Disclaimers: Elena Gilbert, Stefan Salvatore and friends, along with the Vampire Diaries I - IV belong to L.J. Smith. Everything else is mine. No harm intended or money made from this fic.
Notes:
~ Chapter ~
::Thoughts or telepathy::
_emphasis or italics_
Date posted: 14 January 2003
Author's Note: I'm beginning to wonder if anyone's still following this story. I've received nary review nor feedback of late and am feeling its lack rather keenly. If you are reading, please drop me a note. You like it, you hate it, I'm boring you to tears? Your interest is much appreciated and your support a blessing!
~ Thirty Three ~
A faint, unmistakable sound reached Samar's ears and her head snapped up like an alert deer's. "No way," she breathed. And then the sound came again and she was sure of it. She gladly abandoned the toaster she was idly taking apart, jumped up and sprinted in the direction of the sound.
Stefan turned his head to acknowledge her entry and was, of course, slightly startled when she ignored him, snatched his new finding out of his grasp and disappeared as precipitously as she had appeared. He shot an inquiring glance at Leon then at Makoe who appeared in the doorway after Samar left. The slim vampire wore a slight smile and got to his feet.
Mystified, Stefan also rose and followed his new companions. Somewhere in their prison, Samar's voice drifted back to them, sing-song, "Oh, Tristan, look what I've got!"
A short silence, then Samar again, "Now, now, you have to ask _nicely_." Another pause, and then Samar's voice took on the strident that were all too familiar. "Oh, yeah? Well, I'd like to see you try! It'll be so much fun to ornament your head with this little toy! I'm sure it would an improvement on your looks!"
At this point, the trio arrived at Tristan's room. The tall vampire had his hands extended, trying to grab the guitar while Samar held it out of his grasp. Her arm was cocked back as if she really was about to anoint her brother with the instrument. Her slim fingers barely met around its neck but her hold was negligent, as if it didn't weigh much; the position would have been incongruous if she'd been human.
Stefan had no doubt that Samar could make good her threat. After two weeks of training with her, he knew very well what she was capable of. Tristan didn't do bare-handed combat; he used weapons. Samar could and did fight with whatever was available.
The same thought might have been going through Tristan's mind along with his awareness of their audience. "Come on, Samar, quit acting like a preteen and give me that guitar."
His sister waggled the object of contention admonishingly. "I didn't hear the magic word."
"Now!" he thundered.
"Hah!" was the unimpressed response.
Tristan's eyes narrowed and a growl sounded low in his throat. "Please," he ground out.
"Now, see, that wasn't so hard, was it?" Samar said sweetly and flipped the instrument deftly in front of her to present it two-handed with a slight bow. The tall vampire snatched it ungraciously and ran fervent fingers over the honeyed, gleaming wood.
But Samar wasn't done yet. "Actually, Tristan, it was Stefan who found it," she said innocently. She earned herself a death glare with that little tidbit, but only continued to smile angelically at him. Everyone paused. "Will you go away if I do this?" he asked, finally. Samar nodded amiably.
Perhaps Tristan was loath to provide more entertainment for the watching trio. Or maybe he just wanted his sister to stop plaguing him. Shooting a sharp look at Stefan, he snapped, "Thank you."
Stefan nodded, not trusting himself to say anything and then Tristan pointedly turned his back to them. Tactfully, the three men in the hallway withdrew. Samar came skipping after them several moments later, looking very smug. The four of them heard the soft strains of Tristan tuning the guitar as they left.
"He's been so out of it," Samar confided when they had settled back into the cramped storeroom. "I mean, we've all been bored out of our minds, but at least you had your books," she nodded to Leon, "And we've been sparring," she looked at Stefan and Makoe. "But that antisocial worrywart," she hooked a thumb over her shoulder to indicate her brother, "Really _has_ done nothing but mope and stare at the ceiling of his cell for the past two weeks! At least now, he'll keep busy with something productive. Maybe he'll even write a couple of new songs."
