What are you holding there? Anti-vampire weapons are forbidden to civilians!"
The man jumped, as if he just remembered the object. Overwhelmed, he immediately threw it in the snow.
"Forgive me! I just found it, it's not mine! I wanted to show it to the Militia first thing tomorrow! I swear!"
At the moment the object left the unlucky man's hands, the dog lost all interest in him, and stepped back when the thing fell in the snow a few metres away. A righteous anger laced with panic took over the animal, as its silver-threaded collar began to glow sharply. Surprised, the militiamen looked at the object.
In the snow, a small tear-shaped stone was gleaming; probably high-quality amber. Meant to be worn as a pendant, there was a thred of black ribbon attached to it.
After some hesitation, one of the men got off his motorcycle and carefully picked up the object which proved to be harmless. The dog had quieted, but its eyes remained fixated on the jewel, while he growled silently.
"Very pretty," whispered the militiaman to the culprit. "Where did you steal it?"
The man quivered, stammered even more.
"I didn't steal it, I found it on the ground a few streets away! I can show you!"
When the militiaman approached the hound with the necklace, the animal drew back, groaning even more, as if ready to bite. Its sliver necklace, made to react to the presence of vampires, shone again. They all looked at each other knowingly.
"Yeah, show us!".
At the centre of the amber stone, a small iridescent crystal was glowing.
.
.
.
Cold. The wind in her hair, icy.
Snow under her boots, without smell, without colour, creaking and shining.
The pale and piercing gaze of the moon. Out of reach.
Her thoughts are a simple, unpleasant background noise, a wave lurking warily through her muffled mind. Only one stands against the Beast: flight.
Pain... excruciating pain. Pain everywhere.
She only sees flashes, only hears and senses fragments. The harsh contact of the walls she grazes in her run, a cat meowing in fright as she storms out of nowhere, a boat bell ringing far away.
Pain is burning, pain is a blade tearing through her insides without reprieve. It's a white-hot iron pulsating in her canines, a monstrous and glowing mass behind her eyes, a misshapen creature moving under her skin, pulling on her sinews, crushing her bones, devouring her flesh, tearing her muscles apart.
Her heart is pounding, relentlessly, as if to fight away the insidious cancer gnawing at her. And yet, with each beat, what's left of her consciousness feels her might disappear, while the beast grows stronger with rage, madness and desire.
It dreams, this Beast. It dreams of the life being butchered, blood pouring on the floor, soaking the earth so much it flows without end. It dreams of warm and soft flesh, struggling under the fangs so much it lacerates itself, before giving up, shaking nervously, to the slow and never-ending fall into death.
It dreams, this Beast, and, stronger with each passing second, it passes its desires to her. And she, poor host, becomes more and more the mere witness of her defeat, she can only suffer, distraught, tortured, dispossessed, before giving in to the drunken feeling of a new-found, appalling freedom.
She finds herself dreaming too. Of her tongue savouring defenceless skin, shivering under her hands, as soft and gentle as they can be crushing. Of her silky hair, so long, pooling with opulence on her prey's horrified face as she lingers over their ragged breath, their eyes filled with a despair she savours relentlessly. Of her lips, once sensual and caressing, now stroking, with a smile, the artery under the tensed skin. Of the charming whisper pulsating under the few millimetres of cells, of her sigh, an echo of this sweet litany.
And then the violence of her sharp fangs piercing the artery, the abundance of blood free at last from its cage of vessels, spilling into her throat, drowning her lips. Cascading in a crimson flood over her chin quivering with elation, as she swallows like a hungry new-born, finally feeding after too long a wait. The bestial bliss of holding life itself under her lips, her willowy and resolute body gripping the screaming and desperate prey. Her eyes shining with the same crimson colour as she watches the abandon on the face of her food, the final moment when they lower their eyelids, carrying to the void one last image. Her, gorgeous and splendid, her alabaster skin covered in blood, the radiant smile on her reddened canines, her laugh at last, pure, ecstatic, the laughter of a predator sated for a while, but who already thinks about her next prey!
These are the images the Beast sends her, that which was and would always be within her. A primal and dangerously seductive creature, because it knows how to ignite the savage instinct within her host. It dictates its rules, imposes its law. There is no "I" anymore, no name or status. Why torture oneself? There is the prey, and there is "It", the Beast, the Other. Nothing else matters...
