Hi everyone! We hope you enjoyed last week's chapter. This one is shorter, but you should like it nonetheless :)


Zero was running to the docks when it fell upon him like a bird of prey. Crushing him on the ground before taking him in its talons, dizzied by the brutal vertigo of pain and death.

It was rage, suffering, anger, hatred, want, desire, terror, all made into one destructive urge. The death urge, ravaging everything, uncaring about the killer or the target.

Knocked over by the pain, he had not even touched the ground before the roaring fire put his entire body and mind into a red-hot heat. The invisible and macabre monster was crawling under his skin, tearing his muscles, making his own blood boil. His canines lengthened excessively, like a maddened answer to this murderous thirst that did not belong to him. Under his clenched hands, he should have felt the cold snow, and yet it was as if he was plunging them into a warm, oozing and incredibly pleasant pool of freshly spilled blood.

As he lay frozen on the ground, shaking uncontrollably, his mind remained as clear as ever, witnessing every moment of his physical decay. In a few seconds, he felt all the pain and the abomination of several months of a Level E transformation. It would have driven him insane, if the night hadn't been pierced by a horrible scream: his own, a mere echo of the faraway cry, hateful and desperate, of the one he was bonded to. The sound of several dozen shots answered the screams.

"Yuuki!"

Without knowing how, he was already up and running like the wind, in full possession of the inhuman speed of a vampire. Streets flew by, all the same, all deserted, meaningless to his obsessed mind. The expected and dreaded smell of blood assaulted him, heavy and smothering, and he knew he wasn't far. At last, he arrived in a small square, and what he saw was beyond anything he could have imagined.

Under the revealing light of the moon, the snow was no longer white but scarlet. The remnants of a dozen motorcycles were burning, throwing amber reflections on the broken silver weapons scattered everywhere. The walls were splattered with long and sharp red gashes, where someone had tried to run away and was reduced to shreds of bloody flesh. Horror reigned on this nightmarish scene, where guts furiously disembowelled lay next to torn limbs. Everywhere, Death's sharp claws had struck, methodically, bloodthirsty, compulsive, its only desire to cause excruciating pain before the end. At the other end of the courtyard was a fountain whose basin had been broken. Water was pouring onto the snow, reddened by the torn corpse thrown into it.

While the vampire inside him was torn between violent jealousy and boundless admiration, Zero, despite being an accomplished hunter, heaved, dismayed by the atrocities unfurling with each passing second to his trained eye. A wet gurgling sound turned his attention to a dark cul de sac. And he finally saw her: haughtily, she was holding a dead man by the throat at arm's length. She dropped him carelessly, and the body twice her size fell at her feet, lifeless, pouring a crimson stream over her already-soaked black boots.

This is who I really am!

Silent, she stared at the newcomer, and in the darkness of the alley, her pupils shone with a luminous crimson, defiant, wild. With a slow and deliberate step, more mesmerizing than ever, she came out of the alley and looked at Zero in the eye. Her long, wet and unkempt hair was flowing in the night wind and looked like it had been drenched in blood. Her hands, too, were adorned with scarlet snakes over her white skin.

Her expressionless face was covered in fresh red spatters, while tell-tale streaks were drying on her lips. Her usually pearly canines were tainted with blood.

Zero remained frozen, unable to talk or even to think. The vision he had secretly built these past few years was now imposing itself upon him, as if out of his worst nightmares. The girl he had once seen as his own sister and had loved even more than that, now perverted by the lowest instincts of the Night World. She was there before him, indifferent, her body radiating all the horror of murder, possessed by her Pureblood savagery and power. Blinding and spectacular, bathed in blood and anger, more dangerous and beautiful than ever. Before this apocalyptic vision, this living image of the goddess of death, sublime and fiery, any vampire would have fallen to his knees.

Zero simply didn't have the time. The vampiress' eyes widened suddenly with rage, betraying her lust for violence and murder, until now momentarily suspended. The next moment she had disappeared. Zero then felt the flesh of his back split, swept by a slashing strike as swift and sudden as it was deep. Pain brought back reason, and, filled with the same uncontrollable rage as his enemy, he turned back and leapt at her, his blade unsheathed.