Seeing the look on Stefan's face, she explained, "Tristan's a musician. He plays the guitar, the bass and occasionally the drums and he composes."
"Yes," Makoe drawled, "Our Tristan is something of a part-time artist. He takes his music seriously enough," he added before Samar could correct him, "But he only performs half the time."
"Just like you only moonlight in the body shop when you feel like it and Leon's a part-time lecturer at the college," Samar retorted impatiently.
"The garage work is just for kicks," Makoe said coldly.
"Of course," Samar tossed her head, "We all know where you make your _real_ money: drag racing." She sniffed. "Tristan does well with the occasional contracts. He doesn't need to keep up constant gigs," Samar told Stefan.
Leon murmured, "And he – we – have to keep a low profile otherwise someone might realize that we never age."
The younger Salvatore looked from one face to another. Finally, he settled on Leon, "You lecture?"
"History. One has to make a living somehow, I suppose. Even an undead," Leon said deprecatingly.
"And pay for the wheels," Samar put in snidely. Makoe awarded her a glacial look for the jibe and Stefan remembered the compact vampire's very expensive Japanese racing car.
"I'm the guest lecturer that appears for a few weeks and then disappears into the blue after that," Leon went on complacently. Stefan looked at his fellow prisoners, vampires who had lives in the mundane world of humans, who made it look easy.
"You associate with humans," he murmured thoughtfully. Leon shrugged. "Sure."
"So... you don't hate them?" Stefan ventured. A gamut of emotions crossed Samar's face, too fast for Stefan to identify, and Leon was taken aback. "No particularly," the latter said.
"Then why do you hunt vampire hunters?" he asked, baffled.
"They hunt _us_," Makoe pointed out with cool reason.
Leon shot him a quelling look. "It's self-defense, yes," he said, then a startlingly reckless smile spread on his face. "But it's mostly for the thrill of it. There's no challenge in facing clueless humans who haven't a chance. But vampire hunters know all about the undead, and they're ready for us. It's fun," he said, baring his teeth with something that could only be called bloodthirsty enthusiasm.
Stefan couldn't help but stare at this uncharacteristic side of Leon. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Samar doing the same. She looked as surprised as he felt, but she also looked mesmerized by Leon's words. She snapped out of it when he stopped.
"And what do you do?" Stefan asked her. She snorted. "Me? I'm just a kid, remember? What can I do?" she said sarcastically.
"She lives it up, bumming at home," Leon joked. He was struck with the full force of Samar's death glare and miraculously survived. ::I'm undead, remember?:: he told her, laughing. ::That has no effect on the likes of us.::
Samar did not deign to reply but glanced about the cluttered room. "Well, we'd better get started," she sighed. "We've got to find some soon."
"Find some what?" Leon asked, confused.
"Guitar strings, of course," she said. "To replace the current set. You know Tristan; he's going to wear those out in no time! And when we give him a new set of strings..."
* * *
Eiran sipped his Kahlua Coke absently. Music swirled around him, almost tangible. Beams of multicolored lights swiveled and strobed dizzyingly. The entire club was packed, but nowhere more than the dance floor. It looked like a solid mass of humanity gyrating in unison.
Most of the people in the club that night were vampire hunters. The roving spotlight showed some who were sitting out the dancing due to unhealed injuries. Absently, Eiran wondered what the management of the establishment thought of their group. The crowd on the dance floor shifted and Eiran could make out Crystal, dancing with at least four partners simultaneously. Her form-fitting hipsters and midriff-revealing top combined to give the impression of an endless expanse of bare skin and the way she was dancing drew male attention like bees to honey.
The mob shifted and Crystal disappeared from view. Eiran's attention wandered on. One could almost believe that everything was all right; the jubilant atmosphere made it easy to forget all the pain and horror and loss last week.
But only for so long.
Eiran spotted a familiar blonde head bent in conversation with a group of Turned who had survived the vampires' attack.
The strike force had stayed another two days in Quebec to give him and Elena time to recuperate and regain their strength before returning to Seattle. Their homecoming had been bittersweet at best. They had taken time to visit the graves of friends and the small memorial set up for those whose remains could not be identified. They had caught up with comrades still living, helped to tend the wounded, heard various accounts of the battle.
