Words can't describe how sorry I am for this being so late...again. But it will be worth the wait. This chapter...well, it's one of the reasons the story's rated M now.- cackles, rubbing her hands together evilly- Yessss. Bring on the naked~! I'd like to thank Zuvios Gemini for allowing me to use her character's name, as well as helping me with Priestess's full name, and once more apologize for taking so damned long to finish this one. If you haven't already read her story Golden Eyed Personal Jesus, go read that shit. Seriously. Gem's writing makes the characters feel so real.
Yamiik, your review was the thing that got me up off my ass to finish the chapter. So thank you ^^
Enjoy!
As her eyes slowly opened at the breaking of the new dawn, her fingers reached compulsively for the small glass vile tucked into her shirt. They froze in place when nothing but air and the rough fabric of the quilt met their curious probing. Shooting up straight, she gasped in pain and doubled over as her shoulder and ribs spiked and pulsed boiling hot, aching waves of pain down her side.
He watched passively from the doorway as she sagged down onto her side, panting. He could smell the sweat of her skin, the small dots of fresh blood on her dirty bandages, and her; always her. Her cinnamon scent permeated the room, stirring the air with its sweet exotic nature. Tempting him. Tormenting him. He'd returned and fled from the room several times during the course of the last day and a half; all because the wholesome, infectious sense of her had sunk into ever board of the small room, every stitch of the blankets – even the thick worn leather of his coat.
His liquid golden eyes burned into the naked skin of her back as he watched her in utter silence, listening to each shaky breath she drew. Slender shoulders quaked and trembled beneath his gaze, goose bumps rippling across her soft caramel skin as she became aware of his presence in the room.
Brushing her dirty hair back from her fathomless black eyes, she glared accusingly at him. Her hands, which had lay restless on top of the sheets, now bunched into dangerous fists. He could feel her expanding her awareness to the room around her, taking it in without truly removing her attention from him. His interest spiked in response and he leaned forward, crossing his arms loosely. A low rumbling laugh worked its way from his chest as he watched her jerk back in surprise at the sudden movement.
"My my, aren't we suspicious. Calm down, Dove – you'll end up hurt'ng yourself more if you keep jumping like that." He knew his pupils had dilated to their fullest while he spoke, leaving only a small rim of honeyed gem visible. He couldn't help his reaction; she'd allowed the sheet to slip from her torso when she sat up, exposing her naked stomach and tightly bound chest to his scrutiny. Only the bandage and her plain bra kept her decent.
"You've gathered more scars since I last saw you. Who gave you the belly one?" His voice was soft and gruff as he pointed to the star shaped white mass of scar tissue decorating the left side of her stomach. Her hand slapped over the mark as she glanced, confused, first down, then back at him.
"Vampire guardian beast." She grumbled at last, looking away. " My partner had died earlier that day – I had to deal with the Queen and her guards alone." She shrugged her left shoulder. "One caught me by surprise."
"Sure stupid of you."
"Bite me, Ezekiel."
"Mmm. Maybe later."
"What are you, exactly?" She tossed the question out quickly, ruining the sense of normality that had been gathering. Her face was still pulled into a suspicious frown.
"Complicated."
"That isn't what I meant – and you know it. What happened to you on that mission? Isaac said you slipped – "
"He let go." He interrupted tightly. Priestess spoke over him easily, accustomed to his temper. ", and they couldn't find you. We all thought you'd died, Brother. So how come my eyes are telling me that you both live and breathe in front of me?"
He was silent for quite some time, merely watching her with dark, thought clouded eyes. The rim of his large hat cast his gaze into shadows, adding to the mystery already swirling about the man. "I wanted to die, after the things they did to me. I begged for it, for hours and hours. Then she came, and everything changed. I changed. Because of her, I'm something entirely new; something the church can't possibly prepare for. I'm a human Vampire, still with the possession of my soul." He gaze hardened as he spoke, old anger leaking out. Striding across the room, he shoved back his sleeve and thrust his arm into the bright morning light. Turning his head slowly, he watched her through blazing eyes.
