Author's note: Yes! I've finally finished this entire chapter! I'm sorry it took me so long, but it was really hard for me to get through the Nomak/Meira scent. I was partly feeling guilty for how it'd end, and kind of nervous about making it seem believable and IC. But it's finally done, and at 13 pages and over 10,000 words, too! The first few scenes are the same, but this chapter now has a Lighthammer scene and then a Nomak/Meira scene added to it. Thank you so much for all the reviews, including the few for this chapter - I'm particularly happy I got a review that seemed positive towards the Blade/Nyssa scene, as that's my least favorite Blade ship and Nyssa ship, but I promised a friend I would get them in as much as possible. One more note and then I'll shut up - the name of this chapter does apply to each scene, but it isn't the same word for each scene. If anyone would like to apply an L word to any of the scenes in the reviews, I'm curious of what you, the readers, think. Okay, shutting up now.
Disclaimer: Look, people, I do not own anything except the werewolves and Faris. Not that I could win in a lawsuit if you took them, most likely. So please, don't sue me, and I won't try to steal your stuff, only borrow it without making any claim. Savvy?
CHAPTER ELEVEN: THE L WORD
Nyssa watched Blade pace across his room in the warehouse. They had come the Daywalker's temporary home instead of Nyssa's constant home due to it being closer. And all of them needed closer after the battle with Lighthammer.
Lighthammer was a reaper now, an enemy. It had been bad enough losing Priest, who had been a close friend of Nyssa's. She had met the Irish vampire through her closest friend and most loyal comrade, Asad, and the three of them had been close. While she had never been that close with Priest's best friend Chupa, she had shared Chupa's grief though she hid it well. But now Lighthammer as well?
What was worse, he seemed to have kept some of his intelligence. He was closer to Nomak, it seemed, especially after feeding on Scud.
Nyssa subconsciously focused her gaze at Blade again at the thought of his human companion, unable to stop the reflex. But her eyes went thoughtful and distant once more, drifting down to stare at the floor. Things were less complicated when she wasn't looking at the man she had been trained to kill. Though they would be even better if she wasn't around him at all. Things were so complicated now, and she hated it.
Why couldn't they go back to the basic mission, to kill the reapers and their leader, then Blade? The Daywalker. She barely referred to him as that now, and it was dangerous. Her thoughts were making him closer, making things more personal, more complicated. Why couldn't she stop thinking about how honorable and worthy an opponent and ally he was?
Letting out a soft sigh, Nyssa's thoughts mercifully turned from Blade - the Daywalker - and back to Lighthammer. She wondered what had happened to Verlaine, and her stomach clenched as if she would vomit, horror feeling her as her mind ran wild with the possibilities. She hoped that Verlaine had died a quick, painless, and honorable death, and she prayed it wasn't by the mutated shell of her lover.
Her comrades were falling one by one, and Nyssa grieved their loss, most especially Asad. Her loyal friend, loyal to her and even more to her father. She had trained alongside him, under him. She had known him the longest of all the Bloodpack - though half the time they weren't considered part of the Bloodpack, more like her father's personal warriors.
Priest, Verlaine, Chupa, and Lighthammer, even if he was still walking. All had fallen. Only three remained now, along with the Daywalker - Blade - and he was suffering from the loss of his human. And not knowing how Abraham Whistler was. That was what wearied him the most, Nyssa was quite certain of. He was probably even more worried now that Scud was dead, reminding him that no matter how much experience and knowledge you had, if you were human among inhuman beings, your life was fragile.
The vampire princess of sorts focused her attention on Blade when she heard him grunt slightly, and realized he was still hurting. She thought he had tended to his wounds already, but judging by the sound he had made, it was from pain. Not the frustration she had thought was all he felt right now, besides a fear for a comrade and companion.
Upon arriving at the warehouse, Nyssa had gone towards Blade, but he'd waved her off before she even had a chance to touch him or say a word. She had watched him go, then tended to her own wounds and made sure Snowman and Reinhardt were fine. She had listened to Reinhardt grumble, knowing that part of him was pissed, part of him was getting paranoid.
Reinhardt had never been particularly close to anyone else in the Bloodpack. He had been the leader and had said it would be best if he didn't form emotional attachments. Sure, he enjoyed the company, especially Chupa's, but it was well known he would never shed any tears for the fallen. But seeing them picked off one by one, and now one of their own being a mutation that had somehow retained some of who he had once been, Nyssa could tell it had gotten to Reinhardt.
This whole situation reminded each of them that despite being near immortal, they were not invincible, and they could die at any moment really. Their lives were not as fragile as humans', but the reapers had been a rude wake up. Even vampires could meet a far too early death.
Snowman was handling it the best of all of them. He mourned the fallen ones and tried to honor those still living, even Blade. Perhaps he felt a sort of kinship, a respect for a fellow warrior. Perhaps this had just made him realize that they had to be more than tentative allies - they had to be teammates, they had to trust each other and look out for each other as if they did care, as if there was no rivalry amongst them.
And Nyssa herself, she was stoic and thoughtful on the outside, but inside she was a mess. Her thoughts were a tangle from the confusion with Blade, all the conflict he sparked inside her. She was a wreck from her mixed up mind and the ugly truth that she was now going to have to battle against a friend and ex-teammate. And the werewolves' addition to the mix, not to mention the fact that her father was holding things from them.
Everything was a wreck, and nobody was really doing anything to try and fix it. In fact it seemed everyone just wanted to shake things up even more.
Unbidden, thoughts of a certain subject Ulric had brought up returned to her mind. She wanted to know who this Karen was, who she was to Blade.
I sound as though I'm the new girlfriend, afraid of the old one I never knew about, Nyssa mentally berated herself as she watched Blade continue pacing, and then she remembered he was in pain. The scent of blood wasn't fresh, so at least his wounds hadn't reopened. She rose, walking over to him and ignoring the jumbled up thoughts inside her head.
