Author's Note:
Well, I'm officially tired. I've had four straight days of headaches/migraines and all I really want to do is sleep…but there's that pile of homework glaring at me in the corner. It keeps grumbling about wanting to be finished…and that sounded crazy. I think I overdosed on painkillers again or it could be my 'script for my migraines making me high…I'm going to go lay down. TheHenna will wake me when it's time for cooking dinner…yes, TheHenna will wake me…
*Has finished all five seasons of Weeds (GO SHANE!(if you have seen the final scene from the finale of season five you will know why I said that)) and have moved onto Jeeves & Wooster* I'm slowly recuperating, I can now force the occasional interesting insight out and it actually sounds good but things probably won't truly pick up until after Spring Break; but don't worry, we have a few more chapters to go before our backlog runs dry. *Looks up at co-authoress' pathetic form; gets green tea and chocolate* Now to nurse this poor schmuck back to life…
Chapter 20
Waking up is becoming something of a painful experience, mused Yassen as all the aches in his body had began clamoring for his attention the moment he woke up. His chest stung, his spine felt as if it had been twisted out of place, and there was a weight on his left shoulder that was numbing his arm and he knew as soon as it moved it was going to hurt like a bitch. Might as well see what it was then. Turning his head revealed a mop of gold hair and his mate's face relaxed in a peaceful sleep; craning his neck he saw Eveleen curled into Alex's back, also fast asleep. Well that explained a lot; he had become his mate's pillow. Yassen sighed slightly and twisted to ease the discomfort in his back without dislodging his lover. It helped, but not by much.
It had managed, however, to nudge the young blonde into waking. He scrunched his eyes before gently shifting onto his elbow. The Russian feigned slumber to watch how the Brit acted; he was pleasantly surprised to feel his mate kiss his cheek before whispering, "Wake up soon."
Yassen's lip twitched slightly as he opened his eyes, "Morning," he muttered, voice rough from disuse.
"Yassen?" Alex's voice was tinged with a hopeful awe. Just as the assassin was about to respond he was all but pounced on by his over-eager mate. Already grunting in pain, he didn't expect a second weight to land on him when the six-year-old joined her 'mother'; apparently her fear of him wasn't great enough to overcome her joy at seeing her rescuer alive.
The Russian flailed his one working arm slightly before pressing at Alex's shoulder, "Can't... breathe," he wheezed as the combined weight of the pair pressed down against him.
"Sorry, love," he beamed sweetly, "we've just been so worried. I was scared that whatever I'd done would somehow wear off and I'd lose you." Tears gathered in the corners of his eyes, "Don't you ever, ever do that again." The droplets made trails down his cheeks and he brought his hands up to wipe them away, "I can't lose you, Yassen. Watching you die once was torture; I can't go through that again. Please don't ever do something like that again; promise that if and when we fight you won't run away – we'll talk it out after we calm down but don't...just don't scare me like that again." He hiccupped and knew he was starting to sound childish but he couldn't help it; Yassen was...Yassen was his mate regardless of any disagreement.
The assassin reached up and cupped his lover's cheek gently, "Shh, Alex, I'm sorry for the way I acted and I swear I won't leave you again, shhh." He drew Alex down so that the teen was once more resting atop his body; head nestled comfortably in the curve of the Russian's neck. His left arm was finally beginning to regain feeling and he dragged it up to card his fingers through the soft golden hair, waiting for his mate to calm down. Silently, Yassen glanced to his left where Evee had settled after following her 'mother's example and getting off of the older man, with a small sigh the pale haired man lifted his arm in offering to her, waiting patiently for her to accept the invitation. She gave him a thousand watt smile before cuddling into his side; he would always scare her but he still saved her and that mattered more. The teen gazed down at the picture his family – his family! – made and a gentle, maternal expression softened his features; he caught the assassin's stare and smiled sweetly before mouthing a 'thank you'.
Unknown to the trio they were being observed from the doorway; Peng and Iraya watched as the trio slipped slowly back to sleep. "Told you it would work," the vampiress hissed at the dragon. She held out her hand; the Asian reached into his pocket to pull out a handful of his own colorful scales only to drop them in his hand. "A pleasure doing business with you, handsome."
"Yeah, yeah, yeah, keep talking like that and I may just take my scales back. Or shave your head while you sleep," the old man threatened.
