I feel I need to clarify the relationship between Priestess, and Black Hat. They aren't in love, and this story isn't about her going in search of her soul mate. They're friends, very good ones at that. She treats him like her Brother, and he cares for her just a little bit more deeply than one should for a Sister. But that's it- there isn't romance. Thank you to MythStar Black Dragon, Sheila( I plan to go more into their history together, yes.), HHMsaki (Drinking her blood would only make her an infected, Hun.), Night Weaver-369, VikingBeauty (I swear- I'll finish it even if it kills me!), OkamiANBU (There is so much awesome in that review, I don't know what to say to it.), and Inwe[z]247 –I'll try y hardest to watch for that. Thank you again to all of you for taking the time to click that little button on the bottom, and give me such lovely feed back!
Now, On with the Story!
He recalled nights after strenuous training sessions where they had slept where they'd fallen, in a limb-tangled heap of teenage warriors, too young for the sights they'd seen, but too old to admit to their nightmares. He remembered her habit of snuggling close, of clinging childishly in her sleep. To him. Not, as most had whispered, to Priest.
She'd sought out the comfort of her friend, rather than the recently arrived Stranger she'd fancied. The thought had made him smile, even back then.
She never wore shoes, when she was in practice. Had always preferred to wrap them in cotton strips. He'd never known why. The mystery made her night time habit more endearing, though it was his secret alone to keep. When she curled up against him, delicate hands fisted in the fabric of his shirt, she'd stretch out her legs and hook her toes under the fabric of his pants sleeves- pressing her freezing digits to the warm skin of his ankles.
The first time it had happened, he admitted- he squealed in shock. He could still remember the way her black brows had drown down in a frown, as she'd tried to puzzle out the noise through the thick blanket of sleep. He'd been certain to stay quiet, after that night. Had even gone so far as to practice during the day, with ice against his skin.
Those moments of contact, innocent and sweet, were few and fleeting. Stolen time to be cherished. He hadn't been willing to let a little thing like cold toes prevent him from enjoying it.
Yellow eyes drifted down to the slender form lying peacefully amongst the destroyed bodies of his new comrades. Of the mindless soldiers he was supposed to have been controlling. The carnage is enough to turn his lip. All that damage, caused by one small female. The Queen should have killed the batch of them, if they were so inferior.
It had taken twenty five Vampires to bring him down; she'd killed nearly twice that amount, without even needing the aid of the sun.
She'd clearly had something worth fighting for. Revenge for him? Maybe. The monster within him preened at the thought. Her caring would make the unveiling all the more sweet, with sharp cries of disbelief. He could picture it now, her brown eyes darkening with disbelief as he bit down, sharp teeth slicing through spin and muscle. Oh, no doubt she'd fight- she was a Priest, after all. But she had no way to counteract the poison, no way to protect herself from the infection it would bring. It could take days- but she'd be his.
In the end, they always were.
As he watched, her slender hands grasped at the rocky sand beneath her, fingers tightening on nothing as memory dictated her movements. A soft whimper broke the air, as her brows twitched down- pulling together in an expression of pained torment. Her legs drew up, protecting her stomach as she curled protectively around herself. Her nails, chipped and stained with the blood of his dead soldiers, clenched in the dirt. Blood oozed from cuts- both old and new- as the sharp stones dug into her flesh
"Still have bad dreams, Dove?" He questioned curiously, as he knelt beside her shifting form. She never could sleep alone. With such a perfect memory, she could recall every detail of the fights- ever small sound they made, ever ounce of carefully controlled fear. The shapes, shifting in the darkness just outside of the lines of light glow sticks had created. All perfectly preserved behind her eyes, waiting until she slumbered. Lurking there, until her guard had dropped.
Settling down on the cool ground with a sigh, he looped an arm around her shoulders and tugged her against his chest. One hand, still encased in black leather, smoothed over her hair- his laughter rumbling through his chest as her hands immediately gripped the lapels of his jacket, pulling insistently.