"Maybe I should have a look at your wounds," Nyssa stated softly, and Blade gave her a look that said she wouldn't do any such thing. Already beyond frustrated herself, Nyssa finally snapped, breaking under the pressure of the reaper situation, the werewolves and her father, and the fact that she was starting to care for a man whose mission in life was to wipe out her race.
"Don't give me that look, and stop acting like you're untouchable! You're mortal, Blade, despite all our perks, and even with them you're still in pain, so just sit down and let me make sure they are healing properly! We need you, we all need to stay alive, everyone of us! If you haven't been paying attention, we're slowly dropping in numbers!"
The outburst caught Blade by surprise, and Nyssa panted for a moment, wishing she could say more. But she didn't, and Blade nodded, obeying her more out of shock than actual agreement most likely. It would do though.
Nyssa walked over as he sat down on the edge of the bed, and began to remove his vest and the shirt beneath it. She noted the wince he made and laid her hands over his, meeting his eyes and shaking her head. The message was clear, and again, Blade obeyed. As he lowered his hands, she removed the clothing from his upper body as gently as possible.
After many years of dealing with wounded warriors, Nyssa could handle gentle rather well. The fact that she was female helped her out as well.
She didn't really look at Blade's face or meet his eyes, and she had the impression that he was doing the same. This was an awkward situation after all. She was a vampire warrior, trained to kill him, a half vampire who was intent on destroying them all. Did that include her now? Or was he facing the same dilemma that plagued her thoughts?
"They wounded you badly," Nyssa stated softly as she inspected the wounds that marred Blade's otherwise sculpted flesh. She couldn't help but glance over him, admiring him not only as a fellow warrior, but as, well, an almost perfectly built and worked on male. She bit her lip, refusing to let Blade realize that she appreciated the hours he had put into strengthening his body. His tattoos covered more of him than she had suspected, and she found them enthralling almost, a beautiful work of art tracing over him.
Still, the injuries were rather, painful, looking. They ruined was otherwise would be a sinewy, toned body, every muscle that should be visible, visible, and everything that shouldn't be wasn't. She winced despite herself, not sure who had hurt Blade more, Ulric or Lighthammer. While none of Ulric's blows had caused many open injuries, they had caused visible bruising, and probably a few broken bones. He had more strength behind his blows after all - her faintly stinging jaw reminded her of that.
"Everything seems good," Nyssa finally stated, but she was concerned by Blade's silence and utter stillness. Her eyes lifted and met his without even meaning to, his gaze directed at her, intense and unreadable. She was barely aware of her breath catching in her throat or the way her fingers lingered on his skin from their examination, then abruptly dropped.
Blade simply stared at her, searching her if felt like. He kept her gaze locked with his, as if using that thrall power that some legends said her kind had, forcing her to maintain eye contact so he could probe her thoughts, motives, desires, everything. It was disturbing, it dragged out, his stare seeming to last forever. In truth it lasted about thirty seconds, and then he looked away, ahead.
Nyssa blinked once, then again, and then several times rapidly as her heartbeat and breathing, which had stopped, abruptly started up again, frantic. She quickly regained control over herself though, then rose and wordlessly strode out of the room without glancing back. She feared she might not leave if she looked back.
The Daywalker didn't say a word as she left, but she felt his gaze on her back. He watched her leave, the what of his gaze burning her back and helping her remember not to look back, proving to her that if she did she would meet that gaze again.
She had no idea what would happen if she met that gaze again. She didn't understand it, and part of her didn't want to, was afraid to. Things were complicated enough, why did he have to continued increasing her confusion.
Even her own father was adding enough to the mix, couldn't Blade leave her be and act like he hated her again? Or maybe he did hate her, and this was his way of attacking her. How like a vampire it was if that was indeed his intentions. And how he would love to hear that, too, and certainly her father would find it amusing.
Perhaps she should just ignore them both. The two most prominent men in her life at the moment were the two people who should have been causing her the least amount of problems and conflicts and confusion. Yet they were the ones that were driving her closer and closer to insanity.
If only Asad had survived. He had always been a good listener, and while perhaps partly fueled by duty due to who Nyssa was, he never made her feel like that was his sole reason for putting up with her. She could use that solace, but Asad was dead, and all she could do was mourn him and try to figure things out on her own.
Truth be told, she might not have as much conflict if Asad was still alive. But the only man she had considered for a lover was dead, which left her with the impossible alternative that she seemed to want. All things considered, she would have preferred to keep on pining for Asad's mangled corpse instead of the Daywalker.
It was nearing dawn, the light slowly creeping in through closed blinds, when Donovan awoke. The first thing he noticed was Aysel was half atop him, half beside. The second was that her claws were digging into his back almost painfully, despite his mate being asleep. And the third thing he noticed was that she was smiling against his chest.
The male glanced down, able to see a glimpse of the smile almost completely hidden by her hair and his flesh. It was a beautiful smile, one that broke his heart.
Hopeful, fearful, loving, worrying. All of Aysel's love and all of her fear lying on her lips and curving them upwards ever so slightly. Peaceful, serene, but Donovan caught the lingering falter that hinted at her fear of loosing that peace, the serenity they had been able to find after the vampire attack.
Donovan closed his eyes, an almost mournful sigh escaping him. Tightening his hold and ignoring the tiny droplets of blood Aysel was drawing, he kissed the top of her head and rubbed her back. He knew she could sleep through the contact - about a year after they had joined the main base in Prague she had finally grown confident enough in herself, in Donovan, in the security, in the pack, to sleep peacefully.
And except for an occasional nightmare, or during a rough period for the pack, she slept far beyond peacefully, and soundly.
But there was always that fear. Aysel hid it so well, yet it was always there. Donovan and Richard could both see it, and they both knew they could never free her of it. Ever since the vampires had attacked and killed everyone but her and Richard, Aysel had been unable to truly put away the fear that she would lose everything she hadn't lost then and all she had gained since.