"I walk in the sun, and serve only my Queen."
She tried not to let her shock show, schooling her face back to the flat emotionless mask she always wore when she presented herself to the High Council. As surprising as it was to hear him admit it, out loud and with his own unique flare for words—she'd already suspected something similar. Despite the many wonders and horrors that their world held, there were very few things he could have been.
"I should kill you." She whispered, suddenly incredibly tired. "I really should. Burn the name of God into your flesh; tear into you with my Holy weapons until you scream for mercy that will never be given. Kill you with the same wrathful vengeance I reserve for all of the Vampires I come across." Her palms slid over the blanket as she pulled up her knees, curling her arms around them tightly—clutching herself for physical comfort that otherwise couldn't be given. "But I can't. I just can't." Her voice broke, then, as the deep huskiness of withheld tears filled it. "Maybe I could, if you looked like a beast—like those mindless things that destroyed those towns. But you don't. You..." She broke off, her fingers pressed against her lips; silencing herself before she displayed any more betraying emotions.
"Look like myself." He finished for her, golden eyes narrowed dangerously. No; calculatingly. That was the look he'd always worn when he was in a scheming, teaching mood. Painful lessons usually followed shortly after it. Her hands abandoned their post as he stalked towards her slowly, running over the blanket as she searched instinctually for a weapon to fend him off with. There weren't any within reach. "So you would rather I be a beast, to avoid the guilt it would make you feel? How very selfish of you. I thought Priests were above such emotions. Think of them, not of yourself—isn't that what we were always told?"
Abandoning her search, she managed to throw herself off the bed just in time. His blow bowed the mattress, but didn't break it; despite his actions, he was still very much in control of his emotions. Dovinity frowned in confusion as she shuffled across the room, staying in a tight crouch, hugging the floor. If he was in perfect control, then why disguise his true actions? His position, the strength of the blow, even his words; all of them had been borrowed from a sparring match they'd had, right before that seemingly fatale mission. Ebony met gold for a moment, as she stared across the space at him.
"What are you playing at, Ezekiel?" The sheet stretched between them, one edge caught on the bed, while her hand secured the other corner. Her free arm curled protectively around her side as it throbbed a distracting protest. She wasn't in any shape to protect herself, not for more than a few minutes, and she certainly was in no mood to beat around the bush. Her hair, still filled with dirt and dead twigs, slipped over her shoulder to wave through the air like a lazy flag as she waited for his answer, still shifting wearily around.
His head titled to one side as he stood slowly, moving into the centre of the bed. "You don't remember the lesson, Dove? And here I was, thinking being spanked would be humiliating enough to lock it in forever." Sighing theatrically, his posture relaxed as he turned his face to regard the ceiling. His hat, already loose, slid from his head—falling to land on the pillows behind him. "How to deal with the situation of a fellow Priest being turned into a familiar: Step one, keep your distance and assess the situation. Step two, disassociate them with the person they once were—because they no longer recognize you as a friend, and will kill you. Step three's pretty simple. In fact, you do it all the time." He faced her then, and she drew in a sharp breath at the sight. His eyes were glowing. "Kill them without mercy." Growling the words out, he lunged across the room, moving with at a speed impossible for even her to achieve.
He caught her completely by surprise. Landing hard on her back, her wounds reopened at the same time as the air was forced from her lungs: when his knee drove sharply into her stomach, pushing her down flat against the hard wood floor. Unable to draw even enough breath to gasp, her mouth worked soundlessly as tears of pain slipped down her battered, dirty golden cheeks. Her eyes, wide and unblinking in shock, watched him accusingly from beneath the moving lake of tears.
