16 December 2013: Significant re-writes to the portion of the chapter involving the thoughts of Kolya.

Chapter XXV: The Dream of Kolya

The London Household. Two hours later.

Having just seduced Mr. Alexander Kerr in the most unspeakable fashion, Jacqueline, otherwise known as the forbidden fruit, was now smelling satisfied. Rewarded. Fulfilled even. She had flitted from one side of his bedroom to the other, congratulating herself with a second sojourn in his bathtub, ending it all by embarking on an absurd promenade through his wardrobe. Her clothes were still lying on the floor. Her voice was a very English and very frenetic buzz…

"…and then she sent for it, Alexander, but I swear, I never asked for it in the first place. I almost tore the thing up in front of her. I don't know why you keep her on…she really is an old prude…" The buzz suffered from a fit of husky laughter before resuming its course. "…but then I remembered those people you sometimes patronise. Is that the right word? Patronise. Can you patronise a work-house?" The buzz sighed. "Anyway, I was sure they would want the thing, no matter how ghastly, so I sent it to them. Can you imagine the nerve? A work-house sending a swathe of cloth back…"

There was a pause. The buzz was resting.

"…Alexander?"

The buzz was gaining altitude, starting to come awake again.

"Alexander, are you listening to me?"

Unconcernedly, Lucian looked up from his writing, realising only too late that the buzz was speaking directly to him, that the buzz required an answer. At the room's end, almost a silhouette in front of the fireplace, she was giving him that eye, her dressing gown open, her fingers gracefully inclined on her hips. He hated that dressing gown. It was just one of her many attempts to move in that had gone recklessly awry. Rather than take a hint, she had passively stopped moving and actively started hiding her knickers in his wardrobe. He had lost track of time, but he would wager she had been dressing for at least forty minutes. It was mind-boggling. Her only choices were the outfit she came in, the partially-ripped dressing gown or the knickers. What else did she want?

Oh yes.

An answer…

Scrutinising her, he made an unsuccessful attempt at putting some context to her question. She had been talking about…only God knew what. Something trivial. And she could tell he was not listening. Two hours into their reconciliation and already, she smelled riled. Putting down his pen and journal, he stood, walking slowly over to her…touching one of the flaxen curls at her face. Studying her face with that steady manner women assumed meant 'enraptured.' He needed to fix this…quickly. Thinking on his feet, he began to improvise…

"You know, I was thinking about you the other day…" he remarked, winding the curl about his finger, looking her in the eyes. He had been thinking about getting rid of her, but elaborating on that line was never a wise decision in front of certain women.

Immediately, her ears pricked up. "And…" she said, just short of eagerly.

"And I think…" Where was he going with this sentence? "…we should reconsider where we are going…" He kissed her ear, buying time for himself. "…in eight days' time." A swift calculation. Her date of birth as listed on the lycan registry. Let it be the right date… "A night on the town perhaps…"

She made a purring sound, her eyelashes flicking softly down, the faintest of blushes rising in her cheeks. His calculations had been correct. Temptress that she was, her ability to fake modesty was about equal to a half-naked bride dressed in grey. "You remembered," she said almost coyly.

"I remembered," he said, touching her collar-bone, leaving another kiss. He had not remembered. Raze had reminded him twenty minutes before they arrived in London. Running his finger down her neck, he finished his exploration of her assets and then slowly, very slowly turned her back towards the bathroom. "…now as much as it pains me when you dress, Jacqueline, I think it is time we remembered to make our way to dinner." Brilliant segue. A pity Jacqueline had not the faintest idea what a segue was.

Slipping him a smile, she nodded confidently, preening under his attentions, and then headed for the bathroom, her dressing gown slipping off her shoulders as she walked, giving him a full wolf's-eye view of one of the three reasons why they were still together. The other two were a bit higher. He was not proud of it…but for the sake of that body, he was willing to take any measure of dawdling, temper tantrums, and mindless chatter. Hard to justify that sentiment beside his professed sensitivity and love for women…but he was never cruel to them. Callous maybe. Brusque, but never cruel. So easy to ignore that voice…

…the one that said Allegra might be onto something. That living with him was a prison sentence. That he was already getting that itch in the back of his neck, the first sign of the end of times. He could already see it coming. Another break-up, another woman turning into barbed wire on him. But he could ignore that voice a while longer. He had become practiced at ignoring it. Whether a prison sentence or a pampered ride through the war, the moment they clapped eyes and thighs on his bed, every one of these women knew what they were signing up for. All he asked for in return was that they lay off when their time was finished. No dedications of love, no pleadings to mate for all eternity…once, but never twice.

There was a knock at the door.

"Come," he said curtly.

The door opened cautiously. About six seconds later, the top of Langley's head could be seen peering past the door frame. The boy's eyes were intensely focused on the ground in case his nemesis was still flouncing naked around the room. It had happened before. While Langley spent his nights avoiding naked bodies, Jacqueline spent her days searching for voyeurs. "Sir, the…" The boy looked up for a split-second, and then breathed in relief at the sight of the room's singular occupant. "…sir, the dinner is ready. Mrs. Fulligan wishes to know what time you wish to eat, sir."