The deadly and stunning dance of two vampires, one fighting for his life, the other for murder. Most of his movements, offensive or defensive, Zero executed them instinctively, choosing to rely entirely on the monster inhabiting him for so long. But she was too fast and too powerful, kept dodging with inhuman grace, using strikes and feints he never had to face. Their ruby eyes locked, and little by little, terror and an inexplicable disappointment overcame him, as he only saw in her a desire for violence. Pure madness, devastating anger.

His exhaustion and his thirst increased inexorably, as his own blood was smearing his back and clothes, running in long warm streaks with each movement.

Maybe because they were bonded, he felt the final strike come far before it happened, hitting his skull. Stunned, he was thrown on the ground, and in one last reflex pulled the Bloody Rose out of its holster as she ran to him, fangs out. The metallic clicking sound stopped her dead in her tracks, and she remained still, a few centimetres away from his throat, as if struck by lightning. Against her side, she had felt the commanding pressure of the barrel of the Bloody Rose, ready to shoot.

Short breaths wheezing from between her pearly fangs, she plunged her fiery eyes into the hunter's equally crimson irises. For a long time, they could only stare at each other, their ragged breath the only sound in the sepulchral silence of the square. And suddenly the veil of anger and murderous desire blinding them both disappeared: he finally felt all the pain and sorrow she was keeping within herself, far more frightening and harrowing than the violence and rage she had just unfurled.

"I'm begging you...do it!"

Come break me down

He didn't recognize her voice, so weak and plaintive, filled with tears. This voice sounded suddenly too much like the old Yuuki's, the frail and defenceless teenager.

"Go on...Kill me!"

Bury me, bury me

She had whispered her request in a whimper, but it was as strong as rolling thunder in his ears saturated with adrenalin. While he had been ready to shoot a few seconds ago, his hand froze, unable to pull the trigger. On the bloody cheeks of the one who had just become the most merciless killer this city ever knew, he finally noticed a clearer streak, traced by her previous tears. He looked at her puzzlingly, out of breath. And the hardened face of the young woman turned into a mask of pure despair, even more upsetting.

"I don't want to drink their blood... please, you have to stop me... or it will keep on killing until I let it do it..."

Swiftly, she grabbed the barrel of the Bloody Rose and aimed it on her heart.

"I want to keep my oath, I have nothing left of him, except this! ...Kill me!"

Yuuki's begging and desperate voice was followed by a shot rolling through the courtyard, cruel and ill-boding. Yuuki's eyes widened, surprised and relieved, but the bullet merely grazed her skull, only injuring her slightly. Mortified, Zero took his eyes off her and saw one of the men he had thought dead, still holding his smoking gun.

"You bitch!" he screamed, reloading his weapon.

Yuuki's faced froze again, devoid of emotion, as her eyes filled with an irrevocable fury. With an inhuman shriek, she forgot Zero and ran straight to the survivor.

"Yuuki, no!"

He ran after her, but she was already on the unfortunate man, screaming with pain. When he grabbed her shoulder, she had already torn off his face with one hand while her fangs, drunk with madness and desire, lingered near the still-pulsating throat of her victim. Without hesitation, he hit her violently on the neck and took advantage of her brief vertigo to pull her away from the dying body. Then he glimpsed the walkie-talkie in the dying man's clenched hand.

"Shit…!"

Before he could even consider the magnitude of the danger, the deep and deafening song of a siren rang above the sleeping town. Screams and orders echoed from far away, and already his enhanced hearing was picking up the roaring sound of the nearest motorcycles, all converging on the port. The place would soon be swarming with militiamen and civilians – brave or reckless, maybe both – all armed to the teeth.

"We have to take off, and quick…!"

Ready to flee, Zero glanced at Yuuki, and dread heaved his stomach; tensed like an animal ready to pounce, she looked around frantically with defiance, her chest rising with excited breath. Zero felt it in every figment of his body: she would do anything for another massacre, even shedding her own blood. She wasn't able to think anymore. She was about to get them both killed! What could he do?

I am finished with you, you, you!

What could a mere wounded vampire do, under his mistress' destructive madness because of a bond he still couldn't explain? What could he do to help this very Pureblood who, somewhere in the depths of her sick mind, wanted everything to end?

