2675
The underground tunnels are pitch black as I race through them, splashing a bit in the musty-smelling water dripping from the old pipes above, which are connected to the homes of only the poorest human beings. Although the two vampires behind me are not breathless due to lack of need for air, my slayer endurance gives me an edge, and they are barely keeping up with me. I have to force myself to move more slowly or else lose them in the labyrinth we're weaving through. Losing two more vampires would not be good.
I hear and smell the rustle of life ahead of me even if I can't make out any figures yet. Halting abruptly, I attempt to obtain a firmer sense of my target's exact location. Promptly, one of the two vampires following me crashes into me, sending me to the concrete to scrape my shins and forearms.
On my feet in an instant, I send my companions a warning growl and a golden glower. "Watch it." If not the noise, the smell of fresh blood from the cuts on my limbs may alert the target, and the possibility angers me. In fact, not much of what the vampires with whom I associate *doesn't* anger me.
The offending vampire appears appropriately abashed, "Sorry, Cyn."
I try to hide the involuntary cringe I always had at my unfortunate nickname. "It's okay. Just please stick close and keep quiet." I dislike taking the other vampires with me, preferring Spike as my companion. However, in the interest of our relationship with the other vampires, I routinely allow one or two to join me on a raid, leaving Spike behind.
They nod in the darkness. Resuming my trajectory, I meander through the tunnels toward the prey I am seeking. In a matter of minutes, I am on top of the stray vampire and tackle him into the concrete wall, sending his package flying. My eager companions pursue the carefully wrapped, rather large parcel while I palm my stake and stab the wood through the traveling vampire's heart.
Regrouping with the others and running my fingers through my hair, I peer at the package they carry between them. The mark of Joyger is stamped across the binding material, and I sigh with relief. Not one of ours. . . or rather, not one of Nabald's.
* * *
2675, a few hours later
Far above what is traditionally earth ground, in the shadow of windowless rooms, my two vampire companions and I enter the main arena of the nest. As we approach Nabald, Spike winks at me from the seat next to the leader of the Nab vampires. Other than his hair being darker than ebony, he does not look physically different than two hundred years ago. No longer wearing what he fondly calls his "traditional black," he has donned the cloak of scarlet synthetic leather that is representative of Nabald's nest.
In stark contrast to Spike, Nabald is a stocky vampire who was likely turned in his mid-fifties sometime during the era of the Renaissance and who is therefore older than Spike. His demeanor reflects the power of his age, and in private, Spike respects him although he disagrees with some of his actions.
Nabald's grey eyes hold my green ones. "Cynthia. What have you brought today?"
The two other vampires cower behind me, still handling the captured box, and I inwardly shake my head at their lack of bravery. Returning Nabald's steady gaze, I shine with my usual confidence, announcing, "We have blood, Nabald." I gesture to the rare treasure.
Blood has been scarce since the Watcher's Council and the Slayers have driven the demons into the underground. Most vampires are clustered in the dark pockets of what used to be the sewers. Although many factions have formed, the two main nests are Joyger and Nabald's, and only theirs remain in housing in the towers above ground. As such, a bitter rivalry over the limited blood supply has led to an extensive feud that has lasted the last several decades.
Both groups hover in the western hemisphere as near to the current Hellmouth as possible without chancing an encounter with the Slayer and her team of other warriors. Part of me is proud that the Watchers have finally acknowledged that a Slayer needs companions-after how many centuries?-and part of me is concerned that I will encounter the so far unstoppable team of warrior, witches, and demon hunters.
"Ahhh. Good. Who did you intercept it from today, Cynthia?" Nabald's eyes travel over the package hungrily.
"Joyger." I force my voice to sound proud. Presenting blood from Joyger's gophers is more prestigious than blood from a lesser faction. Nabald felt he was sending Joyger a warning message when we attained food from one of his nest.
"Wonderful! Bring it forth."
The two vampires stumble forward in their nervousness and settle the box to rest near Nabald's feet. As the vampire leader waits, Spike steps up and begins to tear open the outer wrappings, revealing pouch after pouch of fresh blood, still cold from their original storage. Ripping the top of one package, Spike ceremoniously hands Nabald the container. Nabald's face shifts as he inhales the scent of the coppery fluid, and he rapidly gulps down the liquid, draining the container in seconds.