She nods before her Other, exhausted, overwhelmed.
And she cries.
"Good evening, Yuuki..."
The Other backs off, roaring, before the figment of memory. That night, someone had come, had sated its host just enough to bring back her control. It had been forced to bide its time, once more. A rush of hate comes to it, and, screaming, it crushes this remnant of memory under its burning paws.
"Yuuki, do you have any idea how old I was when I stopped drinking human blood?"
The Beast growls, pushing away another manifestation of the one who muzzled it too often. Its host cries even harder in her flight, feeling her memories fade away one by one. In their stead, a present more dangerous than ever. In a rush of lucidity, she keeps on running, even deeper into the darkness, looking for some place to hide, where there will be no prey when she's vanquished for good.
"Breathe!"
One day she had found the way...she had managed to keep the Other from winning...
"Breathe, Yuuki!"
She can still do it...She has already found what she needs…
She reaches a deserted square, feels herself pulled to the liquid whisper...of a fountain? Without hesitation, she dips her hands and face in the water, which she finds biting cold. She screams, out of rage and despair, praying for the water to put off the fire, for the pain tearing her apart from the inside to back out before the cold.
She has to hold on! Make it so that, even if she loses, the Beast can't break her vow!
"If one day, we succumb to our instincts, what we become is..."
She's hard at work, in a frenzy. The Beast, too busy persuading her with its dreams, doesn't pay attention to her nonsensical actions. It snickers – and the snicker echoes in the empty square – when it sees its host pulling out the small box that, in her madness, she still remembered to take. It groans with disgust as she takes the pills and puts them in her mouth, before letting herself fall head first into the dark basin.
A purely physical silence surrounds her. She drinks without stopping, and water has no taste, no savour. She hopes that the icy temperature can freeze her murderous desires as well. Drawn to it, she lets herself fall to the bottom, finding this less frightening than letting herself go, once and for all, into the depths of her mistreated soul. The sorry image of the one she loved comes back to her, and she clings to it with a strength born of despair, while in reality, she anchors herself even tighter to the stone slab she took with her.
Come break me down
Finally sensing what its host is doing, the Beast roars, tries to take back control. It who excels in making blood flow, taking a life, it is pitiful in its attempts to save itself. Its hands, shaking weakly, numbed by the cold and slowed down by the last efforts of its host, slip on the rope bruising its neck. They scratch on the stone, struggle in the liquid hell, unable to grasp the surface.
After blood and heat, air comes lacking.
"Breathe!"
In the depths of the basin, its host smiles faintly. Just once, years ago, she almost lost control against her bloodthirsty self. She acted the same way, and it had worked...
Bury me, bury me
But because he came to save them, pummels the Beast, no longer drunk with rage and freedom, but frozen with fear. Because he found them in time, took them out of the water its host had plunged them into. Would she rather die than break her pact? To die, rather than tasting someone else's blood?
Without releasing the slight control she still has, Yuuki nods mentally, serene. Frightened, the Beast sends her a flow of images and sensations, each more enticing, bloody and devouring than the last. Its host does not care. Her memories are enough.
I am finished with you…
She smiles, then closes her eyes.
.
"I never would have thought it would be so...difficult."
.
"Yuuki, do you have any idea of how old I was when I stopped drinking human blood?"
.
"If one day, we fall prey to our instincts, what we become is…
...nothing can stop us."
.
"You had a life before I became a Pureblood. You have to get it back..."
.
"Because I want to be part of it..."
.
.
.
.
She would always remember the snowy plains, reaching as far as the eye could see, peppered with a few roads where some car or rider sometimes lingered. She would always keep in her mind this wintery silence, quiet and humbling, barely troubled by the plaintive song of rare birds, by a storm blowing some evening. Among all their stops in their travels, she kept a fond memory of this country house, although out of the three months they spent there, while the owners were away, she spent two beginning her withdrawal.
Two months, one totally alone, while, under her insistence, Kaname had left to renew contacts with some of his old acquaintances, who they had left behind almost a year ago. She had wished for his absence, for she thought him to be, in her worst moments, a real temptation to halt the process. Yes, she liked his presence at her side, his kisses, his embraces, and even more his blood when she was thirsty. But this was nothing next to the love she felt for him, her desire to become a Pureblood worthy of him and his projects…
She would always keep, carved in her mind, the memory of this lazy spring morning that had followed Kaname's return and the end of the first step of her withdrawal. Nested against him, enjoying his presence with as much delight as she did his blood and their previous embraces, she had understood that none of her suffering would steer her away from her goal. That Kaname could say anything he wanted about the hardship of withdrawal for the Purebloods, neither his words nor what she had been through would change her mind…
.