Jerrick had leaked the news that the Enemy had been killed in that last attack. Crystal's band of vampire hunters was dispersing a little at a time, lending credence to the story. The leader of the hunters had resisted at first, but her lieutenants had convinced her that it would be a good idea to lie low for a while. She was no fool; she knew that they would not be ready to face another attack in the near future. And so, she had reluctantly agreed.
"Why don't you ask her to dance?" The question broke into his reminiscing. Eiran turned his head to see Taura watching him, a slightly petulant curve to her lip and her brow.
"Hm?" he asked.
"Elena. Why don't you ask her to dance instead of just staring at her?" the petite girl repeated irritably.
Eiran realized that he had kept his gaze trained on Elena while his mind drifted back in memory. "I wasn't staring," he said, knowing that protest was futile. Taura snorted.
Since they'd returned, the strike force had spent a lot of time together. It wasn't a conscious decision, merely because there was a feeling of segregation between them and the rest of the hunters. It might have been due to shared experiences... or shared secrets. They had been cautioned not to tell anyone about the nature of their mission.
Right then, Alvin and Karen were on the dance floor. Trent was off somewhere with his fellow diviners. Maddy had voted to remain at the mansion with those too seriously wounded to join the festivities tonight. Elena was... mingling.
Eiran studied Taura. Her eyes were shuttered and her expression closed. The arms crossed in front of her and the belligerent tilt of her head all spoke of discontent. "You're not still sore about how the mission turned out, are you?" he asked. "You heard what Jerrick said."
"'We were there as a precaution and as a trial run so that we could all get a chance to work together. It's the _next_ mission that we're needed for,'" she paraphrased.
"Because the next target has his own horde. And it's huge," Eiran added. He continued to watch her levelly. Her mouth twisted. "Oh, all right, I'll stop sulking," she said huffily. "I'm not really mad. It's just residue. I was so psyched, you know? It's hard to lose that," she sighed.
Eiran nodded and smiled. He received a crooked, wry smirk in return and had to be satisfied with that.
"How's the back?" she asked, changing the subject.
"Practically good as new," he said. Ambrose Meremoth's throw had been forceful enough to shatter his spine in three places and fracture his skull. It was a good thing the Old One's unmaking left abundant energy for Elena and Maddy to patch him back up again.
"Oh?" She arched a challenging eyebrow, making Eiran feel like he'd just waltzed into a trap. "Well, then maybe you ought to get on that dance floor and prove it. And bring Elena with you." Her smug look told him that she'd manipulated him right where she wanted him.
But he was not to be outdone. "I've got a better idea," he finished his drink. "Why don't we leave Elena to her socializing and _you_ can come see for yourself that I'm all healed." He stood and while the hand he extended to her in invitation was courteous, his expression was wholly mischievous.
Taken by surprised, Taura _hmph_ed in mock indignation, then gracefully allowed him to pull her to her feet.
* * *
Elena laughed at the anecdote Miriam was telling. She shifted slightly and recrossed her legs, careful of the slit in her wraparound skirt. Her glass of Sangria cradled comfortable in one hand, she glanced about, taking in the scene. Her faint smile lingered as she noticed mixed clusters of vampire hunters, Turned and witches together. The division between classes had blurred after the second vampire attack, thankfully.
Her eyes caught on small gallery-like overhang in the darkened recesses of the ceiling. They widened when she recognized the lone figure standing in it.
Excusing herself, Elena found a club employee to show her how to get up there and climbed the well-concealed stairs. The instant she set foot on the platform, she froze. Energy ran strong and wild in this small enclosure, stirring the fine hairs on her arms.
She forced herself to move and managed to walk up to Jerrick one slow step at a time. Fighting the urge to scream, she peered up at him and gasped.
