Tamashii: First off, thank you so much for reviewing! Secondly, glad that you're enjoying the story. And thirdly, I found your comments to be very insightful—your review made me rethink Ruan's development as a character. I'd hate for him to stagnate. We'll see how he turns out…!
apsara: ::Is sheepish at disgustingly late update:: Sorry 'bout that. Most tremendously delighted to hear that you're enjoying the story and especially the "sick and twisted" bits…I believe the "resistance" faction against Morteflame will be explained more in Chapter 14, which I hope to get up soon. Thank you tons for reviewing…!
brigit: Hallo! Well, Winn didn't do the disappearing trick because at the moment she wasn't thinking about anyplace other than where she was (which was pressed up against the car door) and getting away. Had she concentrated on a specific place, she could have gotten away that way. About the soulmate thing—um, I believe one or a couple of the books mention something about the soulmate link being too intense for some, causing them to separate, but I don't know whether separation causes insanity in the novels. I think fanfic writers have interpreted the link to be a binding so powerful that breaking the it inevitably causes some kind of discord in the living constituent. Anyway, thank you so much for reviewing!
S.L.: How do? Glad you're liking the story, and I plan to get the next part up soon. Thanks for reviewing!
Dulce Ambrosia: Oh! And the Winn-Ruan relationship is going to get even *twistier* (as well as all of the others)! Thanks so much for reviewing, and read on…
debra: Hullo! I am most delighted that you're enjoying the story, 'deed I am. Look for the next part soon… Muchisimas gracias for the review!
Sharmeen: Sorry you're confused! I hope things will get a bit clearer in the next couple of parts. I think the whole story will be about twenty or so parts, so there are about seven more chapters to go. Interesting that you think Ruan is nice…I wouldn't personally call him nice, exactly, although I think he may have some capacity—albeit very limited—to be pleasant. Hmm. We'll see! Thanks for reviewing!
Chapter 13: Marquéd
Lif watched the members of the Marquéd gradually trickle out of the low-ceilinged meeting lounge and return to the world above. Carefully concealing a sneer, he contemplated his disciples: they were beautiful, certainly, and also vapid, ruthless and outrageously petty.
Gods, he could hardly stand them. For all their posturing, and for all their supposed power, they really never did anything significant. They were just a name—a silly, pretentious name.
Which was just how he wanted it—how he had planned it from the very beginning. As elitist as the Marquéd were and had been for the past eighty years, they could never be elite. How depressing. And how delightfully perfect. His plans had already begun to smoothly take form—indeed, Ruan and the girl were exactly where he wanted them.
Lif chuckled out loud. "Poor Ruan," he murmured to the now-empty room. "Thought you had it all worked out, didn't you?" Thought you had me fooled.
Yes, Lif knew all about Ruan. That Ruan was already contemplating subversion against the Marquéd's leader came as no surprise. Disappointing, of course, but entirely predictable. It was bound to happen—that was something Lif had foreseen from the very moment he had met Ruan.
Ah, but if only Ruan hadn't been so…stubborn. So pigheaded. So godsdamned independent. The possibilities! He and Lif could have taken complete control of the Councils in both hemispheres—they could have the entire Nightworld in the palms of their hands. But no use mourning the inevitable, Lif thought, a sudden smile gracing his youthful features. He would simply have to work with what he still had: Morteflame, the Council (western, at least), and, of course, himself.
That girl. Winnen…Fallou. His eyes flashed, a thoughtful expression seizing his features, as he recalled the strange little runt he had scooped up off the streets just a month or so ago. Strange indeed. What possessed him to coerce her into the Marquéd was a mystery even to him…but there was something—*something* about her, either in those haunted eyes or in that oddly inaccessible brain that drove him to add her to his collection of beauties, despite her shortcomings in that arena. He had a feeling that she would be useful, mayhap even important, in the future…he would have to set about prying her away from Ruan.
Damn him. Chuckling, Lif glanced down at his hands, studying the long, graceful fingers, the pure, unbroken skin. In his mind's eye he imagined them wrapped around a long, white throat, squeezing tighter and tighter, feeling the panicked thrum of a racing heartbeat, staring into eyes so blue and cold they burned, laughing triumphantly.
