Sorry about the big fat wait…I was positively drenched in homework and all of *that*. So…I hope you enjoy this next bit o' junk…Read on…!

galaktis: Thanks again, old chum…do enjoy!

Guin: Hello there…I'm so glad you're liking the story…and Winn…Thank you for the marvelous review…I fall in an unconscious mound of wooden toys at your feet…please read on…!

Tamashii: Muchisimas gracias…you know, I forget what I was comparing rice-pudding to, so I'll pretend that it was reviews. Compare reviews and chocolate? They are both surpassingly welcome…and if you get too much of either you end up knee deep in cellulite…and knee deep cellulite is totally welcome as long as it comes with tons and tons of reviews…so…keep 'em coming—please? Read on…!

neona-deniker: Hola! I'm super happy you like the story…and I will wring my brain out for all sorts of neat-o additions to Smith's theories…Thanks so much for reviewing and please read on…!

fin: Right on both counts, I think…Ruan's an ass, and he's a cute ass…and, well, I think we can infer that he has a cute ass… : ) which is a-okay with me…Thanks a ton-'o-honey for reviewing…read on…!

Dragon Fire: I'm curious. Are you into bondage? I'm super happy you're liking the story…and I got s'more…Thanks for your altogether—ah—peppy—review…read on…!

Dulce Ambrosia: Hullo! I'm surpassingly happy you're enjoying the story...thanks for the review…please do read on…!

Zabella: Ah ha ha ha ha…! Sorry. Just had to get the sinister laugh in *somewhere*. I've got s'more cliffhangers in my handy dandy idea belt, so hold onto your hippopotamus! Thanks for reviewing, and read on…!

Anonymous: Nice to meet you, Anonymous. Glad you're enjoying the story! Thanks for reviewing, and please do read on…!

Chapter 5: The Marquéd

As soon as he entered the club, Ruan headed towards the bar, through the stinking, slinking throng of whirling humans, holding his face impassive, but mild, as sweaty hands plucked at his bare arms.

He reached the bar soon enough, and slid into a stool at the far left end of the ruby-colored, kidney-shaped counter. The bartender was vampirae, he was sure of it. The young woman's short, spiky blue hair, and her astonishingly unattractive features—he didn't think he'd ever seen a vampire who was quite so homely—were unfamiliar; and yet, he could feel the fine hairs on his arms prick up in response to her aura of power, which he could feel, strangely enough, from ten feet away. It was palpable. She was powerful, in an untapped sort of way—she had not fully grasped her powers yet. But her power—it made him shiver.

Studying her irregularly-molded face, Ruan could easily understand why she'd been overlooked by the Marquéd…Lif had formed quite the attachment to his canons of beauty. Even Winn wasn't bad-looking. Pale, sure, a little sickly-looking, most definitely, but she had potential, he could see that. He wasn't blind. Evidently, Lif saw that too, in addition to her natural power. But to overlook this blue-haired young woman, who could prove to be such a valuable source of power? Ruan was struck—though not quite surprised—by how…stupid…it was.  

            The woman was turned toward him again—she glanced up and, noticing him, ambled over, a thoroughly curious expression on her ill-favored face. Her twinkling grey eyes reached his face, and to Ruan's amusement and fascination, her own features remained purely quizzical—she was obviously unfazed by his looks.

This was new to him. He had always, like all of the Marquéd, at first unintentionally, and later deliberately, affected—everyone—with his looks. He was not used to this—this ingenuousness.

            The blue-haired girl stepped up before him. "Haven't seen you around here before," she said, an inquiring note in her wonderfully husky voice, "and I have a great mind for faces. How'd you find us? We're not exactly well-known…"

            Ruan smiled, blue-lit irises glimmering, and replied smoothly, "Good friend of mine told me about the place. Thought I'd check it out…I came with a friend, but…"he trailed off and scanned the flickering, thrashing movement of the club, "…I guess she wandered off."

            She nodded and smiled a little, "Yeah, that can happen a lot around here. Lots of…interesting characters out there. Name's Shelley."

            "Nuar," he returned with a friendly smile.

            "Well, Nuar, what can I get for you?"

            "Ah—" he hadn't had humandrink for years—"Mineral water. Please."

            Grey eyes narrowing shrewdly, Shelley murmured, "Are you sure? We have quite a …selection here."

            Ruan glanced sharply at her—she couldn't know—not when he could conceal his vampirism so meticulously, effortlessly—did she suspect—?