"You had a life before I became a Pureblood. You have to get it back...because I want to be part of it."
She clenched her fist, her piercing gaze plunged into her brother's eyes.
"And for this, I have to become strong, to be worthy of our parents' name. I want to be able to come with you wherever you go, to assist you and protect you just as you protect me. I want to make you proud as your sister and as a Pureblood. For the Kuran name to come back into the light again, and so you don't have to obey anyone because you're the last of our family, alone and without anyone to support you."
Kaname didn't answer, looking surprised and lost in thoughts. His eyes became so pensive and inquisitive that Yuuki finally felt embarrassed. She remembered what she looked like right now –naked in the middle of this enormous mattress, barely covered by a white sheet, so light she barely felt it – and curled up instinctively, surly.
"What...what's wrong? Do you think I'm too carefree? I'm serious!"
After a few remaining seconds, he had an enigmatic smile, and stroked tenderly his lover's cheek, puzzled and vaguely blushing.
"No. You remind me of Juri, that's all."
"...ah?"
Yuuki blinked, her confidence all vanished.
"No matter how hard I try...I can barely remember her. Just that she... she sacrificed herself for me."
"You were only six, it wasn't your fault. She gave her own life to save what was most precious to her."
Kaname embraced her and kissed her soft brown hair. Surprised at first, Yuuki closed her eyes and nestled against his torso. In this instant, she had never felt this close to tears.
Kaname whispered then, his voice strangely distant.
"Juri was a woman like I'd never seen in my past life. Beautiful and kind, always calm, sometimes carefree... but always brave, and strong in will and body. A Pureblood such as the Earth had rarely seen. During the few years I spent as her son, her lineage never got to her head. She remained fair and inflexible among her kind, serene and humble with the humans. She loved Haruka passionately, and the three millennia they spent together had only strengthened their passion. They completed each other. I couldn't have hoped for better parents for my second life. And when time came for them to fight one last time, they didn't hesitate for one second."
Yuuki flinched at the reminiscence of the few memories she had of this fateful winter night. When her father and Kaname fought Rido, while Haruka lived his last moments, her mother gave her own life to protect her, with a final and unpredictable spell. A spell that made her, Yuuki, forget all about her Pureblood instinct. It sealed her in a harmless body, led her to grow, think and act like a human for ten years. A discreet and undetectable child. The perfect protection. Once Kaname had sealed Rido away, who would have thought to seek the hidden heir of one of the most powerful Pureblood families in a small human orphan?
"To give you a better chance at survival, they gave away the chance to protect you themselves. It was their most cruel choice, and their only regret. You can't imagine how difficult it is to accept that someone you love will be better if you let them go."
Yuuki almost replied, then bit her lip. A dark silhouette rose in the corner of her mind where she had hidden it. A silhouette with a silver gun, and murderous, deeply hurt amethyst eyes.
Oh yes... she knew. Only a little, but she knew...
"It probably wasn't easy for you either," she whispered, trying to let go of the past. "During all those years, I ignored you..."
Kaname seemed to ponder. When she looked up to catch his gaze, she caught a smile she never saw on him. A small, pleasing and bitter smile, making his eye glint with vague pain but also concealed happiness.
"To watch you grow as a human, happy, careful, mindless of the danger looming on you... it was painful, yes. And at the same time, I don't regret one single day of those ten years. Even if Haruka and Juri feared it would only be temporary, you led the life they wanted to give you. A life of peace and joy, without having to think about tomorrow... with time, you will understand how priceless it was."
Softly, he kissed her on her forehead. Then he let out a very small sigh, that only Yuuki, curled up as she was against him, could hear.
"I was alone, and jealous. I could only see you once in a while, and my visits were so... formal. I would have given anything to have the right to remain at your side. By the way, you didn't make it easy for me."
