Beta: EternalAngel
A/N: This chapter brings a conclusion to Atobe's tale, but it is not the last of the history chapters. Though the next chapter will return the story to the present, there will be other glimpses of the past in future chapters.
I hope you've enjoyed the tale of Atobe's turning and as always, comments and critique appreciated.
The storm continued to gain strength as the distance between Atobe and his home grew. It was no longer satisfied with making the tree branches swing slowly, but tried to uproot everything that had laid its roots in the soil, to make them dance in the air, amongst the lightning and rain. Atobe had lost his hat to the storm, and now it eagerly tugged on his cloak, the only shelter he had left against the harsh wind and icy water.
A bolt of lightning struck the road, and Atobe's mare rouse to its hind legs. Atobe leaned against her neck, and tried to stay in the saddle, but his feet were thrown from the stirrups and he was thrown on the ground, his right hand still tangled on the reins. He landed on the soles of his feet, knees bent, back straight and his eyes gazing at the sky that had been thrown into a chaos of flashing lights and dark clouds that never stilled.
The reins still wrapped around his hand tightened as the mare threw her head back and rouse to her hind legs once again, and then set off, galloping back towards the familiarity of the manor's stable. Atobe was dragged with her, the leather straps digging into his hand, the rocks scraping against his skin. Screaming in agony, he tried to stand and pull on the reins to slow the horse, but she was too wild to obey him or hear anything besides the storm. Finally the reins slid from around Atobe's hand, pulling off his glove, and Atobe was left behind to lie on the road as the mare continued towards safety.
Heaving, Atobe stayed on the ground, cataloguing the different aches of his body. His face and neck tingled, his right hand was numb, his back and thighs ached and there was a sharp flash of headache when he tried to get up and the arm he had been leaning on gave out under him. He groaned, and rolled on his back. The rain started again, and he blinked when the water splashed on his eyes, making his vision blurry. The road beneath his palms turned muddy and the water soaking his clothes made him shiver. He would get sick, if he continued to lie here.
Atobe forced himself to get up despite the pain that made him want to scream and give up. But the thought of what might be after him, the memory of Ohtori's tortured body and crazed stare made him push past the pain and stand up. His eyes sought desperately for any sign of his mare, but she was long gone now and with her, the gold. He would either have to return to get more, or survive with what he had. If he reached London there would be more money in the town house and if he needed any more, he could contact his solicitor. The situation was not hopeless. But he would need to get to London. And that would be near impossible without a horse.
There was a glow of yellow light at the edge of his vision and Atobe turned towards it, hope springing alive in him. His cloak had flown open and the cold wind against his wet clothes numbed his muscles, making it hard for him to even remain on his feet, let alone walk, but fear and pride kept him moving. Too much had been sacrificed for him to die on a country road like a stray dog.
As the yellow light grew brighter, Atobe finally realized it came from the church. The priest always kept the candles lit, even during the night, and the doors were never locked. Anyone who so wished could seek shelter in the Lord's house.
He followed the path that led from the road to the church, and blinked when a lighting strike outlined the church with blue light, and shivered, this time from dread, not from the cold. With its high bell tower and narrow, high windows the building was ominous and threatening. Atobe was reminded of his own sins and he wondered if God had turned his back on him, if he was beyond redemption and forgiveness. He had been taught that God would forgive any sin as long as you repented. But did he repent?
He had forsaken Ohtori for petty jealousy, deceived the one man he called a friend and murdered his brother. The only thing he could make himself regret was that he had not done a better job at protecting himself from the consequences.
Would God strike him down for daring to enter His house, when he did not repent?
Atobe reached the door of the church, reached out with his hand and pressed his palm against the wood. He pushed the door open and stood in the rain, staring at the golden candle light, beckoning him to step into its embrace. He raised his eyes to the large altar at the end of the corridor, at the cross behind it, and his heart thumping in his ears stepped inside, waited for the wrath of God.
Thunder boomed outside, the door closed behind him and Atobe still breathed. He was alive. God had forgiven him.
Strength left his limps and he collapsed on the floor, relieved and tired. He closed his eyes, grateful that the wind and the coldness remained outside and he could rest.
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Gentle hands caressing his face, treading through his hair, tracing the curves of his mouth and cheeks. Touches so soft and weightless that they made Atobe think of the feathers on an angel's wings. He knew it was an illusion created by his desperation, the feeling that he floated in the blessed light of God's forgiveness, but did not care. The deception of his mind was far too alluring for him to want to wake and chase it away.