His head was tilted back slightly, his eyes closed. Breath flowed from between his barely parted lips; he looked like someone in the throes of bliss. She raised a hand to touch him, but hesitated. Tentatively she opened herself to the flow of Power–
First shock, then disbelief and finally outrage flared in her eyes. She hissed, long and low. "You..."
She continued to stare at him for an indefinite amount of time, lost in fury, until he sighed and opened his eyes to regard her levelly. The glow on his face was instantly recognizable and fueled her anger all the more.
"Thief," she hissed, glaring daggers at him.
"Thief?" He didn't raise his voice over the buzz of conversation below and the blasting of music but she heard him clearly all the same. "I don't think so, Elena."
"No? Then what do you call stealing their life force? Vampires are kinder; at least they're not so insidious. What you do is a hundred times worse!" she accused.
"I steal nothing." His face was expressionless, unmoved. He swept a hand to encompass the throng below, dancing, laughing, talking, drinking. "Released with the act of living, the energy is simply there, to be taken–"
"It's... not... yours... to take." Her tone dropped two octaves to an ominous growl. Her eyes, a brilliant blue and afire with fury, continued to pin him. When he did not respond, she whispered harshly, "You're despicable."
At this he quirked an eyebrow as if in polite inquiry. "Well, then perhaps this will be an additional incentive for you to complete the task quickly. All this will stop when the deed is done and our promise fulfilled," he said smoothly. The way his nostrils flared indicated impatience barely leashed, belying his tranquil manner.
Elena's fingers dipped through the slit in her skirt to the knife concealed there. Steel rasped when she drew. "Maybe," she said, soft death in her voice, as she raised her blade to strike, "I ought to end it right here and now."
"Don't be any more a fool than you have to," Jerrick bit out viciously. "You know as well as I do that the pact that you and I swore is not so easily undone. Do you think a slit throat would do either of us any good?"
Elena stared at him helplessly, unable to deny the truth in that. She drew breath to retort, but no words came to her, only an uncontrollable fury. She whirled, blond hair flying, suddenly unable to bear being near him. If she stayed, she would use the knife. On whom, she could not answer. Whatever else he might have said was cut short as she ran down the stairs, intent on putting as much distance between them as she could.
Author's Note: Feedback!
Notes:
~ Chapter ~
::Thoughts or telepathy::
_emphasis or italics_
Date posted: 14 January 2003
Author's Note: I'm beginning to wonder if anyone's still following this story. I've received nary review nor feedback of late and am feeling its lack rather keenly. If you are reading, please drop me a note. You like it, you hate it, I'm boring you to tears? Your interest is much appreciated and your support a blessing!
~ Thirty Three ~
A faint, unmistakable sound reached Samar's ears and her head snapped up like an alert deer's. "No way," she breathed. And then the sound came again and she was sure of it. She gladly abandoned the toaster she was idly taking apart, jumped up and sprinted in the direction of the sound.
Stefan turned his head to acknowledge her entry and was, of course, slightly startled when she ignored him, snatched his new finding out of his grasp and disappeared as precipitously as she had appeared. He shot an inquiring glance at Leon then at Makoe who appeared in the doorway after Samar left. The slim vampire wore a slight smile and got to his feet.
Mystified, Stefan also rose and followed his new companions. Somewhere in their prison, Samar's voice drifted back to them, sing-song, "Oh, Tristan, look what I've got!"
A short silence, then Samar again, "Now, now, you have to ask _nicely_." Another pause, and then Samar's voice took on the strident that were all too familiar. "Oh, yeah? Well, I'd like to see you try! It'll be so much fun to ornament your head with this little toy! I'm sure it would an improvement on your looks!"
At this point, the trio arrived at Tristan's room. The tall vampire had his hands extended, trying to grab the guitar while Samar held it out of his grasp. Her arm was cocked back as if she really was about to anoint her brother with the instrument. Her slim fingers barely met around its neck but her hold was negligent, as if it didn't weigh much; the position would have been incongruous if she'd been human.
Stefan had no doubt that Samar could make good her threat. After two weeks of training with her, he knew very well what she was capable of. Tristan didn't do bare-handed combat; he used weapons. Samar could and did fight with whatever was available.