* * *
The room was softly lit, luminous and glowing and warm. Mara shivered, perched on the edge of a hard sofa, folded her arms across her chest, and peered through the dusky glow to the tall, magnificent man standing before his desk, his hair shockingly, brilliantly white. Beautiful boy, that, she thought, a trace of a smile lingering on her lips. But for all the lazy warmth surrounding him, the man soaked none of it in; he was like some stately pillar of ice-cold marble, pale and rigid.
Lips parting in a quiet smile, jasper-colored eyes glinting with resignation, Mara said, "Why, Faolán. It has been a long time, hasn't it?"
Faolán didn't smile back. "It has, indeed, Mara Paskov."
The smile faded, and Mara sighed. "Typical, aren't we? You haven't changed, dear, I'll give you that. But no matter. Let us cut to the chase, eh?"
Faolán raised an elegant, snow-white eyebrow. "Anxious?"
"To be rid of you, dear puppy? Of course. Now, Faolán, what is it you want from me?"
Faolán crossed his arms over his chest and leaned back against his desk. "I wish to know more about someone. A new recruit, actually."
The yellow eyes flashed curiously. "Name?"
"Winnen Fallou."
Mara's eyes flashed a brilliant gold. "Fallou. So we are speaking of a woman, then. Unusual for you, Faolán. Tell me, are you disturbed by this…Winnen?" Disturbed as much as you once were by me?
"Disturbed…no. Not precisely. I am, however, curious."
"Curious, he says. Curious!" Mara trilled, twittering. "Oh, Faolán. It seems this girl is something special, then. But if she interests *you*, dear puppy, I'm not entirely sure that it's a good thing."
"I am not in the mood for your games, Paskov," Faolán returned, ice-green eyes filled with a dangerous light. "This girl has power. That much was easy enough to deduce just through observation. However, it is also clear to me that she has not tapped into it, perhaps because she is ignorant of her potential, perhaps because she is being controlled by some outside influence."
"I see. And you think it is a bit of both, eh?"
"You know me too well."
"Never well enough, love, never well enough. I've known that since you first got me out of that…place." Eyes clouded by memories, Mara gave her head a quick shake, and continued, "So. I ask again: what do you want from *me*?"
"Get to know the girl. The more I know about her, the more useful she'll be to Morteflame."
"To Morteflame, or to *you*, puppy?" Mara queried softly, playfully.
"To Morteflame, Paskov. Always to Morteflame." He paused, staring at nothing in particular, almost trance-like. "Talk to her, make friends with her, become a mentor to her. I want to know everything I can of her. But do it outside of Morteflame, Mara. You know our arrangement."
" 'I know naught of thee, and thee knows naught of me.' As it is and always has been. Of course, Faolán. How do you wish me to contact you?"
"Not mentally…Mara, I fear that Morteflame and, by default, the Marquéd, have made some dangerous enemies. Yes, I realize that having enemies is nothing new to us, but this feels different."
"How so, pet?" Mara asked, fingers tense and clasped hard upon each other.
"I cannot sense them. I do not know who it is I should treat with caution. All I have to rely on is this godsdamned *feeling* that someone or something is waiting. And listening."
"Not mentally, then."
"No, not mentally. I will arrange for someone I can trust to run messages from you to me every other day."
"Willem?"
"As expected," Faolán replied, smiling faintly. "He is, after all, the only person I can thoroughly trust, here at Headquarters."
"Aside from me, you mean?" Mara teased, a mischievous twinkle in her bright, amber-lit eyes.
Faolán made no reply, and instead smiled enigmatically at the old woman perched, bird-like, on his sofa.
"Very well, then, dear pup," Mara chuckled. "I will expect Willem in a few days' time…you know where to send him."
"Of course. For the time being, then, farewell, Mara Paskov."
"Farewell. Oh, and Faolán?"
"Yes?"
"Do be wary around that girl—that Winnen. She may be more than any of us have yet imagined."
* * *
"Fuck you, fuck you, fuck you…" Winn muttered, features pinched and tense. But this anger was not hot—it was not a blushing, glowing fury. No, this anger was far more intense and far more dangerous because, contrary to Winn's usual character, it was cold, calculated, detached. This anger, this *rage*, was buried deep inside her bones, rooted in the very center of her being.
