Chapter 8

She fought well. Grimmjow had to give her that. A couple of times he was pretty sure that Nnoitra was going to kill her, but she managed to avoid death, and even won the bout. She wouldn't be able to keep up with sonido, and he doubted she could take too many ceros, but what she lacked there, she made up for in reaction time and agility. She didn't have a lot of ranged attacks, but honestly, neither did a lot of arrancar. Or shinigami for that matter. At least her techniques were interesting. It was clear she could heal her own wounds by damaging her opponent. That was bloody useful. She could also apparently heal others, although he was pretty damn sure that she hadn't expected that technique to have that effect on Nnoitra.

He stated his intentions to spar, and was satisfied to see no reluctance in her demeanor. Gin, on the other hand, had to stick his bastard nose into everyone's business.

"I think that's enough for now, Grimm-kitty." Gin said. Grimmjow ground his teeth at the hated nickname.

"I am fine, Sir Gin. I have no issues with a friendly sparring match." Vellena said in her usual cool tone. She placed a subtle emphasis on the last three words she spoke. Grimmjow knew she hadn't missed the fact that her bout with Nnoitra hadn't been anything like a 'friendly sparring match' on the Quinto's part.

"All the same, I think maybe ya should stop now. Maybe others want the room, hey?" Gin said, a little more forcefully. Both Grimmjow and Vellena were looking at the fox-like man. It was clear he didn't want her sparring anymore right now. Grimmjow didn't know why, but it was pissing him off. "Don't worry, Grimmy-kun, there's always tomorrow!" Gin chirped.

Grimmjow's hand left his zanpakutō's hilt reluctantly, and he stuffed both hands into his pockets, glaring at the ground. "You wanna hang around and use the equipment?" he asked Vellena, not bothering to hide his disgruntlement. He hadn't had a good fight in way too long, and now he was being denied a match with the only interesting thing in the room. Watching her fight had just made him want to… well, right now he wanted to either fight her or lay her, and he didn't really care which. She was utterly hot when she fought, absolutely fearless and vicious. Well, as hot as someone could be who iced up the very air around her when she battled.

"No." she said. He gestured wordlessly, opening a garganta. She preceded him through it, not even questioning the destination.

They stepped out of the garganta passageway into the familiar white hall of the Espada quarters. Her room was not far away. Neither was his. He wondered what she'd do if he took her to his room. There's a thought. Peel off all that armour, and—

"We could go elsewhere," she said, interrupting his train of thought. He wondered for a moment if she was propositioning him, and then realized she was probably still discussing sparring.

Or, I could push you against the wall and drill you, he thought with a feral grin, wondering what her steel-on-steel voice would sound like screaming his name. She had been mostly silent through her battle with Nnoitra, he wanted to know if he could make her lose her composure.

Silently, he moved behind her, placing one hand on her shoulder, avoiding the spines. He leaned forward, lips brushing her long pointed ear. "Or we could do something else…" he whispered.

Her inscrutable eyes fixed on him as she turned her head to look sidelong at him. He couldn't read what was going on behind the frozen mask of her face. Her gaze told him nothing. He kept his own eyes on her, no expression on his face. They were silent for long moments. Too long.

"You are very strange." She said finally, before slipping effortlessly from his grasp and walking off to her room without so much as a look backwards. Grimmjow tried to keep from grinding his teeth too audibly. Rejected? Him?

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What in Elune's name was that all about? Outwardly Vellena was as composed as only a corpse could be. Inside, she wrestled with unfamiliar feelings, feelings she was none too sure she was comfortable with. If she was not mistaken, the Sexto Espada had just propositioned her in the hallway. She was dead, Light take her! She was an object of fear, a creature from the worst nightmares of the living. Whatever she might have done or been alive, she was a Death Knight now.

She stomped to the bathroom, stripping off her armour and beginning the laborious process of tending to it. While her hands were occupied, her mind raced.

Well, come to think of it, being dead didn't seem to stop everyone – plenty of Forsaken engaged in carnal relations, and she'd heard about some Death Knights that had, but Vellena never had. She had assumed that that part of her had died when she had. She wasn't sure she even functioned properly. Not that she was entirely sure she could remember what to do. Her memories of life were hazy. All she knew is that she'd had a husband, a fellow priest of Elune, who had perished in the same battle that slew her. And had not been resurrected as a Death Knight, or if he had, hadn't managed to make it very far as one. That was ancient history, and the lack of a mate had never fazed her in the slightest in her new career as an undead killing machine.

Grimmjow wasn't even her species. Again, she suppressed the little part of her that rose to remind her that species didn't stop everyone in her world either.

It really didn't help that she found him attractive. Admitting that to herself was intensely uncomfortable. But there was something appealing about a man who could look her in the eye without a hint of fear. And by the standards of any races she knew of (except for maybe the Tauren) he was put together quite nicely. And those wild blue eyes and hair were kind of hot. She wondered if he was a natural azure. She had a vague recollection of being partial to blue-headed males.

Finished with her armour, she stripped off her clothes and stepped into the rain box, turning the water on cold, standing under the frigid water and trying to regain control over her emotions. After a few minutes, she reluctantly switched it over to warm and brushed chunks of ice off her skin. Ice never really got anything clean.

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Frustrated, Grimmjow found himself back at the practice room, which was mostly deserted. Some stupid números were using the equipment. Grimmjow ignored them, taking out his frustration on a nearly indestructible punching bag. His fists flew with thunderous speed, connecting with satisfying, meaty thwacks.

Frigid bitch. He would've probably had a warmer reception if he'd asked Ulquiorra.

He growled. No fight, no sex. Nothing. He should have fought her out in the sands where he found her, at least then he would have had some fun in the last few days. He was so goddamn bored, and now he was bored and frustrated. He tried not to think of the fluidity of her motions in battle, her mastery over her weapons, of her licking Nnoitra's blood off her sword… he squeezed his eyes shut briefly to dispel the image, then opened them as he lashed out at the punching bag with a vicious kick.

Tomorrow. Tomorrow he'd fight her. He wouldn't hold back either. He wouldn't try to kill her like Nnoitra had so blatantly tried to do, but he wouldn't pull any punches either.

No one had ever turned him down! Always before, all he had to do was arch a brow and give a sidelong glance and a lecherous grin, and just about any female and quite a few of the males in Las Noches would have tumbled along into his bed without a word Granted, most of them were too terrified of him to let on that they might be anything other than perfectly willing.

He could go out right now and get laid. But his thoughts were fixated on an exotic long-eared creature, and he didn't want to settle for some dumb slut like Loly or Menoly. He struck the bag with an enraged fist, snapping the chain that held it up. The punching bag arced through the air and landed with a dull thud on the ground.

Grimmjow gave the sack a dirty glare and a contemptuous kick, before turning and stalking straight back to his quarters. He couldn't even get fucking satisfaction from a goddamn punching bag today.