Yuuki smiled dreamily. How many hours had she spent waiting for her "saviour", at the window or standing on her adoptive father's front steps, ready to jump in his arms, quick as he was to embrace her with affection? The nights when Kaname was visiting, all the words, promises or gentle threats Kaien Kurosu could have used to send her to bed were useless. She had no words then to describe the complex feelings she felt in her strong and fragile little girl's heart toward the young vampire. Now, she knew where this undying loyalty, filled with admiration, came from. Premises of a love already beyond her. They were soulmates, promised to each other as their parents had been before them. Nothing could have broken this bond, not even the best spell in the world.
"Why didn't you do it, then? Before the Night Class was created, you had fewer responsibilities..."
But Yuuki already knew more or less the answer to her question.
"Because your secret would have suffered from it. Back then, I was there to visit Kaien Kurosu, legendary Association figure and old acquaintance of my parents. If I came too often, it would have brought attention to you."
"I understand. And yet, I awaited your visits so eagerly," she whispered, closing her eyes. "Each of them made me feel like I was...someone important."
Someone wonderful…
Kaname tightened his embrace.
"Were it up to me, I would have come every day. I was so busy elsewhere, with all those scheming people surrounding me, that every time I managed to come and see you, you seemed to have grown taller. You were changing so fast, you smiled much more easily. Your laugh was each time more natural, more beautiful... one day, I even thought about never coming back."
Yuuki shivered and rose up to look at him puzzlingly.
"What?"
All traces of joy or dreaminess had deserted Kaname's perfect face. She looked for a sign of compassion, saw nothing but sadness and deep loneliness.
"Why? You would have left me?"
"You looked happy, as much as can be, and it was not because of me. With Kiryu's arrival, you became even more asserted, and you showed me you weren't just a cute little thing, without bravery or determination. You were doing very well without me, even as a Guardian, facing the other Night Class vampires. I always kept it from you, but... back then, it revolted me to see that you were becoming someone else, without showing any sign of returning to your vampire nature. I thought that Juri's spell had worked too well, that she had realized her dream of protecting you forever from the ones trying to take the "Pureblood Princess"… Somehow, I was even scared."
Kaname's gaze darkened with sombre thoughts.
"Rido's shadow was approaching. I feared I had to put an end to the human life you cherished so much myself. I was afraid that, once it was done, you would be too angry at me to forgive me. When you turned fifteen without showing any vampire aspect, I seriously thought you would not "awaken". I thought about creating false leads so that no one doubted your origins, before disappearing from your life."
He finally closed his eyes. Gently, Yuuki put her forehead against his. At her deepest core, she understood, felt her brother's despair who, after ten years of waiting in vain, thought himself to really be the last living Kuran.
"You would have been alone... all your life," she whispered, a lump in her throat. "But I remembered...!"
Against all expectations, Kaname kissed her passionately. When he let her go, out of breath and a bit surprised, his eyes sparkled once more, with this gentleness only she knew.
"This is selfish of me, but I was never more relieved than when Kaien told me you were starting to have strange visions. With time, I could see that Juri's spell was indeed weakening. Your instinct was coming back slowly, and your human nature couldn't bear it. This is when I decided to act..."
"When you understood that I could no longer live as a human."
Yuuki sighed, remembering despite herself the few horrible days preceding her transformation. In a way, it had been like falling to Level E. Back then, when sleep didn't elude her, her nights were filled with nightmares. There wasn't a day when she didn't see the walls plastered with blood, not an hour without feeling a deep uneasiness in her heart and throat. In one of those moments, she had even attacked Zero. He hadn't fought back.
Even he seemed to understand, back then, that this issue was beyond them both...
Yuuki lowered her eyelids briefly. Why did she have to think about it now? It was all in the past…
"Kaname... Did my human life seem so perfect," she whispered in a tiny voice, "For you to choose to forget me? To live alone?"
He watched her pensively, then raised his head. This time, his kiss was more tender, like a silent apology.
"The enemy was near," he whispered against her lips. "But I kept pushing back the moment when I had to "awaken you". To be sure that the human Yuuki wouldn't have any regrets."
"Oh, Kaname..."
She embraced him, kissed him gently on the neck, where she usually fed blissfully. In this moment, more than any other, she realized how much he had loved her and still did.
What did she do until now to deserve him? So little…
"Teach me everything a Kuran has to know. I want to be as strong, as inflexible as you. I want to be able to be worthy of you, and of our family, when we come out again in the world"
Kaname chuckled in her ear, but his embrace tightened, in a way she started to recognize as slightly worried.
"There's still a long way to go."
"I know that...but trust me, I can do it."
