Summary: Elena takes on the Old Ones, risking all to gain a life for herself and Stefan.
Disclaimers: Elena Gilbert, Stefan Salvatore and any other names you recognize from the books, 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_
* Author's Note(s)
Date posted: 17 December 2003
* Rated for mild violence. Well... a bit more than two weeks since I last updated. Not bad... let's hope the next update comes as soon! On a slightly different note, I'd tentatively say Leaf will be done in about 6 chapters. Maybe a couple more. But the end is in sight! *grin* Many thanks to Moreta for taking time off her busy schedule to play editor.
Feedback, thoughts, critique welcome.
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~ Fifty ~
"Can't this thing go any faster?" Samar burst out. Up ahead, the light changed to amber. Samar felt her right foot flooring an imaginary gas pedal as she unconsciously tried to speed the car up. They could have easily made it before the light turned red, too, except for Leon's putting-snails-to-shame speed.
They _still_ might have made it across if Leon hadn't slowed the car down as they approached the intersection to bring it such a gradual and _gentle_ stop.
Samar's fists clenched on the seat beside her thigh. She was keyed up for the fight and Leon's blatant placidity was driving her nuts. Nuttier! She saw him glance at her fists, then away. His own hands resting easily on the steering wheel, completely, utterly relaxed. But it was Leon; what did you expect?
Frustrated, she growled. "Let me drive."
A slight smile bloomed on his face, as if she had said something funny. "I don't think that would be a good idea, Samar."
"I don't _care_ what you think; you're going to make us miss the fight!"
If he showed any reaction to her exclamation, she didn't see it. Tense seconds ticked by. Leon made no reply and Samar broke of her glare to face forward and stare stonily out the windshield, crossing her arms over her chest.
"Sometimes, you're as infuriating as Makoe."
There was a beat of silence. "And sometimes, not?" Leon offered.
"Hah!" Samar snorted. Silence fell, well and truly, after that.
With nothing else to do but stew and fume, Samar's mind turned to their last encounter and the cryptic conversation in her room. She reviewed it, for the hundredth time.
After the harangue over Stefan's decision, she had dismissed the idea of being Turned; she didn't know how she would go on if she got kicked out of the hunt. Where would she go? Hang on to Stefan and Elena? Hardly!
And so she had accepted that Turning was not an option for her. At least intellectually. Trying to get her rebellious heart to understand that was another matter.
Then Leon had come, saying that he was also thinking of Turning. So if she chose to Turn, they could stay together. Something inside had leapt in excitement at this possibility, but the decision was still not an easy one.
But that wasn't what was bothering her. His weird behavior that night was.
Her mind played back that encounter. Now, if she were the paranoid, conceited type, she might have suspected that Leon had feelings for her. The idea occurred to her, of course, but he hadn't actually come out and said anything and there was no way she was going to be fool enough to make any embarrassing assumptions. Again.
Not after... _Makoe_
But curiosity was eating at her from the inside out. Now was her chance.
Yeah, but how to begin?
She thought hard but came up blank. She sighed.
"Hm?" he asked, looking at her out of the corner of his eye before returning his attention to the road.
"After today, Stefan's not going to be part of the hunt anymore. He'll be human again." Nice save, Samar! she congratulated herself. That had come out of nowhere.
Leon nodded. "Will you be sorry to see him go?"
She felt a feral smile lift one corner of her mouth. "He's not going to get rid of us _that_ easily!" She saw Leon's lips turn up as well.
"What about you? Have you decided yet?" she asked him.
There was an almost imperceptible hesitation before he answered. "Well, partly. I will if you do."
Samar bit back the automatic 'why?' that leapt wildly to her tongue and settled for, "And if I don't?"
He grinned wryly at her, turning his head just barely to do so. "That's the part I haven't decided yet." Facing forward again, he threw it back to her, "What about you?"
Samar blew out at her bangs noisily and pursed her lips. "I really don't know, Leon." She slouched against the door and rested her head on the windowpane as that prickly question came to the fore of her mind again. Her heart screamed, 'go for it!' and her mind yelled back, 'you're nuts!' and it just didn't go anywhere.
"What's holding you back?" he asked simply.
Good question. She considered it and didn't even notice when the light changed and Leon put the car into motion at a sedate pace again. "I lost everything when I became a vampire," she said finally, contemplative and uncharacteristically sober. "I guess don't want to lose it all again. Even if I became human again, things just won't be the same. It's been thirty years. I can't go back and pick up where I left off."
More thoughtful silence, then she went on, "You saw Tristan's reaction; he'd never consider Turning. Which means..." She trailed off, unwilling to state outright just how much she depended on her brother, not just as a provider but as the only family she had left.
Head still against the window, she swiveled it to regard him with a solemnity that was oddly childlike.
He met her eyes full on but had to look back at the road after a second. "You wouldn't be alone," he answered quietly in his gentle way. "We'd be together."
Was he talking about a temporary arrangement or something permanent? Either way, Samar tried to imagine living with Leon, without Tristan and Makoe around and couldn't. She smiled, but it twisted into something more than a little sour.
"You and me? Happily ever after, you and me? I don't _think_ so, Leon." She stopped short.
That came out more sarcastic that she had intended. She sat up straighter and turned to look to see how he had taken the careless remark. Well, it's too late to take it back now.
Dead silence hung heavy and awkward hung between them. Leon kept driving, attention fixed on the road.
Samar frowned, feeling a bit miffed at the lack of response and disturbed at the same time. Her female empathic antennae might not be the most sensitive in the world, but even _she_ could tell something wasn't right. Leon should have made _some_ answer to her words...
Then she realized that the car was picking up speed. What the-
She looked at Leon; saw only a fixed mask in profile with no expression whatsoever. Not at all his usual half-asleep look. Her frown deepened and she started to say something, then noticed the death-grip he had on the steering wheel.
"Leon?"
No reply.
::Leon!::
He made a vague sound of enquiry, which she would not have heard if not for vampiric senses, and even that sounded oddly flat.
::What's wrong?::
"Nothing." His curt tone was every bit as flat as the 'hm' had been.
_Yeah, right!_ Samar snorted. The Nissan rounded a bend ungently, flinging Samar against the door. "That is so totally a lie!"
He didn't appear to have heard her, and kept driving. Bloody hell. I didn't know Leon knew how to drive like this! Samar thought irrelevantly, watching the speedometer needle climb.
"Leon. Leon! Slow down!"
"You wanted to get to the fight," he reminded her, not easing up on the accelerator.
"Yeah, but I want to get there in one piece." She dared to lean forward to get a good look at his face. It was tight and... bloodless. Except for a teensy bit of blotchiness. Samar felt true alarm. "Leon, stop the car."
"What about the fight?"
"There'll be other fights. Pull over. _Now!_"
She was thrown against him and then only her seatbelt stalled her forward plunge as he jerked the car onto the shoulder and hit the brakes without warning. In the sudden stillness of a stationary car, Samar sat motionless, catching her breath.
Well, you were curious, she reminded herself shakily.
Leon's right leg started to jingle. Samar found herself staring at it. She'd never seen Leon exhibit any nervous gestures. She'd never seen Leon nervous.
No, not nervous, she amended, looking at his blank face. Distressed.
"Leon," she said softly, perhaps the first time she'd ever spoken to him in that tone.
"What, Samar?" The first word was snapped, but the second was softer and limped a little. Was there a slight hesitation before he said her name?
"I'm sorry."
She could feel him tense. At length, he said, "For what?" in a careless tone that brushed off whatever she replied with before she even said it. The leg hadn't stilled.
"For that last remark. I didn't mean to upset you; it came out all wrong. I meant-"
He shrugged, cutting her off and she was faintly shocked. "I'm not upset," he said, still with that off-handed tone.