"Excellent. Precisely what I wanted to hear." Lucian picked up his book again, retaking his seat. "Present time?"

"Ten to nine, sir."

Damn. They were running severely behind schedule. His own fault for giving in to the whims of a purring woman… "Right, Langley. Tell Mrs. Fulligan we will be ready in a quarter of an hour. Maybe more." He resumed writing, speaking as he did. "Warn the barracks as soon as we reach the first course. That gives them approximately one hour before I storm the lair."

One wretched hour.

Had things gone his way, they would have been in and out of dinner in under ten minutes. But Jacqueline would throw a fit if she were rushed through her moment of grandeur. Allegra had explained it to him once, the prestige of being on his arm, the pomp and circumstance of showing off her position. Apparently mistress to the alpha was a coveted position, particularly in front of other lycan women. The whole business made him uncomfortable. Much like servants.

Bowing repeatedly, the skinny boy began to close the door. "Yes, sir, I will tell them."

"Langley…" He was not done with him yet. The boy was always leaving before he was dismissed. He swore, if Langley had not been getting the shite kicked out of him every day of the week prior to his move upstairs, he might have considered getting a new manservant, his mother's friendship be damned. But the boy tried hard enough, and for that, he remained. The London den could be tough on those who were not ready for it. Eventually, Langley would have to go back though. The lycan-master could not be seen coddling what could only be categorised as a runt for too long.

Langley popped his head around the corner again. "Yes, sir?" His voice had gone a note higher this time rather an octave, his fears of doing wrong showing through.

"Has Raze arrived?"

"He has, sir."

"Excellent, I need you to…" Suddenly, he paused in mid-sentence, tapping his pen against his chin. As usual, he was trapped by the repercussions of making promises to women. Eight days' time. It would be a miracle if he could get tickets for anything before eight days' time. But then Raze had grown used to pulling miracles out of his sleeve for the lycan-master's ladies. Hence the reason Allegra had swung so easily to the lycan's side upon the dissolution of their affair. "…ask him to meet me in the library, four hours from now. On the dot."

"Yes, sir. I will tell him." The door closed softly behind the boy.

As the door closed, a second voice sounded from the bathroom, a significant two octaves higher. "Alexander…" she murmured, sounding both hot and sweaty from the recent exertion of having walked to the bathroom. "…can you help me with my corset please?"

He closed his eyes. Someone shoot him.

Please.

She called again. A simple matter of reaching an arm round and pulling a lace. Yet nine times out of ten, she needed help when he was around. He stayed where he was, wishing he had added extra laudanum to the last hour's fix. The vein in his temple was starting to twitch, the pain in his head becoming a constant undercurrent. He knew she could do it. He had seen her do it. Again, she called, turning her plea into a shallow, drawn-out moan. Did she think it was some kind of stimulant, spending half the evening gallivanting with her naked body, and then seeing a bit of lace afterwards?

A fourth time, she called. It was the beckoning call that tipped the scales. Four dozen British soldiers at his beck and call…and his evenings were based upon the whims of a nineteen year old girl with the propensity for repeating actions till she had her way. Feeling an enormous weight drop from his shoulders, he breathed, put down the book and headed for the bathroom. He had made his decision. One week after her birthday, he would end it with Jacqueline. She was young. She was fresh. She'd find something to fill the gap with. Maybe Langley.

o…o…o

Elsewhere…

A mile from Exiles' Quarter, tucked away in the bowels of a dark alleyway, a newcomer was finding his way through a new city. Lost at first. Confused by the smell of toxic smoke, the sound of the demon's tram. The taste of a woman's neck. This woman whose neck tasted of stale perfume… She'd smiled at him. Dirty hair from a dirty whore in the Exiles' Quarter. Winked with her crow's feet, running a hand up his crotch, trying to make the raven stand for the crow.

"And who might you be?" she'd asked in a rough, South-London accent. The question of how he knew her origins answered in the same way that he knew her age. Experience. Yet if she had asked him at the wrong time, he might not have remembered his experiences…for the memory would have been sleeping. But she asked him at the right time, so the right answer she would receive.

"I am Nikolai Proshkov Andreev," he had said. He was a cordial vampire by nature, so he reached out to kiss her hand. "…but you must call me Kolya."

She did call him Kolya.

And now she was dripping red onto the cobblestones. His thoughts starting to ramble at the sight. Not his memories, for those were tucked away like the rest of his secrets. The silver key, the whiskey flask and the old photograph in his pocket. His fingers grasping onto her skin like a spider on the wind, starting to panic in its haste. There were not enough memories in this woman's blood.