A hesitant, untrained voice whispered in his head, ~~I know what you are. I know you know what I am. Are you *sure* you want mineral water?~~ Ruan held himself still, intrigued, almost…eager...he wanted to play—

Ruan replied, eyes slit-like and gleaming with blistering heat, in clear mindspeak, ~~I'm famished.~~ 

            Her face contorted with pain—heat—his mindspeak, he knew, was caustic—it burned, blackened the mind—

A moment later, the tightness in Shelley's face eased, perspiration stood out on her forehead in delicate droplets. Exhaling heavily, she gazed evenly at him, still perceptibly shaken, and smiled hesitantly. "What—," she began and broke off. "That was…I've never experienced that—how—?" She shook her head as though erasing the reverberations of pain Ruan knew still sliced at the mind.

She reached under the counter. When she straightened back up, her face was once again free of uncertainty, and fear. She held out a bottle of something thick and purple-dark. "Our specialty," she grinned—though her grey eyes flashed with something—cold— and poured a tall glass of the stuff.

 Ruan glanced at it placidly, eyes cobalt and opaque. In a blur his long, wiry hand closed around the glass and brought it to his lips; he took a long drink, long throat working.

It was blood, obviously, but it had been thickened and spiced, or something. He hated old blood—he couldn't stand blood more than a few minutes old—but this stuff was…delectable.

He drained the glass.

Setting the glass down, licking his lips, he glanced up at Shelley, who studied him expectantly, and smiled.

"Good."

"Thought you'd like it."

"What is this stuff?" he asked.

Shelley, now grinning, satisfied, at his reaction, replied, ~~It hasn't got a name. I'm glad you enjoy it—and it'll take the hunger if you drink enough.~~

Suddenly, her face grew serious and almost shuttered. She continued, a little nervously, ~~Nuar, do you have…a, that is to say, ah, do you have a…group?~~ She swallowed, and went on, ~~You know, an organization? Do you belong to one? Because here, we—~~

            "Shelley!" A male voice burst sharply into their silent conversation. Shelley spun around, flushing, embarrassed, and Ruan looked up to find a steel-eyed man of medium height behind the counter, shooting daggers at the young woman. Shelley stood arrested, sheepish, by what Ruan conjectured was the man's voice in her brain.

He decided not to eavesdrop. 

            The man—vampire—abruptly turned to him. As the man's penetrating gaze bore into his own, a faint searching expression on his face, Ruan threw up unobtrusive, grey-walled shields in his mind. Ruan sensed that this guy was quite powerful; perhaps not tremendously or prodigiously so, but he certainly held enough power to frighten the weaker members of the Marquéd. And even the weakest of the Marquéd, according to Lif, at least, were formidable.

            A few seconds later, the man leaned back, satisfied. Ruan's face remained impassive. So the man hadn't seen through his façade.

            "I'm Red," the man stated gruffly and held out his hand.

            Leisurely, Ruan shook the hand and replied, "I'm Nuar. I've already met—Shelley." Damn it. Where was Winn? "My friend and I came to check the place out."

            Red chuckled roughly, steel-colored eyes flashing, and a deep, powerful, though not overwhelming, voice filled Ruan's skull. ~~No need to shirk words with me…Ruan Ferrin. You're here to join the rebels. Why?~~   

            Carefully filtering the natural heat out of his telepathic voice, Ruan replied evenly, ~~Why? Why not? I needed a change. As you probably realize, I was formerly a member of the Marquéd…I needed a change.~~ 

            ~~And your—friend?~~

            ~~Same reason…a youngling, and already she has tired of the Marquéd's conduct…~~

            "I see." He nodded once, brusquely. "Come, Ruan." Red glanced around at the busy bar and gestured Ruan to follow him. With a quick, sharp smile at Shelley, whose lips silently formed his name, Ruan sauntered after him, behind the counter, and through a door at the end of the bar. He followed Red through a short hallway and into a room at the end of it. Red turned to Ruan, a closed expression on his face, gestured at a faded, chocolate-colored couch behind him and inquired mildly, "Is that your friend?"

            Ruan looked at the couch and realized a person had been dumped on it—a very small person bundled up in a shabby coat—a girl with wild, black hair—Winn.

Flawless face expressionless, Ruan looked up at Red and replied smoothly, "Yes. That's her. What happened?"

            Red's steely eyes flashed menacingly. "I caught her creeping about in a room closed to customers. What was she doing in there, do you think? She was trying to open a desk. I think she was looking for something…don't you? And what was she looking for, I wonder? Papers? Money? What was she looking for, Ruan Ferrin?"

            Ruan stared back at Red, eyes gone a deep, unclouded blue—starless, midnight sky—and answered coldly, "Did you really think we'd join you in ignorance? What if you turned out to be some group of imposters? Winn was checking out—trying to check out—your background. Like I said, we needed a change."

