Disclaimer: I don't own DBZ.
A/N: Damn, I'm too nice.
Dark Blessing: Chapter 3
Juclesia
He'd stopped somewhere miles away, retreating into the innards of a nearby cliff in order to escape the rain, which even for him was beginning to cause his hair to bristle.
That indeed had been a close one, and he did feel foolish.
And the majority of the reason had been to just catch a quick glance at his mate. Oh how foolish he felt. And he knew, he hadn't yet forgotten the promise he'd made himself: never again to be with her.
For he was different now, had a power unimaginable to any normal human— to even Kakarrot and his bafoons. The power he had always desired— falling right into the palms of his hands; now it was time to use it to his advantage, and finally defeat Kakarrot. Perhaps he could go farther than that. Hell, he had the ability to reclaim his title as ruler if he wished. Only this time it would be King, King of Earth— no— King of the Universe!
And no longer need he be associated with his little Earthling wife with whom he'd shared all those years, with whom he'd had a son. He was above that now; he would once again be the mightiest, and his name would once again put fear into all, just as it should have long ago.
But still . . .
Before he had left, before he had taken off into the night, he'd looked into her eyes— those incredibly saddened eyes. Was it really just? To just leave her in the fragile state she was in? So bewildered? So oblivious of the reason for which he'd left her?
Perhaps it wouldn't hurt to see her . . .
One last time.
Bulma sat in a daze at the kitchen table, just as she had at Chichi's. She raked her fingers through her tangled locks, her eyes large and angry as they bored into the patterns of the maple wood.
It was late, but she was far from tired. While Trunks lay soundly upstairs in bed, ill, Bulma gnawed viciously at her bottom lip as she tried her best to comprehend what had happened, without much success.
"What the hell is going on?" she groaned through quivering lips while her fingers diligently massaged her throbbing temples.
Goku's macabre words still echoed within her mind. That was Vegeta alright, he'd said with a creased brow, but he had no ki. Almost like a phantom or something.
Bulma stared skeptically through her fingers, her glare hardening. Impossible.
Though it pained her to say this, she wasn't entirely certain whether or not she was glad anymore that she had seen him. It hurt so much, this confusion. And after all, ignorance was bliss.
The others had suggested the possibility of the Saiyan Prince somehow managing to elude King Yama after he'd died, but this theory Bulma discarded as well. Ugh, it's too much for my brain. I know there's a logical explanation in here somewhere, but right now--- I just can't find it. Bulma ran a slender hand through her bangs, nearly screeching in frustration when her fingers merely became tangled in the mussed mane.
The sudden, familiar pluck of the doorbell reached her ears, disrupting her train of thought. Not that her ruminations had actually been heading in any particular direction.
What if it was Goku? Coming to bear news? Perhaps coming to inform her that he had finally solved the puzzle, or that he'd once again found her lost husband?
And with this quickening hope, Bulma's pace as she made her way to the front door quickened as well, her bare feet cool as they padded upon the tile.
But when the door opened, when her anticipating hand turned that knob with infesting hope, her smile instantly faded when she instead lay her eyes upon nothing more than her front porch. Puzzled, she braced her hands on either side of the doorway while audaciously leaning out into the pounding rain, her desperate call drowned out by the boom of thunder that struck.
And as soon as that cry for attention sounded through the obscured skies, a brief flicker flashed behind her, before all went black; every light went utterly dark.
Blue brows knitted as the woman's jaw worked fervently. He was pushing it, God. She knew He was testing her— her patience— and frankly, she was sorry to say that he was completely oblivious of just how tight her strings were at the moment.
The door slammed with a bitterness that echoed hollowly throughout the dark, silent household. As Bulma spun on her heel with her fuming gaze downcast, another river of blue light permeated through the drawn curtains. Immediately following came the deafening boom, just as Bulma collided into something hard . . .
Startled her eyes darted up to the obstacle. And for but a split second, with the loitering traces of fluorescence that were rapidly fading Bulma had no time to decipher the humanlike features that shone beforeher, and instead she let out a sharp yelp. But sadly, before her fight-or-flight instinct could react to this intruder, the other's hands were too swift as they lashed out to securely grab hold of her arms. She writhed viciously as she was hoisted from her feet. "Aaahh! Trunks, hel—,"
She was silenced by a strong hand that now muffled her screams, and could no longer breathe as she was pulled hard against a firm chest. Cool lips moved swiftly against her ear. "Shut up!" a harsh voice hissed. "Not another word, you got that, Woman!"
