Disclaimer: I don't own anything except the OC.
Warning: This is written as a story not a fic. So if you don't like it, deal.
FYI: Reviews and even flames are welcome.
BTW: I'm looking for an editor. The only thing I can offer in payment is all chapters early.
TY to Ephona. I understand.
Voltaire woke the next morning feeling groggy. Something wasn't right. Without thinking she reached for her mother's necklace and panicked when she realized it wasn't there. What had she done with it? Memory flooded her as she opened her eyes. She snarled as she threw the covers over the bed. The bed was large and her room had turned out to be a bedroom, bathroom, and sitting room. It was like staying at a suite. A suite she wanted to leave as soon as possible. She winced as her feet touched the cold marble floor. Hadn't these people discovered the wonders of wall to wall carpeting? She walked over to the wardrobe and was pleased to see that they had provided her with clothes. She didn't want to wander around this place in stiletto heels anymore than she had to. She pulled on a black dress and belted it with some silver rope. Looking at her reflection in the mirror she decided against doing anything with her streaked hair. Just as she was about to open the door, Daemonar did. She had learned his name last night in an attempt to learn anything about this place. He looked like he had run a triathlon by himself. She crossed her arms and waited.
"Aunt Jaenelle requests your presence with breakfast," he told her. She rolled her eyes. "You mean she wants to speak with me about whether or not I can stay, and maybe have something to eat while she does it. I'm not stupid," she told him at the look on his face. He looked perplexed as he led her through a series of hallways to a small dining room. "Mornin'," Voltaire said as she headed to the well stocked bar on the side. She loaded her plate with a little of everything, even what she didn't recognize. Hell, she wasn't picky about her food. She sat herself across from the two of them like the night before and tucked in waiting for Jaenelle to start. "I weaved my web last night," Jaenelle paused and she nodded to say that she was listening. "It showed that you spoke the truth. I want you to stay here, within my court. I will teach you everything I know. You are strong with the power. You came to us wearing the black," Jaenelle told her like it was some kind of big deal. "What? You mean, you can't get black gems around here?" Voltaire asked as she finished inhaling her eggs. "No," Jaenelle said sounding puzzled. An idea seemed to cross her face as she looked at Voltaire. "Here jewels are a sign of power. The darker your jewel the more power you have. I checked, and the fact that you wear a black jeweled necklace, was no accident," Jaenelle told Voltaire. She looked at her in shock. Her? Powerful? How in the bloody blue blazes? Her thoughts were interrupted by the arrival of another man. He looked like an older clone of the man sitting next to Jaenelle. Daemon. That was his name. His eyebrows rose into his hair as he looked at her.
"So, she's the one you made all that fuss about, Daemon?" he asked. Fuss? He made a fuss about her? She felt her famous temper begin to climb.
"Excuse, me, but I do have a name, you know. Use it," she said venomously, losing what was left of her appetite. "Sorry, he failed to give me that piece of information. I'm Saetan," he said extending his hand. Voltaire took it cautiously. With a name like that is was hard not to be cautious.
"Voltaire. I was just learning what you guys have for a hierarchy. It seems I'm stuck here until my friend decides to bail me out," Voltaire told him with a quick smile. He smiled back and produced a book from his pocket.
"Here. It's a book on court procedure. It may seem a bit strange on paper, but it makes more sense in practice," he told her before turning and leaving. Voltaire studied the book with interest. Jaenelle looked up at Daemon, and sighed.
"I advise you to get out to the training fields. Lucivar's vicious about his training. It maybe intense until he finds the right balance for you," Jaenelle told her. Voltaire looked down at the loose dress she was wearing. It was nothing to wear to fight. She had had some kick boxing lessons, and was pretty good with a bow. Sighing she rose. "Before I leave, may I ask something?" she asked feeling foolish. Jaenelle raised an eyebrow in response. "You say I'm powerful, and such. Well, what good is this power to me if I can't use it? Can you train me or something?" Voltaire asked in a rush. Jaenelle looked thoughtful. "Usually by your age, we've just about master whatever it is that you are going to know," at the look of disappointment on Voltaire's face she thought even more. "There is a way, I suppose, to teach you everything you need to know in an hour or so. Why don't you go to the practice field? I'm sure Daemonar will be happy to show you where it is," Jaenelle said a sneaky smile coming across her face.
Voltaire nodded and left in Daemonar's wake. His long legs began to eat up ground much faster that hers. Snarling she glared at his back.
"Would you slow down? It's not like there's a fire, for Christ's sake. We've got to stop at my room anyway. I need to find something to wear that won't get in my way," she growled as he slowed down and turned to look at her.