Not one moment did he think of to leaving her to face the Lisenthard army. Maybe because of this absurd link, he feared he would die if she did? Maybe because no one, not even her, deserved to fall under the fire of an army of incompetent humans, led to violence by anger and fear?

But how to quench a mad vampiress' thirst, when she refused to drink a drop of blood? And to whom to turn, who could he steal blood from, in this city where no one would let themselves be caught off-guard now that the alarm had been raised?

A smile in the shadow, a caressing hand, a soothing voice.

A horrible solution suddenly came to him, born from the only peaceful memory Zero had of this town smeared by a sordid case. He didn't have time to think twice.

He ran to Yuuki who, obsessed by the upcoming fight, couldn't stop the guard of the sabre hitting her on the neck. She collapsed without a sound, unconscious. Unceremoniously, Zero took her in his arms and left the premises running. A few seconds later, the lights of the first patrols shone on the appalling carnage of the small courtyard.

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Blood.

Red, oozing blood on her skin, warm and sticky blood on her clothes.

Howling wind, wind drying her eyes opened to the night, wiping away her furious and desperate tears.

Blood on her clenched lips, blood on her tongue and still she tries to spit it out. Enough.

Her conscience tortures her. A stupid, unnatural promise. To what end! There is no love, love is no more. She can destroy, destroy! She mutters, mutters without end. Nevermind the blood, nevermind life. If she can't do it, she might as well kill, lacerate, tear apart, scatter, explode, lash, crash, assassinate.

Blood. Bloodlust. Again. Again! A rattle in her dry throat. She cries. Enough, enough! Destruction is the only answer, to kill is the only way out of this torture. Her thoughts are a mist, a blood-soaked mist. Good, good. Less thinking, less pain. Destruction keeps the mind numb. Destruction is the answer.

Unmoving. Unable to move. Iron grip. Surprise. Rage. Who?

Eyes opened, watching. Horrified face, strained, focused. Ruby-red eyes on her. A distant voice.

"Yuuki!"

Anger. Pain in her neck. He hit her, he hit her! He's taking her away. She doesn't move, can't move because of him. In his arms. Shame. She struggles. No results. Prisoner. She growls in rage.

Stronger, him? Stronger than her? No, no. To make him submit, by voice, by command, possible. She searches, searches in the mist, emerges a bit.

.

Pain is awaiting her, welcomes her, unstoppable. She can think, but it hurts. To think of something other than destruction hurts. On the surface, They still fight, "the one who wants to drink" and "the one who wants to run". Words come back to her.

"Zero... Zero, let me go!"

She struggles, fights against his hold. His arms are inflexible, and she exhausts herself against them. How dare he? In a fury, she pummels his ribs, tears his chest with her nails.

"Let me go!"

"So you can go slaughter those people and get us both killed? Surely not!"

She shudders, a lump in her throat. He opposes her, he answers back to her. Impossible. Impossible and dangerous. She looks around, lost. He's running. Enters into a basement. A burnt smell surrounds them, heavy, full of an ancient and strange suffering. As if grazed by some invisible ghost, she shudders. He puts his hand on a nailed-down door. Trapped in her inner torments, she doesn't understand everything, grasps some random words like "association" and "pact". A silver and purple light runs along the wood and stone. Magic quivers, aggressive to her vampire senses. Hunter magic, no longer natural and instinctive, but corrupted by science and calculation. The seal breaks. The barricade crumbles, and Zero takes her to the revealed underground passage.

Dark corridors, again and again. Blackened pavement, burnt furniture, carbonised drapes. All the windows walled up. And the floor, the walls all oozing with infinite suffering, with the rusty smell of blood. People suffered, people died there, dozens and dozens of humans. In a way that makes "the one who wants to drink" salivate. "The one who wants to run" panics, and their invisible fight tortures her.

"Where are you taking me?" she moans, still struggling.

"Somewhere safe! Where you can come back to your senses!"

Look in my eyes

Anger boils in her, bright and painful. It pulls her upward, way above her primal desire of destruction. Since when... since when?

Yes, since when is he the one who decides?

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She emerged a bit more from the peats where she had willingly drowned, recovered all the consciousness she previously abandoned to avoid suffering.

"Leave me alone, Zero. That's an order!"