The same thought might have been going through Tristan's mind along with his awareness of their audience. "Come on, Samar, quit acting like a preteen and give me that guitar."
His sister waggled the object of contention admonishingly. "I didn't hear the magic word."
"Now!" he thundered.
"Hah!" was the unimpressed response.
Tristan's eyes narrowed and a growl sounded low in his throat. "Please," he ground out.
"Now, see, that wasn't so hard, was it?" Samar said sweetly and flipped the instrument deftly in front of her to present it two-handed with a slight bow. The tall vampire snatched it ungraciously and ran fervent fingers over the honeyed, gleaming wood.
But Samar wasn't done yet. "Actually, Tristan, it was Stefan who found it," she said innocently. She earned herself a death glare with that little tidbit, but only continued to smile angelically at him. Everyone paused. "Will you go away if I do this?" he asked, finally. Samar nodded amiably.
Perhaps Tristan was loath to provide more entertainment for the watching trio. Or maybe he just wanted his sister to stop plaguing him. Shooting a sharp look at Stefan, he snapped, "Thank you."
Stefan nodded, not trusting himself to say anything and then Tristan pointedly turned his back to them. Tactfully, the three men in the hallway withdrew. Samar came skipping after them several moments later, looking very smug. The four of them heard the soft strains of Tristan tuning the guitar as they left.
"He's been so out of it," Samar confided when they had settled back into the cramped storeroom. "I mean, we've all been bored out of our minds, but at least you had your books," she nodded to Leon, "And we've been sparring," she looked at Stefan and Makoe. "But that antisocial worrywart," she hooked a thumb over her shoulder to indicate her brother, "Really _has_ done nothing but mope and stare at the ceiling of his cell for the past two weeks! At least now, he'll keep busy with something productive. Maybe he'll even write a couple of new songs."
Seeing the look on Stefan's face, she explained, "Tristan's a musician. He plays the guitar, the bass and occasionally the drums and he composes."
"Yes," Makoe drawled, "Our Tristan is something of a part-time artist. He takes his music seriously enough," he added before Samar could correct him, "But he only performs half the time."
"Just like you only moonlight in the body shop when you feel like it and Leon's a part-time lecturer at the college," Samar retorted impatiently.
"The garage work is just for kicks," Makoe said coldly.
"Of course," Samar tossed her head, "We all know where you make your _real_ money: drag racing." She sniffed. "Tristan does well with the occasional contracts. He doesn't need to keep up constant gigs," Samar told Stefan.
Leon murmured, "And he – we – have to keep a low profile otherwise someone might realize that we never age."
The younger Salvatore looked from one face to another. Finally, he settled on Leon, "You lecture?"
"History. One has to make a living somehow, I suppose. Even an undead," Leon said deprecatingly.
"And pay for the wheels," Samar put in snidely. Makoe awarded her a glacial look for the jibe and Stefan remembered the compact vampire's very expensive Japanese racing car.
"I'm the guest lecturer that appears for a few weeks and then disappears into the blue after that," Leon went on complacently. Stefan looked at his fellow prisoners, vampires who had lives in the mundane world of humans, who made it look easy.
"You associate with humans," he murmured thoughtfully. Leon shrugged. "Sure."
"So... you don't hate them?" Stefan ventured. A gamut of emotions crossed Samar's face, too fast for Stefan to identify, and Leon was taken aback. "No particularly," the latter said.
"Then why do you hunt vampire hunters?" he asked, baffled.
"They hunt _us_," Makoe pointed out with cool reason.
Leon shot him a quelling look. "It's self-defense, yes," he said, then a startlingly reckless smile spread on his face. "But it's mostly for the thrill of it. There's no challenge in facing clueless humans who haven't a chance. But vampire hunters know all about the undead, and they're ready for us. It's fun," he said, baring his teeth with something that could only be called bloodthirsty enthusiasm.
Stefan couldn't help but stare at this uncharacteristic side of Leon. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Samar doing the same. She looked as surprised as he felt, but she also looked mesmerized by Leon's words. She snapped out of it when he stopped.