No, you're in denial.
She faced forward, leaning into her seat. She watched him out of the corner of her eye. His apathy didn't change. The only thing that might be read was impatience to be away.
Samar felt the situation getting rapidly out of hand and fought panic. Frantically thinking of a way out, she grabbed for something to salvage the mess.
"You suggested that if we both decided to be Turned, we could stay together." If anything, he went even tenser. Her heart thudded dully. "Do you want to stay together because we'll need each other after we're Turned... or do you want to be Turned to... be with me?" Her face heated as she forced out the last phrases.
The tempo of his right leg increased. She waited for an answer, until it seemed the heightening of the nervous gesture was all the answer he was going to give her.
Her hand moved to gently stop the jerking knee but he reacted as if burned by her touch. Before she knew what was going on, the door on his side slammed shut and he had walked around the car and was standing as far away from the car as he could.
She sat stunned for a moment, then got out more slowly. He had his back to her and she ended up staring at his hair for what seemed a long time. Her mind scrambled to put together an answer to this bizarre turn of events. She had _never_, _ever_ seen him act this way and it scared her.
As moments ticked by, she walked towards him. He had to have heard her approach but might have been too proud to move away. She walked around him so that they were face to face.
His face was set in a stiff mask. His eyes were dry. But they were red.
::Leon,:: she whispered telepathically. His nostrils flared, then his face settled back into its mask.
She didn't try to touch him. ::Do you love me?:: It was the only plausible reason her brain could come up with to explain all this; Leon simply didn't take offense and throw a temper tantrum over nothing. But she had to know for sure. And if it was true...
Finally, he looked at her. She thought she read a little defiance in him, as if trying to salvage what pride lost by letting her see him like this. "What do you want from me, Samar?" he asked, blunt and curt.
Samar felt a pang, never realizing the gentleness - tenderness? - with which he had always addressed her. Now, she mourned its loss.
"You already know the answer to that. Moreover, you've made it abundantly clear you're... not interested." He looked away and a silent snarl twisted his lips. With visible effort, he got banished it.
Samar's nails dug into her palms hard at the evidence of such hurt.
He was not entirely successful in diffusing his emotions; when he resumed, the viciousness in his tone hit her like a slap, "Won't you leave me a scrap of dignity or will you not be happy till you've trampled even that?"
She bit her lip and she felt a sharp stab of remorse. Her desire to preserve her pride had been at too high a cost to Leon. Leon, who had never been anything but kind and gracious to her.
He moved, thinking she wasn't going to - couldn't - answer, spinning on his heel and returning to the car, leaving her standing there, staring at his back again.
What could she do? Without thinking, she ran forward and grabbed him from the back, hanging on tight when he tried to jerk himself away from her. After the initial attempt, he stood, rigid and unmoving, too proud to struggle anymore, too gallant still to break her hold by force.
::I'm so sorry,:: she whispered repentantly at him. ::Sorry I hurt you; I didn't mean to!:: She let him feel the sincerity of her emotions in her mind. She thought he relaxed a little. Was that a sigh?
Beneath her hands and cheek, his body trembled as if containing some force. She thought he might explode into movement at any moment, tearing himself away from her.
But he remained silent, though the tension didn't ease.
"Can we talk?" she asked softly.
"There isn't anything to talk about," he said. "I asked. You... turned me down. We go on as we did before."
She shook her head, still hanging onto him. She had the irrational feeling that he would run away if she let go.
"I didn't _know_ for sure what you were asking!" She refrained from adding 'stupid' at the end of that. A bit of impatience and exasperation was emerging past the remorse now that her mind has had a chance to catch up on things a little. "I say we go back to the car and take this from the top." And now a hint of steel and determination crept back into her tone. The message was clear: don't argue with me!
How short-lived, your repentance, a voice mocked her. Shut up, she snapped back. I'm trying to _fix_ things.
She didn't wait for a reply but released him and got into the car. Behind the wheel.
He followed, sliding into the passenger seat. His reluctance was clear in his movements.
"Let's...start at the beginning. But first, the golden rule: tell the complete and full truth. I'm going to assume _nothing_ unless I actually hear you say it. All right?" She waited for agreement and got a sardonic look. It shook her how different he was in this mood. Taking the look as agreement, she began: "That day, in my room..." She stopped to consider the best approach.
"What was it you thought I wasn't ready to hear?" Ask and then wait for an answer. Where had she heard that bit of wisdom before?
She had to wait longer than she thought.
"I meant that you were not ready to hear about my... feelings-"
"Love?" she broke in. Leon leveled what was - for him - a glare at her and she shrugged a little. "Like I said, full and complete. How do I know what exactly you mean if you don't come out and say it? I don't want any more misunderstandings."
"My _love_," he resumed with emphasis, "So soon after Makoe." He stopped there although Samar had a feeling it was a last minute decision not to go on.
"So when you said I would always have you... if I chose to, you meant, if we got together?" she prompted. A jerky nod confirmed this.
She looked at him and waited till he met her gaze before speaking. "I didn't know, Leon," she said softly, leaving there little doubt of her honesty. "Suspected, yes. But I didn't want to jump to any conclusions. I learned my lesson with..." Makoe. The name didn't need to be said; they both knew who she was referring to.
This time, his nod was less stilted, more understanding. He was slowly relaxing, becoming more his usual self, albeit more guarded and opaque.
They both sat in thoughtful silence for the next few moments. When Samar realized how close they had come to letting this misunderstanding utterly destroyed their friendship, she nearly hit him.
"So," Samar breathed at last. "What now?"
He shrugged. "You know... now. What happens next is up to you. If you'll still have me as a friend, I can accept that. Before the issue of Turning came up, I've never thought of trying to make it otherwise," Leon said, studiously neutral.
Hang on! Samar turned to face him. "You never meant to tell me how you felt? Never thought of asking me out or anything?" Though it seemed a bit odd to be dating your... 'hunt-mate.' But then, Makoe was a hunt-mate as well. Still, Samar felt the beginnings of outrage.
Leon met her direct stare levelly. "None. If you'd been the least bit interested, perhaps. But otherwise, I would have left it well enough alone." He returned his gaze to the view through the windshield.
Now Samar _really_ wanted to strangle him.
"Why?" she shot at him. It was starting to sink in; Leon loved her. Why on earth would he not come out and tell her so?
_And just how do you feel about this?_ a voice asked her inside. I-
But Leon's reply cut off that train of thought. "Why would I jeopardize our friendship unless I thought something good would come out of it?" he asked logically.
She gritted her teeth, wanting to find something to fault in that argument, but unable to. "Did you ever think," she began after a moment's thought, "That by keeping quiet, you rob me of my chance to _choose_ - to even _consider_ - what might turn out to be a beautiful and lifelong relationship?"
He stiffened, not daring or refusing to look at her. "You know now," he said again, indicating that that line of argument was moot. "What is your opinion?"
Which brought them squarely back to her question. What now? Depends on how you feel about this. So how _do_ you feel about this?
In answer, her mind yielded a thousand flashes of caring moments. He had somehow always been there when she needed. Fighting with Tristan, dealing with culture clash and homesickness, hunting, having bad days, frustration over training with Makoe, frustration over being kept out of the loop - hundreds of little moments that she had never noticed, never consciously valued.
Did she love him? Not as she had thought she loved Makoe. Which might be a good thing.
Did she love him? No, but she... she might grow to. The knowledge of his feelings didn't repel her. In fact, it gave her a sort of low-key thrill, more like a glow.
She came back to herself. Leon was understandably tense in the seat beside her. She decided to broach the easier topic first.
"On being Turned... I haven't decided yet." He nodded at that, easily. "As for... you and I," she continued, self-consciously toying with a lock of hair.