He finally stopped, for he could only obey to her authoritarian voice. She savoured her meagre triumph as he opened his arms. But in letting her go, he gave a curious impulsion, as if throwing her away. She slipped, her feet only met emptiness, and she cried out, her blood-drenched hands flailing in the air. Her eyes swept over the great dark room, finding nothing to hold on to, then saw the ground, a few meters below her. Out of reflex, she turned and landed with cat-like grace on the dirt ground. Stunned, mute with rage, she looked up frantically in the darkness, looking for the one who so easily betrayed her.

You're killing me…

From the edge of the hole, Zero looked at her fearlessly. His ruby eyes shone in the darkness as he stared at her, his face strained but devoid of emotions. Her throat dry, her fangs so large they were hurting her, she screamed.

"What are you doing? Get me out of here!"

She studied the dark hole, the few burnt beams, the skeletal and vaguely gilded remains of a big chandelier. Nothing that could help her.

"I command you to come and get me!"

"No."

The word rolled in the air like thunder. She felt like she was falling once more, and yet the ground was there, hard under her feet.

Killing me!

"What?"

She lost her voice. Suddenly, her bloodlust, her desire for violence and destruction, all her unavoidable torments seemed so tiny, compared to the unknown feeling awoken by Zero's blunt refusal. She glared at him, he who up there seemed to suddenly bend, as if under a deep strain. His face was tensed with pain and some hesitation, but he did not blink.

"I am your mistress! You owe me your loyalty and obedience! I command you to get me out of here!"

"No! For once, you're going to listen to me! So calm down!"

Had she been in full possession of her senses, she certainly could have gotten out of this hole herself. But she crumbled, her legs suddenly strengthless. A strange feeling of weakness took hold of her, completely foreign to the rage and bloodlust that until then made her stand.

"You have to pull yourself together. You want to keep your oath. If you carry on like this, you won't make it out alive. Here, you can scream all you want, no one will hear you. You won't kill anyone. You have to pull yourself together, Yuuki."

Horrified, she heard Zero's muffled voice echoing in her deepest core, becoming as many chains on her will. Her wrath remained, her mind stayed clear, but from the outside she was but a tiny obedient thing, her fangs useless and her claws trimmed. A tear fell on her bloodstained cheek, a tear she couldn't stop. A tear of anger, but also of fear and incomprehension.

"You'll stay here until you're in control again... that's an order," he whispered.

In one split second, the cursed link between them had reversed itself. Impossible. And yet, she was at his mercy. The very last thing that made her a Pureblood, control over every life, had been taken from her. And by whom? By the one, she suddenly realized, she had always both loved and hated.

Inconceivable. But real.

She fell on her knees, devastated.

"Let me die, Zero..."

Stunned, drowned in her sorrow and her unquenchable thirst, she didn't see the devastating effect her words had on the hunter. Almost bent in two by the pain she was still transmitting to him, he finally turned from the prison he left her in. The same thirst preyed on them both, and he knew now that a few words wouldn't be enough to push it away.

All I wanted was you

Heavy-hearted, he left the great room he once saw engulfed in a fire. He knew what he had to do, but never since he had been bitten by a Pureblood, had he felt as disgusted with himself.

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Somewhere, thousands of kilometres away, an alarm rang.

A watchman checked his devices; these mechanisms worked both through magic and science. After a few seconds of checking, the man went to warn his direct superior, as per protocol. As he grabbed the phone and dialled the number, he suddenly hesitated, and dialled another, looking worried. As he waited for the dial-tone to end, he played with his pen distractedly, something unusual for him. If there was a criterion to choose people like him, it was nerves of steel.

Finally, someone picked up the phone.

"Hello?" muttered a hoarse voice.

The watchman didn't apologize for the late hour of the call, that explained the sleepy tone of his conversation partner.

"Mister Yagari? It's me...from the Archive Department," he said as if it was obvious. "You asked to be warned if some cases "awoke"."

"Which one?" answered the other, suddenly more alert.

"Lisenthard. Human traffic to vampire ends. Taken down two years ago. The seal keeping the premises confined just got broken."

"Alright. I'm on it," said the other in an imperative tone. "Nothing happened, understood?"

"Yes, sir."

Diligently, the watchman hung up. No questions asked. Such was the favour he agreed to in order to settle an old debt.

.