This time, Ruan had gone too far. He had invaded her space and humiliated her sense of self-worth more thoroughly than he ever had before. Sure, it was just a kiss,—albeit an entirely unexpected and disgustingly twisted one—but coming from Ruan, the whole meaning of the word and deed changed.
Standing alone in the center of the girls' huge, empty chamber, Winn forced her facial features to relax and arrange themselves into a mask of calmness and composure. A "kiss" to him is no symbol of affection, of tenderness…or of love, Winn thought, fighting the urge to hit something. He's too fucked up. And he fucks up everything—*everyone*—he touches. He turned it in to one of his *games*…one of his fucking games of control…He turned it into *oppression.*
Yes, this time had been different. Some intangible line had been crossed, some unspoken agreement broken…you don't touch me…I don't touch you…
Well, that's that, Winn thought, and smiled. You don't want to play by the rules anymore, Ruan Ferrin? Neither will I.
A moment later, the near-manic smile disappeared completely, leaving the sharp-featured face tense and hard. Winn exhaled shakily, her hands jerking of their own volition. Her eyes filled with a shocking warmness, her cheeks flushed, and she gasped for breath—she felt as though she would explode—!
"Oh, God," she muttered, trying to keep from retching. "Oh, fuck. Fuck. How did I get into this?" The hot liquid—so completely *different* from the coldness that was slowly freezing her insides—threatened to spill from her eyes. Staring at the hardwood floor, Winn took a deep, shuddering breath… Breathe in…breathe out…breathe in….out…there. There.
The floor came back into focus; it was no longer a featureless blur. Her eyes were dry. All dry.
"Well, then, Winn. No more rules?" she whispered to herself. "Then what are you going to do? What are you going to *fucking* do now?" She paused, her gaze still fixed on the polished oak of the floor. Then, in an even softer whisper, a murmur so faint it was almost without sound, she answered, "I will make him doubt. I will make him afraid. And," she murmured, lifting her eyes to the ceiling so high above, "I will make him *hurt*."
* * *
He felt slightly nauseous. Which was odd, given his usual, thoroughly numb state, but the sensation was undeniably there.
"Hey, Ruan, man, I gotta get in there…"
Ruan opened his eyes and glanced up at the slight, dark-haired figure hovering before him. Edmund. The young-looking boy seemed a bit nervous, Ruan noted with a vague twinge of satisfaction.
He smiled sharply and pushed away from the bathroom door, where he had been leaning for the past ten or so minutes after parking the car, and began walking down the hall, toward the foyer. He could feel Edmund's uneasy gaze on his shoulders.
A moment later, Ruan stepped onto marble tile, and stopped, stomach clenching violently: there, standing in the center of the grand, dome-ceilinged entrance hall, was Winn.
She hadn't noticed him yet—her back was to him, and she seemed to be studying something on the opposite end of the room. Brows drawn involuntarily together, Ruan was distinctly aware of feeling uncharacteristically awkward for some reason he couldn't quite pin down, but was certain had to do with the coal-haired creature standing twenty feet away.
Hidden away in his coat pockets, his fingers tensed, clenching. This was a dangerous feeling, this uneasiness. So foreign, so *weak*…and yet, at the same time, so familiar…as though he were recalling some long-forgotten emotion from his pre-Myr days.
He frowned. This was ridiculous. Swallowing because his mouth had suddenly gone dry, he shoved the tumultuous, bubbling sensations away from him, away from his consciousness until they were nothing more than an unpleasant dream simmering deep beneath the surface.
Brushing a few strands of blood-colored hair out of his eyes, Ruan forced himself to relax; his face was smooth and cool as he prepared to step out onto the slick marble that covered the floor, and approach Winn. He took a step, fists concealed in the pockets of his coat, lips parted and poised to make some snide comment—
"Hello, Ruan," Winn greeted, not even turning around, her voice low but clear. Strange. A subtle but portentous sharpness underlying the words made him pause for an instant before approaching her.
Without allowing the surprise to show on his face, he stepped up beside her at the same time she turned to face him, her big, sable eyes fully meeting his gaze. He could feel his skin prickle with an involuntary rush of anticipation. Narrowing his eyes, he replied in a soft, smooth voice, "You must be learning, partridge. It seems I can no longer surprise you, don't you think?"
