Author's note: Well, I was able to update this story rather quickly for once, and even then it took me a while. But, here it is. Nothing too big happens, this is more of an introspective chapter, but I will have the action scenes next chapter. Anyway, hope you like, enjoy, reviews are really, really appreciated.

Disclaimer: I own nothing except the werewolves.

CHAPTER SEVEN: VERMILION

They reached the nearest, unoccupied lab within five minutes. The room was cool, but sterile. All white and steel and chemicals and needles. There was a fridge, and Nomak was certain it was filled with bags of blood just as the other one had been. The thought made him ache slightly, his mind suddenly registering how much he hurt and how hungry he was.

The fight had taken a lot out of him. It had been worth it though. Still, his throat and mouth ached, dry and cottony. His head ached from all the hits he'd taken, as did his bones, but his mind hurt with all the complicated, conflicting thoughts and emotions. Better to simply have the pain of the fight, to feel that disgusting amber blood of his oozing down his skin from where he had been cut. Better to be sore and burning with hunger, such a terrible hunger, than to have these confusing thoughts.

But now he had all of it. The physical and the mental and the emotional. He'd not had that before, not even after the House of Pain, after his time around Nyssa and the fight with Blade. Not even when he had first mutated and all the events surrounding that and his escape, never, nothing. He'd never had these feelings and thoughts, nothing had brought such confusion and conflict to him.

One female had done this to him. Just one, lycanthropic female. Meira. Annoying, confusing, bitchy, snobby, bratty, calm, soothing, concerned, considerate, callous, cold, kind Meira.

Right now she was quiet, leading Nomak into the lab and walking over to the fridge. She hadn't said anything on the way there, just led him. Not until now, as they entered and the lights came on and made Nomak squint, did she finally let go of his hand. Her fingers - warmed by his feverish flesh - slipped and fell away, slowly, lingering for as long as possible or was that just his mind playing tricks on him?

It was all so confusing, and Nomak would have torn the stark, sterile room apart if not for the fact that despite her presence being confusing as hell and making him want to roar, she was soothing, comforting, calming. Her touch had been placating, and her demeanor still kept him calm, almost serene. His mind was a mess, all because of her, and all because of her he was still, silent.

He wanted to ask her. Wanted to ask her, demand answers. So many questions, so many questions racing around in his head, but he couldn't form the words, couldn't quite bring himself to ask her. He was unable to and unwilling to for the moment, and he remained silent, more peaceful with the situation than he should be.

Milky blue eyes surrounding by thick streaks of red and thin streaks of white watched Meira as she moved away from him to the fridge. They stayed on her as she opened the door, and not even the hunger in his body could make him tear his stare away from her to look at the blood filled bags she quickly gathered up in her hands. They never left her until she came back up to him, holding the bags out to him.

"Here," she finally spoke, her voice soft, calm. She didn't sound concerned or worried, but she didn't sound cold or distant. She was just calm. Understanding. She couldn't understand though, she was a princess. She was treated like one and wasn't one, and he was a prince yet hunted like a dog. But she didn't offend him this time, and she met his eyes, that look still there, the kind one without being pitying or worried.

Nomak nodded and finally looked down at the bags, taking them from her in silence. Perhaps right now, with so much blood loss that the pain was becoming close to crippling, he couldn't speak. But he didn't test that theory, he just set three of his four bags down and ripped open the fourth. The chilled liquid was soon moistening his mouth and throat, steadily gulped down.

Unable to hold it back, the reaper shuddered, eyes closed as his body eagerly absorbed the plasma, and soon the bag was empty and he was devouring the second one. He could feel the bladders - he thought they were bladders anyway, but he couldn't quite remember what they'd been called - in his back emerge, squeezing out the little bit of waste that wasn't absorbed by his burning, aching body. His wounds started to heal up faster, his bone soon losing their ache.

By the time he had finished off the fourth bag - taking no longer than two minutes - Nomak was almost completely healed. But the thoughts and feelings in his head stayed there, and grew worse as he finished his last bag and saw Meira was still standing in front of him, watching him.

The lycanthrope's expression was still calm, unreadable somewhat. She looked to be studying him, eyeing him with interest and fascination, but it was so guarded that Nomak couldn't really place it in those categories.

"See something you like, Princess?" He hadn't meant to speak. He certainly hadn't meant to speak so callously, so full of derision towards her and even himself. But it had just come out, some of his irritation and frustration finally breaking through that calm she induced in him somehow. He wanted to make her move away, wanted to get some reaction out of her, wanted to lash out at the source of his confusion.