Not that they could blame her though. It pained Donovan to even think of what had happened to his mate. It killed him that he hadn't been there to protect her. But she had protected herself and Richard, long enough for the local pack to get there. Donovan couldn't have been more thankful for Aysel's hidden strength than he was when he came home and learned what had happened.
It was amazing she had survived that night, really, and it was amazing she had ever managed to let anyone, including Donovan, touch her again. But as soon as he had arrived, he had nearly been crushed in her embrace. Since then Aysel had touched him often and let him touch her - sometimes even demanded it, in her own subtle, taunting way.
Donovan shoved away those cruel thoughts of his haunted mate and their human past. Arms tightening more, he kissed her hair and nuzzled the brown and blonde strands with his nose, inhaling the scents they carried. He could feel his beloved starting to wake, stirring against him.
Abruptly Aysel's claws withdrew from the flash of Donovan's back, and she gave him an apologetic look. Her eyes displayed her regret, which wasn't unusual for when she dug her nails in - she had done it before on nights when the bad dreams threatened, but only flittered through her mind and then left her alone. It would seem unusual behavior, considering how violent they, and especially Aysel herself, could be when sparring. But that was different.
Donovan wasn't trying to get some sleep with they were sparring after all.
"Forgive me, Donovan, I didn't realize," she murmured, her voice alert and awake as her senses took in everything, that fact obvious and part of their everyday routine. She licked her fingers clean quickly, and placed apologetic kisses along his jaw and neck.
The sound of purring filled their ears, and Donovan smiled lovingly as he stroked Aysel's hair. "I know, Aysel, nothing to worry about," he assured her, kissing her temple. No more comfort was needed, because he had given her comfort every time, and by now she knew he meant it every time, even if he didn't say hundreds of pretty words of assurance.
Soothed and comfortable, Aysel nodded against his neck as her head found her favorite pillow, nestling in the crook of his neck. She was fully awake, barely tired, Donovan knew. Aysel liked to lie in bed in the mornings unless there was an assignment. Otherwise, this was her favorite time, their resting period.
It was when they could simply lie in bed, wrapped up or just beside each other, and almost believe they were the people they had once been. That they were lying in a bed in their own house, living peacefully in marital bliss. It was one of the few times they glimpsed a life stolen from them by the walking leeches. By now they had moved on from the bitterness, and were just thankful they had this at least.
Because it was better than being dead, or worse. Being one of them.
Donovan ran his fingers through Aysel's hair as she gently kissed his neck and nibbled on a small area of skin, the action gentle. He purred, the sound more like something from a tiger than a wolf at the moment. His noise made Aysel giggle softly, that young, unashamed giggle from days of carefree love and life. He loved that giggle, and grinned wolfishly as he let out a tiger purr.
Soon he had prompted Aysel from a giggle to full blown laughing, and tears were coming out of her eyes as she clutched her sides, not even her lycanthropy strong enough to ward off her laughter from reaching her ribs. Donovan joined her as he watched, the sight of her in hysterical giggle fits always something to get the same reaction from him.
Yes, they could be content with just these moments where all was right, and the past and present were a blur, a blur that didn't matter. They could be quite content and happy with what they got.
"Make the sunlight go away, Ulric, it's too bright," came a muffled, feminine, groggy, and very annoyed voice, breath hitting a masculine chest that also could feel the movement of a female's lips, obviously the one who had spoken.
"If I remember correctly, you're the one who demanded we always sleep with the blinds and curtains open," a male voice, just as groggy but not annoyed or muffled, replied with sedated, wry humor. "Oh, and didn't you come from a kingdom that worshipped the sun above all things except maybe death? A desert climate as well?"
"Stop reminding me of all that!" the female voice snapped, though it was muffled still, as the female's head stayed buried against the male's chest, while her arms pulled the covers over their heads. "I was stupid before today, I admit it. On the subject of the sun, anyway," Melantha hastily added the last part, knowing Ulric would have seized the opportunity she had given him had she not been quick enough with that last sentence.
Chuckling, Ulric pulled away - reluctantly - and rose, striding over to shut the blinds and let the curtains down. Once the window was completely covered and the light dimmed as much as possible, he returned to bed where his mate was waiting.
Melantha eagerly snuggled back up to him, head buried in his chest once more after he was settled. "You can be as proud and willful as a three year old, but you still make a comfy pillow, my love," she murmured, her voice sleepier than before.
Ulric smiled at her tone and her words, his arms holding her a bit tighter. "Well, thank you, Beloved," he whispered, and lowered enough so that he could steal a quick kiss from her lips before returning to his previous position, lest his Queen Wolf get royally pissed with him. Again.
"Don't let it go to your head. Last thing I need is your head getting bigger," she muttered in reply, but kissed his chest gently, her fingers idly stroking his back. "I should really stop stroking your ego so much."
A grin that would have better fit a three year old than a very old werewolf as willful as one formed on Ulric's face, and he could not keep his next remark in. "I have no problem with that, as long as you start stroking another part of me instead," he told her, and promptly got his shoulder smacked. And then his butt slapped. He continued to grin to himself as Melantha went back to sleep.
Valora groaned softly as she woke up, immediately remember her thoughts of how going to sleep in the position she was in now might not be that comfortable. She wished she had listened to herself, because she was a bit stiff, and there was a crick in her neck. Sure, in a few moments it'd be gone, she'd be fine, but it was bloody annoying while it was there.
The sound of knocking, and the familiar scent of a certain male - who her wolf was interested in doing one of two things to, and wasn't sure which she preferred at the moment - was what woke her up. She realized this as Vladimir spoke her name, asking if she was in there.
"You can smell and hear me, can't you, asshole?" the female snapped, and then groaned again. This time it was because she had just snapped at her leader and Beta. But it was hard to remember that when the wolf was howling for blood or sex, insulted by the male outside, seeing him only as a male that had rejected her after nearly mating with her.
And some people thought their kind were nothing like humans.