As for Yagari, he immediately called another number. The person answering didn't have time to talk: he took over with his hoarse voice.

"Kaien? Yagari here. Zero's in Lisenthard. We take your jet. We're up in thirty."

For once, the other didn't protest and immediately hung up.

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Come break me down

Bury me, bury me…

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"Don't go outside. Check all the openings. I'll try to see you tomorrow soon as the curfew's over."

"Yes, uncle. Don't worry..."

She rolled her eyes, knowing that her impatience had started to show in her tone. The word "Uncle", that she rarely used anymore, always betrayed her slight irritation. He doubted her carefulness...didn't he know her more than anyone?

"Don't let anyone come in tonight," he added with an almost-hesitant tone. "The streets aren't safe."

"I heard the siren, you know. Like all of Lisenthard. I already checked everything twenty minutes ago."

"Do you still have the revolver I gave you? Does it work?"

"I take it apart and clean it every week. At each alert, I keep it loaded close to hand," the young woman sighed. "Why do you ask all these questions? You know very well that I don't take those things lightly."

"I know, I know, Elora...that's just how it is. Give Nathan a kiss for me."

"Of course. Be careful."

Her uncle whispered a goodbye, then hung up. She put down the phone slowly. Frowning, she put her hand in the pocket of her dressing gown, taking out a small silver revolver. The weapon shone in the firelight of the wood-burner. The cold contact made her shiver. Her uncommon grey eyes went from the weapon to the scars covering her hands. She quickly put the revolver back in her pocket and straightened her dressing gown over her woollen brown dress from yesterday, which she hastily put on when she heard the siren. She crossed her arms on her chest. A chilly gesture that had nothing to do with the room temperature.

"This is nothing," she told herself, briefly closing her eyes. "This is nothing, you're safe." She listened to the crackling embers in the wood burner, the whisper of the fire, the silent neighbourhood. Even if she focused, she couldn't hear the dreaded sound of the Militia motorcycles, which was a good sign. The danger was far away.

Swiftly, silently, she walked to a door left ajar and glanced into the other room. Despite the darkness, she could see the big bed she had occupied a few minutes ago, and the child still sound asleep. She smiled, moved. Nathan, at least, wasn't easily disturbed by the Lisenthard siren. No nightmares haunted his nights, save from the ones all small boys have. Necessary dreams, so easy to chase away with a hug, a word, a kiss. And she thanked the heavens every day for it.

She quietly closed the door, turned away and took place in front of the chimney where welcoming flames were dancing. She sat on the patched, solitary armchair, stroking in passing the old dog's head asleep near the hearth. Bear asked for a few more strokes, then sighed happily before falling back asleep. The mother smiled.

This old armchair, this hunting dog now relaxing near the fire, and a few personal belongings, this was all that was left from her former life, that used to be… rich and full of leisure. She didn't regret it: she understood and accepted, as time passed, that her life in this great Lisenthard house, by her wealthy husband, the mayor, had been nothing but an appalling web of lies. From this gilded existence, that ended so brutally, she had only kept a few things, the love of a few caring relatives, and her son, safe and sound, who filled her with happiness every day. She took back her maiden name, claiming a desire to remain discreet and keep her new neighbours from giving her the attention the late Mayor's widow deserved. Her pension, which she only accepted to keep her child safe from need, was enough for their simple life.

Her eyes got lost in the flames, and for a second the soft dove-grey of her pupils became colder than the steel of her revolver, which she always kept on her. She had kept nothing from her husband. Had she been the only one to survive, she would even have refused the money he left her when he died. To depend on him, in any way, was unbearable. Fortunately, her reluctance to mention or hear about her late husband was seen among her friends and family as silent mourning, too heavy to carry. Even in death, the former mayor was an admired man, that the whole city had lost with its council in the tragic town hall fire two years ago.

Anyone who knew the hatred his widow felt toward him would have been horrified.

Break me down…

But what else could be expected from a woman who, along with her child, had been sold to a gang of wealthy vampires by her own husband? Who had to protect her son from his father's very fangs, and who almost died in doing so?