She stared steadily back at him, her dark eyes wide and glinting with an unnatural—at least for her—light. She shrugged, indifferent. "We all learn sometime, don't we? And at any rate, I was getting a bit tired of your…surprises, Ruan Ferrin. I think you'll agree that they were never very nice."
" 'Nice' is a dead word, partridge—"
Her head snapped up. "Don't call me that," she interrupted, resentment flickering in her eyes, across her face.
A spark of amusement lanced through him, though both his face and voice were carefully blank. "I will call you whatever I please, and you will not stop me because you are incapable of doing so," he returned in the cold, flat voice he was so adept at using.
"Do you think so, Ruan Ferrin?"
"I know so. And unless you intend, in complete seriousness, to challenge me in this, I suggest that we do not speak of it again. Partridge."
Less than a foot of electricity-charged space separated them and a part of Ruan almost wanted Winn to defy him, to level mind, body, and soulmate link against him, to attack him. A part of him was excited, and trembling in anticipation of conflict.
Winn made no move. Then the moment was past, and Ruan was left staring down at the changeling-girl who just gazed back up at him with a tiny, self-satisfied smile curving her mouth. As though he had reacted in just the way she had expected him to…or wanted him to.
Yes, this was without a doubt different. He could feel the strangeness radiating from her through the link—she had changed somehow, shifted into a skin that was foreign to him, a mystery. A mystery he found unsettling, to say the least, but also intriguing.
Winn glanced down, and inclined her head, to all outward appearances submissive and subordinate to the tall, flame-haired young man before her. Ruan stared down at the top of her head, finding himself fascinated by the smokiness of her untamed, closely-cropped curls; his fingers itched to touch her hair. For a second, his mind went blank, and though he was aware of his hand coming up between them, it was only from a great, cloudy distance, as though he were standing outside of his body and observing the exploits his physical self. The air crackled with electricity, there was a buzz in his ears that was steadily growing from an almost imperceptible hum into a mind-numbing roar, and it seemed that the outside world had melted away, leaving Ruan lost in an endless, grey expanse. He was deaf and blind, and alone but for Winn, who, standing less than a foot away, had finally looked up and was now staring intently up at him, as though she were waiting for something to happen—or maybe for him to make something happen.
Neither moved, nor uttered a word, both waiting for something—anything—
"Um…Hello?"
At the sound of the cautious, familiar, female voice, the tension between Winn and Ruan suddenly drained away, snapping them back to reality. Winn blinked, breaking the burning stare strung between them, and without stepping away, Ruan turned his narrowed gaze on the intruder.
Shelley, he thought, watching her flinch, wondering what she saw in him that made her so afraid, so wary.
"Was there something you needed, Shelley?" Winn called, an impatient lilt to her voice. As though she had been disappointed…as though it—whatever "it" was—hadn't gone quite as she had hoped.
Running a hand through her shock of bright blue hair, Shelley blushed, embarrassed, obviously sensing that she had interrupted something. "Oh…no. Not really. I mean, you know, *I* didn't need anything, but, um—You see, Ó Ceallaigh wanted to talk to you." A tiny grimace pinched her features, as though the name left a foul taste in her mouth.
"Me?" Winn asked, surprised.
"Yeah…I don't know why or anything…Um, she's in Faolán's office, so…" Shelley trailed off, shrugging, two spots of color still lingering in her cheeks. With a short wave, she turned on her heel and hurried away, glancing back only once to scrutinize Ruan, a distinctly anxious expression on her face, before slinking off.
Face impassive, Ruan watched her until she turned a corner far down the hall. Strange, he thought. Something wasn't quite right—that much he could already sense. Something was decidedly…off.
The soft rustle of clothing coming from just inches away abruptly yanked him out of his thoughts, bringing his attention back to Winn, who, like him, had not bothered to move away. She was staring up at him again, with an intent look in her eyes that set him on edge; she was, he realized, studying him as though she would a particularly interesting insect, and it made the flesh of his arms prick up in goose bumps.
His lips curved in a half-smile and, noting with amusement the flinch that suddenly pinched her features, met her gaze with one of equal intensity. "Did you…want…something, Fallou?" he asked in a low, palpably sardonic voice.