Nabald nods, signaling to the others to grab pouches of their own. Vampires pour out of a multitude of hiding places in the darkness, scrambling in a half-starved manner for a piece of the prize. Before they reach the stash, Spike scoops up two and hands me one, caressing my elbow with tender familiarity. Unafraid to show my affection for him, I kiss his cheek and then his lips in thanks.
My lover grins at me, and our faces shift into vampire masks at the same time. I watch with fascination, never ceasing to be awed by the transformation. Bones grind unnaturally against one another in cheeks and forehead, moving and altering muscle and ligaments, in a way that would cause excruciating pain to a human being. Eyesight and sense of smell become intensely acute, and hunger becomes a sharply enhanced pain in my belly. If I am around Spike in the time of change, I am completely absorbed by the power of his essence. . . as he is mine. No words, no physical contact needs to occur because we are one in that moment.
"Get a room," a vampiress in the room mutters underneath her breath. She means to speak softly, but we hear every syllable.
Spike's head shoots up, and he glares her direction. The caustic vampiress backs away, head bowing. She's only a couple of decades old, but she is a bit impudent at times. Her hand clenches her sack of blood in fear that her dinner might be taken away.
Nabald chuckles in amusement at the scene. He approaches the vampires, stroking her long dark hair. "Lydia, calm yourself. They've done nothing offensive."
Lydia hisses, "I can smell their desire from here; it offends me while I'm eating dinner."
Spike tenses beside me, so I lace my fingers with his in an effort to calm him. We are new to Nabald's group, and we don't need to make waves just yet. The vampiress is simply jealous that we've risen so far in Nabald's esteem so quickly.
Attempting to appear subservient but firm, I declare, "We'll retire for dinner. I'm quite exhausted anyway."
Nabald agrees, "That's fine. Good work, Cynthia."
Spike can't resist and nuzzles my neck as we pass Lydia on the way to our designated rooms. Lydia fumes, and I pinch Spike's arm firmly. As usual, he pinches back.
TBC. . . still 2675. . . Okay, this is a new twist. . . hope you enjoy! I promise it all fits together into the plot!!! Thanks again for your wonderful support! Means a lot that you're curious. . . hehehe! :o)
The underground tunnels are pitch black as I race through them, splashing a bit in the musty-smelling water dripping from the old pipes above, which are connected to the homes of only the poorest human beings. Although the two vampires behind me are not breathless due to lack of need for air, my slayer endurance gives me an edge, and they are barely keeping up with me. I have to force myself to move more slowly or else lose them in the labyrinth we're weaving through. Losing two more vampires would not be good.
I hear and smell the rustle of life ahead of me even if I can't make out any figures yet. Halting abruptly, I attempt to obtain a firmer sense of my target's exact location. Promptly, one of the two vampires following me crashes into me, sending me to the concrete to scrape my shins and forearms.
On my feet in an instant, I send my companions a warning growl and a golden glower. "Watch it." If not the noise, the smell of fresh blood from the cuts on my limbs may alert the target, and the possibility angers me. In fact, not much of what the vampires with whom I associate *doesn't* anger me.
The offending vampire appears appropriately abashed, "Sorry, Cyn."
I try to hide the involuntary cringe I always had at my unfortunate nickname. "It's okay. Just please stick close and keep quiet." I dislike taking the other vampires with me, preferring Spike as my companion. However, in the interest of our relationship with the other vampires, I routinely allow one or two to join me on a raid, leaving Spike behind.
They nod in the darkness. Resuming my trajectory, I meander through the tunnels toward the prey I am seeking. In a matter of minutes, I am on top of the stray vampire and tackle him into the concrete wall, sending his package flying. My eager companions pursue the carefully wrapped, rather large parcel while I palm my stake and stab the wood through the traveling vampire's heart.
Regrouping with the others and running my fingers through my hair, I peer at the package they carry between them. The mark of Joyger is stamped across the binding material, and I sigh with relief. Not one of ours. . . or rather, not one of Nabald's.
* * *
2675, a few hours later
Far above what is traditionally earth ground, in the shadow of windowless rooms, my two vampire companions and I enter the main arena of the nest. As we approach Nabald, Spike winks at me from the seat next to the leader of the Nab vampires. Other than his hair being darker than ebony, he does not look physically different than two hundred years ago. No longer wearing what he fondly calls his "traditional black," he has donned the cloak of scarlet synthetic leather that is representative of Nabald's nest.