Elora settled in the armchair, a lump in her throat, the revolver on her lap. Even today, the flames dancing in the hearth reminded her of the atrocious smell of the inferno, the stench of the burning corpses. Her open wounds, scaring her body by the dozen, were now only small but numerous scars on her pale skin. She never went outside without wearing covering clothes and gloves, hiding everything but her head, miraculously spared. Gossip had given a reason to this never-changing outfit: she had tried to save her husband and son from the fire that night, and had kept impressive burns. She let the rumour fly, as it was quite convenient.

Lisenthard was a big harbour town, and she didn't know the travellers who died that night, most of them bled dry before her very eyes. Yet she would never forget their screams as the men were tortured. The pleas of the women as they were raped before being given to their red-eyed counterparts, who made them go through even worse before finally gracing them with death.

Because of her rank and her singular beauty, Elora had been kept "for the end", which explained why, when the orgy had been interrupted, she had only gone through a painful "foreplay". As for her son, only a few months old back then, he had been carefully studied but thankfully unharmed: she thought she had heard, between her screams, that he was destined to be "gifted" in a later event. To think about what would happen to him had been and still was the worst torture, far more painful than her memories and scars, which she had learnt to live with. To give up everything to fall into despair and madness would have been easier, but she never allowed herself to even consider it. As she was her son's protector, he was as much her own anchor to not sever definitely her ties with the outside world.

Two in the morning rang on the kitchen clock. She emerged from her thoughts, both surprised and glad to find herself in her armchair by the fire, with a loaded gun on her lap and Nathan still asleep in the other room. Not many things lacked in this picture of a simple life she had built for herself and her child. Maybe one day she would consider tolerating other men's smiles and displays of attention. After all, she was a twenty-seven-year-old widow, as her obliging friends and family reminded her. But to remarry was but a distant prospect, barely sketched. Anyway, she suddenly realized, it wasn't the idea of a relationship that came to mind when she thought about some suitors, but the role they might play as a father to Nathan. So, she had been able to survive and remain sound of mind: by placing her son at the centre of a life otherwise devoid of meaning.

While she was gently falling asleep, her eyes lost in the flames, she remembered her son's pout or polite smile toward all the men gravitating in their circle. Among them, only one Nathan had welcomed with a joyful cry.

Break me down!

Someone knocked at the door. Elora sat up straight immediately, wide-eyed. Who could it be at this hour? Her uncle wouldn't have gone outside in the middle of the night without warning her. Her own experience and the advice of her smothering but well-meaning relative came back to her mind, and she waited. A small happy puff came from the rug. She looked down at Bear; these days, only a few things managed to wake him up like this. A knock again, more gentle, and the dog lying before the chimney started to wag his tail weakly, his blind eyes fixated on the door. Elora stood up silently and looked into the peep-hole, her gun in her hand. She restrained a surprised exclamation when she recognized the person standing under the porch. She immediately unlocked the door.

"Tristahn?"

She opened the door wide, forgetting the crumpled clothes under her dressing gown and the revolver she was still holding.

He was there. The man who had gone alone against an entire party of barbaric vampires, saved Nathan and killed his vampire father before he could commit the ultimate crime. The one who pulled them from the fire, pleaded their cases to his superiors, asked mercy for the troublesome witness she was, the sole survivor. He who, even if other missions awaited him, had stayed by her side long enough for her to put her life back together, and even visited her when his missions led him around these parts.

Tristahn Kelos. The man with amethyst eyes and storm-coloured hair, barely twenty when he had saved her. The one who, in her nightmares, appeared like the avenging angel she thought she saw that night, even though she wasn't a woman prone to daydreaming.

What if I wanted to break...?

Her heart beat faster when she met his one-of-a-kind purple eyes, then her instinctive smile disappeared: he was deathly pale. On his left temple, a flow of blood had pearled from a cut. Even though she hardly knew anything of his job, she guessed how dangerous it was.

"You're hurt?"

Before marrying the one who would become mayor, she had been a nurse in one of the Lisenthard hospitals. Even today, for any minor illness, she was the one who was called first in the neighbourhood, for her knowledge as well as for her kindness and gentle hands. An authoritarian pout tensed her usually kind features.

"Come in, quick."