She freed herself from his arms, and her big amber eyes – which she knew were slightly tinted with crimson – got lost in Kaname's.
"If you love me...agree to help me."
And as a plea, she put her lips on his, with a reverence and a love far more telling than if she had kissed him fervently. Kaname breathed a bit deeper, then faintly smiled.
"If I have to... it would be my pleasure, Princess."
Yuuki smiled back, triumphant.
This day, her decision was made. Everyone who thought her brother to be an asset as powerful as he was vulnerable in his loneliness would bitterly regret it.
For the Kuran family would shine once more in the Night World. At its head, a couple as powerful, formidable and united as the late Haruka and Juri Kuran...
.
.
Two years of withdrawal. Two years spent struggling, sometimes with Kaname, more often alone to avoid temptation. As time passed, it was easier to live a normal life, and the fits became more and more rare...
But they became ever more violent. Yet Yuuki never failed, not once.
Kaname seemed to admire her perseverance, he who went through the same ordeal perhaps more easily because of his experience. She remained strong even in her worst moments, and after two months she never let herself get taken over by the flow of anger and desire every Pureblood felt if left too long without any real blood. Hesitant every time he left her alone at her demand, for a few days or weeks, he always found her sound of mind, her hands and fangs free of any sign that she broke her pact, every time less exhausted and more beaming, happy to hold on, to be winning.
Yet, he didn't always approve of her methods. The most extreme of which nearly even convinced him to halt the process prematurely, when he found his beloved at the bottom of the lake bordering the house she had retired to. Pulled out of water by force, she had shown all the symptoms of a fit, but stubbornly refused to take the blood he offered her before the due date.
A vampire is more resistant than a human, and the Purebloods even more so. Drowning isn't a sure-fire way to kill a vampire, for their accelerated healing allows them to compensate for the cells dying by lack of oxygen. But, slowly, exhaustion sets in, insidious through the hours or days, and, sooner or later, the vampire, exhausted by this everlasting degeneration, finally dies.
Yuuki never said how long she had inflicted this punishment on herself, did not even clearly explain what had pushed her to such ends. For a long time, Kaname refused to leave her alone. She never tried to do it again, and the withdrawal, though as hard as expected, carried on without any other incidents.
Even when she fell prey to some of the most devouring fits of thirst in existence, Yuuki never faltered. To see Kaname again always marked the end of a step. To think about his return help her to stay lucid, magnified even further the moment when she could embrace him again. She hoped she could be worthy of the Kuran principles, to give them more weight once he agreed to introduce her to the Night World. Kaname's memory was like an anchor in her very long struggle against the "Other", as she secretly called this dark and savage side of her vampire persona. This dark it that became so strong during her most violent fits that she almost thought it was a real person, trapped like her within her own body. Every time, Kaname had been a light at the end of the tunnel, sometimes even the only solid grip preventing her from falling and becoming the "Other" herself.
She never thought about what would happen if they were apart.
They were Purebloods, seen as invincible among their kin...Why would she have to?
.
.
.
His muscles tensed and painful, Zero was running breathlessly, as silent as the wind. Watchful to stay undetected by the patrols walking the deserted streets, his entire mind bent toward this bond he had never ceased to push away and deny for almost two months. This new "North" his consciousness pointed to, like a compass needle.
A needle pointing, tirelessly, toward the invisible and distant fire devouring his soul, a heap of urges as familiar as they were foreign, an unquenchable thirst making the vampire in him quiver with pain and desire.
Yuuki!
What if I wanted to fight
Automatically, he had gone back to their inn, but he had to face the fact that she wasn't there anymore. The burning link chaining him was pulling him in the opposite direction, toward the docks...and the river. Zero didn't dare to think what she could be doing there.
Led by his hunter instinct, he had carried on his way, and the inn appeared at the turn of a street. The building seemed to be in an uncommon commotion for such a late hour, and many of the windows were lit. With dread in his heart, Zero recognized the men on the porch, the black armband embroidered in red and silver they all wore. The Lisenthard Anti-Vampire Militia was ready for battle, heavily armed, with their dogs trained to pick up any scent left by a "Bloodsucker".
Beg for the rest of my life
As if to mock all these potential enemies, the burning aura hit him at the core, and Zero hid in a nook of the wall, eyelids clenched, out of breath. His canines seemed to vibrate spasmodically, as if under electric shocks, and he knew that only one thing could soothe such a torture...except that this thirst wasn't his. So what was the use?