"Hey, you lost the bet; vampire hair, however wonderful for permanent tracking spells, is no excuse to scalp me because you aren't nearly as good a judge of people as you used to be." She grinned, a fang peaking out, before continuing, "Your scales will do wonders for the potions used to make permanent tracking amulets."
Peng grumbled unhappily, "You will of course be giving me one of them."
"Why do you want one? I'm giving one to Alexander, Yassen, Yessenia, Wolf – whenever he returns – and Eveleen. If it's one of them you're worrying about: Don't."
"If you're giving one to my grandson could you do me the favor of sewing it inside so he cannot remove it?"
She giggled femininely, "I was planning to make his a tattoo on his buttocks."
Peng snorted at the image that produced, "Good luck holding him down!"
"Is that a challenge? Perhaps a dragon on his shoulders would be better – a blue Chinese Lóng."
"I still say good luck at holding him down, but, ah, if you do manage it, try it in white with gold. That way we can link it to Alex and Eveleen at the same time."
The Old One tilted her head to the side, "That has merit; shall we make a new bet? A hundred scales against a hundred hairs for me branding your grandson?"
"Whomever manages to get it done wins?"
"No, the bet is whether or not I can get a tattoo with an imbedded tracking spell on him."
"And if you fail? How are we going to get it on him then?" Peng crossed his arms and raised an eyebrow at the woman.
"If I fail, you win the bet and get my hair to make a permanent tracking spell of your own. Then it's up to you to get him to wear it."
"Deal." The dragon held out his hand and the vampiress accepted. The bet was on!
Only a few hours later had the previously happy High Lady using curses that would make even the most veteran Red Light District prostitute blush. She was pacing enough to wear a hole in the floor – literally, the wood overlying the stone floor was worn through – and the air about her was crackling with wild dark magic. Normally, Dr. Li Peng would have made his old friend sit and tell him what was causing her rage but he already knew what had happened and was too busy enjoying the show.
It was only when Alex, passing through to the library for a book to read – his insomnia had hit mid-sleep and he had no desire to wake his mate with his problems – was nearly struck by a wayward bolt of black lightning that the elderly dragon put a stop to her ranting. "Ira, sit before you manage to hurt some." Snarling, she slumped gracefully onto a loveseat and kicked her feet over the side to lie length-wise upon the cushions.
"Could one of you please explain what's going on?" the teen asked warily; he would rather not incur his teacher's wrath if possible.
"Iraya may be THE High Lady but she still has to report to the Vampire Council every so often. She also has to justify why she does things – much like any ruler in a semi-democratic government. She has neglected to explain why she is here and the Council has sent a letter of summons," the Asian explained.
"I'm to appear before them tomorrow to elucidate exactly why I must continue to be absent from court. That means I have to appoint a proxy and tell them that I have student and then deal with the political minefield that that bombshell will create. I swear! There weren't nearly as many vipers amongst the birds when I built the bloody thing!" She turned to face her Apprentice fully, "I'll be back in a few days so I expect you not to have slacked in the interim. Don't be surprised if you see an increase of correspondence between me and my proxy upon my return." And she left in a haze of shadow-like mist.
A week later had Yassen able to move short distances and irritated at being treated like an invalid. The only special treatment he enjoyed was his angel lavishing him with affection and little Evee sneaking him the tastier foods his grandfather had forbidden him from eating.
It was during one of his short excursions that Iraya approached him with a mischievous glint in her eye. "Greetings, hatchling, how goes your recovery?"
Yassen's hackles rose, she was up to something. "Fine," he stated cautiously, edging away from her slightly.
"I need you to help me with something; it won't take long and it's just a little thing."
The assassin's eyes narrowed; definitely up to something, he decided. "I apologize, Iraya, but I cannot assist you today."
"Oh?" she queried, her grin widening. "That's too bad; Alexander and Yessenia had assured me you wanted to do something than laze about in forced bed rest. I guess I'll just have to tell Li that you aren't healing as well as he hoped and need several weeks added." She shrugged coyly, turning to walk out the room but stopped at the doorway to say one more thing, "And here I was going to tell dear Li that you were much better and could be let off a week or so early – but, since you're obviously too tired..."
Damned manipulative WENCH! "Hold up," the Russian called out, "what was it you needed help with?" I'm going to regret this.