"I... I'd like to give it a try."
His head whipped around like yanked by a string and she had to smile. "I'm not saying I'll be your life's partner," she qualified, soaking in his incredulous expression with an odd pleasure.
"I'm not even saying I'm head over heels in love with you," she added a bit more gently, squelching alarm at the way his eyes glowed. "I'm just saying I'd like to see where this goes. So... if you want to bring up a night out sometime..." she trailed off, uncharacteristically shy.
He didn't nod this time. His eyes were opened wide but his smile was wider.
It was all the answer she needed.
* * *
The Old One woke to the smell of blood.
His mind seared through the remaining threads of the mental compulsions wrapped around his psyche. He knew in an instant whose blood it was that had been spilt.
His own.
His already frayed temper and pride took in the injury and balked. It was too much; not only had he been ambushed and abducted, not only had he suffered the insult of having his Powers contained, these humans had dared to make free with his body while he was helpless; they had _rendered_ him helpless!
He sent his awareness _outwards_, like the ripple caused by a dropped stone, radiating outward in all directions at once. His mind encompassed the room with a number of attentive hunters, passed through the grand mansion they were in and the manicured lawns beyond and touched the fringe of the fighting-
_Movement._ His attention snapped back to his immediate vicinity. His head lifted in a smooth motion and the amber eyes found the comely young human holding the blooded knife. They were in the middle of a swimming pool, the Old One chained to the chair, the human standing before him.
The hunter burned.
It didn't matter that he stood in water up to his waist. Though he screamed and produced great clouds of steam, every fiber of his being was set aflame and _kept_ that way with raw Power as the Old One exacted his price for injuries offered.
The ancient being watched the human scream and try to douse himself in vain, watched as the flaming figure frantically, mindlessly leap out of the pool and ran. He was aware of the shock and horror of the rest of the gathered.
It was not enough. The small punishment did nothing to sate his rage. He sought another outlet and felt it come roaring out, making itself felt in a tangible, untamed - and more satisfactory - way.
Raw Power found random sites to release pent-up, maddened fury. The air filled with the sudden, shocking sound of explosions, drowning the burning man's screams.
The mansion shook. The blasts weakened the building and left fires in its wake in all parts of the house.
Around the pool, other hunters unfroze, galvanized into action. Some ran out of the room, huddled protectively against the rain of debris. The rest advanced to try and cut down the man in the pool.
The Old One, feeling calmer now, considered their attack. Without wild anger fueling him, he opted for the simpler solution and almost casually smashed their minds. More cries and loud splashes sounded. Waves jogged the water of the pool as hunters fell in, dropping weapons and clutching their heads in agony.
The Old One could _feel_ the deaths and savored them as a balm to his injured pride. He tested his bonds. The shackles heated to red, then shattered in protest as water cooled it too quickly.
As the broken bits of metal sank, and hunters twitched in their death throes, the red-haired man surged up, water cascading from his soaked clothes. He had reached the rim of the pool and was hauling himself out when a new awareness impinged on him: magic.
He focused unerringly on the source; the darkly dressed figure standing before the raised dais. Was this the one who had trapped him? Amber eyes narrowed for a brief second, then his expression cleared and he... smiled.
"Ah... witch." He could feel the other trying to work his puny spells, the human mind trying to dominate his consciousness.
"Among your kind, you might be considered quite skilled," Emson told him conversationally. The smile grew, turning unpleasant. "But." With that simple qualifier, he struck.
There was a sharp, truncated cry and the figure collapsed, mind destroyed beyond all hope of recovery and quivering, twitching, bleeding body to follow shortly. "You are not whom I seek."
Standing amid stillness, the Old One took a breath, stilling his temper and ordering his thoughts.
Air shifted and cold steel touched his throat.
He caught the scent of the wood resin coating the blade easily enough but turned, unheeding of peril and curious to see whom it was that had managed to sneak up on him. The blade was as rock steady as the emerald eyes he met. Another hunter. Apparently, she had been smart enough not to rush him, brave enough not to run. Even now, he sensed no trace of fear in her and he found himself... impressed.
The two eyed each other in a frozen moment, as dust continued to rain down around them. In the silence, the occasional crash of something falling or collapsing overhead was just barely audible.
Probing lightly with mind and eyes, he found in her the same arrogance and intelligence that he had discovered in Janet Gallagher. And the outside proved just as attractive as the inside. She stood clad in a skimpy bikini that matched her eyes, wet skin lit golden in the shifting underwater lights. Hair as vivid as his own clung damply to her shoulders.
"And who might you be, bright flame?"
The cat-like eyes narrowed at the affable tone. "I am Crystal Baron, monster."
He felt the surge of loathing in that last and nearly chuckled. Oh, this was going to be fun. "Such flattery," he murmured urbanely. "Well, you're certainly well-named, my fiery one." The blade pressed warningly to his skin at the endearment. He only smiled and reached to unbutton his sodden shirt.
She continued to watch him warily but didn't slit his throat as he slid the garment off and tossed it aside. His eyes never left hers and he was sure she could see the silent laughter there that asked, 'What are you going to do?'
When he reached for the waistband of his pants, though, she moved. Surprisingly quick for a human, she closed the distance between them and suddenly there was a second, smaller knife poised against his wrist.
"I wouldn't," she advised huskily. The tone, for all that it contained velvet threat, was seductive enough to be pleasurable. "Unless you enjoy regenerating a new hand." She seemed to have recovered her equilibrium. Or perhaps pushing her too hard had snapped her out of surprise.
_Lots_ of fun.
He stalled for a moment, then let go of the buckle. The knife melted away with his hand but she didn't step back. They were watching each other with half-lidded eyes now, dueling with their gazes.
"Would you mind telling me how I ended up in your clutches?" he asked dryly, the crisp British accent all but nonexistent.
_That_ got a smile out of her. Her lips twitched and her eyes lit ever so slightly.
"Wouldn't you like to know?" she taunted. Oh dear me, was someone else starting to enjoy this exchange as well?
"Well, obviously you know what I am. The question is: who caught me? As gifted as you are, pretty flame, you simply don't have the ability," he said matter-of-factly as her eyes narrowed further. He broke their locked stares, glancing at the insensible body of the witch. "It certainly wasn't that one either."
He caught the derisive curl of her lip out of his peripheral vision. "No."
"Who then?"
To his surprise, she actually answered him. More unexpected was the unadulterated fury that shot through her. And then the name itself raised his eyebrow. "A witch by the name of Jerrick Edom."
"A witch?" he repeated. "Not with a name like Jerrick Edom, little fire." He looked at her shrewdly. "You don't like him very much. I take it you're not colleagues, then."
She snorted at this. "Not anymore."
Ah. Do I sense a working relationship turned sour here?
One didn't dwell among humans for millennia and not learn something of their psyche. And Emson McModrey - or earlier embodiments of him - had met other Crystal Barons. Well... perhaps not _like_ her, but he certainly knew her type. And the one thing that he knew about them was that they didn't tolerate being controlled. Come to think of it, he _had_ heard the name Baron before, linked to vampires and hunters. She must be something of a leader. That would fit.
So this 'witch', one Powerful enough to catch him and certainly no simpleton, had tried to take her authority from her.
Emson looked at her again, could see how she would never accept that.
"Power," he said, cryptic and soft. Her eyes caught his again, her attention sharpened. "You and I understand about power, don't we?" At the eyebrows she raised in inquiry, he only tilted his head.
"Jerrick Edom," he said cryptically, tasting the name. He paused to mull over this, then refocused on her, his tone melting to sensuality. Play time's over. "But tell me. What do you want with me?"