In stark contrast to Spike, Nabald is a stocky vampire who was likely turned in his mid-fifties sometime during the era of the Renaissance and who is therefore older than Spike. His demeanor reflects the power of his age, and in private, Spike respects him although he disagrees with some of his actions.
Nabald's grey eyes hold my green ones. "Cynthia. What have you brought today?"
The two other vampires cower behind me, still handling the captured box, and I inwardly shake my head at their lack of bravery. Returning Nabald's steady gaze, I shine with my usual confidence, announcing, "We have blood, Nabald." I gesture to the rare treasure.
Blood has been scarce since the Watcher's Council and the Slayers have driven the demons into the underground. Most vampires are clustered in the dark pockets of what used to be the sewers. Although many factions have formed, the two main nests are Joyger and Nabald's, and only theirs remain in housing in the towers above ground. As such, a bitter rivalry over the limited blood supply has led to an extensive feud that has lasted the last several decades.
Both groups hover in the western hemisphere as near to the current Hellmouth as possible without chancing an encounter with the Slayer and her team of other warriors. Part of me is proud that the Watchers have finally acknowledged that a Slayer needs companions-after how many centuries?-and part of me is concerned that I will encounter the so far unstoppable team of warrior, witches, and demon hunters.
"Ahhh. Good. Who did you intercept it from today, Cynthia?" Nabald's eyes travel over the package hungrily.
"Joyger." I force my voice to sound proud. Presenting blood from Joyger's gophers is more prestigious than blood from a lesser faction. Nabald felt he was sending Joyger a warning message when we attained food from one of his nest.
"Wonderful! Bring it forth."
The two vampires stumble forward in their nervousness and settle the box to rest near Nabald's feet. As the vampire leader waits, Spike steps up and begins to tear open the outer wrappings, revealing pouch after pouch of fresh blood, still cold from their original storage. Ripping the top of one package, Spike ceremoniously hands Nabald the container. Nabald's face shifts as he inhales the scent of the coppery fluid, and he rapidly gulps down the liquid, draining the container in seconds.
Nabald nods, signaling to the others to grab pouches of their own. Vampires pour out of a multitude of hiding places in the darkness, scrambling in a half-starved manner for a piece of the prize. Before they reach the stash, Spike scoops up two and hands me one, caressing my elbow with tender familiarity. Unafraid to show my affection for him, I kiss his cheek and then his lips in thanks.
My lover grins at me, and our faces shift into vampire masks at the same time. I watch with fascination, never ceasing to be awed by the transformation. Bones grind unnaturally against one another in cheeks and forehead, moving and altering muscle and ligaments, in a way that would cause excruciating pain to a human being. Eyesight and sense of smell become intensely acute, and hunger becomes a sharply enhanced pain in my belly. If I am around Spike in the time of change, I am completely absorbed by the power of his essence. . . as he is mine. No words, no physical contact needs to occur because we are one in that moment.
"Get a room," a vampiress in the room mutters underneath her breath. She means to speak softly, but we hear every syllable.
Spike's head shoots up, and he glares her direction. The caustic vampiress backs away, head bowing. She's only a couple of decades old, but she is a bit impudent at times. Her hand clenches her sack of blood in fear that her dinner might be taken away.
Nabald chuckles in amusement at the scene. He approaches the vampires, stroking her long dark hair. "Lydia, calm yourself. They've done nothing offensive."
Lydia hisses, "I can smell their desire from here; it offends me while I'm eating dinner."
Spike tenses beside me, so I lace my fingers with his in an effort to calm him. We are new to Nabald's group, and we don't need to make waves just yet. The vampiress is simply jealous that we've risen so far in Nabald's esteem so quickly.
Attempting to appear subservient but firm, I declare, "We'll retire for dinner. I'm quite exhausted anyway."
Nabald agrees, "That's fine. Good work, Cynthia."
Spike can't resist and nuzzles my neck as we pass Lydia on the way to our designated rooms. Lydia fumes, and I pinch Spike's arm firmly. As usual, he pinches back.
TBC. . . still 2675. . . Okay, this is a new twist. . . hope you enjoy! I promise it all fits together into the plot!!! Thanks again for your wonderful support! Means a lot that you're curious. . . hehehe! :o)