Hook, line, and sinker, she thought merrily. "All you have to do is lie down and not scream."
Yassen stared at her, "You're joking, right?"
"No. Look, I could easily manipulate you into doing what I want – you're not nearly as clever as you think you are – but I think you value bluntness more than a good trick. So, here's the situation: You have no piercings and you don't wear jewelry. The only way I'm getting a permanent tracking spell on you to avoid incidents like the most recent fiasco is a tattoo. Now, I've a few you can pick from but, one way or another, you're getting a tattoo with a permanent tracking spell imbedded in it."
A deep frown crossed Yassen's face, "Forget it."
The vampiress' posture shifted, "Is that your final answer?"
The assassin backed away from the female carefully, he had no intention of letting her near him with a needle, no way no how. He knew he would regret his actions later but right now he didn't really care about anything other than keeping as much distance between him and her as was possible. With a sudden burst of movement – and pain – Yassen turned on his heel and leaped for the stairs. Only to ungracefully trip and be dragged back into the room by his ankle. He struggled but that desperate attempt at escape had cost him. Damn it all to hell...
With a final burst of strength the Russian dragged in a deep breath... and yelled, "ALEX!"
The blonde rushed into the room half-panicked. He paused before glaring menacingly at the High Lady, "Leave now and I won't kill you."
"Little Alex," Iraya started charmingly even as she tried to tug the reluctant assassin's fingers free of the doorjamb, "I'm merely trying to bestow upon your mate a tracking spell but as you can see. He's. Being. Difficult!"
"Put. Him. Down. Now." She could see the saber he'd hidden behind his back now and gulped; she'd never tested her immortality against a beheading.
"Very well." She cast a withering glare at the man on the floor before sweeping gracefully out of the room.
Yassen pulled himself into a sitting position and held out an arm for Alex. "Thank you," he muttered.
"Don't thank me; you're getting the tattoo."
The Russian dropped his arm and gave his mate a baleful look. "I would really rather just get a piercing."
"You'd remove it if you wanted to hide; no matter how desperate to you are you won't remove a large chunk of skin just to keep Dr. Peng from finding you. You're getting the tattoo; lie down on the couch and don't scream."
The older man groaned unhappily, he did NOT want the tattoo, but his mate wasn't giving him a choice in the matter and he could see that. Slowly the assassin pulled himself carefully to his feet, mindful of his earlier escape attempt, and shuffled over the couch, stripping off his shirt.
The Brit carefully set the bottles of ink, the needle, and the antiseptic on the table next to the couch. "Look through these and choose the one you want." He handed the Russian a sketch pad with a half dozen different dragon designs; Yassen gracefully slumped and flipped through the drawings.
He continued to scan each image wearily; they were all interesting but he didn't like any of them enough to warrant imprinting it on his skin. When he reached the last page he paused, the main area of the paper was covered in a complex, four-toed Chinese Lóng with different colored orbs clutched in its claws but up in the right hand corner of the page was a small, rough sketch of what appeared to be a half-breed mix of an Asian and European dragon curled carefully around a single silver egg. "This one," the Russian said firmly, tapping the small image.
Alex craned his neck to see what his mate was pointing to. "You sure?"
"If I absolutely have to have the damn thing done, then yes."
The ex-spy tore out the page and began to sketch a larger version of the half-breed; he changed the coloring slightly to white with blue edging and a gold instead of silver egg. "Does this still work?" The other nodded before rolling onto his stomach, presenting his mate with a clear view of his shoulder-blades. "Have at," he muttered unhappily.
It only took three hours; three hours in which Yassen cursed every god he could think of and berated himself for his inability to refuse Alexander Rider. It wasn't that getting the tattoo was overly painful, he'd suffered worse during his training with SCORPIA; it was the principle of the act. Of being marked permanently. It went against every lesson he'd been taught not only by the trainers on Malogosto but also by John Rider. But there was no turning back now; as the low buzz of the needle stopped Yassen spoke, "Finished?" His mate ran soothing hands down his lower back as if knowing the assassin's troubling thoughts.
"I'm done; you shouldn't be so tense about this. You've been marked before," he murmured, tracing scars old and new.
"Scars fade over time. This won't."
"Some scars don't," was the quiet response.
