Fandom: Night World, LJ Smith
Disclaimer: I think they meant it when they said you can't buy The Night World, now I know you can rent it.
Dedication: Twix, who had better call me. After all, you only turn sixteen once. 525600 minutes and all.
Summary: The fourth and final Wild Power needs to be found, and time is running out. Circle Daybreak is taking more desperate measures. But is accepting the aid of a traitor to the Night World desperation or brilliance? And what about their own agent - loose cannon Belladonna Turner?
Author Note at the end.
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Where There's Moonlight, I See Your Eyes
Chapter Three
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When Thierry FINALLY let us go, I promptly staggered to my room and crashed onto my bed. Honestly, Thierry's going to be a great dad with that attitude. Yeesh. And he seemed really worried about that Nick person and all. Meh. He didn't look that tough.
Okay, who was I kidding? He's lamia (yep. Thierry managed to get that out of him. Frankly, surprises me – Nick was harder to crack than concrete. I mean, if all our agents had his tenacity? We'd be immune to anything), not to mention a handful of inches taller. Don't worry, I wasn't stupid – I'd be carrying a big stake with me whenever around him.
Although I probably couldn't do that while pretending to be his pawn.
I mean, I'm not having second thoughts or anything. Most of the time I'll be in his living quarters, and the times I wasn't, I'd be sneaking around the complex. We'd only be together when we needed to sleep or…you know, eat.
Okay, what if he bites me?
HE WON'T BITE ME.
Right?
Okay, definitely having second thoughts.
I needed some fresh air.
Of course, when I made my way to the study the inner circle had been earlier and threw open the windows to go onto the balcony, guess who was there? Yep, Frosty himself. I turned to go back to my room – from what I could see, the Ice Prince was staring up at the radiant sunset as the cool breeze ruffled his white-blond hair.
"Scared?" the cold, emotionless voice stole up my neck like an ice cube.
Whoa now. SCARED? Belladonna Turner isn't scared of ANYTHING.
I turned and strode out to the balcony, and just to show I wasn't scared in the least, deliberately stood next to him.
"Not scared of anything." I replied, trying to mimic his passionless, bland tone. Well, okay, that was an outright lie – I'm terrified of heights, the dark, and that freaky chick with the bad haircut from The Ring. But he didn't know that so: no problem.
No answer. He's so infuriating!
"So, how are you?"
No answer. Not much for small talk, eh?
"If we get caught, you realize it'll mean death for the both of us?"
"Yes."
Finally! An answer! Monosyllabic as it was.
"What do you even know about the Crowley Crystal anyway? Why should we trust you?"
"The Crowley Crystal." His tone held a hint of challenge. "Named for Aleister Crowley, 1875 to 1947, an English occultist viewed by the media as the wickedest man in the world. Infamous for supposed black magic and sacrificial rites but in reality just an indiscreet member of the Night World. The crystal has no real power but is simply a vessel that Crowley used instead of a familiar. Using the remaining power, the crystal can be used to scry not only across the world but across time and space as well. I don't need your trust."
Well. He may have been an arrogant prick, but he knew his history, I'd give him that. Or at the very least, his Night World lore. Um…subject change, reclaim dignity.
"So…this pawn deal. Um…it doesn't include, well, biting, does it?"
"Do you want it to?"
I looked up, shocked. That sounded – well, the words themselves sounded vaguely flirtatious. But no, the Ice Prince was being serious. Was he crazy? I mean, quite literally – was he unhinged? I didn't bother answering, and he didn't press for an answer. He still hadn't shifted from his position, was still staring straight out to the horizon, where the sun was rapidly sinking.
"It's almost sundown. We leave then. How will we get there? I mean, are we walking?"
"I have a bike."
Oh, be still my heart.
"A bike?"
"I'm fairly certain that's what I said."
"I know, I mean – what kind of bike?"
Nick turned slightly and gave me a steady look – not that he seemed capable of any other kind.
"A Mongoose."
I swear, I nearly collapsed right there. THIS guy rode a MONGOOSE? Okay, the irony of the world was complete. I finally find someone with decent bike taste and he turns out to be…well.
What was Nick, really? He wasn't with Daybreak, yet he wasn't with our enemies. That definitely made him unique – there's really only the daylight or darkness now. He was lamia. But that didn't make him a Night Worlder either. He was…
He was frozen.
I checked my watch. I had about twelve minutes to figure out the guy who'd be my partner in espionage for the next week or so.
"So why did you decide to leave the Night World?"
Not even a flicker of emotion – I guess reading body language wouldn't be that useful here. I decided to take a wild stab in the dark.
"You know, Nick, sometimes talking about things helps."
"Not when it never stops."