With ragged breath, he looked up with tainted-red amethyst eyes to the star-filled sky. A vampire had done something in the inn, otherwise the militiamen wouldn't be as numerous or agitated. Pictures of former massacres came back to him, atrocious and bloody memories gathered throughout his five years of missions for the Association. As a Hunter, he thought he had seen everything of the Level E bestiality, but the mere thought of such a scene awaiting him at the inn made his blood curl. Did Yuuki break her vow? And should he be surprised by it? Maybe this had nothing to do with her, maybe she had left the inn to avoid the Militia and their pressing questions?
But this thirst? What could have caused it?
As the pain became duller again, Zero glanced at the gathering. If he hadn't been so unsure of his control, he would have already joined them and exploited his status as an experienced hunter to study the crime scene as he pleased. But the militiamen, as inexperienced as they were, wouldn't be long to react to his irises turning ruby red. And there were their dogs trained to track vampires, too many of them to be avoided.
Back to his senses, at least as much as could be, Zero turned back, used the fire escape stairs of a nearby building to get to the roof. Trusting his instincts, he avoided without trouble of the guards circling the inn, reached the window of his room and opened it easily. Stealthily, he sneaked into the dark room, found his bag and checked it quickly. Even if Yuuki and he had checked in separately and at different times to blur their trail, he had no doubt that the Militia would at any moment order a search of all the rooms. His sabre and his multiple passports alone would be enough to earn him a stay in an interrogation room. He had to take off quickly...
He put the sheathe on his belt, under his coat, relishing in this presence now as familiar and comforting as the Bloody Rose in his holster. He put his bag on his shoulder and was about to leave the same way he had entered, when something grabbed his attention.
What would you do?
He couldn't smell any blood. If a vampire murder had taken place in here, the atmosphere should have reeked of a smell delicious to the nose of a reluctant predator. But there was absolutely nothing out of the ordinary…
Suspicious, Zero approached the chamber door, and, after checking his surroundings, opened it slightly to peek at the corridor. The room facing his –Yuuki's – was opened wide: there were at least two persons inside, from the Militia according to their armband. With one look, Zero registered everything he could see, then closed his door and stepped back, frowning in the darkness.
A bomb exploding in Yuuki's room would have achieved the same result, minus the burnt surfaces. He'd seen the torn drapes, the scraped floor, the shattered furniture against the walls, the glass panes blown away by an improbable indoor storm. The memory of Yuuki standing in the alcove of an ancient manor came back to him, and he saw again this mute rage escaping her grasp for one second as she talked about Kaname: that day, the wall had been slashed by an invisible claw, as the glass panes cracked. Such was one of Yuuki's powers, and he had probably seen but a glimpse of it.
And today, she had been furious enough to ravage an entire room. On the floor, he had recognized the maps she showed him at the manor, and in a corner the satchel she always carried with her. She had left in a hurry, and it wasn't like her to leave so much evidence behind…
Unless she had indeed lost control, and that in one last flash of lucidity, chose to run away as far as possible from any potential prey. But it seemed so unlike Yuuki: her, loosing control? Ever since he found her again, a few weeks ago, she had never ceased to surprise him with her assurance and queenly attitude, her Pureblood act impressing him despite himself. He saw her mingle in the crowds with indifference, facing anti-vampire weapons without batting an eye, tasting the blood of a human and spitting it out despite the obvious desire in her pupils...
You say you wanted more
But, slowly, the pieces of an improbable puzzle fell into place in his mind.
A wall slashed because of an angry word. Her feminine face which had seemed too sunken and closed to all emotions as days passed. The brutal and traitorous thirst that took over him on the train, without reason, and reminiscence of it for one flashing second as he had looked into her indifferent-looking eyes at the station…
And finally, this unexplained urge as he talked with the Butcher, this nearly-irrepressible thirst that dominated him for a short instant, at the very same moment when Yuuki probably lost control in her room.
What are you waiting for?
Suddenly everything made sense. Yuuki was wrong: no matter how many Blood Tablets she took, she couldn't fight against her instinct forever. And because of a fucking twist of fate, the bond chaining them together made him feel the same torture! Probably less so, seeing the damage caused by Yuuki, but still bloody inconvenient!