Yassen remained quiet for a few moments as Alex continued to explore the lattice work of scars that covered his back, lulling him into a slight doze. When the blonde's fingers paused over his lower spine the assassin glanced over his shoulder at his mate. "Where did you get this one?" The youth rubbed along a long, thin, white line that stretched across the width of the Russian's back.
Yassen stilled at his love's touch, "Torture training," he stated simply.
"You're lying to me."
"No, it's the truth. The last thing SCORPIA teaches its students is how to resist giving information under torture. Back then they believed demonstration to be the best way for us to learn."
"That part is true but this scar isn't from torture training. Don't lie to me, Yassen."
The Russian sighed at his mate's perceptiveness. "There was an instructor at the time that...disliked me. He decided it would be interesting to see how many strokes from a saw it took to sever my spine."
"Half-truths again; tell me everything."
Yassen rolled onto his side and looked silently at Alex. The teen's attention was completely focused on him; there was no way he could avoid it. "The instructor disliked me, as I said, because of my age. I was a nineteen year old going through a class with men and women twice my age who had taken twice as long to finish the same training I went through – including him. He thought I was mocking him with every breath I took because I was already considered to be the top of my...well, I suppose you would call the teams we were in classes, but moving on. He took offense and when the last lessons were assigned he requested me. The rest is as I said."
"There's more to it than that. This scar isn't the only mark he left on you, is it?" The youth's eyes were distant; as if they were gazing through the Russian and into someplace in the distant past.
"There aren't any other scars from him." He knew that wasn't what his angel meant but there were some things he didn't ever want to talk about and that even his grandfather had never managed to wrangle out of him.
"That wasn't what I meant. This scar is like this one," he traced one on the assassin's right shoulder, "and this one," left hip, "and this one," lower stomach, "and this one here," right pectoral.
Yassen remained silent at Alex's question. He had absolutely no intention of speaking of those scars ever again.
The teen leaned down so he lay on the Russian's shoulder and his hand above Yassen's heart. He shifted so he could look dragon in the eye, "You know all that has happened to me and you know from experience that talking helps. You won't tell Dr. Peng so tell me."
The Russian shook his head, "No, Sashka, I received these marks over twenty years ago and I have dealt with them in my own way. I refuse to dwell on them any longer. It would be a waste of time." The only response from the Sorcerer was an incredulous look as if he were saying 'really?' only with more sarcasm. The assassin gazed blankly back at him, waiting to see what he would do.
Alex's eyes shuttered half-closed as a glow started to emit from them; he pressed his forward head against the killer, "Please."
Yassen shifted and wrapped an arm around Alex's waist before leaning forward and placing a gentle kiss in the middle of his forehead. "No," he said simply as he rose from the couch. The Brit lowered his head and rubbed at his eyes; he already knew what had happened to his mate he just wanted Yassen to trust him enough to tell him.
Yassen glanced over his shoulder, "Are you going to join me?" There was nothing suggestive in his voice but it still sent shivers down the teen's spine. The youth followed, a heat he hadn't felt in over a year simmering in his belly; he'd not told Dr. Peng or his teacher about his...urges. He could ignore them in the beginning but they were getting stronger with each passing day and even though he was scared...he was getting desperate for his mate to touch him in a way that wasn't platonic.
Crawling into the large bed the assassin was careful to keep pressure off his newly adorned tattoo and he settled on his side, waiting for Alex to join him. He was tired, his recovery was taking longer than he wanted it to and he was growing aggravated at his weakness. It was especially infuriating when the blonde was emitting the most tantalizing aroma; all he wanted was to have his wicked way with the Brit but Alex had to make the first move...Once Alex settled, curled against his love's chest, he returned to tracing the old scars that covered the Russian's body, lulling the assassin into yet another doze.
He was startled out of his light nap by teardrops on shoulder.
"Sashka? What's wrong?" Yassen lifted his hand and rested it lightly against Alex's golden hair.
"It's nothing," he murmured, wiping at his eyes roughly. "Don't worry about it, Yassen; I'm just being stupid."
"Now look who's telling lies and half-truths." The Russian lifted himself onto his elbow and looked down at the ex-spy. "What is wrong, love?"
The gold-eyed male bit his lip viciously, "I'm...afraid."
The dragon frowned at that. What could he possibly be afraid of? "Of what?" he prompted softly. His mate couldn't meet his eyes and was blushing under the tears. "Alex?"