She wasn't crying. He knew that. The combination of breathlessness and renewed pain had simply made her eyes water. But the sight still clawed at him, conflicting reactions battling to surface on his face. Unwilling to give even an inch of what he'd gained so far, he smoothed over his features with an effort. The lesson wouldn't be learned if he coddled and soothed her. Removing his knee from her gut, he allowed her to turn onto her side and curl up in a tight ball, shaking and gasping. "You need to stop treating me like your friend, Dovinity. Because I'm not; I haven't been for quite some time now."
Her kick caught him square in the crotch. No longer a matching blow to the hit he'd delivered, it was completely unexpected; she'd always considered such moves too obvious for practical application. A strange breathless whine escaped him as he slowly dropped to the floor; his arms too busy clutching himself to prevent his rather painful introduction to the naturally patterned wood.
"Ezekiel Raphael Monclair, how dare you take that tone with me!" Though she was still too breathless to speak above a whisper, the snarl on her face more than made up for her lack of volume; it twisted her lovely, though abused, features into something so much more sinister. Her eyes flashed like smouldering black coals, burning through his skin to sear his very soul. The kick had hurt her almost as much as it had him, though; a thin layer of sweat covered her exposed skin, as pain pinched her face, pulling forth a fresh wave of tears. Rolling onto her back, she used her strong legs to push herself away from him, moving until she struck the far wall of the room. He could smell the blood enter the air, as she hoisted herself painfully up, propping her shoulders against the old wall paper. "You haven't killed me yet. So stop acting like you have." She continued calmly, her temper once more under check. "Yes, you hurt me; but we used to do that all the time during sparring. Could have left me to die out there in the desert, as well—"
"No I couldn't have." He broke in, lifting his head only long enough to give her a gimlet glare. "And that's the whole problem. The minute you entered the Hive, I should have killed you. I didn't. I had the chance to slit your throat while you slept in the desert—but I indulged in my new sadistic nature instead. Now you know that the Queen has moved, you've seen the destruction her children have caused in the towns, you've killed a great deal of her soldiers, and you even know about me. All of this, because I made one mistake." He sighed deeply, sitting up. His arms rested loosely over his knees, strong scarred hands clasped together in a mockery of prayer. "Had it been anyone else, I wouldn't have hesitated." He felt a slow smile curve his lips, fangs dimpling his flesh. Ah, but in there lay the problem; it hadn't been just anyone.
It had been her.
Even now his duality fought, human and monster, to express itself. Compassion nearly over run by violence. While the need to care for her, to protect her, was winning so far, he couldn't make any promises for future minutes, or for even hours. He knew he didn't have days. "And you know the worst part about this whole situation? The only thing that's crossed over into my new life?" Two long strides took him to within an arm's reach of her. Kneeling down, he reached over and gently tucked a strand of hair back behind her ear, ignoring the way she flinched at his touch. Gold eyes studied her face, suddenly unreadable. "I'm still in love with you."
"But!" He continued, as he transferred his hold seamlessly to her arms. His hands tightened threateningly as she struggled against him, her body dropping closer to the floor in an effort to make whatever he was planning more difficult. Never one to be deterred, he pulled her hard up to her feet, heedless of her already sensitive and bleeding injuries. She swayed against him as pain over ran her senses, nearly collapsing back to the floor in a limp heap. Hooking his right arm neatly around her slim waist, Ezekiel held her firmly against him— trapping her with his touch— while his free hand found her chin. Locking thump and finger securely on either side of her jaw, he forced her to look at him as he purred out his words with sinister satisfaction. "This isn't human love, my sweet Dovinity. No, it's much more primal then all of that mush and drivel those blood sacks living in their polluted Cities rave on about. So much more powerful."
He could see the thoughts churning about in her mind while she processed his unexpected confession, as she tried to puzzle out his words enough to deny him the thorough satisfaction of explaining them himself. Smiling thinly, he waited, endless with patience. She wouldn't be able to figure it out, he knew; it would take another being like him to explain the over-whelming urges that currently compelled him—and no such thing existed as of yet.