"And what do you do?" Stefan asked her. She snorted. "Me? I'm just a kid, remember? What can I do?" she said sarcastically.
"She lives it up, bumming at home," Leon joked. He was struck with the full force of Samar's death glare and miraculously survived. ::I'm undead, remember?:: he told her, laughing. ::That has no effect on the likes of us.::
Samar did not deign to reply but glanced about the cluttered room. "Well, we'd better get started," she sighed. "We've got to find some soon."
"Find some what?" Leon asked, confused.
"Guitar strings, of course," she said. "To replace the current set. You know Tristan; he's going to wear those out in no time! And when we give him a new set of strings..."
* * *
Eiran sipped his Kahlua Coke absently. Music swirled around him, almost tangible. Beams of multicolored lights swiveled and strobed dizzyingly. The entire club was packed, but nowhere more than the dance floor. It looked like a solid mass of humanity gyrating in unison.
Most of the people in the club that night were vampire hunters. The roving spotlight showed some who were sitting out the dancing due to unhealed injuries. Absently, Eiran wondered what the management of the establishment thought of their group. The crowd on the dance floor shifted and Eiran could make out Crystal, dancing with at least four partners simultaneously. Her form-fitting hipsters and midriff-revealing top combined to give the impression of an endless expanse of bare skin and the way she was dancing drew male attention like bees to honey.
The mob shifted and Crystal disappeared from view. Eiran's attention wandered on. One could almost believe that everything was all right; the jubilant atmosphere made it easy to forget all the pain and horror and loss last week.
But only for so long.
Eiran spotted a familiar blonde head bent in conversation with a group of Turned who had survived the vampires' attack.
The strike force had stayed another two days in Quebec to give him and Elena time to recuperate and regain their strength before returning to Seattle. Their homecoming had been bittersweet at best. They had taken time to visit the graves of friends and the small memorial set up for those whose remains could not be identified. They had caught up with comrades still living, helped to tend the wounded, heard various accounts of the battle.
Jerrick had leaked the news that the Enemy had been killed in that last attack. Crystal's band of vampire hunters was dispersing a little at a time, lending credence to the story. The leader of the hunters had resisted at first, but her lieutenants had convinced her that it would be a good idea to lie low for a while. She was no fool; she knew that they would not be ready to face another attack in the near future. And so, she had reluctantly agreed.
"Why don't you ask her to dance?" The question broke into his reminiscing. Eiran turned his head to see Taura watching him, a slightly petulant curve to her lip and her brow.
"Hm?" he asked.
"Elena. Why don't you ask her to dance instead of just staring at her?" the petite girl repeated irritably.
Eiran realized that he had kept his gaze trained on Elena while his mind drifted back in memory. "I wasn't staring," he said, knowing that protest was futile. Taura snorted.
Since they'd returned, the strike force had spent a lot of time together. It wasn't a conscious decision, merely because there was a feeling of segregation between them and the rest of the hunters. It might have been due to shared experiences... or shared secrets. They had been cautioned not to tell anyone about the nature of their mission.
Right then, Alvin and Karen were on the dance floor. Trent was off somewhere with his fellow diviners. Maddy had voted to remain at the mansion with those too seriously wounded to join the festivities tonight. Elena was... mingling.
Eiran studied Taura. Her eyes were shuttered and her expression closed. The arms crossed in front of her and the belligerent tilt of her head all spoke of discontent. "You're not still sore about how the mission turned out, are you?" he asked. "You heard what Jerrick said."
"'We were there as a precaution and as a trial run so that we could all get a chance to work together. It's the _next_ mission that we're needed for,'" she paraphrased.
"Because the next target has his own horde. And it's huge," Eiran added. He continued to watch her levelly. Her mouth twisted. "Oh, all right, I'll stop sulking," she said huffily. "I'm not really mad. It's just residue. I was so psyched, you know? It's hard to lose that," she sighed.