Sighing and hoping Vladimir wouldn't be offended by her earlier comment and the tone carrying it, Valora rose, cracked her neck, and walked over to the door. When she opened it, she saw Vladimir was in a slightly better mood - or was a really good actor - than he had been earlier, but there was still an edge to him. Hopefully not enough of one for her to get in hot water.
"I'm sorry, I-"
"Don't."
Valora blinked at how abruptly Vladimir cut her off, and she watched him as he shook his head, meeting her eyes, and she knew she wasn't going to get in trouble for snapping. She could tell by the look in his eyes that he had come there to talk, not to get into any kind of fight or get anyone in trouble.
"You had a right, especially considering you aren't pureborn. Even a pureborn would snap at that, and with that little extra humanity in you, it's no surprise," he stated, and for a moment Valora wasn't sure if she was comforted or insulted more. But at least he wasn't angry. "I came here to apologize for earlier, and, to ask you to meet me in the sparring room. We need to talk, and I think we could both use some activity and a way to relieve some tension," her leader explained to her, and Valora nodded. He smiled, a tight, thin smile that wasn't all that sincere, but hey, least he tried.
Brushing her short hair back, Valora answered him. "I'll be there in five minutes, just have to change," she informed him, and Vladimir nodded, turning and heading for the sparring room without another word. She was used to his behavior though, and that was the one thing that hadn't really surprised her. She was used to abrupt, blunt, but not the effort for patching things up or trying to explain behavior, or even giving her the time of day.
She was not about to complain though.
Quickly, she changed and then headed out of her room. Her quarters weren't far from the sparring room, all of the security team was located near the sparring room, weapons room, etc. It did just take her five minutes to get there, and she was quite pleased with herself for not taking longer.
The wolf inside wasn't all that crazy about this though, looking for more than just sparring. But Valora would take what she could get, and who knew where this would lead? It would also help her in her plan, help her remember just how skilled Vladimir was, freshen up on his weaknesses and the moves she really had to look out for.
I must be crazy. I want to make plans to challenge Vladimir, the top Beta and leader of Ulric's head of security, my own leader, just to either humiliate him, or humiliate and claim him. When what will more likely happen is I'll be the one humiliated, and perhaps worse, perhaps lowered down, taken off the team, sent to another base. I worked my ass off to get here, to be part of this team, and I want to put that at risk?
Sometimes I wonder if we lycanthropes have worse love lives than humans do.
Vladimir was doing push-ups in the middle of the floor when she entered the sparring room, using only his left hand at the moment. As Valora watched, the Beta male switched, mid push-up, to his right. He moved with such grace, one would think that such a trick was effortless, and for him it was. Perhaps to some he would appear to be showing off, maybe to get Valora worried over who would win the sparring session, but she knew better.
If there was one thing Valora knew about her leader, it was that he loved and lived to push himself. He was never satisfied with his performance unless he had pushed himself as hard as he could go. Vladimir trained hard, every day, to always be at the top of his game.
And then Valora remembered the fight from earlier. She realized he probably was going to try and push himself until he finally did collapse into unconsciousness - and if any werewolf could reach that point, it was Vladimir. After earlier, he knew he was lacking, and he wasn't happy about it.
Which meant there would be no holding back in the fight.
Good. I hate it when he holds back. And it'll give me a chance to see if my plan could ever work. Okay, stop thinking about that plan, it's a stupid, suicidal plan that will only end up with you making a fool of yourself. All because Vladimir isn't interested in you, and you can't get a grip on yourself to deal with the rejection.
Valora cracked her neck again and then her knuckles, still watching. She admired his form and his dedication to keeping himself in such hardened condition. Part of her also felt sympathy for him, because she realized that it would be hard for him not to challenge the reaper again, to get a chance to fight and win.
After five more push-ups, Vladimir rose so he was standing, his skin ever so slightly damp, and the bright lights made his skin seem almost shiny due to the moisture covering him. It was not enough of a sweat to make his tank cling to his form though, but it was just enough to be noticeable, and it was pleasing to Valora's senses.
"I wish to apologize for my behavior earlier. I should not have let things get so far, and though it was for your good as much as mine, I'm sorry that I brushed you off so quickly and rudely," Vladimir stated as he met her gaze, ignoring the obvious lust that was in her eyes again. He did that often, so it didn't come as much surprise now. The only thing that did surprise her was the apology - and it was enough to keep her wounded, feminine pride from feeling wounded.
"Thank you, Sir," she stated, blinking and swallowing. The female wasn't really sure how exactly to react to that, so she just nodded and didn't say anymore after her initial reply. That was all that was needed after all, she supposed.
The Beta nodded and then waved her over. "Well, let's fight then. Feel free to take out any aggression or anger you feel towards me," he told her, and his Russian accent was huskier and thicker now, as if the prospect of an actual fight, no holds barred and nothing held back, was just as arousing as he found that snotty scientist he loved so much to be. "Just be warned - I won't be holding back."
Smirking and easily slipping into a fighting stance, Valora met his gaze. "That's just what I wanted to hear, Sir," she responded. While she didn't find this as arousing as mating, it was close, and at the moment, preferable. Because right now, she didn't really want to get laid, despite her instinctive reactions to his sweat and apparent lust for fighting.
Once the fight was over, Valora wasn't sure who had actually attacked first, but once the first move had been made, it was impossible to tell who was moving second, third, so on, so forth. Their attacks were colliding and blocking, their movements almost so perfect it was like a dance, yet so fast and almost frenzied, it was like wild, injured animals fighting for their lives.
They slashed, hit, kicked, punched, slapped, backhanded, kneed, elbowed, clawed, bit. They were rabid and yet focused, a focus that was almost impossible to perceive, unless they had been viewed by another on the team or by the Alphas.
Both remained in human form, wanting to see how much damage they could do without shedding their human skins and taking their larger, stronger, and more deadly forms. They bruised and bloodied each other, their wounds healing even as they continued to create new ones.