Finally, she drew a deep breath and asked the question. "What do you mean?"
His smile turned ferial.
"I have always cared deeply for you, Dove. Too much to be a simple Brother in Arms, like you always thought of me as, but not widely and so innocently enough to be considered the love of a sibling. The church has trained us to never act on our feelings, to forgo any reaction derivated from them—so I never did, and you remained blissfully unaware. Given a sufficient amount of time, and enough lengthy missions to keep us separate, I'm certain the feelings would have faded away. Since that's all Human beings seem capable of doing." His words were far too flatly delivered to feel like much of a confession to the Priestess. But his eyes were bright and keen with interest, his lips curled with sly delight—he was building up, trying to dramatize the effect his words would have. She suppressed a full body shiver as she firmly informed herself that it wasn't working. His fingers curled warmly against her side, drawing goose bumps across her cooler bare skin.
His head dipped sharply as he suddenly moved, shortening the distance between them drastically until each shallow breath he took blew across her lips and tickled at her lashes. She blinked away the blush that threatened to rise, scowling at his handsome features. Undeterred by her evil eye, he continued his explanation."See, the main problem is that I was changed before these feelings could be purged from my system. Now I know you don't know this, Dove, but the blood from the Queen intensifies everything: rage, hate, strength, touch, taste. Everything. Love...well, it twists it a little. It's more complicated then obsession, and more fierce then compassion. They have a word for it, but it can't be translated into our language. Basically I would sooner run myself through, rather than let something hurt you in any way."
"But you have hurt me." Dovinity interrupted quickly, motioning with one hand to the red tinged bandages covering her slender body. She watched him suspiciously as his eyes drifted closed, and he drew in a deep breath—drinking in the scent of her, no doubt. Suddenly very aware of his preferred dining choice, the blood began to drain from her face as a barrage of horrible ideas occurred to her. What one species called torture, another could call caring. Swallowing her fear, she steeled her gaze and met his eyes unflinchingly when he finally opened them again.
"Ah. That is different, sweet Dove. I hurt you because you fight against me, because you try to escape from me. And I will continue to hurt you until you come to understand the simple fact of your situation. You are my Conquest, Dovinity Amitiel Ciro. I will possess you at any cost." Eyes wide with dread, she decided reality was far worse than any of her dreamed up nightmares.
His fingers swept slowly through her hair, gently untangling the thick black mane—separating out leafs and branches caught in the normally satin smooth strands. She was pointedly dismissing him, her eyes burning a hole in the wall across from them. But despite her stiff posture and disgruntled expression, she remained in place and allowed him to finish his task in relative peace.
Of course, she wasn't staying willingly; the dresser he'd dragged into the bath room and pressed in front of the door was a better deterrent then even the threat of having to go through him first.
Apparently she just wasn't up to the heavy lifting.
Leaving the pile of debris on the counter beside her discarded bloody bandages, he gave her a gentle push between the shoulder blades—directing her into the steaming shower at the end of the room. "It'll hurt, at first." He cautioned, holding up his hands in surrender when she half turned to give him the stink eye over her shoulder. Flipping her now only muddy and tangled hair back, she caught him in the face with the tail end; the soft rasp echoed through the quiet room.
"I know." She muttered, drawing back the curtain. "But I honestly don't care right now." Stepping in quickly, she yanked the fabric closed behind her. His yellow eyes remained firmly fixed on the spot where she had been.
"Laugh in the face of death and spit in the face of pain? You really haven't changed, Dove." She couldn't see his face, turned as she was to face the nozzle. But she caught his tone easily enough. He watched the goose flesh travel up from her ankles, all the way to the nape of her neck. Later, he knew, she'd deny the shiver that ran up her spine. "But I'd like to see you laugh me off, Priestess."
Alright, so maybe I fibbed a little bit. But the opening bit will be from her point of view, in the next chapter. Black Hat nekkid butt, anyone?