And for the first time, he focused on the blood and understood its meaning. This was no dream. And the woman was not old enough. So he must find another…and another…the blood of thousands if he had to. For a promise made can never be broken. He had told her that he would help her. All those years ago, he had promised to follow and serve for her sake. Find the one called Itzhak. Bide your time and wait in the shadows for we will come to you. A half year before the time would be right.

Only his name was not really 'Itzhak.'

That knowledge an unlikely gift from one of Kraven's death dealers. One whose ashes had been scattered only days after introducing a new recruit to the coven. A vampire who only stayed among them for two years before it became apparent that people were dying. Weak people. Old people. And then a council member.

"We are friends now, Mr. Itzhak," he said, staring at the blood. "…friends." And then he twisted the woman's neck a second time, letting her fall before the red could touch his clothes. Leaving her behind for the dogs to find, the traitors who owned the dark. For he was not the only enemy of the one called Itzhak. London was a complicated affair and it had room for many suitors. Their eyes watching him in the dark, following him as soon as he left the corpse and cleaning up his mess. Wiping away the blood and spiriting away the body. They would approach him, he knew…and he would bargain with them.

But only if they called him Kolya.

A/N: If you have not guessed by now, Kolya has issues. (And yes, Whitechapel is that area where Jack the Ripper was killing people, and alas, we cannot turn Kolya into the character of Jack the Ripper since we're in the wrong decade. However we can rub our hands in our glee because the Exiles' Quarter is in Whitechapel.) Anyway, thanks to trestreschic, Epilachna ( I've seen the film so feel free to talk about spoilers via pm,) Jen Rock, Sheen, Glass Skin, MCaravello42, PandylBas, TheLostSecret, hrsracer00, Lirael Abhorsen, Skittle Popper, lightning8star, and fanficfan84 for the reviews, favourites, and alerts!

trestreschic: You know, we might be able to see Reinette tell Jacqueline off, but I have a feeling it might be someone else doing the yelling. (It's going to be a toss-up between five people. Reinette, Rena, Sabine, Mrs. Fulligan and Lucian...the first three have not met her yet, but I think when they do, sparks will fly.) Thanks for the compliment regarding the attention to detail (makes for a great on-going research project.) I have indeed thought of making a prequel to Prelude (I have Reinette's history written down to her birth, plus the tale of another main character she doesn't remember at this point.) More updates are in the works!

Epilachna: I see the London Den as having two clearly defined areas. (1) The "upstairs", meaning Lucian's designated area of the house, as well as their overall "cover" for the den. It's a working British household where things are meant to appear as normal as possible inside. On the flip side, (2) the "downstairs" is the den beneath the house, underground and likely attached to those catacombs Lucian still is planning on throwing Reinette in for his wager. - Regarding the Fulligans' presence as mortals in a lycan household, I don't think they're that worried about the angry bite problem. (Particularly since Lucian seems to be a great one for stressing that lycans are not animals, so I think he gets pretty pissed off when they let themselves go. Another reason is the Fulligans also have a pretty tight relationship with some of 'their boys' in the London den. I think if anyone were stupid enough to try and bite Mrs. Fulligan, about twelve strapping lycans would tackle the idiot.) - Regarding Jacqueline, like you said, I think he 'missed' her for a while (or at least her assets), but even he can tell a relationship based on appearance just doesn't cut it. His thoughts on her are pretty clear in this chapter, though he does seem to be wrestling with some issues as well.

Jen Rock: More is on the way! For the record, we will continue to find out more about Sabine, lycan society, politics, and how much Lucian can take before (a) his laudanum starts to pose a serious problem, (b) Kolya starts to pose a serious problem, or (c) Reinette starts to pose a serious problem. He's in for a lot of problems over the next few years of his life. (Like you said, poor Lucian! Though I'm definitely looking forward to writing that a clash between lycan ladies and Reinette at some point.)

Sheen: He is naughty! (And yes, that's exactly it…he's a great leader, but his personal life is in a bit of mess at this point. Not obviously, but under the surface a bit like a series of crumbling walls that will eventually topple when the wind blows a little too hard.)

Glass Skin: You have no idea how nice it was to see reviews spanning the story in a single day! Glad you're addicted and welcome to the story (though hopefully, you find time to read these chapters during regular hours…though to be honest, who am I kidding? It's eight in the morning over here, and I haven't actually slept a wink. Best time to write, and thank God I can sleep in afterwards.)

M Caravello42: Very glad you enjoyed the fic, Marianne! I will try and keep the quality up to standard!

PandylBas: Thanks for the compliment! Just in case anyone has a similar "Prelude or Nightrunner first?" question, I'm putting my answer here for those readers with the same question. Basiclaly, there are a number of spoilers to Prelude in the chapters of Nightrunner. Nightrunner is also an incomplete story and in all likelihood, will experience a few plot-detail changes. At the end of the day, it's up to readers whether they want to know what's happened 100 years down the line. (But just remember, incomplete story, incomplete plot, incomplete details. Nothing about Nightrunner is set in stone.)