In the end, Vladimir one. He almost lost when Valora bit into his shoulder, canines sinking deep and only budging to let them tear through his flesh as her mouth dragged from almost from his arm to dangerously close to his neck. He had roared in pain, and Valora had bit deeper as she reached his neck.
They had long ago lost any restraint, and it had become a fight to the death practically, neither of them really thinking clearly. They didn't stop to ponder if their would kill or be killed when an opening came.
While Valora's attack was dangerous, it also left her back completely open for attack, and Vladimir wrapped his arms around her, as if embracing her, but his claws dug into her skin, near her skin, and immediately Valora tore her mouth from his shoulder, some of his blood and even bits of his flesh going with her. She gave him just enough of an opening for the Beta to pin her roughly to the ground on her stomach, his breath hot in her ear as he panted.
Vladimir almost killed her then, but stopped himself just in time, teeth at the right side of her neck, towards the back. His canines had sunk in enough to draw blood, and there was apprehension in her eyes. His demeanor had warned her it might could come to this, she knew that he was a dangerous opponent, but there was no fear in her eyes, despite the fact that she knew he could kill her and almost had, and might still.
The male let go of her neck though, rising shakily and breathing hard. He didn't pay any attention to Valora as she rose, instead focusing on reigning himself in, lupine nature trying to take hold of him most likely.
It would make sense, anyway, because she was having to deal with her own riled up wolf. Panting hard, slightly damp, Valora could feel her body humming with adrenaline. Adrenaline and lust. Lust for blood, lust for sex, lust for everything primal and instinctive. She could barely look at him without losing the last shreds of restraint. All she had to do was tackle him while he was distracted, and then she could have him.
And he might not even try to fight. But it wouldn't be right, and in the end, it wouldn't be what she wanted.
She would regret it, and then all hope of ever attaining that which she sought most would be crushed, completely, totally, irreversibly.
That train of thought brought her down, and the scent of arousal, slowly growing stronger, died down. She felt as if her hopes had been crushed already now. Valora watched Vladimir, waiting for him to acknowledge her as he closed his eyes and finally breathed calmly. She envied his control, and she hated him for possessing it.
But when Vladimir turned, eyes opening and meeting hers, Valora's breath caught in her throat, and her hopes came flooding back. "Good fight," he stated bluntly, voice deep, coming out like a growl, his Russian accent making his words almost impossible to understand, but lycanthropy did have perks to help that difficulty out.
His eyes were full of lust and respect. He finally looked at her as more than just a good member of his team, more than a mistake in the locker room. The Beta was staring at her with admiration and something akin to curiosity. As if for the first time in a long time, he was sizing her up, taking her in, and now seeing potential for more than someone to follow orders.
Valora couldn't hold back her proud smile, and she nodded. "You too," she whispered, voice husky. Part of her wanted to pounce on him, but instead she merely wiped some of the sweat from her head. She walked by him to the door, lightly brushing against him as she did.
A growl met her ears, and she realized Vladimir had reacted precisely as she wanted to their brief contact. He wasn't chasing her yet, but she wasn't just a member of his team member anymore.
She was finally competition for Meira.
He hadn't made it in time. The sun was rising, lighting the path Ulric had taken. Lighthammer could go no farther, and so he was left alone with thoughts of failure. He didn't like those thoughts, not when he was a vampire, not when he was a reaper.
They stung far worse when he was a reaper. When his strength and speed was increased greatly, when he was powerful, more powerful than the Daywalker, just as powerful and probably more so than Ulric and his kind. The sting of failure was bitter and cruel, tearing through him like a poisoned stake.
Lighthammer had failed Verlaine. He had failed protecting her, he had failed saving her. He had failed to tell her the truth until it was too late, and she would do nothing but shun him. He had failed to explain to her how this was not something to fear, but welcome.
She had stared at him with such fear and longing. So much he could no longer understand, and maybe he never had. Memories of her and them were fading fast.
The reaper went back into the shadows, hiding in the dark tunnels, away from the sunlight. His mind went back to the lover he'd had when he was a vampire. For some reason he kept thinking of her, even though he shouldn't. He was above her - she had cowered in fear and run from him, run from a stronger, powerful being who could have shown her a higher path, a greater future. He shouldn't waste his mind on her.
Yet he did. He felt another pain with her memory, something he had once understood. But now he had forgotten what it was, and he could not remember no matter how hard he tried. Maybe he didn't want to try hard enough.
It had been exactly twenty-four minutes since Meira had left Nomak's quarters when he got out of the shower and glanced out of the bathroom to the clock. He had guessed the amount of time that had passed correctly, but he couldn't be sure if he was right due to his good memory and occasional good senses of time, or if it was because of how much he missed her.
He hated himself for missing her. He hated himself for wanting to stop her, wanting to ask her so many questions, and above all, see the respect in her eyes he had seen in those last few moments.
Nobody had ever respected him. A few of the scientists had envied him, his father had barely acknowledged him as anything above a lab rat, some of the doctors had pitied him, Kounen and the familiars had reviled him, the other reapers had followed him blindly, the Daywalker had been annoyed and confused by him, Nyssa abhorred and feared him, Vladimir despised him, and Ulric, well, Ulric was an even bigger mystery than Meira was.
But now Meira had told him she respected him. And it had shown in her eyes. She hadn't respected him at first, nor after their next few meetings, but now she did. It was obvious to him now, because it appeared it had just become obvious to her.
Nomak had never been respected before. He had never seen it in the eyes of those around him. He hadn't seen it in the eyes of that druggie he'd saved. Yes, gratitude, but not respect. Not until now. Not until meeting that infuriating and intriguing female had come into his life.
How anyone could be so infuriating and so infuriatingly intriguing at the same time was beyond Nomak's comprehension at the moment. But to him, Meira was both. To him, she was confusing and comforting, a walking contradiction that sometimes had him almost to his limit and at others soothed his temper.