            Red's face was still hard, his creased mouth set, but his eyes were clearer, less acerbic now. Gradually, as Ruan stared evenly back into his eyes while he digested this possibility, Red's forehead smoothed out, and the corners of his gruff mouth quirked up. Nodding, Red held out his hand and said, "We're the real thing, kid. You can trust us."

            Smiling a little, Ruan shook his hand.

* * *

            ~~Swish. Tap. Thump. Swish. Swish. Tap…~~

It was dark when Winn finally forced her eyes open—she groaned as icepicks and sledgehammers promptly assaulted her brain. As she clasped her head tightly with both hands, she realized—vaguely—that she was lying on something very soft, very cushioned—a couch.

As the throbbing pain gradually subsided, she remembered in flashes her "infiltration" of the club backrooms, and being knocked unconscious with something large and wooden.

Growling, she made to tug at her expected trusses. She sat back. There were no trusses—no manacles, no bondage of any sort. She lay very still and pondered why she wasn't trussed; she *was* a prisoner, correct? Had she not been violently opposed? Yes, she most certainly had. So why was she free? Or…was she free?  

            ~~Swish. Swish. Tap. Thump. Swish. Thump.~~ Noises…noises…what were those noises?

She stiffened against the softness of the sofa. Nostrils flaring, she bit down on her bottom lip; her eyes darted, scanning the shadowed room. She could clearly see that it was decorated simply, with a lumpy cot in the far corner, a lamp with a shade made of colored—blue?—glass, a dresser, and a chest made of dark, veiny wood, pushed against the other far corner. Pupils dilated, she stared at the wall to her right and could make out what appeared to be a thin, linen divide between her room and the one next to it. Eyes wide—they looked like great dark holes in her pale face—she stared intently at the gauzy curtain, through to the murkiness beyond. She made out the ghostly outlines of two tall figures—human, male figures, she realized—moving with preternatural speed in what appeared to be complex martial arts combinations. Dim, bluish light played on the figures' faces; on one, she noted, the dusky glow accentuated the gentle slope of high, prominent cheekbones and finely cast features. She realized one of them was bad Ruan.

            Practicing. They were—practicing? Winn relaxed, slightly, against the couch. Releasing her lip, she tasted something sweet, and wild—blood. Licking her lips, she closed her eyes and buried her face in her hair.

 The other one—the shorter one—his face was unfamiliar. ~~A vampire…an *old* vampire…~~ Winn thought. His face, Winn recalled, was weathered, the skin leathery, with deep creases running from edge of nose to corner of mouth—old in human years, as well as in vampire years. Was this natural? None of the Marquéd were anywhere near his human-age—in fact, she thought, they were all in their late adolescence. Odd.    

Who was this new one? she wondered. ~~He must be one of the—the rebels…But who…who…~~ She burrowed deeper into her hair. ~~Something…there's something…this new one…something…~~

~~Shhhh…Quiet…quiet…now…~~

Who—? No, no matter…quiet now. Time to…sleep.

* * *

            Someone was watching her.

            She could feel it; an oppressive *presence* was near—and it was watching her still and silent form. Her skin prickled.

            She lay as still as she could; she fought to appear relaxed while every nerve in her body screamed with fear—with warning. Under the thick folds of worn fabric that enveloped her arms, her skin tingled; the gauzy hairs rose instinctively.

            ~~Watching watching watching someone someone watching…~~ Who was it? Who watched? Who who who? Why? Winn was motionless—no muscle twitched; her breathing remained slow, and regular. Perhaps if she did not move—did not appear wake—perhaps then the *presence* would leave…what, who was it? Why did it watch? ~~Bad…it's bad...~~ she thought. ~~…Bad…bad…and…familiar. There was something—familiar—~~

            Suddenly, the *presence* was close—very close. It hovered at the edge of the sofa; ~~Close close—too…too close…~~ her nerves shrieked—the *sound* was deafening—

            It—he?—the *presence* was—human? Vampirae?—moved closer. Winn could feel it—he—crouch beside the sofa; the muted rustle of clothing echoed raucously through her skull—she heard the first low hum of steady breathing.

            ~~Still! Be still! Still…Still…Still still still still…~~ her feverish brain screamed even as the face ducked closer and inspected the curve of her neck, and jaw, the only features visible through the dark riot of curls strewn about her face. ~~Still still still still still still still still~~ A cool, dry breath whispered across the bare skin and suddenly Winn was chilled to the core. She knew—*knew*—the face hung only inches above the soft indentation below her ear—a soft indrawn breath—a cool, hard hand swept the dark mass of hair from her face—the hand hovered a fraction of an inch above the skin of her brow—

            ~~Mustn't touch…no…no…no…don't touch don't touch don't don't don't…~~ She knew—she *knew*—something dreadful would happen if he touched her—when he touched her—she *knew*! His hand twitched.