Woman.
Bulma shook away the grip that cupped her mouth, and leaned back to squint through the darkness. "V-vegeta?" Her voice was but a low whisper, shaken with awe and disbelief.
She felt the ground once again beneath her feet, but no longer was that her worry. How . . . was it possible?
Her eyes having adjusted to the darkness, Bulma could now acknowledge with growing excitement the familiar outline of his finely toned body, his wild, upswept spikes. Oh, my . . . God.
He sighed. "Yes, it's me; I— oomph!"
His words were cut short as the ecstatic woman ran into him, throwing her arms around his waist with such panic and fear of ever losing him again.She buried her face in his chest while letting a genuine simper claim her lips, her heart fluttering. "It's really you! Oh, God, really you!"
The Saiyan grunted again, and his nose crinkled at the thought of showing such weakness as he gave in to the human affection which he hadn't experienced in eternity. Tentatively he settled his hands on the small of her back.
She could feel his resistance, his hesitance, but she didn't give a damn. All she cared about was savoring that familiar warmth, that warmth which she vowed to never take for granted again.
A few more moments drifted lazily by, where the two lovers merely held each other in silence, before Bulma's demeanor transformed altogether.Her eyes flew open in sudden rage, and as though possessed by the Devil's work she sent a firm hand across Vegeta's cheek, followed by a barrage of useless blows with her balled fists upon his chest. "You bastard how dare you leave me like that how dare you leave Trunks damn you where the hell were you!"
Frantically Vegeta grabbed hold of the hysteric woman. "Quiet! Just shut up and maybe I'll tell you!"
Though Bulma's aggressive movements ceased, her death glare did not. She stilled suddenly, her shoulders rising and falling with each crazed breath. "Oh, you better tell me," she warned, her eyes narrowed dangerously.
Vegeta gave another sigh.
"Was it . . . another woman?"
At this, he grimaced, his expression incredulous. "What? Of course not! Don't be stupid!"
"Well, what then, Vegeta! What!"
"Does it really matter! I only came here to . . ." he paused, as though hesitating, " . . . say good-bye."
Now it was Bulma's turn to be incredulous. "What!" She couldn't believe what she was hearing! He was joking, right? Right!
How could he even consider leaving her again, of leaving Trunks again? Did their son mean nothing to him? Did he not know of the countless number of times in which Trunks would look around the room with that childlike curiosity, the same, unspoken question evident in his eyes each and every time: Where's Daddy?
It had to be another woman. There was no other explanation. But Bulma's heart was still stubborn, refusing to accept the truth, slowly tearing with each passing second.
In a quiet, quivering voice, Bulma asked the unthinkable question: "Who is she?"
"I told you, there's no woman!" he practically roared, and if it hadn't been for the drumming of the rain, it undoubtedly would have awakened their son. Vegeta tore his gaze away angrily, sickened by the first visible tear that glided down her trembling cheek— ashamed by how she was displaying such weakness. "I'm— different now, that's all; I've come to my senses. And I've decided finally to fulfill my rightful destiny—," he turned back to face Bulma, "— which does not and never should have involved you."
The last words were pressed through gritted teeth, she could hear it, and that was all it took for her heart, which had been holding on by a thread, to finally shatter.
But still, she was not convinced. "Who is she, Vegeta!"
There was a dull roar that erupted from deep within Vegeta's chest, and for a brief moment Bulma actually cringed when bracing herself for a backhand. But it never came. With audacity she opened her eyes, starting when realizing she was just centimeters away from her husband's face. "I'm—. Different—."
Another wave of light washed over them in that unbearably tense moment, allowing Bulma to witness just how frightening he truly was in his contemptible rage: his dark brows drawn low over those burning, depth less eyes, the lines in his face pulled taut in vexation, his lips contracted to expose bared teeth.
And suddenly, Bulma couldn't breathe.
They were fangs.
"V-vegeta," she rasped hoarsely, nauseating, painful knots twisting in the pit of her stomach. Her knees buckled, and before she could catch herself, she fell to the floor, devastated, petrified, staring up at him with a fear undescribable by words— the kind of feeling one only experiences before their death.
Vegeta towered over his cowering wife with crossed arms, looking down on her with scorn. "Fool. I didn't come here to harm you. I told you, I came here to say my good-byes."
"B-but— h-how? W-when? W-wh— . . ."
What hell is happening! I'm dreaming, I'm dreaming, I'm dreaming.