Now, she respected him too.
But she still confused the Hell out of him.
So much of their last conversation confounded him and shook him. He had smelled heavily of her - which led to him getting a shower, but his room was filled with her scent so as he dried off, he realized it was pretty much in vain - and he had heard her voice over and over in his head. Seen her, even after she closed that door.
Respect.
For Nomak, that was as elusive as the love that many humans chased after their whole lives and only a few were wise enough to find it. It was just as precious to him, something he had wanted as much as his father's love until the mutation, and afterwards, more than any love. Now he had it, but he was confused of how to act, how to keep it.
He didn't know how to act around people in the first place, and that was even worse with Meira, and now he was in the worst bind possible. So the question he had asked himself in the cold shower, and kept on asking himself as he dried off carefully, did he act nicer towards her or stay the same? He didn't have the answer, which angered him, and he didn't have the time to think it up, because Meira was approaching his room.
Great.
Wrapping the towel around his mostly dry form, Nomak decided to hell with it, and didn't bother dressing. She had seen him without his shirt before, she had seen him at one of his most vulnerable moments, and she was a werewolf, she probably say nude bodies at least occasionally.
Okay, to be honest, he had gone through several vulnerable moments during their last conversation, which made him want to grow colder towards her, but she hadn't left him with a look of pity which made him want to be a little less cruel towards her.
And then a part of him had said, 'Why don't you see how she reacts to you when you're naked save a towel?' He was a mutated vampire who was beyond anti-social for plenty of reasons, including the fact that he had no clue how to act in social situations, but he was still male. He could act male every so often, couldn't he?
No, no, I'll give her the wrong idea. Can't do that. Nomak mentally berated that male pride disguised as male curiosity at the same time he hurried to get his pants on. At least he only wore one pair of pants, not ten different pairs like he did with shirts. Can't give her the wrong idea, she'll stop respecting me. Glancing down, Nomak saw he had subconsciously gone back to his more "normal" look. Well, she'll lose respect or she might take a different kind of interest in me, because whatever God there is knows that all I need of someone I don't want to lose the respect of following me even more.
Frankly, Nomak didn't honestly believe Meira would ever see him in that light, or at least he hoped not, but considering his luck with her, it would be typical. Because that would put him in an even more awkward and confusing and infuriating situation, and with her, that always seemed to happen. He couldn't take it happening again, he was positive he couldn't.
But Fate seemed to have it in for him.
Meira was at the door now, and Nomak was certain her hand was raising to knock. He tossed the towel aside as he pulled his pants up. He thought about grabbing the gray tank shirt, right when Meira's hand knocked three times. For some reason, he suddenly felt like impressing Meira. So he grabbed the blue-green, button-up shirt instead.
While Meira knocked three more times, Nomak quickly slipped the shirt on and buttoned it before tucking in his pants. He smoothed it out and tried to hide some of the dirt and blood stains. He was walking to the door the whole time.
Now, Jared Nomak had never dressed up. He had never been to any social gathering, never to anything that required him to dress like a gentleman. His meetings and gatherings were only with scientists and doctors, and his father. So he wasn't exactly sure how to look, but he knew this wasn't very, well, presentable. Not for giving off a good, respectable impression. But it was as good as he could get.
He wished he could look better, look like the prince Vladimir liked to refer to him as. He wanted to impress Meira, he wanted to look like someone who could be respected and seen as an equal. The fact that he had her respect made him all the more nervous around her, he realized. Now he didn't want her to leave because she confused him, he wanted her to leave because he was afraid he would destroy the respect she held for him.
But right now, the best he could look was like a tall, semi-tanned male with a good bit of muscle wearing bloodstained, dirty clothes that carried the scent of blood, urine, ash, smoke, beer, drugs, and dirty humans.
Putting on his best casual expression, Nomak opened the door, finding Meira standing right outside with her hand raised to knock again. He smirked slightly when Meira stayed that way, hand raised and poised to knock, her eyes wider than usual as she took in his unusual - for him - appearance.
"Is there something you need?" Nomak asked softly, his voice the same as always. That was the one part of him he couldn't change back. His voice and the telltale scar running down his chin would always remain, something which made him start to seethe again, but when he focused back on Meira as she lowered her one hand and raised the other, holding blood bags, he calmed.
"I-I brought these, so you could feed," she stated, stuttering at first as if she was taking a few minutes to get used to his new look. Her reaction gave Nomak some hope - maybe he did look respectable, maybe he was impressing her. "Can I come in?" she continued, breaking Nomak from his hopeful thoughts. "I need to talk to you."
Those words and the hesitancy in her voice caused Nomak's almost, well, happy thoughts to slowly crumble, and he worried. He had no clue what was happening to him, and for a moment he tried to scramble back into his hole to cling to his security blanket called revenge, where all he felt was hate, pain, and the obsession to retribution.
Something in him was different though. The respect he had always longed for was standing right in front of him, right there. He couldn't slip back into his narrow world of revenge and hatred so easily. Especially when he might have a fighting chance at keeping that respect.
"Come in," he told her softly, stepping back to give her access. He took the bags from her hand as she entered, then tried to figure out how to feed in a more respectable manner. He couldn't, so he just tried to feed slower, less like a rabid animal who hadn't fed in a week.
Meira walked over to one of the chairs in the room, sitting down and remaining silent as he fed. Her gaze stayed on him, making him a bit more edgy, more worried.
"Go on and talk," Nomak abruptly said, lowering the bag from his mouth and quickly licking up all the blood before it could trickle from his mouth and make him look like a messy eater. "Please," he added, and was surprised when the word escaped him. Was he that desperate for respect? Obviously he was. He also didn't want them to start arguing again, not so soon. Especially when maybe they could start getting past that stage, maybe truly respect each other without yelling and bitching at each other.
There was a long silence after his please. Meira seemed surprised at the word as much as he was himself, but she didn't bring it up. Her lips parted, and she took in a deep breath. Her lips were fascinating to Nomak - there was this constant, slight curve to them. It was the feature about her that he liked the most, though he wasn't sure why.