Her brows lowered, eyes flashed. "Isn't it obvious? I'm a vampire hunter; you're an Old One."
"And that makes me the ultimate prize-kill, " he surmised. "Tsk," he added disapprovingly. "Crystal Baron, don't you know that _my kind cannot die_?" He pressed against the blade that never wavered from his throat and felt warm blood trickle down his neck. His hands settled at her hips, pulled her to him and she was too surprised to react. "Dying is for mortal beings and creatures who were once mortal. Vampires claim to be immortal; they are fools. True immortality is to have nothing to do with death, not to have stemmed it."
She started to struggle, but his eyes caught hers. He sent a swift mental probe lancing past her meager human barriers and sank down deep, taming this delectable shrew; body, if not soul. She stilled, but inside, she screamed in fury and flung defiance at him.
He resisted another smile; This was almost too, too sweet. A pity she did not have kinder inclinations towards him and his; they might have done well together. For a time, anyway.
He stroked her cheek delicately with one knuckle. His tone was just slightly admonishing, "You see, hunters, humans like you, are nothing more than logs in a fire. From the very moment you exist, you are already deteriorating."
The alluring swimwear began to smolder then quickly caught fire. The flames blended with - then began to travel up - the human's bright hair.
All the while, she stayed pliant and motionless in his arms and he held her.
"In the end, you are but dying embers.. and then.. cinders and ashes." He could see the horror breaking through his hypnosis to leak out of her eyes now. The flames lapped at her goldy-skin greedily. She opened her mouth, but could not get her throat to obey her and produce a sound.
He laughed and pulled her closer, sealing her lips with his own, engulfing her in flame that heated his flesh pleasantly. After a most satisfying kiss, he let her go and stepped back to watch.
She remained rooted on the spot, head thrown back and mouth wide in a silent cry of agony, a human-shaped torch that seemed to burn on forever.
"Ah... what a beautiful flame you are," he murmured as the light played over the planes of his face. Then, dismissively, he turned away. Let her remains be entombed here; it was fitting.
The sounds of crashes had not ceased and heat from the fires above had sent billows of smoke through the door.
The Old One paused at the sight of the lone figure in the doorway. An indistinct, shadowy figure at first, the smoke cleared away to reveal the unprepossessing man with tousled red hair and pale blue eyes, leaning on a cane.
"My word, what happened to you?" he asked, urbane.
The man smiled faintly. "It's been a while," was all he said.
A lightning-quick mental probe yielded no further elaboration. Well, he'll find out eventually. "It has! Now, tell me, what is all this about? Did they-" He broke off abruptly in mid-sentence and laughed in sudden comprehension. The laugh held an edge that was not all that pleasant. And when it stopped, there was a spark in the crinkled eyes that promised he would not forget being played for a fool.
"So you're the one Crystal calls Jerrick Edom, eh?" he commented rhetorically. He swept an exaggerated bow. "My compliments on the coup. You realize those loyal to me will arrive shortly." Sly eyes watched carefully for a reaction to that subtle threat.
The man appeared unruffled. "Will you call them off?" he asked, his mild manner making the question seem more a matter of idle interest rather than real concern.
"And waste all your good intentions of parking me in a hunters' stronghold?" He favored the man in the threshold a tigerish smile. "Whyever would I? Besides, they'll have to work out their aggressions; some are unfortunately excitable. Youth; you know how it is."
They both nodded slightly in understanding, two cordial opponents in an exchange of lethal civility. A pause, as they weighed each other warily.
"But, come, tell me," the one called Emson McModrey said with false joviality. "What's the reason behind this... surprising meeting."
The other shifted his weight and leaned on his cane. "I wanted to introduce you to someone," he said simply, still smiling that faint smile. He lifted a hand off the polished wood of the cane and beckoned.
A figure melted out of the darkened threshold. Another human female. Every bit as lovely as the last, though she did not seem nearly as feisty. In fact, from the abstract look on her face, she didn't seem overly bright at all.
"A pretty little thing," he said casually. The smile on his face was patronizing. "You hardly had to kidnap me to bring us together," he pointed out to the other man dryly.
When the unprepossessing man merely continued smiling, the Old One turned to the human.
"And who might you be?" He asked it negligently, as if it mattered not to him whether she answered or not. Nor did it; he had all the time in the world - and more.
But she focused on him suddenly and the intensity of her gaze... surprised him.
"I am Elena Gilbert. I have been sent to...deal with you."
The statement was unexpected enough, and brash enough, to wring another laugh from him. "Deal with me! And how do you expect to do that, little mortal?"
Her blue eyes flashed. Oh, humans were such amusingly arrogant creatures. Especially the females, it seemed.
Calming herself, she continued, "Nature has decreed it and I am her emissary. And her executioner." She took a step forward and her tone turned hammered, each word hitting like a blow, raising his hackles. "There is no place for you and your kind here; there is no balance in you. You do not live; you cannot die. You violate the laws of nature. She has tolerated you and yours for millennia."
The blue eyes flared a challenge at him. "No more."
On that last, an aura spread over her, like the wings of an angel unfurling. A witch in truth? No, she didn't have the feel of talented human. He watched her now, wary and derisive.
"A pretty speech, and the effects are certainly impressive, little firefly. But still, no insignificant human is going to be able to 'deal with me.'"
"Attend," she snapped. "Your brethren are no more, and today, you will share their fate."
He narrowed his eyes. "So you say."
"So it shall be, Emmet Mogen," she Named him, deliberately, with something that could only be triumph.
He stifled the urge to recoil at this. "Impossible! Our pact-"
"Is unbreakable, save by one who is part of it," she finished, as if quoting. "And none of your brethren would have relinquished his Power and existence, so it was full-proof." She took a step towards him. "No longer, Old One."
"This is a trick! You-!" and he whirled to stare accusingly at the silent red-haired man. "This is your doing; _what have you wrought_?"
The man seemed amused. "I, too, am only Nature's tool."
Infuriated, off balance, the Old One threw a mental lance at them both but neither attack succeeded, bouncing harmlessly off their shields.
_And just how did a human have shields strong enough to repel him?_
Flames flared up and blocked their path towards him. Hotter than any normal fire could be, it fed on the glistening tiles, melting them, scorching the ceiling to smoke and carbon. Let the human and her _tool_ deal with _this_.
His moment of triumph was short-lived, as a shadow moved among the smoke and flames. The blond human girl walked towards him, apparently unscathed. Her faint white glow was clearly visible in the lurid red glow of the fires, which were spreading unchecked across the room. A moment later, a second figure limped through the haze.
The Old One took an involuntary step back towards the charred remains of Crystal Baron. Catching himself in retreat, he froze and his face set in a snarl.
Glaring at the man hatred stark in his eyes, Emmet Mogen gathered himself and cast far - searching for his remaining brethren. He felt another mind try to block him, but avoided the pitifully fragile grasp easily. He made contact, delivering the urgent, staccato warning before he was cut off. He met the pale blue eyes maliciously. The rest will not be caught unawares.
Gold eyes, alight with malicious triumph, shifted from pale blue eyes to lapis-colored ones.
"Come, human. Do your worst," he dared, holding out his hands in mock welcome.
She advanced calmly until her fingers closed around his wrist. Upon contact, fire ate into her fragile mortal flesh. She hissed, baring teeth, but did not let go, even when he fed Power into the unnatural flame and crisped her hand.
He stared at her, savoring her pain. His snarl blended nastily with a grin of enjoyment. "What can you do now, mortal?" he mocked.
He felt it then; the cool Power coiling seductively up his own arm and spreading like wildfire through the rest of him. He tried to pull away but she held on with the strength of a maddened thing and he could not break her grip.
Then came the dizzying unraveling of consciousness, when he had been barely aware of the enraged howl emitting from his immortal throat.