"I haven't felt anything in over a year and now..."
Yassen cocked his head in confusion. Feel? What in the world is he – OH! The assassin's eyes widened in surprise as he realized exactly what his mate meant. He cautiously reached out a hand to cup Alex's face, "Why does being aroused frighten you, Ангел мой?"
The teen pressed against the warm palm that caressed his skin before answering, "That... creature twisted my perceptions. Made me enjoy what it was doing to me. I just... don't want that to still be the case." He was so ashamed of that; of enjoying that thing raping him and learning to like the pain. He didn't want to be that whore but...
"Don't finish that thought, my own." Yassen murmured as he leaned down to place a loving but chaste kiss against Alex's lips.
"But–!" The assassin cut him off even as the tears made rivers down the teen's face.
"Shhhhh..." The blue-eyed man pulled his mate into his arms and placed gentle, feather-light kisses wherever he could reach, "It won't be like that with us, little Alex; you aren't what the monster made you believe." Slim fingers flexed and curled against the Russian's chest as the smaller body in his grasp began to shake with renewed sobs.
After several minutes, Alex finally calmed. "Thank you, Yassen. I don't know what I'd do without you," he spoke softly. Yassen smiled at his lover as he ran his fingers slowly through longish golden hair.
"Do you have any idea why I'm starting to feel these...urges again?" the youth asked, face buried in the assassin's firm chest to hide his embarrassment.
"You're probably still adjusting to your awakened blood, same as me, except," the assassin paused, choosing his next words very carefully, "your body hadn't finished growing even before that, so..." he trailed off at the indignant look Alex was giving him.
A knock on the door saved the Russian from whatever wrath he'd just incurred from his mate. "Grandson, are you–" The old dragon noticed the tattoo on the younger lóng's back and scrunched his face as if he'd swallowed a lemon.
Yassen blinked at his grandfather, silently wondering if everyone had gone insane. "What?"
"Iraya wasn't the one who gave him the tattoo; I was." He sent a glare at his mate before turning his full attention to the Asian, "Can you explain why I have..." He couldn't say it; it was too mortifying to ask why he'd been craving sex in increasing measure over the last few days.
The Russian looked back and forth between the other two before deciding he was probably better off not knowing. Peng however seemed to take the news with a certain, constrained joy. "Urges for sexual release?" Peng finished for the teen.
"Yes," he mumbled pathetically. "Why am I having them after a year and a half of feeling, well, nothing?"
Peng smiled comfortingly before sitting down on the edge of the bed behind his descendant's knees so that he could look them both in the face before he began his explanation, "It's called a heat, Alexander. Much like animals, submissive male Sorcerers go through a fertility cycle called a heat where, during that time, they are able to conceive a child. You went through one earlier in the year, Alexander; you threw yourself at Yassen during dinner, remember?" At the twin blank stares the old dragon received he figured that to be a 'no'... or they were too shocked by this information to respond. "I'm guessing no..."
"No, no, I remember but...That was my heat? I-I just thought that it was my depravity after...I just thought...I just thought it was my being a whore." Tears fell down his cheeks once more as he continued brokenly, "I couldn't think and pain was the only thing that made the urges stop..."
Alex was startled slightly when he felt strong, gentle fingers brush over his cheeks, clearing away his tears. He curled more fully against Yassen's body, seeking warmth and reassurance. Peng continued softly, "I know, child. That's why I tried to keep the two of you separate; at the time, I feared something... unfortunate would happen." The assassin continued to comfort his mate but a small smirk pulled at his lips; his angel was willing and waiting for him, all that he needed now was for his body to heal – hopefully before the Brit's fertility cycle ended. A cool hand pressing against his back startled the Russian from his thoughts and he turned to look at his grandfather curiously. "Child, perhaps you should consult with Alexander before continuing down that vein of thought," the Chinese man intoned firmly while leveling a pointed glare at the Russian.
Yassen frowned at the old dragon before conceding to his elder's wise advice, he didn't want to force anything upon his mate that he wouldn't be ready for. The assassin turned away from the elder in a firm dismissal only to wince in pain as Peng tapped his new tattoo. "He did a good job. Remember what I said Yassen Gregorovich," he reminded before standing and finally leaving the pair in peace.