But the cold of his damp clothes and the ache of his body soon pushed away the pleasant sensations and reluctantly he opened his eyes. What he saw made him think he was still dreaming. His head lay in the lap of a creature Atobe could not think of as human. The gentle smile on its lips held in it immeasurable gentleness and affection, and light shone from behind it, giving the figure the halo of a saint.
"Who are you?" Atobe asked, his voice trembling.
The smile grew even fonder, and it was the only answer Atobe received.
"A new priest?" he suggested the only thing that made sense, and pushed away the hand resting on his forehead. He sat up and turned towards the altar, to the cross behind it and at the two candles on it, and frowned. He did not think the candles on the altar had been lit when he had arrived.
A hand was pressed on his shoulder and Atobe turned again to the person it belonged to. The smile had not vanished, and though still gentle, there was a sharp edge to it. Or perhaps it was in the eyes that the change had occurred.
"I need a horse," Atobe said. "I have no money now, but I promise to send some when I arrive to London. If you are new you might not know me, but I am-"
"You will not need a horse to reach London." That soft, alluring voice, the way it rouse and lowered, echoed from one wall to the other, sang through his body, filled him with a need to hear more, to hear the voice laugh. He knew that voice. "You will not go to London tonight." The hand rouse towards his cheek, and Atobe flinched, stood up and backed towards the altar, hoping the cross there, the sanctity of the altar would protect him.
"I told you I would come to you, did I not Keigo?" His name spoken from that mouth made it lovelier than any endearment a woman had ever given him and the desire he saw reflected in Yukimura's eyes made the desire of so many others diminish in comparison.
"Come to me, and you will feel pleasure no man could ever have, gain strength you could not have even dreamt of, and I will show you beauty beyond what any mortal could see. Let me show you the world through my eyes." Temptation laid in those words, and he yearned to feel and see what Yukimura promised, to see the world through the eyes of this wondrous creature.
"For those, you would want what in return?" Atobe asked, slowly moving closer to the altar behind his back, hoping it would keep him safe. An empty hope, Atobe understood. A church had not kept the demon away, why would an altar make a difference? But he could not give up when there was still even a small possibility. "I am not fool enough to think you would offer them freely, neither am I foolish enough to surrender my soul to you or to your master!"
Yukimura laughed for the first time, and it was not the gentle chuckle Atobe had heard before, but a reckless, mad laughter that echoed from one wall to the other, and when the sound of the thunder joined in with the laughter, rather than being buried under the noise, it gained momentum, grew louder and more powerful, sang together with the wind and thunder. "Have you not realized, yet," Yukimura smiled at him, "that I call no one master."
"That's impossible," Atobe stammered unable to believe what it was Yukimura wanted him to believe. As great opinion as Atobe had of himself, he did not believe the devil himself had come for his soul. "Unless… If you are not a demon, what are you?"
"We," Yukimura paused, and Sanada appeared by his side. "Are creatures that pre-date the birth of Christianity. I, pre-date the birth of Christianity. Your God has no rule over me or my soul." Yukimura raised his gaze up to the cross that hang on the wall over Atobe's head, and brought his hand over his chest. "But His followers have wounded me greatly. Only a few weeks ago my body still carried the marks of the fire they lit in hopes of destroying me and were it not for Sanada, they would have succeeded. But now it is their bodies that have turned to ashes, and the blood of His servants has healed me."
"Blood," Atobe whispered, and remembered what Ohtori had told him. It had not seemed important at the time, just another method of torture and cruelty to drive the boy insane. "I do not know what kind of a monster you are, but no creature with a soul could do what you have done. Whatever it is you promise, I will not surrender my eternal soul or turn my back to God and His mercy!"
Yukimura growled at his words, and clenched his hands to fists. "Did I not tell you already that your God has no role in my faith, and soon He will have none in yours?" It only took two steps from Yukimura for him to be able to breathe the final words against Atobe's cheek. "Your fate will be what ever I choose to make of it."
Atobe hadn't realized he had backed away, until he tripped on the stairs leading to the altar. On his back, his eyes staring up at Yukimura who approached him steadily, Atobe crawled backwards till he could go no further, as the altar was pressing against his back. With the last of his hope now gone, Atobe prayed with more humility in his prayers than he had thought possible. He promised God everything, would he only be saved. He would return home, confess his sins, give up his fortune in favour of those less fortunate, he would willingly hang for slaying his brother, would turn to a beggar, give up his title, his pride, if only God would save him.
Even when Yukimura kneeled before him, and raised a cold hand to his face, Atobe still prayed for a miracle, waited for a bolt of lightning to strike Yukimura, awaited salvation.