Then, nothing.
Disclaimers: Elena Gilbert, Stefan Salvatore and any other names you recognize from the books, 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_
* Author's Note(s)
Date posted: 17 December 2003
* Rated for mild violence. Well... a bit more than two weeks since I last updated. Not bad... let's hope the next update comes as soon! On a slightly different note, I'd tentatively say Leaf will be done in about 6 chapters. Maybe a couple more. But the end is in sight! *grin* Many thanks to Moreta for taking time off her busy schedule to play editor.
Feedback, thoughts, critique welcome.
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~ Fifty ~
"Can't this thing go any faster?" Samar burst out. Up ahead, the light changed to amber. Samar felt her right foot flooring an imaginary gas pedal as she unconsciously tried to speed the car up. They could have easily made it before the light turned red, too, except for Leon's putting-snails-to-shame speed.
They _still_ might have made it across if Leon hadn't slowed the car down as they approached the intersection to bring it such a gradual and _gentle_ stop.
Samar's fists clenched on the seat beside her thigh. She was keyed up for the fight and Leon's blatant placidity was driving her nuts. Nuttier! She saw him glance at her fists, then away. His own hands resting easily on the steering wheel, completely, utterly relaxed. But it was Leon; what did you expect?
Frustrated, she growled. "Let me drive."
A slight smile bloomed on his face, as if she had said something funny. "I don't think that would be a good idea, Samar."
"I don't _care_ what you think; you're going to make us miss the fight!"
If he showed any reaction to her exclamation, she didn't see it. Tense seconds ticked by. Leon made no reply and Samar broke of her glare to face forward and stare stonily out the windshield, crossing her arms over her chest.
"Sometimes, you're as infuriating as Makoe."
There was a beat of silence. "And sometimes, not?" Leon offered.
"Hah!" Samar snorted. Silence fell, well and truly, after that.
With nothing else to do but stew and fume, Samar's mind turned to their last encounter and the cryptic conversation in her room. She reviewed it, for the hundredth time.
After the harangue over Stefan's decision, she had dismissed the idea of being Turned; she didn't know how she would go on if she got kicked out of the hunt. Where would she go? Hang on to Stefan and Elena? Hardly!
And so she had accepted that Turning was not an option for her. At least intellectually. Trying to get her rebellious heart to understand that was another matter.
Then Leon had come, saying that he was also thinking of Turning. So if she chose to Turn, they could stay together. Something inside had leapt in excitement at this possibility, but the decision was still not an easy one.
But that wasn't what was bothering her. His weird behavior that night was.
Her mind played back that encounter. Now, if she were the paranoid, conceited type, she might have suspected that Leon had feelings for her. The idea occurred to her, of course, but he hadn't actually come out and said anything and there was no way she was going to be fool enough to make any embarrassing assumptions. Again.
Not after... _Makoe_
But curiosity was eating at her from the inside out. Now was her chance.
Yeah, but how to begin?
She thought hard but came up blank. She sighed.
"Hm?" he asked, looking at her out of the corner of his eye before returning his attention to the road.
"After today, Stefan's not going to be part of the hunt anymore. He'll be human again." Nice save, Samar! she congratulated herself. That had come out of nowhere.
Leon nodded. "Will you be sorry to see him go?"
She felt a feral smile lift one corner of her mouth. "He's not going to get rid of us _that_ easily!" She saw Leon's lips turn up as well.
"What about you? Have you decided yet?" she asked him.
There was an almost imperceptible hesitation before he answered. "Well, partly. I will if you do."
Samar bit back the automatic 'why?' that leapt wildly to her tongue and settled for, "And if I don't?"
He grinned wryly at her, turning his head just barely to do so. "That's the part I haven't decided yet." Facing forward again, he threw it back to her, "What about you?"
Samar blew out at her bangs noisily and pursed her lips. "I really don't know, Leon." She slouched against the door and rested her head on the windowpane as that prickly question came to the fore of her mind again. Her heart screamed, 'go for it!' and her mind yelled back, 'you're nuts!' and it just didn't go anywhere.
"What's holding you back?" he asked simply.
Good question. She considered it and didn't even notice when the light changed and Leon put the car into motion at a sedate pace again. "I lost everything when I became a vampire," she said finally, contemplative and uncharacteristically sober. "I guess don't want to lose it all again. Even if I became human again, things just won't be the same. It's been thirty years. I can't go back and pick up where I left off."
More thoughtful silence, then she went on, "You saw Tristan's reaction; he'd never consider Turning. Which means..." She trailed off, unwilling to state outright just how much she depended on her brother, not just as a provider but as the only family she had left.
Head still against the window, she swiveled it to regard him with a solemnity that was oddly childlike.
He met her eyes full on but had to look back at the road after a second. "You wouldn't be alone," he answered quietly in his gentle way. "We'd be together."
Was he talking about a temporary arrangement or something permanent? Either way, Samar tried to imagine living with Leon, without Tristan and Makoe around and couldn't. She smiled, but it twisted into something more than a little sour.
"You and me? Happily ever after, you and me? I don't _think_ so, Leon." She stopped short.
That came out more sarcastic that she had intended. She sat up straighter and turned to look to see how he had taken the careless remark. Well, it's too late to take it back now.
Dead silence hung heavy and awkward hung between them. Leon kept driving, attention fixed on the road.
Samar frowned, feeling a bit miffed at the lack of response and disturbed at the same time. Her female empathic antennae might not be the most sensitive in the world, but even _she_ could tell something wasn't right. Leon should have made _some_ answer to her words...
Then she realized that the car was picking up speed. What the-
She looked at Leon; saw only a fixed mask in profile with no expression whatsoever. Not at all his usual half-asleep look. Her frown deepened and she started to say something, then noticed the death-grip he had on the steering wheel.
"Leon?"
No reply.
::Leon!::
He made a vague sound of enquiry, which she would not have heard if not for vampiric senses, and even that sounded oddly flat.
::What's wrong?::
"Nothing." His curt tone was every bit as flat as the 'hm' had been.
_Yeah, right!_ Samar snorted. The Nissan rounded a bend ungently, flinging Samar against the door. "That is so totally a lie!"
He didn't appear to have heard her, and kept driving. Bloody hell. I didn't know Leon knew how to drive like this! Samar thought irrelevantly, watching the speedometer needle climb.
"Leon. Leon! Slow down!"
"You wanted to get to the fight," he reminded her, not easing up on the accelerator.
"Yeah, but I want to get there in one piece." She dared to lean forward to get a good look at his face. It was tight and... bloodless. Except for a teensy bit of blotchiness. Samar felt true alarm. "Leon, stop the car."
"What about the fight?"
"There'll be other fights. Pull over. _Now!_"
She was thrown against him and then only her seatbelt stalled her forward plunge as he jerked the car onto the shoulder and hit the brakes without warning. In the sudden stillness of a stationary car, Samar sat motionless, catching her breath.
Well, you were curious, she reminded herself shakily.
Leon's right leg started to jingle. Samar found herself staring at it. She'd never seen Leon exhibit any nervous gestures. She'd never seen Leon nervous.
No, not nervous, she amended, looking at his blank face. Distressed.
"Leon," she said softly, perhaps the first time she'd ever spoken to him in that tone.
"What, Samar?" The first word was snapped, but the second was softer and limped a little. Was there a slight hesitation before he said her name?
"I'm sorry."
She could feel him tense. At length, he said, "For what?" in a careless tone that brushed off whatever she replied with before she even said it. The leg hadn't stilled.
"For that last remark. I didn't mean to upset you; it came out all wrong. I meant-"
He shrugged, cutting her off and she was faintly shocked. "I'm not upset," he said, still with that off-handed tone.