Okay, that was definitely an insult. Right?
"What is that supposed to mean?"
Again, no answer. Argh, this guy was infuriating! He wasn't just quiet – you could tell that he was doing it just to bug me. I turned and tried to catch his eye so I could glare at him. He still didn't shift, still stared the sinking sun down. There was only the barest sliver of daylight left. It illuminated his moonlight-like features. Truly, he did have a uniquely handsome face and wonderful coloring – silver-blond hair that looked as soft as the newly-fallen snow, the color of burnished white gold. Surprisingly full and curvaceous lips. You wouldn't expect such a sensitive-looking mouth on someone who seemed to be sculpted from ice. And those eyes – like moonlight, like when you wake up in the morning and look out your window and it's raining – that strange, hypnotic mix of blue-gray that was almost silver, but not quite.
"Are you done? Should I shift so you can stare at my other side?"
My mouth fell open and a red flush crept down my face. "Don't be ridiculous. I was just…trying to see if, um –"
"If you could figure out exactly what I was thinking by staring at me for a prolonged period of time?" he finally spun to look at me, and the moment those glacial eyes gazed into mine, I felt like I was pinned to where I was standing. And I felt something I've felt on very few occasions in my entire life.
Fear.
I was scared. Not of Nick himself, not of the fact that he could easily snap me like a twig, but of those eyes that seemed to carry another world within them.
"Belladonna, I advise you now – I've heard and seen enough of you that I know you're exceptionally talented at reading people, at figuring them out."
He leaned closer, those cold, steely eyes boring into me. "But your talent ends when it comes to me – so don't even bother because it will just frustrate you and irritate me. Are we clear?"
I swallowed. Regroup. "Crystal. And for the record? It's Bee. Are we clear?"
"Absolutely, Belladonna."
I scowled. A smartass, huh? "Bee."
"Your name is Belladonna."
"Yes, I'm glad you know that. But nobody calls me that."
"I do."
"And what exactly makes you so special that you get this privilege?"
He tilted his head to the side, as though I was a momentarily-absorbing book. "I'm Nick."
With that, he straightened and resumed looking at the now-dark sky. "It's time for me to go. If you're coming, get changed. I assume you've already packed."
I hefted the small bag in my hand. "A few clothes and lots of stakes and silver."
"Fascinating. Hurry and get changed."
"Excuse me?" I looked down. I was wearing standard mission garb – black jeans, black tee, hair tied back, sneakers. Kinda cool, I thought – besides the fact that now Nick and I looked like we were one of those weird couples that dressed alike.
Nick rubbed a hand against his temples in a world-weary manner.
"What's wrong with what I'm wearing?"
Nick raised a perfect eyebrow. "You look like a Daybreak agent."
"Well, that's what I am."
"You're a Daybreak agent who's going undercover as a pawn."
I glanced down. Still seemed fine to me. Then, belatedly, it clicked. "Oh, so you're saying I don't look trashy enough to be a pawn?"
Nick considered that for a moment or two. "Yes, that would be what I'm saying."
I glared, tiny sparks of anger flashing in my eyes, and then stomped my foot.
"Absolutely not. I refuse to dress up like one of your slutty human puppets. Is that what the lamia are reduced to, strolling human clubs for pathetic excuses for girls to hypnotize and use?"
"No. The hypnosis isn't necessary."
My mouth fell open in shock. It was like he instinctively knew what to say to piss me off, seriously. And yet, he seemed perfectly frank and, well, dispassionate.
God, I hated him. I could feel black anger seething in me, billowing below the surface. I was surprised he couldn't feel it. Or maybe he could, and just didn't care.
"Shit. They don't pay me enough for this." I stalked out of there, slamming several doors on the way back to my room. "They don't freaking pay me at all!"
In my room, I threw open the closet doors and, biting my lip, picked out my most unsuitable-for-a-mission clothes. I quickly pulled my t-shirt over my head, then ripped my jeans off, tossing them angrily onto the bed. God, I was pissed. Nick was positively the most infuriating, irritating, exasperating, maddening – ARGH!
"Trashy, huh? Okay, trashy it is." I glared at my reflection, as though daring her to say anything. Could I do this? I mean, I wasn't bad-looking or anything – which was good, convincing – Night People don't exactly pick up unattractive humans, if you get my drift.
"How are we going to pull this off?" I whispered to the girl in the mirror. She stared back, and her features creased into a determined smile. She had wavy dark hair and striking eyes that some people called black but were really dark brown, something you could only make out from a few inches away. She had full red lips, long eyelashes. An altogether okay-looking, attractive face. Not exactly Miss Universe, but not hideous. She could do this. I could do this.