"The more things change," His smile wasn't kind. All flashings of fang, and hard cold eyes. Only humans were foolish enough to assume a smile was anything else then an aggressive bearing of teeth. "the more they stay the same. Don't get comfortable, sunshine. You'll hate me for this, come morn'in." And he was fine with that. He was still a monster, his soul blackened and tarnished with the sins he'd committed.
Cuddling couldn't change that fact.
He sighed again as she shifted against him, tightening his protective hold as she buried her nose against the skin of his collar bone- breathing him in, no doubt. Yet another comfort she'd taken from him.
Lifting his hat from its uncomfortable pent position beneath his head, he dropped it down over his eyes- leaving pale yellow orbs to watch from the shadows. He'd give her a few hours, until realization drew her from her dreams. Then the fun could begin. Settling back, he closed his eyes, and slept.
Priestess can feel hands holding her, a familiar feeling of safety surrounding her as she breaths in a scent that reminds her...of what? History? Of a past she can no longer remember, too lost in the battles of the war. Some small spark of hope, a stolen moment between pre-dawn, and the rising of the sun. Home. It doesn't exist anymore, not in the sense most people use. Her home has been destroyed, many years ago.
It represents a feeling she can no longer explain. Like having a hundred hands holding her up, with the security that she will never fall. That the monsters trapped in her mind can't reach her, while that feeling is there. But she hasn't felt that way in half a year. Why?
Her hand moves, fingers slowly unfurling from their clutched, clenched position. Her palm smoothes over the fabric beneath her, feeling the familiar swell of muscle beneath it. She ideally traces patterns there, as she tries to remember why the feelings went missing in the first place. His rumble, content and amused, only confuses her more.
Stretching out her legs, she realises that she's sprawled across him, her giving curves pressed against hi harder muscles- not tucked up against his side. Incorrect, her mind tells her. Wrong. Not right. Her hand trails up, ghosting over the column of his neck, before she feels the prickle of his jaw beneath her fingers. Familiar, again. The backs of her hand smooth down the rough hairs, his breath whispering over her skin as she passes his lips. His hand is against the small of her back, restlessly tightening as she explores him.
There it is again. That tickle; that silent warning.
Her eyes are still closed, but she can feel the trickle of Dawn against her lids. Turning her face, she presses it against the leather, her nose finding the skin of his neck as she breaths him in.
"Priest?" She finally questions, a small frown in her voice.
"Yeah, Dove?" That familiar voice. Roughened whiskey, coloured by his country drawl. Her Mother had always called those kinds of voices Lazy Sundays. She loved hearing it, she remembers. It had inspired the same feelings that the word 'Home' had. But something had happened...She squeezes her eyes shut, fighting off the lethargic urge to just curl up against the man, and go back to sleep. There's something about him. Something important, it hovers on the edge of her memory. But what?
"...Is this a dream?" She asks quietly, her throat going dry with sudden dread. She remembers now. Why the feelings went away. How could she forget? Something that important, it's never slipped away before.
"Hm? Why'd you ask?" The form beneath her is still relaxed, but the weight of his hands on her back is no longer a gentle reminder of safety. It instead inspires a fear of being trapped.
She swallows thickly before she answers, finally lifting her head and opening her eyes. His face is the same, though his eyes have changed. The cheerful hazel colour is gone, replaced by burning gold. The light of dawn paints him with shadows, as he stares back. Waiting.
"Because, Priest, you died five months ago."
His chuckle sends cold fingers of dread up her spine. "So I did, love. So I did."
Hard rock digs into her back as their positions are reversed. Then there is pain. Only pain, as her shoulder erupts in fire. The blade is buried deeply, long enough to go straight through, and cut into the dirt. Her scream of pain hides whatever else he says, the words lost in the volume of it. He twists the handle, and her vision wavers.
So, what'cha think? Cliff hanger evil enough for you? Reviews keep me going.