"I've heard that before. When we get to your rooms, you'll seek out the balcony and escape. Not on my watch. If you want to go back to your rooms to change, you'll have to let me in," he snorted and looked at her arrogantly. She felt her temper flare, but hell would freeze over before she gave into his arrogant little ass.
"Fine. Now can we hurry? I'd like to get this over and done with," she crossed her arms and glared at him evenly. She saw the oddest look cross his face before he began to lead her to her rooms.
Thirty minutes later, Voltaire found herself in what she thought looked like a medieval guard training grounds. People sparred in pits and men moved through stance in others. She followed Daemonar to who she assumed was his father, for the man looked close to him. As he motioned for them to come to him, Voltaire climbed the fence glad she had found the tews and tunic the bottom of the wardrobe. Unfortunately, they were black, and she had a feeling they would become hotter than hell soon enough.
"You're Voltaire. I'm Lucivar," he said offering her his hand. She took it in a firm grip as her aunt had taught her and smiled. "A pleasure. So you're the one that's going to whip me into shape," she had laughter in her voice and didn't notice the look that crossed his face when she said whip. "Why don't we start with an assessment? Do you have a favorite weapon?" he asked. Voltaire smiled outrageously.
"My looks, but those don't really count. I'd have to say my hands and feet. I'm not half bad with a bow either," she admitted seeing the laughter in both their faces at her first comment.
"Well, I'd like to see what you can do. Daemonar call time," he said slipping easily into a fighting stance. Voltaire did likewise, lightly on the balls over her feet. As he attacked she just barely moved out of his way. He's fast, she thought. She managed to land a few blows, but by the time, time was called Voltaire was more than glad. "You're pretty good," Lucivar told her taking a walk around the fence to cool down. Voltaire smiled and joined him. "Thanks. My aunt was big on self defense," she trailed off at the mention of her aunt. Would she be worrying about her? She could see her aunt sitting on the lunge by the phone waiting for her to call. Those sad eyes. "Are you alright?" Daemonar asked. He had come over and joined them. She felt her temper spike because she couldn't do anything about her aunt.
"Oh, I'm just bloody brilliant," she hissed back at him earning an amused look from his father. "Are we done?" she asked him turning her temper on him. "Yes, now that I have an idea of how you perform, I'd like for you to start coming every morning like the rest of the court," he told her. Voltaire nodded curtly, feeling slightly rude. She climbed back over the fence, and walked back to the hall, glad that for once Daemonar wasn't following her.
TY to Ephona. I understand.
Voltaire woke the next morning feeling groggy. Something wasn't right. Without thinking she reached for her mother's necklace and panicked when she realized it wasn't there. What had she done with it? Memory flooded her as she opened her eyes. She snarled as she threw the covers over the bed. The bed was large and her room had turned out to be a bedroom, bathroom, and sitting room. It was like staying at a suite. A suite she wanted to leave as soon as possible. She winced as her feet touched the cold marble floor. Hadn't these people discovered the wonders of wall to wall carpeting? She walked over to the wardrobe and was pleased to see that they had provided her with clothes. She didn't want to wander around this place in stiletto heels anymore than she had to. She pulled on a black dress and belted it with some silver rope. Looking at her reflection in the mirror she decided against doing anything with her streaked hair. Just as she was about to open the door, Daemonar did. She had learned his name last night in an attempt to learn anything about this place. He looked like he had run a triathlon by himself. She crossed her arms and waited.
"Aunt Jaenelle requests your presence with breakfast," he told her. She rolled her eyes. "You mean she wants to speak with me about whether or not I can stay, and maybe have something to eat while she does it. I'm not stupid," she told him at the look on his face. He looked perplexed as he led her through a series of hallways to a small dining room. "Mornin'," Voltaire said as she headed to the well stocked bar on the side. She loaded her plate with a little of everything, even what she didn't recognize. Hell, she wasn't picky about her food. She sat herself across from the two of them like the night before and tucked in waiting for Jaenelle to start. "I weaved my web last night," Jaenelle paused and she nodded to say that she was listening. "It showed that you spoke the truth. I want you to stay here, within my court. I will teach you everything I know. You are strong with the power. You came to us wearing the black," Jaenelle told her like it was some kind of big deal. "What? You mean, you can't get black gems around here?" Voltaire asked as she finished inhaling her eggs. "No," Jaenelle said sounding puzzled. An idea seemed to cross her face as she looked at Voltaire. "Here jewels are a sign of power. The darker your jewel the more power you have. I checked, and the fact that you wear a black jeweled necklace, was no accident," Jaenelle told Voltaire. She looked at her in shock. Her? Powerful? How in the bloody blue blazes? Her thoughts were interrupted by the arrival of another man. He looked like an older clone of the man sitting next to Jaenelle. Daemon. That was his name. His eyebrows rose into his hair as he looked at her.
