Chapter Eight: She Who Thirsts

Boredom clawed at the mind like a caged lagoon rat, unable to be ignored and threatening to burst forth and commit fresh insanity upon the world. The artist had been delicious, worshipful, fresh... but was naïve and small, a nobody in the grand scheme. It had been too long since She had paired with someone of significance. Too long since drinking in a soul that had known the glory of domination.

Which presented problems.

As She looked around the VIP section of a club which served as the domain of a true queen, the only place of true power on the entire station, she saw many opportunities. As is to be expected where power, where dominion is located. It was why She had come to this place, to crowds and eyes to see her.

But all of those she would've loved to have taken, she could not bring herself to do it. The truly worthy were too important to touch. The Queen was not to be trifled with even on her own, and was inaccessible behind a wall of pawns. The Queen's hetairai had finely honed survival instincts, as did her loyal subordinates. And too many questions might be asked if they disappeared.

There were others in the Queen's orbit which were promising.

The so-called Patriarch, the monarch's predecessor. A being of great power, of great experience and emotion. But he was old. Dusty. Depressed. Reduced to a trophy.

The leaders of the merc corporations. Blood Pack, Blue Suns, Eclipse, CAT6.

A younger krogan with more fire, a ruthless batarian, an amusingly arrogant salarian, a mysterious human female. Any one of them would have been... satisfactory. A challenge to reach, a challenge to seduce, a challenge to dominate...

The dances had already begun. The Blue Suns leader was too paranoid, it became clear that it would've taken too long to gain anyone's trust, and the Eclipse had battle-matriarchs asari who might recognise who She was... and what She was.

So contact with some of the Blood Pack and CAT6 mercs was made instead. The vorcha were easily manipulated. The humans of CAT6 were fascinated by Her, and the feeling was mutual to some extent. They were a new race and rare in asari space... and the females looked so much like the asari that they were interesting enough even as morsels. This was one reason why the artist had held Her attention.

Just as she was growing closer to her prey, chaos breaks loose.

The frustration made her skin crawl. The mercenaries were fighting each other all over the station, hunting some humans that had done harm to the Shadow Broker. She had taken great pains to stay out of the radar of that particular being. Wandering the streets was not an option. Yet sitting around in VIP was not one either.

She shifted her weight in her seat every two minutes, unable to settle, unable to enjoy her drink or the narcotics that were brought to her. Her fingers tapped the table. Her eyes searched the room for any promise of delivery from the thirst.

It seemed like days has passed before She finally saw something unusual. Something magnificent.

A human female. Fire-red hair stretching down to the waist, spilling over expensive black armour and multiple weapons on maglocks. Rage boiling just below the surface.

The Human walked, no, stalked to the bar. A soldier, clearly. Not a merc. The swagger wasn't there.

Not finding discipline attractive, She felt a twinge of regret... which quickly turned to excitement. A krogan ran its mouth loudly at the woman, as many of the species thought they could do. The Human responded with a sharp look and a palm on the automatic shotgun hanging off her hip. The krogan blinked, distracted just long enough to get a fist to the soft spot just beside the eye.

The krogan rolled to the floor, caught off-balance, while the Human downed her drink and ordered another, no longer paying any overt attention. The krogan left at once. Glorious.

But the Human wasn't finished. After another drink, her eyes were drawn to the stage above the dancefloor. Her legs carried her slowly, glass in hand, circling and then moving towards the dancers platform, stopping halfway to it.

She could not help but get out of her seat, to get closer to this being. The need was growing in her belly and head. She saw the Human's eyes, bright green, stare up at the moving forms. Asari forms. Enraptured. Yet distant, like the thoughts weren't about the dancers but about something not present. Memories?

The reverie was interrupted by a barely dressed maiden moving close by, chased by a loud turian. The former just managed to get grabbed by the latter, holding her in place as he swayed slightly.

"Don't be like that, I got creds!" the turian exclaimed drunkenly, "We'll go back to my place, I got simple tastes."

"Back off asshole!," the asari replied, shoving the turian away but not moving him very far, "I'm a dancer, not a hooker!"

"You've got a mouth on you!" the turian laughed, leaning towards the maiden, "I'll enjoy watching you use it."

She felt contempt rise in her throat for this scene. How dare he interrupt the moment. The curious wonder of the Human, destroyed by a drunken pervert.

The Human was no more impressed, however, and the look of cold fury that was sent at the turian was exquisite.

"The lady asked you to step away," the Human said, her voice all menace.

Yes! This was what She wanted! Craved! Needed! The shivers ran up the spine.

And it only got better when the turian slurred something and moved towards the Human. The reaction was instantaneous and violent. A kick to the knee, a punch to the lowered head, a body throw landing the turian against the adjoining wall, knocking him out cold.

This was no surgical attack. It had flare. The Human's eyes had lit up the moment the turian moved to attack, savouring the moment to come. The drunk could've been put down with a single movement, but that had not been enough. This was not just a mark, this was a kindred spirit. One that had to be joined.

The dancer thanked the Human, who gave a small nod and a cocky smile.

She walked up, to make her introduction. There was no need for bravado here. The approach would be enough declaration of her intent, or at least, what a normal asari's intent would have been.

But as She got a better look at the Human's face, recognition clicked in her mind.

This wasn't some human on leave. This was a dead hero brought back from the grave. The first human Spectre. The person who had taken down Saren Arterius. If it hadn't been for the hair and the facial scars, which were far more visible up close, any person in the room who paid attention to galactic affairs would've recognised the Human.

She paused and controlled her face from displaying her thoughts, briefly considering whether this was a trap or whether it was too dangerous. If it was an ambush, it was already too late. She was standing right beside the Human, looking right at her. But the latter possibility began to excite her more than She had been in centuries. Perhaps more than ever before.

"Can I help you?" said Commander Jane Shepard, green eyes unwavering.

"My name is Morinth," She said, finally, "I've been watching you. You're the most interesting person in this place."

Shepard cocked an eyebrow, but didn't say anything.

"I've got a booth over here in the shadows," Morinth continued, indicating where the booth was with a movement of her head, "Why don't you come sit with me?"

The Commander stared for a moment, looked around the club for another, before smiling. Wickedly.

"Lucky me," Shepard replied, "Turns out I have a night and a morning to burn."

Morinth's heart beat hard in her chest. The prey was in her sights. Now the real chase could begin.

"We'll burn them to ashes," Morinth said, taking Shepard's hand gently, "I promise."