No, you're in denial.
She faced forward, leaning into her seat. She watched him out of the corner of her eye. His apathy didn't change. The only thing that might be read was impatience to be away.
Samar felt the situation getting rapidly out of hand and fought panic. Frantically thinking of a way out, she grabbed for something to salvage the mess.
"You suggested that if we both decided to be Turned, we could stay together." If anything, he went even tenser. Her heart thudded dully. "Do you want to stay together because we'll need each other after we're Turned... or do you want to be Turned to... be with me?" Her face heated as she forced out the last phrases.
The tempo of his right leg increased. She waited for an answer, until it seemed the heightening of the nervous gesture was all the answer he was going to give her.
Her hand moved to gently stop the jerking knee but he reacted as if burned by her touch. Before she knew what was going on, the door on his side slammed shut and he had walked around the car and was standing as far away from the car as he could.
She sat stunned for a moment, then got out more slowly. He had his back to her and she ended up staring at his hair for what seemed a long time. Her mind scrambled to put together an answer to this bizarre turn of events. She had _never_, _ever_ seen him act this way and it scared her.
As moments ticked by, she walked towards him. He had to have heard her approach but might have been too proud to move away. She walked around him so that they were face to face.
His face was set in a stiff mask. His eyes were dry. But they were red.
::Leon,:: she whispered telepathically. His nostrils flared, then his face settled back into its mask.
She didn't try to touch him. ::Do you love me?:: It was the only plausible reason her brain could come up with to explain all this; Leon simply didn't take offense and throw a temper tantrum over nothing. But she had to know for sure. And if it was true...
Finally, he looked at her. She thought she read a little defiance in him, as if trying to salvage what pride lost by letting her see him like this. "What do you want from me, Samar?" he asked, blunt and curt.
Samar felt a pang, never realizing the gentleness - tenderness? - with which he had always addressed her. Now, she mourned its loss.
"You already know the answer to that. Moreover, you've made it abundantly clear you're... not interested." He looked away and a silent snarl twisted his lips. With visible effort, he got banished it.
Samar's nails dug into her palms hard at the evidence of such hurt.
He was not entirely successful in diffusing his emotions; when he resumed, the viciousness in his tone hit her like a slap, "Won't you leave me a scrap of dignity or will you not be happy till you've trampled even that?"
She bit her lip and she felt a sharp stab of remorse. Her desire to preserve her pride had been at too high a cost to Leon. Leon, who had never been anything but kind and gracious to her.
He moved, thinking she wasn't going to - couldn't - answer, spinning on his heel and returning to the car, leaving her standing there, staring at his back again.
What could she do? Without thinking, she ran forward and grabbed him from the back, hanging on tight when he tried to jerk himself away from her. After the initial attempt, he stood, rigid and unmoving, too proud to struggle anymore, too gallant still to break her hold by force.
::I'm so sorry,:: she whispered repentantly at him. ::Sorry I hurt you; I didn't mean to!:: She let him feel the sincerity of her emotions in her mind. She thought he relaxed a little. Was that a sigh?
Beneath her hands and cheek, his body trembled as if containing some force. She thought he might explode into movement at any moment, tearing himself away from her.
But he remained silent, though the tension didn't ease.
"Can we talk?" she asked softly.
"There isn't anything to talk about," he said. "I asked. You... turned me down. We go on as we did before."
She shook her head, still hanging onto him. She had the irrational feeling that he would run away if she let go.
"I didn't _know_ for sure what you were asking!" She refrained from adding 'stupid' at the end of that. A bit of impatience and exasperation was emerging past the remorse now that her mind has had a chance to catch up on things a little. "I say we go back to the car and take this from the top." And now a hint of steel and determination crept back into her tone. The message was clear: don't argue with me!
How short-lived, your repentance, a voice mocked her. Shut up, she snapped back. I'm trying to _fix_ things.
She didn't wait for a reply but released him and got into the car. Behind the wheel.
He followed, sliding into the passenger seat. His reluctance was clear in his movements.
"Let's...start at the beginning. But first, the golden rule: tell the complete and full truth. I'm going to assume _nothing_ unless I actually hear you say it. All right?" She waited for agreement and got a sardonic look. It shook her how different he was in this mood. Taking the look as agreement, she began: "That day, in my room..." She stopped to consider the best approach.
"What was it you thought I wasn't ready to hear?" Ask and then wait for an answer. Where had she heard that bit of wisdom before?
She had to wait longer than she thought.
"I meant that you were not ready to hear about my... feelings-"
"Love?" she broke in. Leon leveled what was - for him - a glare at her and she shrugged a little. "Like I said, full and complete. How do I know what exactly you mean if you don't come out and say it? I don't want any more misunderstandings."
"My _love_," he resumed with emphasis, "So soon after Makoe." He stopped there although Samar had a feeling it was a last minute decision not to go on.
"So when you said I would always have you... if I chose to, you meant, if we got together?" she prompted. A jerky nod confirmed this.
She looked at him and waited till he met her gaze before speaking. "I didn't know, Leon," she said softly, leaving there little doubt of her honesty. "Suspected, yes. But I didn't want to jump to any conclusions. I learned my lesson with..." Makoe. The name didn't need to be said; they both knew who she was referring to.
This time, his nod was less stilted, more understanding. He was slowly relaxing, becoming more his usual self, albeit more guarded and opaque.
They both sat in thoughtful silence for the next few moments. When Samar realized how close they had come to letting this misunderstanding utterly destroyed their friendship, she nearly hit him.
"So," Samar breathed at last. "What now?"
He shrugged. "You know... now. What happens next is up to you. If you'll still have me as a friend, I can accept that. Before the issue of Turning came up, I've never thought of trying to make it otherwise," Leon said, studiously neutral.
Hang on! Samar turned to face him. "You never meant to tell me how you felt? Never thought of asking me out or anything?" Though it seemed a bit odd to be dating your... 'hunt-mate.' But then, Makoe was a hunt-mate as well. Still, Samar felt the beginnings of outrage.
Leon met her direct stare levelly. "None. If you'd been the least bit interested, perhaps. But otherwise, I would have left it well enough alone." He returned his gaze to the view through the windshield.
Now Samar _really_ wanted to strangle him.
"Why?" she shot at him. It was starting to sink in; Leon loved her. Why on earth would he not come out and tell her so?
_And just how do you feel about this?_ a voice asked her inside. I-
But Leon's reply cut off that train of thought. "Why would I jeopardize our friendship unless I thought something good would come out of it?" he asked logically.
She gritted her teeth, wanting to find something to fault in that argument, but unable to. "Did you ever think," she began after a moment's thought, "That by keeping quiet, you rob me of my chance to _choose_ - to even _consider_ - what might turn out to be a beautiful and lifelong relationship?"
He stiffened, not daring or refusing to look at her. "You know now," he said again, indicating that that line of argument was moot. "What is your opinion?"
Which brought them squarely back to her question. What now? Depends on how you feel about this. So how _do_ you feel about this?
In answer, her mind yielded a thousand flashes of caring moments. He had somehow always been there when she needed. Fighting with Tristan, dealing with culture clash and homesickness, hunting, having bad days, frustration over training with Makoe, frustration over being kept out of the loop - hundreds of little moments that she had never noticed, never consciously valued.
Did she love him? Not as she had thought she loved Makoe. Which might be a good thing.
Did she love him? No, but she... she might grow to. The knowledge of his feelings didn't repel her. In fact, it gave her a sort of low-key thrill, more like a glow.
She came back to herself. Leon was understandably tense in the seat beside her. She decided to broach the easier topic first.
"On being Turned... I haven't decided yet." He nodded at that, easily. "As for... you and I," she continued, self-consciously toying with a lock of hair.