"So, she's the one you made all that fuss about, Daemon?" he asked. Fuss? He made a fuss about her? She felt her famous temper begin to climb.
"Excuse, me, but I do have a name, you know. Use it," she said venomously, losing what was left of her appetite. "Sorry, he failed to give me that piece of information. I'm Saetan," he said extending his hand. Voltaire took it cautiously. With a name like that is was hard not to be cautious.
"Voltaire. I was just learning what you guys have for a hierarchy. It seems I'm stuck here until my friend decides to bail me out," Voltaire told him with a quick smile. He smiled back and produced a book from his pocket.
"Here. It's a book on court procedure. It may seem a bit strange on paper, but it makes more sense in practice," he told her before turning and leaving. Voltaire studied the book with interest. Jaenelle looked up at Daemon, and sighed.
"I advise you to get out to the training fields. Lucivar's vicious about his training. It maybe intense until he finds the right balance for you," Jaenelle told her. Voltaire looked down at the loose dress she was wearing. It was nothing to wear to fight. She had had some kick boxing lessons, and was pretty good with a bow. Sighing she rose. "Before I leave, may I ask something?" she asked feeling foolish. Jaenelle raised an eyebrow in response. "You say I'm powerful, and such. Well, what good is this power to me if I can't use it? Can you train me or something?" Voltaire asked in a rush. Jaenelle looked thoughtful. "Usually by your age, we've just about master whatever it is that you are going to know," at the look of disappointment on Voltaire's face she thought even more. "There is a way, I suppose, to teach you everything you need to know in an hour or so. Why don't you go to the practice field? I'm sure Daemonar will be happy to show you where it is," Jaenelle said a sneaky smile coming across her face.
Voltaire nodded and left in Daemonar's wake. His long legs began to eat up ground much faster that hers. Snarling she glared at his back.
"Would you slow down? It's not like there's a fire, for Christ's sake. We've got to stop at my room anyway. I need to find something to wear that won't get in my way," she growled as he slowed down and turned to look at her.
"I've heard that before. When we get to your rooms, you'll seek out the balcony and escape. Not on my watch. If you want to go back to your rooms to change, you'll have to let me in," he snorted and looked at her arrogantly. She felt her temper flare, but hell would freeze over before she gave into his arrogant little ass.
"Fine. Now can we hurry? I'd like to get this over and done with," she crossed her arms and glared at him evenly. She saw the oddest look cross his face before he began to lead her to her rooms.
Thirty minutes later, Voltaire found herself in what she thought looked like a medieval guard training grounds. People sparred in pits and men moved through stance in others. She followed Daemonar to who she assumed was his father, for the man looked close to him. As he motioned for them to come to him, Voltaire climbed the fence glad she had found the tews and tunic the bottom of the wardrobe. Unfortunately, they were black, and she had a feeling they would become hotter than hell soon enough.
"You're Voltaire. I'm Lucivar," he said offering her his hand. She took it in a firm grip as her aunt had taught her and smiled. "A pleasure. So you're the one that's going to whip me into shape," she had laughter in her voice and didn't notice the look that crossed his face when she said whip. "Why don't we start with an assessment? Do you have a favorite weapon?" he asked. Voltaire smiled outrageously.
"My looks, but those don't really count. I'd have to say my hands and feet. I'm not half bad with a bow either," she admitted seeing the laughter in both their faces at her first comment.
"Well, I'd like to see what you can do. Daemonar call time," he said slipping easily into a fighting stance. Voltaire did likewise, lightly on the balls over her feet. As he attacked she just barely moved out of his way. He's fast, she thought. She managed to land a few blows, but by the time, time was called Voltaire was more than glad. "You're pretty good," Lucivar told her taking a walk around the fence to cool down. Voltaire smiled and joined him. "Thanks. My aunt was big on self defense," she trailed off at the mention of her aunt. Would she be worrying about her? She could see her aunt sitting on the lunge by the phone waiting for her to call. Those sad eyes. "Are you alright?" Daemonar asked. He had come over and joined them. She felt her temper spike because she couldn't do anything about her aunt.
"Oh, I'm just bloody brilliant," she hissed back at him earning an amused look from his father. "Are we done?" she asked him turning her temper on him. "Yes, now that I have an idea of how you perform, I'd like for you to start coming every morning like the rest of the court," he told her. Voltaire nodded curtly, feeling slightly rude. She climbed back over the fence, and walked back to the hall, glad that for once Daemonar wasn't following her.