"Hush," Yukimura caressed his cheek, trailed fingers along his jaw, briefly let them glide over his lips. "You will soon have seen the last of your mortal troubles, and will not yearn for God any longer. The blood will be your life and pleasure, the night your day, and the moon your sun." How he wanted that voice to never cease speaking, for that hand to never leave his skin, and how he loathed himself for not fighting Yukimura, for not wanting to.
"Why couldn't you just leave?" Atobe loathed himself all the more for the pleading in his voice that sounded desperate even to him.
"But how could I have left you?" Yukimura asked, surprised Atobe would even ask. "To let all that wonderful arrogance and beauty die with your mortal body? How could anyone do such a thing, if they had the power to prevent it?"
"But the price," Atobe whispered, still hoping he would be able to convince Yukimura to let him go. "There must be a price, there always is, and I am not willing to pay."
"What price would you not pay for immortality? Anyone would offer their soul to receive what I am giving you, and I have no interest in your soul."
"Then search for someone who wishes for it! I do not want it!" Atobe yelled.
"You would rather remain human, and be hanged, your name dragged through mud, and your honour, your family disgraced?" Yukimura shook his head. "You do not understand yet, but you will. And you would not wish to be human again when you have the body and the power of a god."
Atobe shifted to his side, in an attempt to gain distance between them, and considered Yukimura's words. There seemed to be no drawbacks in what Yukimura was offering him. Eternity and power, the promise of pleasure and beauty unlike he had ever seen. "Immortal?" Atobe asked, and Yukimura's smile widened. "I would never die? In a hundred years I would still live?"
"And not age," Yukimura added. "Time will not touch your body; it will regain its beauty through the centuries. You will be as beautiful in a hundred years as you are now. Any wound can be healed with blood and only the sun's light can bring you death."
Atobe was sure there was something wrong with what Yukimura offered. There had to be, but he found the allure too powerful. It was too tempting to simply agree.
"It is not like you have a choice," Yukimura spoke with his lips pressed against Atobe's ear, and his palm resting on Atobe's chest. "I am not telling this so you can decide. I am telling you, because I want you to know this before the change, before you die and be reborn as mine. I have discovered that some find it… rattling, to suddenly posses senses far sharper and sensitive than those of a mere human, and can be overwhelmed by the hunger."
"The hunger?"
"The lust and desire for blood, the hunger to sink my fangs in your tender flesh and have your blood flow past my lips, down my throat, for its warmth to spread through me, to have your life fill me." Yukimura's voice was low and filled with need that left Atobe breathless with its intensity. "To feel your body quiver against mine in hopeless, endless pleasure, to hear you draw that final, shuttering breath, to feel the warmth of it against my skin, to have your hands around me, to feel you finally surrender." The need in Yukimura's voice only grew with every word, and so did the terror Atobe felt.
His mind was frantically searching for an answer, something that would give him a way out, but there was nothing in what Yukimura had said that gave him hope. It was clear the monster didn't care what Atobe himself wanted; all it cared for was its own lust.
Sharp pain slashed across his chest, and Atobe screamed and looked down. Yukimura had torn his shirt open, and drawn a wound across his chest, and now stared at the red blood eyes gleaming, holding in his hand a knife that was stained with Atobe's blood. Atobe winced again when Yukimura's fingers dug into his shoulders, and the creature pressed Atobe's back against the stone altar, licking his lips. He shuttered in disgust when Yukimura's tongue darted out and slid along the long wound.
Yukimura lifted his head to lick his lips, and then as more blood surged from the wound, he licked it away again, and Atobe thought of a cat he had once seen licking away cream spilled on a stone floor. The way the animal's pink little tongue had pressed against the stone, its eyes nearly closed, purring loudly, licking even when Atobe was sure there could not be even a memory of the cream's taste left.
Yukimura made noises, moved his lips on Atobe's skin, dug sharp nails into his shoulders, almost mewled, and as disgusted as Atobe was he was horribly fascinated by how someone could desire his blood so deeply. He knew the taste of his own blood and to him it was nothing special, nothing that would merit that enraptured look on Yukimura's face, or the way he purred and moved his body against Atobe's.
There was friction when Yukimura moved, and every time Yukimura moved his leg, Atobe had to bite on his lip to not make a sound, to not let Yukimura know how good it felt, to not encourage the monster. But the gathering heat finally forced Atobe to close his eyes, and when the tongue moved against his now heated skin, and the thigh pressed against his crotch, and the fingers, instead of digging into his shoulders, caressed his skin, and moved down along his back and sides, Atobe could not hold back the groan that escaped from between his lips.