"I... I'd like to give it a try."
His head whipped around like yanked by a string and she had to smile. "I'm not saying I'll be your life's partner," she qualified, soaking in his incredulous expression with an odd pleasure.
"I'm not even saying I'm head over heels in love with you," she added a bit more gently, squelching alarm at the way his eyes glowed. "I'm just saying I'd like to see where this goes. So... if you want to bring up a night out sometime..." she trailed off, uncharacteristically shy.
He didn't nod this time. His eyes were opened wide but his smile was wider.
It was all the answer she needed.
* * *
The Old One woke to the smell of blood.
His mind seared through the remaining threads of the mental compulsions wrapped around his psyche. He knew in an instant whose blood it was that had been spilt.
His own.
His already frayed temper and pride took in the injury and balked. It was too much; not only had he been ambushed and abducted, not only had he suffered the insult of having his Powers contained, these humans had dared to make free with his body while he was helpless; they had _rendered_ him helpless!
He sent his awareness _outwards_, like the ripple caused by a dropped stone, radiating outward in all directions at once. His mind encompassed the room with a number of attentive hunters, passed through the grand mansion they were in and the manicured lawns beyond and touched the fringe of the fighting-
_Movement._ His attention snapped back to his immediate vicinity. His head lifted in a smooth motion and the amber eyes found the comely young human holding the blooded knife. They were in the middle of a swimming pool, the Old One chained to the chair, the human standing before him.
The hunter burned.
It didn't matter that he stood in water up to his waist. Though he screamed and produced great clouds of steam, every fiber of his being was set aflame and _kept_ that way with raw Power as the Old One exacted his price for injuries offered.
The ancient being watched the human scream and try to douse himself in vain, watched as the flaming figure frantically, mindlessly leap out of the pool and ran. He was aware of the shock and horror of the rest of the gathered.
It was not enough. The small punishment did nothing to sate his rage. He sought another outlet and felt it come roaring out, making itself felt in a tangible, untamed - and more satisfactory - way.
Raw Power found random sites to release pent-up, maddened fury. The air filled with the sudden, shocking sound of explosions, drowning the burning man's screams.
The mansion shook. The blasts weakened the building and left fires in its wake in all parts of the house.
Around the pool, other hunters unfroze, galvanized into action. Some ran out of the room, huddled protectively against the rain of debris. The rest advanced to try and cut down the man in the pool.
The Old One, feeling calmer now, considered their attack. Without wild anger fueling him, he opted for the simpler solution and almost casually smashed their minds. More cries and loud splashes sounded. Waves jogged the water of the pool as hunters fell in, dropping weapons and clutching their heads in agony.
The Old One could _feel_ the deaths and savored them as a balm to his injured pride. He tested his bonds. The shackles heated to red, then shattered in protest as water cooled it too quickly.
As the broken bits of metal sank, and hunters twitched in their death throes, the red-haired man surged up, water cascading from his soaked clothes. He had reached the rim of the pool and was hauling himself out when a new awareness impinged on him: magic.
He focused unerringly on the source; the darkly dressed figure standing before the raised dais. Was this the one who had trapped him? Amber eyes narrowed for a brief second, then his expression cleared and he... smiled.
"Ah... witch." He could feel the other trying to work his puny spells, the human mind trying to dominate his consciousness.
"Among your kind, you might be considered quite skilled," Emson told him conversationally. The smile grew, turning unpleasant. "But." With that simple qualifier, he struck.
There was a sharp, truncated cry and the figure collapsed, mind destroyed beyond all hope of recovery and quivering, twitching, bleeding body to follow shortly. "You are not whom I seek."
Standing amid stillness, the Old One took a breath, stilling his temper and ordering his thoughts.
Air shifted and cold steel touched his throat.
He caught the scent of the wood resin coating the blade easily enough but turned, unheeding of peril and curious to see whom it was that had managed to sneak up on him. The blade was as rock steady as the emerald eyes he met. Another hunter. Apparently, she had been smart enough not to rush him, brave enough not to run. Even now, he sensed no trace of fear in her and he found himself... impressed.
The two eyed each other in a frozen moment, as dust continued to rain down around them. In the silence, the occasional crash of something falling or collapsing overhead was just barely audible.
Probing lightly with mind and eyes, he found in her the same arrogance and intelligence that he had discovered in Janet Gallagher. And the outside proved just as attractive as the inside. She stood clad in a skimpy bikini that matched her eyes, wet skin lit golden in the shifting underwater lights. Hair as vivid as his own clung damply to her shoulders.
"And who might you be, bright flame?"
The cat-like eyes narrowed at the affable tone. "I am Crystal Baron, monster."
He felt the surge of loathing in that last and nearly chuckled. Oh, this was going to be fun. "Such flattery," he murmured urbanely. "Well, you're certainly well-named, my fiery one." The blade pressed warningly to his skin at the endearment. He only smiled and reached to unbutton his sodden shirt.
She continued to watch him warily but didn't slit his throat as he slid the garment off and tossed it aside. His eyes never left hers and he was sure she could see the silent laughter there that asked, 'What are you going to do?'
When he reached for the waistband of his pants, though, she moved. Surprisingly quick for a human, she closed the distance between them and suddenly there was a second, smaller knife poised against his wrist.
"I wouldn't," she advised huskily. The tone, for all that it contained velvet threat, was seductive enough to be pleasurable. "Unless you enjoy regenerating a new hand." She seemed to have recovered her equilibrium. Or perhaps pushing her too hard had snapped her out of surprise.
_Lots_ of fun.
He stalled for a moment, then let go of the buckle. The knife melted away with his hand but she didn't step back. They were watching each other with half-lidded eyes now, dueling with their gazes.
"Would you mind telling me how I ended up in your clutches?" he asked dryly, the crisp British accent all but nonexistent.
_That_ got a smile out of her. Her lips twitched and her eyes lit ever so slightly.
"Wouldn't you like to know?" she taunted. Oh dear me, was someone else starting to enjoy this exchange as well?
"Well, obviously you know what I am. The question is: who caught me? As gifted as you are, pretty flame, you simply don't have the ability," he said matter-of-factly as her eyes narrowed further. He broke their locked stares, glancing at the insensible body of the witch. "It certainly wasn't that one either."
He caught the derisive curl of her lip out of his peripheral vision. "No."
"Who then?"
To his surprise, she actually answered him. More unexpected was the unadulterated fury that shot through her. And then the name itself raised his eyebrow. "A witch by the name of Jerrick Edom."
"A witch?" he repeated. "Not with a name like Jerrick Edom, little fire." He looked at her shrewdly. "You don't like him very much. I take it you're not colleagues, then."
She snorted at this. "Not anymore."
Ah. Do I sense a working relationship turned sour here?
One didn't dwell among humans for millennia and not learn something of their psyche. And Emson McModrey - or earlier embodiments of him - had met other Crystal Barons. Well... perhaps not _like_ her, but he certainly knew her type. And the one thing that he knew about them was that they didn't tolerate being controlled. Come to think of it, he _had_ heard the name Baron before, linked to vampires and hunters. She must be something of a leader. That would fit.
So this 'witch', one Powerful enough to catch him and certainly no simpleton, had tried to take her authority from her.
Emson looked at her again, could see how she would never accept that.
"Power," he said, cryptic and soft. Her eyes caught his again, her attention sharpened. "You and I understand about power, don't we?" At the eyebrows she raised in inquiry, he only tilted his head.
"Jerrick Edom," he said cryptically, tasting the name. He paused to mull over this, then refocused on her, his tone melting to sensuality. Play time's over. "But tell me. What do you want with me?"
Her brows lowered, eyes flashed. "Isn't it obvious? I'm a vampire hunter; you're an Old One."
