Title: Rising Sun
Authors: Tao & Bai Mei
Warnings in General: Violence, Blood, Bad Language, Homosexual Activity, Foreign Languages, bad writers
Warnings this chapter: Cursing and kissing
Disclaimer: We do not own any of these characters. They belong to the wonderful Laurel K. Hamilton-sama. We insult her with our attempt to write Anita. *grovel* And the first chapter is practically LKH's original writing, altered and adjusted to fit the fic, which we are using to correctly introduce the characters and set the mood. We are not claiming it as our own skill!
Dedication: Thank you to Nin for translating, and Philly Maple for the smartass ^_^
Chapter 1.
Japan, land of the rising sun, yadda, yadda, yadda, insert samurai music here. I'd awoken from dreams of being wrapped in silken sheets the color of rich red blood. The feel of soft black hair in my fingers and intense midnight blue eyes. It was the sound of a crash that had pulled my from the sultry dreams, hearing my name whispered with a faint French accent.
Damn you, Jean Claude, stop invading my dreams with such visions. Even now, my control slipped from time to time, and he got through.
We were still flying high over the Pacific, headed to Japan for a vacation, and God, how I hated flying. I have no idea how I even fell asleep. I looked back over my shoulder and spotted Jason had knocked over a tray of glasses. I watched one roll by my feet. I would have picked it up if I hadn't immediately gripped the arms of the chair the moment I woke up. I hate flying. I hate flying.
It had come from a time the plane I was on had suddenly plunged several hundred feet in a few seconds. The stewardess had ended up on the ceiling, plastered in coffee, and the old woman next to me had broken down and started praying in German. The plane had adjusted right after, but I haven't trusted planes since. I sat in my comfy, fully swivel, fully reclinable chair very upright, fingernails dug into the cushioned arms. The plane was one of Jean Claude's private ones, and so small I felt that Godzilla would be able to bat it right out of the air if he was lurking when we got there. Jason hopped down next to me on the floor, pouncing on the escaping glass like an owl grabbing a mouse.
Jason was my height exactly, meaning he was only five foot three. You don't often find a grown man that short. Straight, blond hair barely touched the top of his collar, and his eyes were the innocent blue of spring skies. The first time I had met him, he'd tried to eat me. Werewolves do that sometimes, so I didn't hold it against him. He was dressed in an oversized, black sweater that stopped almost at mid-thigh. He'd rolled the sleeves up over his wrists to adjust for the size. I wondered who he'd borrowed it from. His pants were leather, laced on the sides from his waistline to mid-calf, where the laces vanished into large, black boots. The lacings on his pants were loose enough to show a pale line of flesh all the way down.
He smiled up at me. "Sorry."
I frowned at him, and he blinked, standing up. "Are you afraid of flying?"
I gripped the chair arms tighter, my knuckles going white.
"I can smell it, you're scared." He chuckled. "Come on, Anita. What's to worry?"
"Leave me alone, Jason. It's a phobia. It has no logic. You can't talk me out of it so just go away."
"We're perfectly safe." He started jumping up and down on the floor of the plane. "See? Solid."
"Zane!" I yelled, closing my eyes to I couldn't watch. Zane appeared beside me as if by magic. He was about six feet tall, stretched long and thin. His hair was cotton white, nearly shaved on the sides and gelled into small, stiff spikes on top. Around his neck was a studded dog collar. He wore black vinyl pants, like a slick second skin, and a matching vest with no shirt. Shiny, black boots completed the outfit.
"You rang?" he asked in a voice that was incredibly deep. If a shapeshifter spends too much time in animal form, some of the physical changes can be permanent. Zane's gravelly voice and the dainty upper and lower fangs in his human mouth said he had spent just a little too much time as a leopard.
"Get Jason away from me, please," I said through gritted teeth. Zane looked down at the smaller man and Jason looked back, standing his ground. Zane moved those last two steps to close the distance between them. They stood there, pressed chest-to-chest, eyes locked in a struggle for dominance, each trying to stare each other down.
Shit. I hadn't meant to start a fight. Zane lowered his face toward the shorter man, a low growl trickling out of closed lips.
"Zane," I warned, and he changed tactics, planting a big, wet kiss on Jason's mouth. Jason jerked back, laughing.
"You bisexual son of a bitch."
"Now if that isn't the pot calling the kettle black," Zane snorted. Jason grinned and wandered off, though there wasn't much room to wander anywhere. Zane dropped into the seat next to me, the shiny, black vest gaping over his thin chest, giving a glimpse of a silver nipple ring. He patted my knee, and I let him. He was always touching people. A lot of shape shifters were touchy-feely, but Zane had turned the casual touch into an art form. I had finally realized that he touched others as a sort of security blanket. He got really tense if he was in a social situation where he had to stand alone, so I let him touch me when I'd have bitched at anyone else. He tried to play the dominant predator, but he wasn't.
We all knew it since the time Zane had single-handedly tried to defend the other wereleopards as if he were a dominant with that much power. After I'd killed their previous leader, Gabriel. Because he'd tried to rape me. I hadn't realized it at the time, but it had left them without a dominant to protect them from the other werecreatures. That had been the first time I met Zane. We had both learned then and there that he didn't have what it took. He'd tried to stand up to me by himself, and he'd lost. It was admirable now that I looked back. I was their leader now. It was my duty to them. If you kill the mother, you look after the babies. Not that it was a burden. Now that I'd gotten to know them, I would have extended them my protection anyway.