When a cold tongue and lips were pressed against his neck, he felt the strength of Yukimura's hands falter and opened his eyes. He stared at the ceiling, covered by shadows, the light of the candles not reaching it. His hands lay on his sides and his fingers moved, searching. The touch of cold steel on his fingertips, as pain erupted through him when Yukimura bit down, and with the sound of Yukimura's pleasure filled moans in his ears he closed his fingers around the blade that cut into his palm, and winced, the new pain distracting him from the old and driving away the weakness that had made him surrender to Yukimura's caresses.
His blood made the metal slippery, and it was hard to get his hand around the handle of the knife, but he finally succeeded, and gasping for breath while Yukimura bit harder and deeper, he lifted the blade and stabbed the monster to its side. Yukimura screamed in anguish and lifted his mouth from Atobe's neck and fell back. Pain radiating from his neck and chest Atobe crawled away, grasped at the canvas covering the altar, pulling it down on him, and heard something fall and clatter against the floor with a metallic cling.
Turning around Atobe got on his knees, grabbed hold of the altar and pulled himself on top of it, his chest and right cheek resting on it, his feet still dragging on the ground. The pain forced him to close his eyes. A laugh he heard made him open them.
Yukimura was standing beside the altar, head thrown back, laughing manically, hands holding the hilt of the blade sticking out from his side. It was coloured red with blood that could have been from either of them, Atobe or Yukimura, or from both.
"I had wanted to make this pleasurable for you, but if you insist on fighting me at every turn, you leave me no choice," Yukimura said when his laughter had died out, and eyes locked on to Atobe's, he pulled out the knife, with no sign of the pain he must feel, and brought the blade between their locked gazes. Still keeping his eyes on Atobe who was desperately gasping for air, Yukimura lowered the blade before his smiling mouth and with a pleasure filled hum that rouse from his throat, touched his tongue against the blade.
Atobe shivered before the gaze, and stood up, leaning on the altar for support. He brought his hand up to his neck and winced when his fingers touched the wound there. "Pleasure, from this?" he hissed from between his teeth. "How could you expect me to feel anything but disgust?"
Yukimura's eyes narrowed and his fingers clenched around the hilt of the knife. "You make me so angry," Yukimura spoke softly, as if he was facing a disobedient child. "For that, I am tempted to let you die in the pleasure you claim to not have felt. Do not forget, I felt your body grow warm beneath me, heard you groan."
Atobe laughed, desperately clinging on to his arrogance because he had nothing else left. "Then kill me," he taunted the monster. "I am of no use to you. Why would you want someone who has no respect for you? Kill me!" he screamed.
"No!" Yukimura yelled and growled, flashing his fangs, coloured red from Atobe's blood. "You will have the blood, and when you do, you will understand and see the truth for yourself." Yukimura jumped on top of the altar, reached out and grabbed Atobe's hair in his fist and pulled their faces together. Atobe growled and tried to pry Yukimura's fingers off, but sharp pain in his chest stopped him, and he coughed up blood, could no longer breathe as his lungs were filled with something other than air; cold steel and blood. With eyes that started to loose their light he stared at Yukimura and managed to smile. He had won. He would die, and would never be the monster Yukimura wanted to make of him.
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Carefully Yukimura placed Atobe on the altar, arranged the arms over the chest, the feet lie next to each other, and brushed the hair from the face and caressed the cheek that was slowly turning cold and pale, life fleeting from the body.
Atobe's chest still rouse, and his heart still had a beat, but it became weaker with every passing moment.
"How much longer?" Sanada asked when he came to stand beside Yukimura, eyes on the young man that would soon die.
"Not long," Yukimura smiled and placed a hand over Atobe's heart. "He fought to the very last moment. And did you see his smile, Genichirou, when he thought he had provoked me to kill him?"
"Yes," Sanada answered, hoping Yukimura had seen what he had in that smile. The unbending will that would never bow to Yukimura, a soul that would never love him.
Yukimura's hand moved lovingly along Atobe's chest, tracing the cut he had made, curled around the knife sill lodged in the chest, pulled it out and threw it away. It landed on the floor with a clatter that echoed through the church, followed by the sound of thunder.
"None of you ever fought my will like he did, never questioned me." Not taking his eyes from the already pale face of the young man, Yukimura lifted his wrist to his mouth and with his teeth tore open the vein, and the thick blood spilled from the wound, its scent travelling to Sanada, making him hunger for its sweet taste and the euphoria he knew it would give to the one Yukimura chose to share it with. "It will be all the more wonderful when he will finally break and bend to my will."
"Yukimura, I…" Sanada stopped, knowing his warning words would not be heard and they would only anger Yukimura and make him more determined. "Do you wish to have my blood? He did wound you."