"And that makes me the ultimate prize-kill, " he surmised. "Tsk," he added disapprovingly. "Crystal Baron, don't you know that _my kind cannot die_?" He pressed against the blade that never wavered from his throat and felt warm blood trickle down his neck. His hands settled at her hips, pulled her to him and she was too surprised to react. "Dying is for mortal beings and creatures who were once mortal. Vampires claim to be immortal; they are fools. True immortality is to have nothing to do with death, not to have stemmed it."
She started to struggle, but his eyes caught hers. He sent a swift mental probe lancing past her meager human barriers and sank down deep, taming this delectable shrew; body, if not soul. She stilled, but inside, she screamed in fury and flung defiance at him.
He resisted another smile; This was almost too, too sweet. A pity she did not have kinder inclinations towards him and his; they might have done well together. For a time, anyway.
He stroked her cheek delicately with one knuckle. His tone was just slightly admonishing, "You see, hunters, humans like you, are nothing more than logs in a fire. From the very moment you exist, you are already deteriorating."
The alluring swimwear began to smolder then quickly caught fire. The flames blended with - then began to travel up - the human's bright hair.
All the while, she stayed pliant and motionless in his arms and he held her.
"In the end, you are but dying embers.. and then.. cinders and ashes." He could see the horror breaking through his hypnosis to leak out of her eyes now. The flames lapped at her goldy-skin greedily. She opened her mouth, but could not get her throat to obey her and produce a sound.
He laughed and pulled her closer, sealing her lips with his own, engulfing her in flame that heated his flesh pleasantly. After a most satisfying kiss, he let her go and stepped back to watch.
She remained rooted on the spot, head thrown back and mouth wide in a silent cry of agony, a human-shaped torch that seemed to burn on forever.
"Ah... what a beautiful flame you are," he murmured as the light played over the planes of his face. Then, dismissively, he turned away. Let her remains be entombed here; it was fitting.
The sounds of crashes had not ceased and heat from the fires above had sent billows of smoke through the door.
The Old One paused at the sight of the lone figure in the doorway. An indistinct, shadowy figure at first, the smoke cleared away to reveal the unprepossessing man with tousled red hair and pale blue eyes, leaning on a cane.
"My word, what happened to you?" he asked, urbane.
The man smiled faintly. "It's been a while," was all he said.
A lightning-quick mental probe yielded no further elaboration. Well, he'll find out eventually. "It has! Now, tell me, what is all this about? Did they-" He broke off abruptly in mid-sentence and laughed in sudden comprehension. The laugh held an edge that was not all that pleasant. And when it stopped, there was a spark in the crinkled eyes that promised he would not forget being played for a fool.
"So you're the one Crystal calls Jerrick Edom, eh?" he commented rhetorically. He swept an exaggerated bow. "My compliments on the coup. You realize those loyal to me will arrive shortly." Sly eyes watched carefully for a reaction to that subtle threat.
The man appeared unruffled. "Will you call them off?" he asked, his mild manner making the question seem more a matter of idle interest rather than real concern.
"And waste all your good intentions of parking me in a hunters' stronghold?" He favored the man in the threshold a tigerish smile. "Whyever would I? Besides, they'll have to work out their aggressions; some are unfortunately excitable. Youth; you know how it is."
They both nodded slightly in understanding, two cordial opponents in an exchange of lethal civility. A pause, as they weighed each other warily.
"But, come, tell me," the one called Emson McModrey said with false joviality. "What's the reason behind this... surprising meeting."
The other shifted his weight and leaned on his cane. "I wanted to introduce you to someone," he said simply, still smiling that faint smile. He lifted a hand off the polished wood of the cane and beckoned.
A figure melted out of the darkened threshold. Another human female. Every bit as lovely as the last, though she did not seem nearly as feisty. In fact, from the abstract look on her face, she didn't seem overly bright at all.
"A pretty little thing," he said casually. The smile on his face was patronizing. "You hardly had to kidnap me to bring us together," he pointed out to the other man dryly.
When the unprepossessing man merely continued smiling, the Old One turned to the human.
"And who might you be?" He asked it negligently, as if it mattered not to him whether she answered or not. Nor did it; he had all the time in the world - and more.
But she focused on him suddenly and the intensity of her gaze... surprised him.
"I am Elena Gilbert. I have been sent to...deal with you."
The statement was unexpected enough, and brash enough, to wring another laugh from him. "Deal with me! And how do you expect to do that, little mortal?"
Her blue eyes flashed. Oh, humans were such amusingly arrogant creatures. Especially the females, it seemed.
Calming herself, she continued, "Nature has decreed it and I am her emissary. And her executioner." She took a step forward and her tone turned hammered, each word hitting like a blow, raising his hackles. "There is no place for you and your kind here; there is no balance in you. You do not live; you cannot die. You violate the laws of nature. She has tolerated you and yours for millennia."
The blue eyes flared a challenge at him. "No more."
On that last, an aura spread over her, like the wings of an angel unfurling. A witch in truth? No, she didn't have the feel of talented human. He watched her now, wary and derisive.
"A pretty speech, and the effects are certainly impressive, little firefly. But still, no insignificant human is going to be able to 'deal with me.'"
"Attend," she snapped. "Your brethren are no more, and today, you will share their fate."
He narrowed his eyes. "So you say."
"So it shall be, Emmet Mogen," she Named him, deliberately, with something that could only be triumph.
He stifled the urge to recoil at this. "Impossible! Our pact-"
"Is unbreakable, save by one who is part of it," she finished, as if quoting. "And none of your brethren would have relinquished his Power and existence, so it was full-proof." She took a step towards him. "No longer, Old One."
"This is a trick! You-!" and he whirled to stare accusingly at the silent red-haired man. "This is your doing; _what have you wrought_?"
The man seemed amused. "I, too, am only Nature's tool."
Infuriated, off balance, the Old One threw a mental lance at them both but neither attack succeeded, bouncing harmlessly off their shields.
_And just how did a human have shields strong enough to repel him?_
Flames flared up and blocked their path towards him. Hotter than any normal fire could be, it fed on the glistening tiles, melting them, scorching the ceiling to smoke and carbon. Let the human and her _tool_ deal with _this_.
His moment of triumph was short-lived, as a shadow moved among the smoke and flames. The blond human girl walked towards him, apparently unscathed. Her faint white glow was clearly visible in the lurid red glow of the fires, which were spreading unchecked across the room. A moment later, a second figure limped through the haze.
The Old One took an involuntary step back towards the charred remains of Crystal Baron. Catching himself in retreat, he froze and his face set in a snarl.
Glaring at the man hatred stark in his eyes, Emmet Mogen gathered himself and cast far - searching for his remaining brethren. He felt another mind try to block him, but avoided the pitifully fragile grasp easily. He made contact, delivering the urgent, staccato warning before he was cut off. He met the pale blue eyes maliciously. The rest will not be caught unawares.
Gold eyes, alight with malicious triumph, shifted from pale blue eyes to lapis-colored ones.
"Come, human. Do your worst," he dared, holding out his hands in mock welcome.
She advanced calmly until her fingers closed around his wrist. Upon contact, fire ate into her fragile mortal flesh. She hissed, baring teeth, but did not let go, even when he fed Power into the unnatural flame and crisped her hand.
He stared at her, savoring her pain. His snarl blended nastily with a grin of enjoyment. "What can you do now, mortal?" he mocked.
He felt it then; the cool Power coiling seductively up his own arm and spreading like wildfire through the rest of him. He tried to pull away but she held on with the strength of a maddened thing and he could not break her grip.
Then came the dizzying unraveling of consciousness, when he had been barely aware of the enraged howl emitting from his immortal throat.
Then, nothing.