Her gaze flickered, and her cheeks flushed, but without looking away, she answered sharply, "Certainly. I would be most grateful if you would get out of my face, Ferrin."
His smile grew wider. "Is that all you want, partridge?"
For a second, blatant dislike showed on her face and she looked as though she would snap a retort, or, perhaps, hit him. Hawk-eyed, Ruan observed the play of emotions on her face—righteous anger clashing with an urge to control herself, each battling for precedence over the other.
A moment later her face was clear of expression, except for a vague hint of disgust in her eyes. Then, to Ruan's surprise, a small, knowing smile, a near mirror image of his, settled over her features, transforming her into something curiously familiar to him. "Want? That's a strong word, Ferrin. There are certain things I might be *interested* in, but that does not mean I *want* them."
He lifted a skeptical eyebrow. "You shouldn't play with words when you don't know the rules, Winnen-little. It could get dangerous."
"I never said I was playing."
"Indeed. But you are playing, Fallou, even if you never agreed to."
A brief, rigid pause filled the inches between them, and then, "And so are you."
Ruan felt a flash of excitement course through his limbs. He didn't answer.
"Right. Well, then, I suppose I should go see Ó Ceallaigh."
"You should."
With a final, furtive glance at Ruan's narrowed eyes Winn took a step back, and walked quickly away.
* * *
Something in her voice, or in the offhand way she had dealt with his appearance hinted at the idea that she had been *waiting* for him to arrive, as though she had known what he was planning to do. It was disturbing thought; if she was beginning to *use* the link with the intent to trace him, or intercept his thoughts, or predict his moves, then she would essentially be using the link as he was, and it wouldn't be long before she gained some form of control over the link—and over him.
Sitting on his bed, twisted sheets and rumpled comforter swathed about him, Ruan leaned back against the wall and directed an icy stare at the mirror.
If he was correct in his assessment of Winn's potential, it was possible that given a chance the girl could very likely gain the upper hand. She was a threat—something he would have to take care of…and soon.
He stared at the red-haired figure in the mirror. "And what do I do with threats?" he asked, detecting an unholy glint in the deep, azure-tinged shadows of the person's eyes. The person smiled back—he knew precisely what he did with threats.
He destroyed them.
* * *
"Good of you to come, Winnen. Please, sit down," Myr intoned, her voice clear and musical.
As she approached the desk—Faolán's desk, she noted—Winn studied the slim, sandy-haired young woman sitting in the chair behind it. Myr was so *elegant*, filled with an assuredness natural to someone possessed of that kind of striking beauty and natural grace. She seemed so…perfect. Not the sort of person one would expect to be an expert manipulator and professional mercenary, but Winn was beginning to understand a lot of things that went on in the Nightworld. Clichéd as it seemed, appearances were most certainly proving to be not only deceiving but false, just as it was becoming clear to Winn that this kind of trickery was the only way to outrival both humans and fellow Nightworlders alike.
Winn gave a short nod and sat. "Shelley told me you wanted to see me."
"I do indeed." Myr smiled brightly, and continued, "You see, Winnen, I have a dilemma." She gazed at Winn expectantly, as though she were waiting for her response.
Without answering, Winn gazed steadily back at the intense violet eyes.
The fair-haired woman's smile didn't falter. "I think you have already deduced that I am not quite what I seem, correct? Yes, I know you have. And I believe you came to this conclusion with the aid of a woman called 'Mara.' "
What? Her cheeks were suddenly on fire and she felt as though the ground had just dropped away. How had she known? Trying to keep the shock from showing on her face, she clamped her mouth shut, and waited to hear the rest of what Myr had to say.
Eyes twinkling, Myr chuckled. "Don't be so surprised, child. If you know as much as I've assumed you do, this shouldn't come as such a revelation."
Winn licked her lips nervously—her mouth had gone dry—and took a shaky breath. "Then you…you're—ah—"
"I am Elmyr, yes."
*Elmyr.* In the back of her mind, a voice whispered, ~~…Elmyr, hands, mouth and hair sticky with gore, began to *burn* with an undreamed-of blend of cold-hot power…~~ Elmyr.
