Author's Notes: Wow! I'm overwhelmed with the reviews that I got. Thanks, guys. You really do know how to make a girl blush… *blushes profusely*
Thanks again to veggie_5 (it is my first TLW fic, I'm telling 'ya!) TLWROX (Can't answer that… you have to read on to know! :)) Beckers (You're coming back to read my fic! Yay!) and to MissMeganJane (Don't go bananas yet, I still have a lot under my sleeve!) I so appreciate the kind words!
So let's get it on with the fic, shall we? *grins*
Disclaimer: The show, characters and anything even remotely related to it are not mine.
Cry of the Blood Chapter One* several days earlier
Drum rolls echoed in the dark, silent night, the rhythmic beat giving life to an otherwise still environment.
Festivity.
Under the light of the full moon, a village seemed to celebrate it's thrive as its people danced and swayed to the music produced by their aboriginal musical instruments. The villagers' homes were decorated with bright ribbons and laces, lights of different sorts adorned every tree that surrounded them, and at the very center, a huge bonfire blazed, its angry yellow tongues reaching out to warm the people that were drawn to its heat and beauty.
One such person drawn to the fire, like a stubborn moth to a flame, was the fierce hunter, Lord John Roxton. In his hands he held a cup of the most delicious wine he had ever tasted, and he sipped it greedily, urging himself to take small sips when in fact he wanted to gulp it all up in one single swallow. Patience, he spoke to himself as his eyes danced all around the area. He took note of the ornaments and jewelry that were showcased outside the tents, and of the food that was laid humbly at his feet. But he had eaten already, that he reminded himself as he glanced at the empty plate beside him. No need to risk indigestion as a result of overindulging.
Ah, yes. Overindulging is a very bad thing. Roxton's eyes seemingly smiled as it lead itself towards a certain dark beauty. She was thoroughly enjoying herself, evidenced by the gay movement of her body as she danced in response to the lively tune. Marguerite looked at Veronica and giggled as they both proceeded to dance uninhibitedly. Another soon followed their laughter, and when Roxton turned he saw Assai coming directly towards the women, a huge smile on her face. Marguerite stopped dancing and invited Assai to dance with them, and even punctuated her request with a sway of her hips.
Overindulging might be a bad thing, but indulging himself in watching her dance was never a bad experience. In fact, it was anything but.
Roxton brought the cup to his lips and drank it all up. Maybe the wine, however minute his intake had been, already affected his senses enough to interpret Marguerite's dance as something that could be considered as… seduction. With every sway of her hips, he felt as though she was leading him on. With every step of her feet, he felt as though she was inviting him in. With every clap of her hand, he felt as though she was—
"It's the wine," he told himself loudly. But the Adam in him smiled in satisfaction as he watched his Eve dance. "And then some."
*
Marguerite Krux placed a hand over her chest, grinning as she felt her heart race from beneath her palm. She had just danced herself to exhaustion, but it felt really good. She turned her eyes towards Veronica and shook her head as the other woman remained mobile and active on her spot. "That woman," she told herself, "has the energy of three T-rexes."
She grinned at Veronica as their eyes met. And when the woman seemed lost in her own actions, Marguerite took the time to look around the celebration that the Zanga village had prepared.
She had spotted a lot of the peoples' valuables displayed at their tents, and when she asked Assai about them the woman said that the act symbolizes thanksgiving, that by mere showing off of their possessions they are thanking their gods for giving them such treasures. Marguerite noted that most of the jewelries were not made with gold or anything valuable, but clay. Few gems were used for decoration, but other than that there was very little value in all of them. She shook her head as she realized how improper her thoughts were. Here she was, being treated as one of the royal guests, and here she was, assessing the value of the commoners' treasures.
She allowed her eyes to roam once more, and, as if it had a mind of its own, it settled itself onto a gentleman who sat quietly by himself. When the sides of her mouth quirked up, Roxton raised his cup in greeting.
Marguerite allowed the smile that tugged on her lips to completely show itself as she walked over to him. She sat beside him and then expelled a long breath. "I've never had this much fun since who knows when," she said to him. "It seemed so long since I've been to any occasion, much less a celebration like this."
Roxton inclined his head. "The Zanga villagers are well known for their festive events." He said. "There'd never been a thanksgiving that passed without them partying like—"
"—animals?" she supplemented, her eyes lighting up with mischief.
"Speaking of animals," Roxton grinned. "Your dancing techniques need refurnishing." He said bluntly. "I've seen raptors dance more ably than you did a while ago."
His efforts were rewarded when an angry, dark flare ignited itself inside her eyes. "And who are you to complain?" she said loudly. Instead of giving way to the fury that his words brought out, she managed to smile widely. "I've seen a couple— wait, make that a dozen— men look at me with admiration while I was dancing."
Roxton didn't need any reminding. He had noticed several men stare at the seduction that was Marguerite Krux. A possessive growl nearly emerged from his chest but he suppressed it quite admirably. "They've just never seen anyone act like that before." He countered smoothly. "Maybe they were just assessing if your actions were any indication of you being possessed."
"Me, possessed?" She waved her hand dismissively, and then glared at him. "Why don't you dance, and let's see who's the one walking with a devil inside him."
He stood up, which surprised her, since she wasn't that serious when she challenged him to dance. But when she started to speak she was silenced abruptly when his hand shot out for her. "Why don't we both dance," he suggested, "and show this people what London has taught us."
Marguerite stared at his palm, and then at him. Slowly, a grin emerged on her face. "That sounds fine to me." She said.
And so they danced.
*
Outside, a celebration raged. Inside, though, old magic reigned.
An aged woman, with silver hair and eyes, prepared her ingredients for several of her spells.
A distant relative of Assai's, this woman, Magda by name, is a very powerful shaman. So powerful, in fact, that she could call the spirits to let her catch a brief glimpse of the future and of the past. Only a few people were gifted and wise enough to perform this spell, which called for the ability to communicate and control the spirits of time, and she was one of them.
Magda laid out before her the items that she needed. Finding that her ceremonial dagger was the only one missing, she reached for it…
… and drew her hand back as she accidentally got hold of the blade and had only managed to cut herself on the palm.
And then something unusual happened.
The cut on her palm yielded several drops of blood, and one by one it fell on the floor. One by one it fell, and one by one it darkened into a deep crimson and then faded into thin air.
Magda's aged face deepened with a frown.
That never bode well.
* end chapter one
Author's Notes (2): I hope you liked this part! As always, reviews are greatly craved and appreciated.