"Only a slight scrape that has nearly healed already," Yukimura answered, not taking his eyes off Atobe. He placed two fingers on the neck, searching for a heartbeat. "It is time. Make sure we are not disturbed."
Thunder struck outside, and Sanada knew none would bother them. No one but someone like Atobe running from something would venture out on a night like this. Yet he still bowed his head and moved across the church to stand by the doors. He could follow the events from there just as well as he could if he stood over them both.
He watched as Yukimura brought his opened wrist against his own lips, drank his own blood, and then leaned down to Atobe's head, pressed their mouths together and pried open the unresisting lips with his tongue. Blood spilled down the white chin and neck, pooled on the wooden surface of the altar, and Yukimura gave a sound of displeasure. He leaned down, licked the lope of the ear and commanded, "Drink," his fingers gently stroking the throat. Yukimura took more of his blood into his mouth and kissed the lips again, and when Atobe swallowed, Sanada saw it, saw the lips move under Yukimura's lips.
Yukimura sat up, smiling delightedly and pressed his still bleeding wrist against Atobe's mouth and smeared the lips with blood, and waited for a tongue to lick them clean. When it did, Yukimura lifted his wrist, but a hand took hold of it and Atobe's eyes opened, and stormy blue fire flashed in them. Snarling, blood smeared fangs showing Atobe pulled the wrist back against his mouth and bit down while Yukimura arched his back and gasped and moaned and hissed as the hunger of the new vampire overwhelmed him.
Atobe arose and Yukimura fell to his back, tangling his fingers in the long hair that fell before Atobe's face as he released the wrist and attacked Yukimura's neck with an angry growl, his arms and legs, whole body imprisoning Yukimura beneath him.
Sanada took a step towards them, but stopped, remembering his master's words. Yukimura would not be pleased if he interfered.
But it went on for too long, and Yukimura's embrace only grew tighter until it turned to an embrace Sanada recognized, knew to be the kind their victims gave before drawing their last breath and giving their lives to those that so hungered for them.
With speed that would have made mortals wonder if he had moved at all, Sanada rushed to the altar, took hold of the back of Atobe's neck and pulled him off Yukimura. "Enough!" he yelled and turned the man to face him.
Face to face with him, Sanada stilled and the angry words he had meant to shout at Atobe disappeared from his mind. He had never wondered what frozen flames looked like, but he knew now as he gazed into Atobe's eyes. Like smoke and fire, but with the paleness of winter, of ice and snow and the grey sky from which they fell.
"Sanada," Atobe spoke his name, and Sanada's gaze was drawn to his lips, followed the red tongue that slid over the white teeth and touched the sharp fangs tentatively. "You smell of earth, of grass and dirt. Of iron and wood. Let me kiss you." It was a command, not a request, and Sanada did not bother to nod his acceptance, knowing there was no need. He watched, mesmerized, as those red lips spread to a thin smile. Gentle fingers rouse to his shoulders, a hand curled around his neck and pulled his head down, and soon warm lips were pressed against his neck, and with no warning teeth pierced his skin and a warm breath ghosted against his skin, and his blood surged to the eager and hungry mouth.
Pleasure of being wanted, hungered, filled Sanada and he groaned aloud, letting his eyelids fall down so the evading light of the candles could not disturb him, so he could concentrate only on the warmth of Atobe's body, on the teeth that scraped against his skin, tearing at it, on the tongue that swiped against his cold and hardened skin, on the feel of the still tender flesh under his hands that had retained the softness of mortality.
Atobe's hunger filled him, the pleasure Atobe gained from his blood filled his mind, filled him with lust, hunger and pleasure, and he yearned for the warmth he felt pulsing under the skin beneath his hands, wanted to tear into that flesh, to have it fill him the way he felt his blood and strength fill the body of the being that he embraced.
"Sanada!" Yukimura's voice yelled from somewhere far, but Sanada ignored the urgency in it, and pulled Atobe tighter against him, pressed the head harder against his neck and together they fell to their knees, limbs entwined, minds mingled with shared pleasure that Sanada gained form giving, Atobe from taking.
"Sanada!" The voice held a tinge of panic now, and Sanada forced his eyes to open. Yukimura's face was mere inches away from his, his eyes wide open and in them Sanada saw worry, fear and… jealousy.
Grunting, his eyes fixed on Yukimura's, Sanada placed his palm flat against the back of Atobe's neck and sent a silent plead for Atobe to stop. Almost instantly Atobe pulled away his fangs, but Sanada felt a devious smirk against his neck, and knew Yukimura did not see it. It sent a shiver of excitement coursing through Sanada, that secretive smirk. It felt like a promise, that they would share this secret and more in the future.