Minutes later, I stepped into the entrance hall, bedecked in pawn attire. Hannah, Jez and Gillian were there, waiting to send me off as Thierry had left earlier on some mission or another.
"What are you staring at?"
"Nothing! … Your hair in the moonlight – you look familiar. Can you make it?"
I rolled my eyes. "Gillian, not the time for RENTheadededness."
"Aww, you know you want to!'
I sighed. "Just haven't eaten much today, at least the room stopped spinning…" I spun theatrically, "Anyway."
Jez chuckled. "You look different, Bee. It suits you."
I put on a sulky expression. "No, I really don't think so."
Hannah interrupted the frivolity, taking me by the arm and leading me over to a mirror.
"Bee – relax. Look at the girl in the mirror. She's you, for the next few days. Can you do it?"
I gazed at my wild-looking reflection. I'd let my wavy black hair down for once. My dark eyes had kohl around them. I was wearing a midnight-black miniskirt, more like a wide belt, in my opinion. It was short, tight, and the fabric was thin – I'd freeze in this outfit. On top I was wearing a skin-tight black halter with a low scoop neck.
"Okay, this is some scary shit."
Gillian kissed me on the cheek. "I think you look cute."
I groaned. This outfit was everything I loathed about clothes – tight, clinging, form-fitting – in a word? Constricting.
And yet, at the same time, it seemed to let something loose in me. Someone. And she was brave, wild, sexy, daring. She didn't think every little thing to death; she didn't agonize over the smallest details.
I'd need her in this mission. I'd have to keep her around. The sick thing was: I kinda liked her. I've been accused of both thinking too much and being too rash and impulsive. Contradictory statements, in my opinion. I liked to think of this girl as the reckless part of me.
After many hugs and supportive statements, I was finally allowed to go. I turned and gazed at my three best friends, smiling confidently. They needed to see that confidence.
"I'll see you guys soon."
With that, I hefted my canvas bag in one hand and started off across the grounds towards where a silver and black motorbike shone in the moonlight. I saw Nick fussing with it, straightening something or other and throwing something across the back. Then he heard my footsteps, despite the fact I was trying to be as quiet as possible (damn lamia hearing) and turned. I saw his dispassionate, cold face look slightly bemused, and then, I thought I saw his eyes widen just a fraction. In what though, I wondered. Disgust? Surprise? Scorn?
As I neared him, he climbed onto the Mongoose and held a hand out to help me. Well, that's rather nice.
"Trashy enough?" I asked, my tone challenging.
"Not really. But I guess if it's the best you can do." His reply was simple, noncommittal.
My God, he was just begging for me to stake him.
"How far are we going?" As soon as the words left my mouth, I blushed, mentally slapping myself. Nick, however, didn't seem to notice a thing – "We'll be there in two, maybe three hours."
I climbed on behind him, and rested against his back with my thighs brushing his hips. My skirt rode up, uncomfortably high.
I was not liking this, not at all, especially the overly-close proximity to a vampire. I tried to inch backwards, but then saw there was no backrest on the cycle. Not good – I could go flying off at any moment.
"Scared?"
My head snapped up, and I fixed his leather jacket-clad back with my most withering gaze. What was his fascination with that damn question! "Hell no."
"Hold on then."
Was that a warning or a threat? I opened my mouth to ask but then shut it as the bike roared to life and accelerated, leaving the mansion's grounds in a matter of seconds. My hands automatically slipped around his waist as I held on for dear life, trying to concentrate on staying on the bike instead of the ridges of muscle underneath my fingertips. The wind howled bitterly – it was really an EFFING cold night. The wind buffeted and forced me to close my eyes against the stinging iciness, and I automatically pressed my cheek in between Nick's shoulder blades, my eyes shut. I tried my best to shut it all out – the ripple of his abdominal muscles, the warmth that I somehow felt radiating from him despite his wintry demeanor, how his lean hips felt like they fit against my –
This was the worst thing that could possibly happen, not to mention one of the most humiliating situations I've ever been in. Of course, Nick didn't seem at all fazed; in fact, he hardly noticed that there was this skimpily-dressed girl clinging to him in a way that was almost obscene. When I saw that, it really didn't seem that bad. He didn't seem to feel uncomfortable, so why should I? He probably didn't even realize I was there, so immersed was he in his pathetic, pretentious, cold little world.
When I repeated that to myself several times, I was also able to concede that it wasn't that bad.
In fact, it was rather nice…
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Well. Yes. Please review and tell me what you think.
Notes
Crowley Crystal – my beloved beta says it makes the entire fic sound like a murder mystery, or something very Brit, and that fits because Alexander Crowley was British! The information Nick gave is pretty much true, except for the whole Night World part.
- WalkThruTheFire.