"Yes; I'm— what you humans call— a vampire." His voice was softer, almost meek, muffled by shame.
Impossible. "B-but, h-h-how—,"
He whirled on her again with that same feral fury. She wasn't making this easy on him; he was already ashamed of the occurrence, and he doubted he could even force the words through his mouth, even if he wanted to. "I don't know, okay!"
Bulma remained immobilized on the floor, her eyes glistening with tears. After a moment, she spoke through only partially parted lips, her words drawled with horrified fascination. "A . . . vampire?"
How was it possible? How could it be possible? Recollection swam back to her, of huddling beneath the covers on a stormy night, when she'd been to exhausted to continue in the lab, indulging in the reading of horror books and thrillers. Dracula and vampire tales had always frightened her the most, and she'd always reassure herself that as a scientist, she knew perfectly well that there was no such thing in existence.
Then what was standing before her now? What was just inches away from her that defied all her logic?
Before she had even realized it, she had already climbed to her feet and boldly closed the distance between him and her, her fingers subconscious as they caressed his cheek in wonder. So smooth.
But he wasn't death cold like the vampires she'd read about, and he wasn't advancing on her or drawing her into his supernatural spell as Dracula would.
Subliminal images flashed as quickly as the lightning outside, displaying pictures of Vegeta writhing on the ground as his skin began to burn away from the cross that had been laid upon his forehead; of him leaping back with an inhuman hiss as garlic drew near; of him turning to ashes in the sun.
Vegeta's glare had softened slightly. He fought against urge to swat her hand away, his mind instead focusing on her disheveled, blue locks that fell onto her shoulders.
But another thought crossed Bulma's mind, one that drew her roughly from her daze. "But . . . Vegeta, surely you're not killing— . . ."
"It's a necessity, Bulma; survival."
Now even worse, more grotesque images infiltrated her mind: Vegeta clamping his jaws down on some innocent bystander in the street, ignoring their wheezed pleas as they grab frantically for their attacker, only to soon fall limp, lifeless, bloodless. "So," she whispered, "that's why you have no ki."
At this, Vegeta couldn't suppress the smirk that tickled his lips. "Yes," he said wryly, his voice low and husky. "I'm dead."
Dead. A walking corpse.
"And now you see why I have to leave." His tone was serious again, and Bulma failed to decipher whether or not it was a question or a statement.
But nevertheless, her wide-eyed gaze fell upon the floor as her mind still scrambled to grasp what was happening, her head giving a ramshackle nod as her eyes drifted shut to prevent the new batch of sadness and confusion and fear that threatened. Oh, Vegeta, please tell me this is a dream.
"It's not a dream, Bulma."
It took a moment for Bulma to process his words— the words that concluded it all--- and in shock her eyes snapped open, her arms reaching out to coil themselves around his waist, only to grab nothing but darkness.
He was gone.
Again.
But she knew why now, so shouldn't she have been content? Shouldn't she have been content with his reason for leaving her? For it really was a good reason.
But still, it wasn't enough. Her heart didn't care what he was, it loved him either way.
"Vegeta."
So that was it? What, she'd never see him again? Or would he come in to visit her on those stormy nights, when she wrapped her arms around herself in meek protection against the monsters of her nightmares?
Having fallen to her knees, Bulma ran her fingers viciously through her hair, only to leave them there, and let them curl in devastation with her locks entrapped within her now clenched fists.
Vegeta.
He ignored the rain as it pounded upon him mercilessly, as though admonishing him for his actions.
He had no reason to pity her, to sympathize her; she understood perfectly well his reason, and had even nodded in agreement.
In reality, he was just glad to have finally gotten out of there, for the smell had almost driven him mad. Her scent had been intoxicating, nauseatingly sweet, even after he'd fed to prevent it. And he was truly thankful for the blue locks which had obscured her slender neck from his hungry view.
Vegeta smiled suddenly, a cynical, terrorizing grin, one he hadn't had shown since he'd been working for Frieza.
And now that the guilt which had inevitably wormed its way into his conscious was gone for good,
it was time to put his plan into action.
A/N: Vampires have always been my specialty, so I just thought I'd try it with a B/V. If you don't like, I'm terribly sorry, but I'm afraid I'm going to continue regardless what you think is "right" or "sick". So anyway, PLEASE REVIEW! Please, to those of you that are reading but not reviewing, I need your thoughts! So PLEASE REVIEW!