"Jared, I think it's time I explained to you what I, what we, need of you," she began, leaning forward so her elbows rested on her knees. She didn't seem to even register she had referred to him by his first name again, but Nomak let it slide, not only to avoid an argument, but so he could finally get that precious information.
It was what he had wanted to know from the beginning, that elusive information that Ulric always seemed to dangle in front of him, just out of his reach. And now Meira, who respected him, who could be impressed by him, was going to give it to him. Maybe he had been too hard on her, maybe kept her in too harsh a light - he couldn't even remember why he'd started to dislike her in the first place, though it couldn't have even been twenty-four hours since.
Sitting down, Nomak nodding and watched her. He was waiting, it was obvious, and he seemed probably more eager than he should have, more eager than expected. His suspicion - for the latter, at least - was proven when Meira gave him an almost curious glance, then her gaze turned thoughtful. Nomak ran the expression through his head, searching his memories. He wanted to know what it meant, if there were any hints in the way her face looked at the moment.
Nomak could remember almost every expression he saw. He could remember almost everything he saw period, maybe everything though some memories weren't as clear as he would have liked. Due to all the genetic tampering, he must have gotten a really good memory, or perhaps he had just been born with it naturally - he remembered Father saying that some humans had excellent memory. Photogenic was the word his father had used.
So he used his memories and the information stored within them to try and decipher this expression. From what he knew of Meira, she was trying to decide how to explain this to him, how she wanted to state things. He wasn't sure if that was entirely correct, but he was almost positive that this thoughtfulness, this hesitation meant she was trying to word things the best way she knew how.
This meant she thought it might upset Nomak. Or it was a strong possibility that's what she thought. While Meira didn't know him that well, not by a long shot, she did know him more than he would have liked. She somehow understood some of his actions and reactions.
Perhaps it was because of her respect. Perhaps it was through her understanding that she respected him. Perhaps she had some similar traits at one point, and could figure him out by figuring herself out.
Perhaps you should stop going too deep in thought and confusing yourself right when you're about to find out what exactly is going on.
Nomak shook his head slightly, as if the physical action would help him get rid of those thoughts. He didn't really care if Meira noticed, because he wanted to do as that smart part of him said. Because it was right. If he kept thinking like that, he'd be more lost than he already was.
"I would appreciate that," Nomak finally stated. He wasn't sure if sitting or standing would be best, but he didn't want to fidget, nor did he want to pace. Not in front of Meira when he was seen as something more than what he felt like all the time. He wasn't even sure what he felt like or what she thought of him as, but he knew the latter had to be better than the former if she respected him.
Meira nodded, appearing as thoughtful as before. She didn't speak again immediately, and Nomak got the impression she was trying to word things the best way again. When she finally did speak, it was with a gentleness in her voice, not condescending or pitying. It was more like she wanted to keep from insulting or hurting Nomak, not that she didn't think he could handle it or understand it.
"I'm sure Ulric has been cryptic with you so far, and that you haven't had much contact with him since you first woke up," Meira started, Nomak nodding in confirmation - he was as eager to be as amiable and helpful as possible. "Well, I don't know when he'll get around to talking to you, so I'm going to. I should probably skip to the point," she added, letting out a soft laugh. There was a familiar quality to it, one Nomak could identify with ease.
The female werewolf was nervous. Why she was nervous, that was hidden from Nomak. But she was nervous nonetheless.
"I'm not going to bite," Nomak offered, speaking softly so the raspy quality wasn't as, overwhelming, as usual. "I just want to know why I'm here. I'm sick of secrets - my father and his kind have more than enough for vampires, werewolves, and humans put together."
Meira met his gaze, nodding as she seemed to come to a realization, perhaps that she didn't have to be careful or diplomatic with Nomak. "You're right," she stated, then smiled, faintly, but she smiled. She didn't speak again for a moment which was fortunate, because Nomak wouldn't have heard her.
He was too caught up in the way her lips curved upwards right at the corners, and he needed a moment to get used to the sight. It was a pleasant sight.
"I was trying to handle this the wrong way. I read people wrong sometimes," she stated, then brushed a few stray strands from her face. Her hair was pulled back, but Nomak noticed, with slight admiration, that it wasn't so tight now, and there was the slightest hint of wave. "You should be told plainly, not with special care, and I'm sorry," Meira continued, interrupting Nomak's thoughts on her hair.
The reaper shrugged. "I'm not the easiest person to read. Not even to myself," he admitted, then looked down, mentally kicking himself. He was so confident when he was fighting Blade, despite never having fought someone so strong before. He was even more confident when he had confronted Nyssa briefly. But with Meira, with her respect and pretty, wild hair, curved lips, and icy eyes, Nomak was back to the child in that small, bleak room. Eager to please yet hesitant for fear of failing.
Meira merely smiled though, and Nomak felt that familiar, soothing sensation she could give him. There was something in her eyes that told him she hadn't lost her respect, that it hadn't been tainted with pity or confusion or contempt at what some might think was weakness. It was just, friendly. Not understanding, but as close as she could get without lying.
"I'll get to the point now, but please don't think too harshly on Ulric," she finally spoke up again, and Nomak nodded, her eyes still icy and clear and focused on her. "He had you captured because he wants your help. He wants to wipe out the vampiric race, Nomak, he wants to kill your father. And he thought you would be eager to help. He wants to destroy the rest of the reapers and then wipe out the vampires. He wants your cooperation, allow myself and Karen to run some tests so we know your strengths, weaknesses, the changes in your DNA, for you to help us infiltrate Caliban Industries, he's not even going to try and stop you from killing Damaskinos," Meira explained.
Nomak blinked, listening. Taking every word in, processing it, and then trying to decide if this was good, or if he was just to be a puppet for someone else now. He decided to go with it for now. Yes, Ulric only wanted him to use him, but it was to use Nomak in achieving almost the same goals Nomak had himself.