            With a violent, instinctive movement beyond any mental control, Winn tried to jerk away—away—from the hand, her eyes snapping open, face oddly expressionless except for a quivering wildness about the lips and eyes.

            It was Ruan.

            She registered that a millisecond before the tips of his fingers and her jaw made contact, the ill-timed, ill-coordinated violence of her movement causing her to brush against the outstretched limb.

She was in another world.

She seemed to be suspended in shadow; she saw nothing—nothing—except a tumultuous blur of murky red, purple and black—and Ruan. Ruan—tall, pale, his vibrant, rumpled hair blending richly with the dark, wild color surrounding him. His eyes—his eyes were so bright, so blindingly blue—they seemed to blaze with some ghastly frozen heat—suspended in nothingness, Winn shuddered. She couldn't stop shaking. She was so *cold*. His fingers—she could still feel them, held so gently to her jaw—released a cold into her body so dark and pure and dense it *burned*.            

The point of contact *burned*.

            Chaos—her mind was total chaos. ~~What is this…what…what…what is this…what…~~ She wanted to scream—scream—

            [Shhhh. What's wrong, Winn?]

            The thought—it was more of a voice, a voice so integral, so primal, it hurt to hear it—was so, so *pure*.

            ~~Wrong wrong wrong something is wrong wrong something something—this this this this wrong wrong wrong…~~

            Ruan's eyes glinted. [Wrong, Winn? This is wrong?]

            Winn winced. She couldn't stop shivering. She shook her head, and took a deep, shuddering breath…exhaled. Gathering her wits, she attempted to answer in the same pure voice…She shoved all of her fear and instinctive repulsion into one corrosive thought and flung it at him: [***Yes.***]

            Shockingly, Ruan suddenly blanched to a bone-white color even paler than his usual. Winn could feel the thought reverberate through him—she could feel Ruan's uncertainty at the sheer force of the thought—he was—surprised—at the power. And the power, she could sense, hurt him.

            A moment later, Ruan had regained his natural pallor. Brow smooth and unconcerned again, he looked up at Winn, eyes narrowed, smiling softly. [Do you know what's happening Winn? Have you got any idea what this is?]

            Eyes wide, Winn shook her head slowly.

            [I can see your thoughts, Winn. Are you frightened? I think you are, Winn.] The smile faded. [We're soulmates, Winn.]

Winn sucked in a breath. What—what? She shook her head tentatively.

[Yes, Winn. We're soulmates. This—all of this—shit—means we're soulmates, Winn.]

She shook her head a little more harshly.

[Yes. Yes, Winn, we are. Soulmates, Winn. Do you know what that means, Winn?]

She shook her head violently, shuddering intensely. No. No.

            [It means I can control you, Winn.] The corners of his beautiful mouth quirked up. [You belong to me, Winn. I *own* you.]

            Winn's whole body rocked, her chest so tight with sick loathing and quiet rage she couldn't breathe. ~~No. No. No no no no no no no. He doesn't. We're not. No. He doesn't own me. He doesn't own—own—~~

            [Yes, Winn, I do.]

            ~~No!~~ All of a sudden, she moved into an odd, crouched position. Holding her head in her hands, digging her fingers into her skull, she reached for the rage and utter revulsion amassed deep inside her brain, and concentrated it into one deafening thought: [***No.***]

            Ruan's eyes widened—

            Winn saw white—

            She woke up she didn't know how long later stretched across the sofa, with Ruan's forehead thrust against her own. Her fingers were clawed. Ruan, unconscious, knelt beside the couch. Tangled in the hair just behind and below her ear were his long, sinewy hands, and his lips, unknowingly pressed against the corner of her mouth, were dry. She felt sick.

            Hurriedly shoving him away, Winn heaved herself off the sofa. Hot and cold shivering took hold of her body as she stood and stared at Ruan kneeling against the sofa. She could kill him—he was unconscious—he couldn't stop her—she could kill him— No. No. No, she wouldn't. He was the monster—she would not be the monster. No. No.       

            She felt dizzy. Spinning around, she began hurrying away from him, through the linen divide—away—

She was almost to the hall when she felt Ruan revive. She forced herself not to glance back, and continued on, at a faster pace.

Ruan smiled mildly. [I can control you, Winn.]

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