"Well. I'm glad that we've cleared that up. Because, as it turns out, Winnen, you have something I need. Let me explain. Two thousand years ago, in the year 3 B.C., I was the most powerful vampire in existence—Yes, I realize that you know this and no, I do not hold with modesty. But at the end of that year, and at the height of my power, I made a mistake—I participated in a bloodfeast that augmented my power so immensely that my vampiric frame could not contain it, causing my body to be destroyed by the sheer force of the power I had absorbed. However, even though my body had been obliterated, my mind was still intact as a kind of force—comparable, you might say, to a spirit, or soul."
Shutting her eyes, Winn shook her head, grimacing at the shudders that pulsed relentlessly through her body. "Is this a different body, then? You said it was destroyed—how can you be *alive*?"
"Mmm. Now comes the interesting part. This is a different body, yes, but it is also the same. After the bloodfeast my body was dead, a pile of ashes, a speck of soot—I had died by fire. My life-force, however, remained in the world—you could say I was something like a ghost—waiting, waiting, and waiting until finally, a thousand years later, something unusual happened: I was reborn. Out of the ashes of my first body I was born a second time, a perfect reproduction of the first both physically and psychologically. I grew from babe to child to adult in a matter of hours, at the end of which I was complete." At this, Myr smiled again, but this time her smile was a touch feral, a bit…vicious. "Well, almost complete, anyway. You see, Winnen, when the gods allowed my life-force, my soul, or whatever to return to me, they forgot one thing: *my power.* I was, indeed, reborn as the same being I had been before, but empty of all real power—oh, of course I had the usual, token powers vampirae usually have, but none of that is *genuine,* right, Winnen?"
Her stomach dropped. A thick wave of trepidation passed over her, an ominous cloud heavy with portent. Why is she asking me? Winn wondered. Why is she telling me all this?
"You know, Winn, when I first saw you, I though you seemed familiar. I felt as though there was a connection between us and at first I was perplexed as to why I would feel that way towards a complete stranger—towards a puny, wretched girl with a fixation on my former fiancé." Myr was no longer smiling. Sharp, violet eyes narrowed, leaning forward, predator-like, in Faolán's chair, she continued a voice that was still clear and melodic, but now tinged with palpable hostility, "But I think I know now. My power didn't return to me because it was searching for a new vessel—just as I had been reborn in new flesh, my power sought to manifest itself in a new instrument. And do you know what, Winnen? I think that new instrument is you."
"Me?" Winn choked. Her mouth felt like it was made of sandpaper.
"Oh, yes. You and I, child, we're griffins…phoenixes…the stuff of legends! Don't you understand? We're marked. The power uses us, burns us, births us, and then leaves us lost, alone, and empty because we know what real power feels like to have inside—to be able to control!" Myr said in a harsh whisper, her voice no longer a lilting, bubbling confection.
The dread in Winn's chest was getting thicker; her stomach clenched.
She had sudden urge to jump out of her chair and *run*. Run far, far away from this office, this place, this woman and her rage. She swallowed painfully. "Why are you telling me this? What do you want from me?" she croaked, fingers tightening on her chair's armrests.
Myr sat back, having regained her composure. "I told you all of this because I think you should know what you have to look forward to. And unfortunately, what I want from you isn't something that you can give freely—it must be taken. You aren't stupid, Winnen, so I believe you know what I want."
"The power."
"Yes, the power. All I ask is that you cooperate, child."
Winn's eyes widened. Cooperate with what? And the power must be *taken*? No. No, no, no. Get up. Run. Run, Winn. Run. "Don't touch me. Don't touch me!" she spat, staring straight into an endless expanse of cold violet. With a sudden, violent movement she sprang out of her chair and spun around to make for the door.
She never made it. As she was turning, out of the corner of her eye she thought she saw a flash of motion and light glinting on turquoise-blue eyes. Suddenly, she was facing the flaxen-haired Faolán, who stared at her from fewer than three feet away with ice-green eyes that were as cold and empty as Ruan's. She opened her mouth to scream—
All went black.
As school is ending in a few days, I'll have loads more time to write, so expect an update very soon…Please, please, please review—I your comments are scrumptious and I have a weakness for hearing all you've got to say…! Tough spices to all who review!
Peaches,
Mogget ::happy smile::