Why shouldn't he help Ulric then? The male werewolf would probably make Nomak's mission easier.
"In return to helping him and letting us run some tests, he's offering the chance at a cure."
That last statement was such a blow to Nomak's mind that he lost control on his body practically. He went from looking almost completely normal, to looking like a normal reaper. His mouth nearly fell open, bloodshot eyes wide and staring with shock and fragile hope.
"A cure," he whispered, staring at the floor, trying to wrap his mind around the possibility of returning to the state of living he'd once been in. Of existing without constant pain, constant hunger, a perpetual fever that never killed him. He had never even thought of a cure before, he had known it would never happen, Damaskinos would never be concerned with curing Nomak, only terminating him.
Now though, now Meira and Ulric, the werewolves that he was staying with, that were sheltering him in return for his help in achieving a goal that was Nomak's own revenge, now they were offering a chance of life without agony. A life he could actually live, one he wouldn't seek to escape once his only desires were fulfilled.
It was too good to be true, and Nomak was suddenly fearful something would shatter.
"There's more, isn't there?" Nomak asked, his whole demeanor saying that he knew something would shatter this dream. He looked up, forcing himself to meet Meira's eyes again. He wanted to hide and curl up, but he wouldn't act a coward. Especially in front of her, in front of respect.
Meira gave a half shrug, shaking her head. "There's the chance we won't be able to cure you, but otherwise, Ulric wants nothing more of you," she stated. There was something in her words though. Something in the way she said there was nothing more Ulric wanted of him.
Warning signals went off in Nomak's head abruptly, and he stood. He turned from Meira. The reaper took a few steps from her, arms folding over his chest. "You want something from me, don't you?" he whispered, not turning towards her again, this time his fear too great. You don't respect me, you want something of me.
"I didn't say that."
"Yet you sound as though it's a truth you didn't want."
There was a palpable silence hanging over them for several minutes. Neither of them made any comment, not even any movements, except their breathing.
Finally, Nomak heard Meira stand. She walked over to him, but he remained standing with his back to her, ramrod straight. A hand laid on his shoulder, and he angrily jerked away, facing her at that.
"What do you want from me! What is the price of your respect, Princess, just what do you expect me to do just so I can have something I've wanted for years!" he demanded, shouting loud enough that his voice didn't sound raspy anymore. His eyes were narrowed, but all he felt was despair. Hatred would come later, but he couldn't call on it just yet. His body wouldn't produce any of what used to be in such large supply.
Biting her lip, Meira lowered her head. It seemed now she wasn't the one who could face him, couldn't keep their gazes locked. "I, I didn't want this originally, I didn't think I would have ever wanted this," she started, reluctantly meeting his gaze again. "This isn't the price of my respect, Jared, it isn't. I respect you, I will even if you say no."
Nomak's lip curled and he snorted in derision, but he didn't vocalize his disagreement any more than that.
"I," Meira started up again, then paused. She looked as though she regretted ever wanting whatever she wanted, and for a moment Nomak hoped she would drop it. She looked close to, and then she abruptly blurted what she wanted.
"I want to mate with you."
She stated it bluntly, abruptly, and yet, if she had worded it long and fancy and dragged it out into a long, in-depth explanation that lasted twenty minutes, Nomak still would have been taken aback by the end of it. She hadn't yelled it out or whispered it, she had just stated it, reluctantly and swiftly, but it was still stated as though it was more normal and obvious than it really was.
"Get out."
"I want to explain."
"Get. Out."
"Vladimir wants me, Jared, I wanted something to get him off me, afterwards you could hate me and never speak to me again, I'll still respect you, I'll still be your mate and won't have to worry about Vladimir's attempts at claiming me. I want you because, because I respect you, because you're one of the few people who would even dare to talk back to Vladimir, much less fight him!"
"I said get out."
Meira swallowed and nodded. She looked as though she wanted to take back every word she'd said, but she couldn't. It looked as though she suddenly realized she had shattered that dream she herself had given Nomak.
Without speaking anymore, Meira walked past Nomak, heading for the door. She glanced back at him once, he could tell, and when she closed the door she was looking at him the whole time. She walked away slowly, her soft footsteps several moments in-between, as if regret weighed her down.
Once he couldn't hear her anymore, Nomak moved finally. He slammed his fist into the wall, pain shooting through his arm and then fading within two seconds. He punched the wall again, again, again. He kicked the chair he'd been sitting in, smashed the one Meira had claimed. He ripped it to pieces, tossing another one at the wall and listening to it shatter and splinter.
The small desk was the next thing to go. He crushed the middle with both fists, bringing them down and breaking it in half. He kicked the legs off two at a time, then threw the two half at opposite walls. He abruptly shouted with rage and went at the bed, turning it onto its side roughly, yanking the cover and sheets off, shredding them and tearing open the mattress. Pieces of mattress and pillows went every where, the wood of the bed frame was soon nothing but chunks and splinters.
After Nomak had ruined all the furniture in the bedroom, he attacked the walls again. Slamming himself into them, punching, kicking, head-butting, elbowing. He attacked them as if they were the causes of the horrid feeling inside him. As if destroying his room would ease the sharp pain inside caused by an unfamiliar and hated despair, a loss of something he had barely had time to hold.
When his body ached so badly he thought he would finally die like the others, Nomak collapsed to the floor. Seven feet away the bags of blood laid on the floor, forgotten. He didn't know when he'd dropped them. He didn't care that he had them.
Turning his back to the blood, Nomak laid on his side, curling up. His legs and arms pressed to his chest, hands tucking under his chin. He closed his eyes, shutting everything out. His body shuddered as if he was crying, but nothing left his eyes, and he didn't make a sound. Sticky, yellow blood stained his clothing, hands, and head, and his body cried out for the blood only a few feet away.
Nomak didn't move though, except for the slight shuddering.