Eiran nodded and smiled. He received a crooked, wry smirk in return and had to be satisfied with that.
"How's the back?" she asked, changing the subject.
"Practically good as new," he said. Ambrose Meremoth's throw had been forceful enough to shatter his spine in three places and fracture his skull. It was a good thing the Old One's unmaking left abundant energy for Elena and Maddy to patch him back up again.
"Oh?" She arched a challenging eyebrow, making Eiran feel like he'd just waltzed into a trap. "Well, then maybe you ought to get on that dance floor and prove it. And bring Elena with you." Her smug look told him that she'd manipulated him right where she wanted him.
But he was not to be outdone. "I've got a better idea," he finished his drink. "Why don't we leave Elena to her socializing and _you_ can come see for yourself that I'm all healed." He stood and while the hand he extended to her in invitation was courteous, his expression was wholly mischievous.
Taken by surprised, Taura _hmph_ed in mock indignation, then gracefully allowed him to pull her to her feet.
* * *
Elena laughed at the anecdote Miriam was telling. She shifted slightly and recrossed her legs, careful of the slit in her wraparound skirt. Her glass of Sangria cradled comfortable in one hand, she glanced about, taking in the scene. Her faint smile lingered as she noticed mixed clusters of vampire hunters, Turned and witches together. The division between classes had blurred after the second vampire attack, thankfully.
Her eyes caught on small gallery-like overhang in the darkened recesses of the ceiling. They widened when she recognized the lone figure standing in it.
Excusing herself, Elena found a club employee to show her how to get up there and climbed the well-concealed stairs. The instant she set foot on the platform, she froze. Energy ran strong and wild in this small enclosure, stirring the fine hairs on her arms.
She forced herself to move and managed to walk up to Jerrick one slow step at a time. Fighting the urge to scream, she peered up at him and gasped.
His head was tilted back slightly, his eyes closed. Breath flowed from between his barely parted lips; he looked like someone in the throes of bliss. She raised a hand to touch him, but hesitated. Tentatively she opened herself to the flow of Power–
First shock, then disbelief and finally outrage flared in her eyes. She hissed, long and low. "You..."
She continued to stare at him for an indefinite amount of time, lost in fury, until he sighed and opened his eyes to regard her levelly. The glow on his face was instantly recognizable and fueled her anger all the more.
"Thief," she hissed, glaring daggers at him.
"Thief?" He didn't raise his voice over the buzz of conversation below and the blasting of music but she heard him clearly all the same. "I don't think so, Elena."
"No? Then what do you call stealing their life force? Vampires are kinder; at least they're not so insidious. What you do is a hundred times worse!" she accused.
"I steal nothing." His face was expressionless, unmoved. He swept a hand to encompass the throng below, dancing, laughing, talking, drinking. "Released with the act of living, the energy is simply there, to be taken–"
"It's... not... yours... to take." Her tone dropped two octaves to an ominous growl. Her eyes, a brilliant blue and afire with fury, continued to pin him. When he did not respond, she whispered harshly, "You're despicable."
At this he quirked an eyebrow as if in polite inquiry. "Well, then perhaps this will be an additional incentive for you to complete the task quickly. All this will stop when the deed is done and our promise fulfilled," he said smoothly. The way his nostrils flared indicated impatience barely leashed, belying his tranquil manner.
Elena's fingers dipped through the slit in her skirt to the knife concealed there. Steel rasped when she drew. "Maybe," she said, soft death in her voice, as she raised her blade to strike, "I ought to end it right here and now."
"Don't be any more a fool than you have to," Jerrick bit out viciously. "You know as well as I do that the pact that you and I swore is not so easily undone. Do you think a slit throat would do either of us any good?"
Elena stared at him helplessly, unable to deny the truth in that. She drew breath to retort, but no words came to her, only an uncontrollable fury. She whirled, blond hair flying, suddenly unable to bear being near him. If she stayed, she would use the knife. On whom, she could not answer. Whatever else he might have said was cut short as she ran down the stairs, intent on putting as much distance between them as she could.
Author's Note: Feedback!