"We'll be on the ground soon," he said reassuringly and his hand left my knee. He understood the rules. He could touch me when he was nervous, but I wasn't his lover. I took a moment to locate the other two in my entourage, looking back over my shoulder to avoid seeing the windows.
Cherry was lounging in a chair behind me, a long pale arm resting on the chair arm as she watched out the window. She was tall and slender, with straight hair so blonde it didn't look real that stopped under her ears. She'd gone for the goth look, with black lipstick, gray eye shadow and her eyeliner reminded me of Egyptian exhibits. Her clothes matched, with black fishnet stockings, a vinyl miniskirt, black go-go boots, and a black lace bra under a fishnet shirt. She and Zane looked like they belonged together as the S&M couple from Mars. Tweedle-punk and Tweedle-slut. I would have chosen much most tasteful colors for her to wear. If she was this stunning like this, imagine how she'd look in makeup that matched her skin tone. And clothes that left a little more to the imagination. At least she had worn a bra. I happened to know she preferred to be topless.
Jason was staring at her from trying to reorganize the glasses at the small bar behind her. Trust Jean Claude to have a small private plane with a mini-bar. I was surprised there wasn't a fireplace with an animal skin in front of it somewhere. Maybe I just hadn't found that yet. I was too scared to leave my seat.
Jason's gaze didn't wander from her pale hair glowing in the light from the window. It wasn't that he really desired her, Cherry was female, and Jason hit on anything that was female. Just habit. He'd even tried hitting on me after he'd gotten over trying to eat me. But he learned to curb his tendencies concerning me under threat of Jean Claude and Richard. Either keep his hands off, or suffer the wrath of a master vampire and an alpha werewolf.
Jean Claude. Richard. I think they were the reasons I had wanted to take this vacation. I needed time away from them. I needed a little breathing space. After I had basically dumped them both, it was nearly impossible to avoid them in St Louis. My jogging buddy, Ronnie, told me I needed a vacation. After I cleared it with Burt, my boss. He'd been upset at first, but we didn't have much call for zombie raising in the Easter timeframe. People seemed to think we couldn't raise zombies on the holy holidays and such. Showed what they knew. All it requires is darkness.
Larry, the freckle-faced collage student and budding necromancer, declared he'd keep the vampires and nasties in check while I was gone. I told him to lock himself in his house till I came home. He was a young, enthusiastic kid. But enthusiasm without experience equaled one very dead, young vampire executioner. I still don't know why he insisted on being an executioner like I was. Being a necromancer was enough. Wasn't it? I guess it hadn't been for me. Larry was growing up to be me. Poor kid. I wouldn't wish that on my greatest enemies.
Having woken from Jason's yelling, Nathaniel stretched in his seat, reclining the seat back till his feet came up against the back of Cherry's seat. Cherry glanced back at him with a smile and he smiled back lazily. Nathaniel was the youngest of them, only nineteen and already caught up in the shape-shifting world. His dark auburn hair flowed down the front of his shoulder like dark liquor till it stopped in his lap. I knew it had only stopped there because he was sitting down. If he had been standing it would have hung to his knees. He was built short like me but with wide shoulders like a mini body builder. I kept thinking he was awaiting a growth spurt, where the rest of his body would fill out and catch up to his shoulders. He also wore leather pants that hugged his legs, making me wonder where they all shopped. Leather and whips R us? He wore a large, white pirate-like shirt that flowed with excess material around his waist and arms, lacing loose on his chest. Eyes the pale lavender of Easter grass blinked at me sleepily over a boyish grin.
I offered him a small smile and thought about the coffin in the bottom of the plane. Jean Claude couldn't come, but he had sent Asher. The Master of Tokyo hadn't been pleased about that either, but Jean Claude had insisted. Being polite as all Japanese folk were, the master had finally agreed. Although I knew he wasn't happy about it. Having another master vampire in your territory was always a threat. The last one had thought Asher was his replacement and lashed out viciously. Nathaniel had nearly died from a poisonous bite. I wonder how Asher felt about being treated like luggage during the daylight hours, but he had done it many times before so I figured it didn't bother him.
Once, Asher and Jean Claude had been in love with the same woman, and they had all stayed together. Until that woman had been burned at the stake for being a witch. The church had thought they could cleanse the demon out of Asher with holy water. It hadn't worked. And it had scarred him horribly. Asher blamed Jean Claude for not having saved the woman, Julianna. He had wanted my life in return. Now he accepted me. Because I had accepted his scars. His left side was beautiful. Eyes like pale, pale, blue ice and his hair was like spun gold. His face was like those you see on Greek statues. But his right side, the side he had come to cover with his long golden hair, it was scarred beyond help. Starting from his hairline all the way down to his hip, his skin was so much scar tissue, dribbling like water all down his body. He'd thought he could intimidate me with those scars. But I had scars myself. More than I cared to think about. I wore long sleeve shirts due to them. I hadn't been afraid. Asher was beautiful, even with the scars.
I shook my head, closing my eyes. I had to stop thinking about home, and the past. I was on vacation.