Meira barely reacted though, and the reaction she did show made Nomak even more confused. She merely flinched, barely though, a human might not even notice it. Her eyes then dropped and she turned. She walked away from him, over to one of the cabinets. She pulled out first aid and wrote something down on a notepad, Nomak couldn't make out what. She then pulled out some of those packaged, disinfectant cloths. The damp ones, like moist towelets he'd glimpsed when sneaking near the nicer areas of civilization.

"Take your shirt of, please," she finally stated, her voice still soft, still calm. "I want to make sure everything gets cleaned, just in case. And I would like you to tell me what you're immune to, what hurts you," she added, turning and walking back over to him. Her eyes didn't meet his now though. "Karen and I are supposed to find out all your immunities."

"Why?" he questioned, his gravelly voice rougher than usual, suspicious, all the confusion now melting into the usual resentment and hatred. He didn't take of his shirt, he didn't even move, he just stared at her, pretty, little princess, digging for information.

Meira finally looked up at him, finally met his eyes again, and now the look in them was soft, apologetic. Always soft, always so soft, those clear, icy blue eyes that were almost the color of her weakness. "It's my job, Jared," she whispered, and Nomak jerked away as if burned or struck eyes wide before narrowing at the mention of his first name.

He hated being called Jared. They had called him Jared in the vampire lab, his father had called him Jared. He was used to Nomak - to the almost title-like way his last name, one given to him by his father, was used with him. It made him sound more like a target, yet it was impersonal, it kept him distant from all others, and the personal, gentle way she spoke to him, said his name, he hated it. He hated it.

Just like he hated labs, just like he hated doctors and scientists, just like he hated being confused, just like he hated her silvery blue eyes staring at him, holding so many secrets. He hated meeting her gaze and seeing her open with her emotions, emotions he couldn't decipher or comprehend or understand. He hated her and the way she made him feel calm even when he should be roaring in frustration.

For her, part, Meira took his hardening gaze and agitated attitude in calm silence. She didn't show any of the usual annoyance, she didn't come off so high and mighty like before, and Nomak couldn't figure out, he didn't want to figure out why. She wasn't supposed to be apologetic and then become serenely stoic with him, she was supposed to react with anger and irritation and lash out at him, verbally or physically, he didn't care.

She wasn't supposed to come off like she cared. Nobody cared. Nobody. And Nomak didn't know or want to know how to react to care.

"I'm almost completely healed, Princess," he finally hissed. "As for any information about me, you probably have plenty enough blood samples from when I was drugged and chained in your laboratory to analyze. So go back to your science and your needles and that higher than thou attitude, Princess, because I don't want pity," he snarled, his skin slowly changing, darkening, hiding the veins and becoming a healthy tan. Soon there was nothing but a scar on his chin as the crimson streaks in his eyes returning to normal blood vessels and milky blue became clear, icy blue that were almost as silvery as Meira's.

Nomak was hardly even aware he had been shifting back into his more, normal, appearance, but he didn't care. Maybe it was so he could look normal in her eyes and be more easily hated and less easily pitied. Maybe so he didn't look like some mutation but an equal, even a superior. Maybe it was so he could look like a real prince in front of this bitch that he called princess.

Meira's jaw clenched and she met Nomak's now clear blue eyes, her own darkening to sapphire and then midnight, bleeding out, and she trembled slightly. Anger was finally visible, and he could smell it, and after several moments she slapped him, hard, the force of it making his head turn almost completely back and causing his jaw to ache for several minutes.

"I didn't pity you, Nomak," she growled, going back to his last name, the one that made him feel safe and distanced. "I never did. You're too much of a prick to be pitied," she continued, her voice softening to an angry whisper, but there was hurt in her voice.

Nomak eyed her with confusion, the hurt in her voice bringing all the conflict in his mind back to the forefront of his mind and stinging him more than her hand against his jaw. He couldn't understand why she was hurt. He didn't see her as that weak to be hurt by someone she didn't care about, and she didn't care about Nomak.

She didn't. She couldn't, she wouldn't, she shouldn't.

"Is there anymore blood in the fridge?" Nomak asked, his voice empty, blank, and his eyes became icy voids, no emotion evident, expression unreadable. He was shutting her out, shutting his emotions and his confusing, conflicting thoughts out, shutting everything out but the hunger, his body ache for nourishment. He would think about Meira and her incomprehensible presence later, when he was alone, when he was rested. Not now. He couldn't deal with it all now, not when she was so near, and part of him wanted to tear into that lovely throat of hers while another wanted to hold her and ask her what it was like to care.