Zero swore under his breath. What now? With the mess she left behind her, the town was under alert. Some higher-ups in the Militia might suspect vampire powers owned by Aristocrats and Purebloods, and such chaos could raise some suspicions. Some of the self-proclaimed defenders of Lisenthard were former military, but the majority were civilians, nervous, but reckless and daring. Sooner or later, Yuuki wouldn't be able to control herself anymore, and God knew what would happen if she crossed their path…
As if to mock him, his thirst suddenly decreased. With relief and horror, Zero felt the fire recoil, diminish, becoming duller and duller, leaving his body stronger and his mind clear. With a disconcerting facility, his fangs went back to their original length, as his throat, less parched, was clenched not with thirst but dread. Would he be able to know if Yuuki had met a patrol and fought, if she had been attacked and hurt? If she did the irrevocable, wouldn't he feel it, a sudden savage thrill, then her quenched thirst, as delicious as it was shameful?
I'm not running from you
Within him, the vampire was silent, puzzled, while, cold and indefinable, another feeling took over Zero. A feeling...or rather the heavy certainty that something was wrong. A strange, but pressing feeling, telling him he had to get going. He had to reach her. As quickly as possible.
More worried about this new urge – death, sleep, self-destruction? – than he could say, Zero ran to the window. In his coat pocket was the ammunition box the Butcher gave him.
He hoped he wouldn't have to use their destructive power before long.
.
.
.
Her mind finally at ease, she was floating in mid-water. Inside her, life was slowing down, saving itself to enter the slow and destructive hibernation she chose to endure. As if frightened by this instinctive and excessive response, the Other backed off, became smaller, faded away.
"Breathe, Yuuki!"
And there was silence. Infinite, indefinable...
"Breathe!"
From the depths of her memory, a man's voice was screaming, a voice she never thought she'd heard being so...afraid. Memories laced with reality. The dark depths of the basin overlapped with the bog of a lake.
Dreams became shapeless, lethargic.
Look in my eyes
The surface of the water, peaceful and tranquil above her head, was suddenly pierced by a body, a muffled sound reminding her of Kaname's jump. That day, he had swum to her hastily, took her limp hand and cut the rope holding her back, brought her back to the shore while begging her.
"BREATHE!"
Like a plant reviving under the sun, at the contact of the air she finally obeyed him, left the long process her body had undergone to survive. She had opened her eyes, and felt, relieved, that while her thirst was still present, the "Other" had backed away, silent once more, as if admitting its defeat. Kaname didn't understood her gesture, or her weak smile, even less her refusal to drink his blood before the due time.
You're killing me, killing me
The hand pierced the water, grabbed her arm, pulled her upward. A blade shone in the liquid darkness, cut the cord chaining her to the stone. The hand pulled her to the light, out of the water, threw her to the ground.
Obeying once more the command of a distant memory, she took a deep breath.
All I wanted was you…
.
.
Her heartbeat was pounding in her head, a muffled and horribly slowed rhythm. She was shaking with cold. Under her cheek, snow was soft and downy, though icy. With difficulty, coughing and spitting water out of her painful lungs, she panted, her mind still in a blur. She knew only one thing: the "Other" had not won. It was well-worth a few hours of exhaustion after her nearly-drowning...
Too exhausted to look up, her sight blurred by a strange crude light, she thought she recognized a familiar silhouette from between her eyelashes: the travelling shoes of a man stepping back, the bottom of a long black coat, and the end of a silver blade. She tried to talk, but her throat was still aching, and she could only speak a few husky words.
"Thank you, Zero..."
She knelt painfully. The clicking sound of a weapon echoed behind her, while she felt a cold barrel on her neck.
"Move just one finger and I blow your brains out, monster."
Her eyes widened, her breath caught in her throat. Unable to recognize this unknown voice full of anger, she slightly turned her head, caught a glimpse of the man looming behind her, barely got time to recognize the red and silver black armband. With a hateful smirk, the militiaman grabbed her by the hair and pulled her back, forcing her to kneel while pressing the barrel of his weapon to her neck.
"I told you to stay still!"
A pained moan escaped her, unable to stop it. All her strength had gone in the exhausting struggle against the "Other". When she managed to open her eyes, until then blinded by the crude light coming from God-knew-where over the pale moonlight, she felt what was left of her confidence deserting her.
