Katherin closed the door of her house and walked into the living room. Somewhere behind her, Darrik was putting the bags of clothing, jewelry, and other personal effects belonging to the late Vivianne that she had collected from the vampire's 'haven' – a hotel room across town.
Carmen, Aurelia, and a couple others had been at the hotel when Katherin had arrived at the command of Prince Draal to ensure the evidence of Vivianne's presence had been removed. When she joined the group gathered in a back office, they had assured her the matter had been taken care of and nothing remained. She'd gone to double-check, and found all of the woman's clothes, personal effects, and worst of all, a 'black book' of all her customers. The woman had fed on those who requested her as an 'escort'.
They called that cleaning up? Katherin thought on that fact, and the blood in the bathtub that she'd washed away, as she gathered to herself a pen and paper. These were the vampires, Brujah and Tremere and she thought even a Ventrue. Decades of existence, maybe even centuries, and they couldn't think to look in a closet or dressers for evidence?! What a mess these supposedly enlightened Kindred could have left behind. She put on her headphones ad blared music into her ears. She may have just prevented a Breach of the Masquerade tonight. Add in the fact that she hadn't slept in a few days (again) and she was quite prepared to give a very scathing report to the Prince.
She didn't hear Darrik approach. He watched her for a minute, intent on finding the proper wording and mumbling to herself in Sindarin, as she sometimes did. Not until he was directly behind her did she see his shadow fall over the paper, and she jerked forward at the rising of the hairs on the back of her neck. But not quickly enough to avoid Darrik's hands grabbing her, and holding her firmly in place.
'DARRIK!' she yelled, not understanding. He darted his head towards her neck, and Katherin concentrated her will to try and shake him off.
'Darrik … what are you … ?!?' Her voice trailed off as Darrik's fangs poked through her skin, a brief moment of pain that was replaced by an almost paralyzing wash of pleasure. Katherin succumbed to the Kiss, and leaned back in the chair.
Her mind screamed at her, knowing what Darrik intended with her, but she couldn't fight it. She felt herself slowly drifting away, her eyes no longer able to stay open. Her almost-whispered protests were drowned as she lost consciousness.
* * * * *
Food.
Katherin opened her eyes, and stared at the ceiling.
Food.
The question forming in Katherin's mind died, and the Beast stood to sniff the air. Following the scent, Katherin didn't question why the back door was open.
* * * * *
Katherin wondered why her knees felt wet. She looked down and saw she was kneeling on grass – but it was wet. And shiny. Curious, she sniffed it. Blood?
She licked her lips nervously, and tasted more on her tongue.
Oh, god.
She ran. In the back of her mind, she realized she wasn't getting winded.
He Embraced me.
Of all the things Darrik could have done, she'd expressly told him she didn't want this. If it came down to Embracing her or letting her die, he should let her die.
She walked through the back door of her house, and closed the door. It smelled vaguely of Darrik, and Kath mused that he'd left it open so he could get out fast in case she woke up right away.
She spent a good half-hour in the shower, cleaning herself off and then washed out her jeans. The knees were soaked in blood. She hoped the dog laying in that field had been a stray.
She carefully dressed herself, trying to ignore the hunger that threatened to overtake her again. She knew the dog hadn't given her much, and by the looks of her shirt (now in the trash) it had fought back and she'd healed herself.
She looked to the paper, still sitting on the coffeetable, about two lines of her report written. She thought for a moment of sending it, then dismissed it with a shake of her head. She picked up the phone, and dialed a local number. She waited for the tone to sound, and drew a ragged breath.
'Uh … Draal?' Please don't kill me.