Meira's eyes turned even colder and soon her own expression was blank, mirroring his. She closed her eyes for a moment, collecting herself, gathering her calm and soon her eyes opened and she answered him in a cool, detached voice. "Yes. Take as much as you like. I'll leave you alone now, since you obviously prefer things that way," she stated and strode past him, careful not to touch him even the slightest.

He stayed still, listening to her footsteps as she all but stormed out of the room and walked down the hall, not moving towards the fridge until he couldn't hear her anymore. But he still smelt her, still felt her, the sting of her hurt leaving a longer lasting mark than her handprint on his cheek.

After walking over to the fridge and collecting three bags of blood, Nomak glanced over at the notepad, reading what Meira had written down. She'd listed his healing abilities and the fact that he could handle old werewolves in a fight, and that he could change his appearance. He barely registered the information though, his mind for some reason more intrigued by her handwriting.

It was elegant, it wasn't even cursive. It was neat and bland, but readable. It reminded him of the room, of their indifferent attitudes towards each other just before she'd left him. It was distant, detached, and Nomak felt that sting grow worse, and he couldn't figure out why.

The nearly scalding hot water beat down on Vladimir's slowly but steadily healing body, steam thick as a morning fog almost. The floor of the shower stall was covering in bloodied water that slowly drained down, and Vladimir kept his head bowed and his gaze looked on the water as it disappeared, spirally into the drain. He didn't move, just let the water do all the washing for the moment.

He could have beaten Nomak had Ulric given him the chance. But no, Nomak was needed for some reason. Vladimir was beginning to lose sight of that reason. He shouldn't, it was his job to know it and understand it and help execute it. Not try and kill the reaper because his anger and longing to claim Meira was trying to blind him.

Vladimir let out a soft growl as he ignored the longing of his bestial nature. He was started to let his mind be clouded too often by too much. Perhaps age was starting to get to him as if he were some pathetic mortal. After all, he was an old corpse by human standards. Barely an adult by Ulric's.

He was still hard. He didn't know why. Maybe he was giving into the wolf too often. Maybe he wasn't one with his inner beast enough or some such psycho babble shit. Maybe his bestial side had gone too long without a mate, and after the fight that was almost a fight to see who was worthier of Meira - though why Vladimir kept getting that feeling, he didn't fully understand yet, perhaps just blind jealousy - he and the wolf were just ready to give up.

The ache in his loins was steady, painful. His mind wandered to Valora, to their frantic clawing at each other, the way he'd almost given into her finally. He'd never seen her like that, so dominant, so urgent. She'd smelt and tasted good, felt good. She was a worthy female, she'd more than proven that over the years she'd been a member of his team. Seeing her in such a rabid, lustful state, almost completely nude beneath him, it hadn't helped, it'd made him yearn and lust.

But had it really been her he'd given into? Had he really wanted to just forget it all and take her for his, give himself to her, forget all intentions to claim Meira? Or had he secretly, in the back of his mind, thinking it was Meira, letting his actions be so violent against Valora because he wanted to be that way with Meira, wanted her submission, wanted her pleasure?

Vladimir snarled and looked up, eyes closing as he let the water pour down onto his face. He then turned and started washing himself, scrubbing off Valora's lingering scent and the reaper's as well. Not Meira's though. Never Meira's.

He could do everything in the world to make himself meet her standards, and he would never have her scent lingering on him, not from a fight, not from a mating, not from anything.

Valora might not want him anymore. He'd ruined his chance with her. But then, he had done it for her. He had known. H had known all along he hadn't been claiming Valora right there on the floor, not in his mind. He never would be able to remain loyal to Valora, not with Meira unmated, right there, dangling in front of him, and Valora didn't deserve that.

He was still hard, and he still yearned. He growled and then whined, slamming his soapy fists into the wall in front of him, the shower stall wall breaking where his fists hit. He panted and tried to force it away, tried to tell the beast he was to overcome it. He was better than that. He was better than Nomak, and he was better than Meira.

He was better than them. He was better than that animal he had let himself become in front of his Alphas. He was better than the lusting, rabid beast he had been with Valora, and he was better than this. He wouldn't let his vision get clouded again, not by his rabid anger and rabid lust. He was better than that.