A/N: The character of Demios Kishari is the property of Christa Weald (vampyrehunteruk@yahoo.co.uk) and used with permission.
Part 2
Draven allowed himself a small smirk of satisfaction as he locked the double doors. It was possibly a nicer prison than he would have given to any of his other hostages, but Tiarina was a special case. She didn't have a clue what the hell was happening, which of course, was the whole point.
The mansion and the lands around it, in the English countryside, miles from any town or village, was large enough to keep her well-trapped. If the little bitch had just done what she was supposed to several hundred years ago, then there would be no need for any of this. But no, she'd had to have her own way. *Women,* he thought, shaking his head with disgust.
She had been his back then, when he'd been using the name of Garret, which had become boring, so he'd changed about five hundred years ago. The memory potion appeared to be working, but he was reluctant to trust the witch he had. She'd betrayed him before, and it wouldn't surprise him in the slightest if she did again.
"If she's that much of a liability, then why don't you just kill her and get a new one?"
Draven scowled at the slouching figure of Demios Kishari leaning against the doorframe to his private study rooms. Demios was dressed sloppily in a dark green Stereophonics t-shirt and black jeans. His mop of long hair, a garish blue-black hung messily around his shoulders. What had convinced him to team up with this measly five hundred year old made vampire was beyond him now.
"Getting a new witch," Draven said, his English tones cold and icy, "is not the same as getting a new pair of shoes. Night People are rare in this country, if you haven't noticed."
Demios shrugged carelessly. "I got you what you wanted." He nodded at the ceiling.
"Yes, and I already paid you. So why are you still hanging around?" Draven sat down at the huge oak desk and took out a cigar.
Demios's nose wrinkled and made a nasty comment about typical rich English, so full of clichés. Along that line, but not so politely put. Draven chose to ignore him. He liked his money, and his estate, and everything that came with it.
Yet he was convinced this snotty little vampire had something else in mind he wasn't quite willing to share. Draven was pretty sure money wasn't the reason - he had an outrages sum just given him for kidnapping Tiarina. So what did he want?
"Did you actually want something, or are you just hanging around to be a pain in the ass?"
Demios laughed, a disturbingly rich and warm sound, like melted butter. "Yeah, but I don't have her yet." And with that eh turned and walked out the two huge double doors, not bothering to close them behind him. From somewhere near by Draven heard the sound of some vile rock group starting, (he was certain wasn't Stereophonics, because he liked them. And knew what they sounded like). Demios was deliberately being annoying.
Her who? Draven wondered as he shut the doors to his office. Screw it, he thought, he had his own plans to concentrate on.
* * *
Part 2
Draven allowed himself a small smirk of satisfaction as he locked the double doors. It was possibly a nicer prison than he would have given to any of his other hostages, but Tiarina was a special case. She didn't have a clue what the hell was happening, which of course, was the whole point.
The mansion and the lands around it, in the English countryside, miles from any town or village, was large enough to keep her well-trapped. If the little bitch had just done what she was supposed to several hundred years ago, then there would be no need for any of this. But no, she'd had to have her own way. *Women,* he thought, shaking his head with disgust.
She had been his back then, when he'd been using the name of Garret, which had become boring, so he'd changed about five hundred years ago. The memory potion appeared to be working, but he was reluctant to trust the witch he had. She'd betrayed him before, and it wouldn't surprise him in the slightest if she did again.
"If she's that much of a liability, then why don't you just kill her and get a new one?"
Draven scowled at the slouching figure of Demios Kishari leaning against the doorframe to his private study rooms. Demios was dressed sloppily in a dark green Stereophonics t-shirt and black jeans. His mop of long hair, a garish blue-black hung messily around his shoulders. What had convinced him to team up with this measly five hundred year old made vampire was beyond him now.
"Getting a new witch," Draven said, his English tones cold and icy, "is not the same as getting a new pair of shoes. Night People are rare in this country, if you haven't noticed."
Demios shrugged carelessly. "I got you what you wanted." He nodded at the ceiling.
"Yes, and I already paid you. So why are you still hanging around?" Draven sat down at the huge oak desk and took out a cigar.
Demios's nose wrinkled and made a nasty comment about typical rich English, so full of clichés. Along that line, but not so politely put. Draven chose to ignore him. He liked his money, and his estate, and everything that came with it.
Yet he was convinced this snotty little vampire had something else in mind he wasn't quite willing to share. Draven was pretty sure money wasn't the reason - he had an outrages sum just given him for kidnapping Tiarina. So what did he want?
"Did you actually want something, or are you just hanging around to be a pain in the ass?"
Demios laughed, a disturbingly rich and warm sound, like melted butter. "Yeah, but I don't have her yet." And with that eh turned and walked out the two huge double doors, not bothering to close them behind him. From somewhere near by Draven heard the sound of some vile rock group starting, (he was certain wasn't Stereophonics, because he liked them. And knew what they sounded like). Demios was deliberately being annoying.
Her who? Draven wondered as he shut the doors to his office. Screw it, he thought, he had his own plans to concentrate on.
* * *