She did not care about his silence, he whom she knew pensive and taciturn. She closed the door and put the latch on before leading him to the kitchen, putting the gun on a small chest of drawers by the doorway. She made him take his coat off, firmly but gently when she saw the reddened fabric. Her dread almost got the better of her when she saw the deep slash running from his left side to his right shoulder. She helped him take off his shirt and made him sit on a chair near the fire, examined his paler-than usual complexion, his strained features, the colour of the mucous membrane under his eyelids to check if he wasn't lacking blood.

She didn't ask any questions besides the ones regarding his health: if he thought he had other injuries, if he had hit his head, felt nauseous or dizzy. He answered her questions with monosyllables, as he often did, but in a deep and clear voice. She was about to ask what kind of weapon hurt him when she saw the small cuts on his chest, like claw marks, too much like her own scars.

She remembered that the siren had rung earlier, and bit her lip. Damn this city, and all the vampires swarming in its entrails! Lisenthard was nothing but bad luck.

"I'm going to fetch my first-aid kit, stay still..."

Kneeling down, she was about to get up when he grabbed her hand.

"It's alright, Elora. There's no rush."

Dumbfounded, she froze, her grey eyes looking into the young man's amethyst ones. Still as deep and unfathomable, yet they shone with this slight and gentle tenderness when he put his hand on her cheek.

"Calm down," he whispered, careful as always.

She didn't understand his words or the seriousness of his grave face. Then she finally felt her own tears on the corner of her eyes. She hadn't realized she was crying. Was it the surprise, the joy of seeing him so suddenly? The fear of knowing he was hurt, maybe dying? She took a deep breath. When she opened her eyes, he had this shadow of a smile, sad but undeniably tender.

"I'm happy to see you."

What if I…

He leaned forward imperceptibly, as if mindless of how close they were. Tears almost came back to her. Since when had she simply kissed a man? There was only him, his silent presence to remind her that she missed it. The rest of the time, she didn't care...

She would have liked to only see this man as her saviour, as a friend she could trust. Or like the little brother she never had, he who was almost six years younger than her. But among those close to her, just like Nathan was the only one to spark her motherly instincts, there was only him, a hunter she only met half-a-dozen times, to make her forsaken woman's heart pound.

She sighed, forcing herself to move away. She looked one last time into his amethyst pupils, which she never saw anywhere else.

"So am I, Tristahn."

She stood up, and he let go of her hand reluctantly. She put the kettle on, then made the compress and everything she needed to disinfect the injuries.

Busy as she was, she couldn't see her host shudder, suddenly under a sharp and fleeting pain. She didn't see either, when he looked up, the violent ruby colour momentarily taking over his pupils. He stood up with even more cat-like grace than usual and approached her silently.

Busy on her healing unguents, she didn't hear him coming and was startled when she felt his callous hands on her shoulders. A soft smile illuminated her face as she noted he still had this habit to move without making a sound. She didn't turn, merely enjoying his touch, his embrace, the strength rolling in his palms.

"Your wound may be serious," she began, less and less sure of it herself.

"No... I think that I'm alright."

What if I…

She restrained herself from shuddering. Even wounded, he still managed to put her in turmoil with one touch, one whisper. Yet, in many ways, he was a stranger...

What if I…

He leaned in, as if taking interest in was she doing. Incidentally, she felt his warm, almost seductive breath err on her cheek. She tried to concentrate: while he was a hunter, he certainly wasn't immortal. She had to tend to him, quickly…

What if I…

As she was about to break free of his embrace, he whispered:

"I'm sorry..."

Bury me, bury me.

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.

.

Silence surrounded her, deafening after the singer's exalted words. Any second now, the music would start again, as it repeated itself again and again through the last minutes...or hours?

With one touch, she stopped her phone, and silence settled. She sighed. Docile, the memory faded away, leaving her strangely lighter and more aware of her surroundings. The mattress under her still body, the smell of old varnished wood and leather-bound books.

After a long and deep breath, she opened her eyes in the darkness, gulped hard. Then she jumped out of her bed and sat at her desk, put the light on, grabbed her pen.

It was now. Now, or never.

And, her Ariadne's thread in mind, Yori began to write again.


Fun fact: The original French fanfiction went into hiatus for 8 years, just after this chapter!
So, I would like our lovely readers to apreciate how lucky they are to get to read the next chapter shortly, all thanks to our team of writer/translator/beta-reader! So if you liked the story so far, tell us what you think! In the meantime, we'll be working on chapter 8 :D