I tried to be someone else
The small square where she had found the life-saving basin, empty when she arrived, was now circled by the Milicia. With just one glance, she knew she was surrounded by a dozen men. Their motorcycles were still roaring, their lights all turned on her like as many accusing rays. But the engine noises weren't enough to cover the growling of the hound staring at her with rage and terror, its collar shining, or the clicking sounds of the rifles, guns, and other firearms pointed at her.
The barrel on her neck pressed even harder against her skin, and she instinctively raised her hands to it, bending to try to escape the horrible pain in her skull. She understood at once finally how vulnerable she was. As if awoken by this terrible feeling, the "Other" agitated once more, shivering with anger. Yuuki tried to focus on it, to push it back in its still too-fragile cage. Someone, the man with the sabre, barked a question, or an order, she had no idea. As she didn't answer, the pull on her hair increased, and she miraculously stopped herself from screaming in pain.
But nothing seemed to change
Everything was happening at the same time, too fast. No way to think. A primal fear began to take over her mind blurred by her drowning, and no words or gesture to defend herself came to her. Frozen in fear, mindful only of the fact that the "Other" was coming back, tears of despair escaped her. This couldn't be, not so soon!
This couldn't end so badly!
"Kaname!"
Around her, they were all fooled. Surprised at first, the militiamen looked at this perfect and mortified face, streaked by two tears of pure terror. And they finally saw her for what she was.
The ebony hair, so long, still damp, that drew dark arabesques on her neck and temples. This silhouette, so slender it looked about to break, her form highlighted by her wet dark clothes, bent in pain under the light of the moon.
There were glances exchanged, whispers, some weapons lowered. Lost in her inner mist, Yuuki only felt the change in the air when someone said out loud what they were all thinking:
"She doesn't look very dangerous... but she's pretty hot."
Her eyes widened in surprise. As she bent and tried vainly to free herself, she met her torturer's eyes, and saw, beyond the hate and resentment, an inconceivable interest. Realizing he was ogling her breasts, quite visible under her clothes, she froze. Noticing her trouble, he let her go ruthlessly, and she fell on the snowy ground, weak and defenceless. Instinctively she curled up on herself, looked around hauntingly. A few meters away, the militiamen had lowered their weapons. And to her horror, some of them were smiling.
Inside her, the "Other" growled. Its voice, reeking of blood and death, echoed, tyrannical, and began to gnaw at the little reason she had recovered.
I know now, this is who I really am inside…
Around her, they talked in low voices and she couldn't listen to them. Looking absent-mindedly in front of her, she was trying to contain the Beast, who answered to her with new bloody images. Her shaking, curled-up posture probably passed for the frightened stoicism of a victim barely understanding what was happening to her.
The man with the sabre walked to her with a smirk, and as if to stop her from reacting, she felt the barrel of his companion's rifle once again on her neck, threatening. Yuuki emerged with difficulty from her inner torment, and met his gaze: his eyes gleamed with a depraved glint, that would have frightened any other woman.
"Your kind are as beautiful as they're clever, right?" muttered the man, probably the leader. "To let you go, you'll have to give us a very good reason."
Until then shivering with cold, exhaustion and terror, Yuuki suddenly froze, stiller than a statue. Inside her gorgeous brown eyes illuminated with red, the man thought he saw the usual fear followed by the horrified resignation, so delectable to inspire. In this moment, he was, like his companions, horribly certain that her plump and enticing lips would not purl over her fangs, ready for a different kind of stroke to survive.
Yuuki didn't ask herself any questions about the former victims, how many they had been.
Neither if, among the ones meant to represent order and protect the city from the vampire threat, some could, in the dead of the night, trap a woman, human or not, and use their number and their strength.
She didn't wonder how far she would have to go to leave safe and sound, or even if they would even let her live. She didn't try to know if it was best to resist and die right away.
She only saw the amber pendant at the man's neck.
Finally found myself
She put her hand to her own neck, and almost fainted when she didn't find the familiar contact of the warm stone on her skin. The stranger had an amused sneer, grabbed the crystal amber and spun it between his gloved fingers.
"This is what you want? Maybe we can find an agreement..."
Fighting for a chance
She heard nothing of the horrible deal he started to state. Brutally, she grabbed the barrel of the weapon still pressed against her neck. It broke like it was glass.
And, for the very first time, she opened the "Other's" cage herself.
.
.
…I know now…
.
.
.
.
.
…This is who I really am!
What a cruel way to end a chapter, don't you think? We'll see you next week :D
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