Author's Note: Well, here it is, second chapter of first fic ever! Thanks to Michi-chan2 for adding my story to Alerts: it's wonderful to know someone's enjoying this thing. Also, readers be warned: there will be a fair bit of Ciani-bashing in this chapter, I never liked her and that's not about to change. Accompanying soundtrack: Samhain Eve by Damh the Bard, and End Of All Hope by Nightwish.

Disclaimer: Me no own. Clear?

Warnings: Same as last time, my friends.

Of course, he just had to make a show out of it, Damien thought to himself as he glanced fondly at his sleeping comrade. Lover, he corrected himself mentally, his grin widening at the thought.

In spite of all odds, he and Tarrant had both survived the tumultuous defeat of Calesta. Damien had been certain that it was over for both of them - but Tarrant had cheated death yet again. For whatever inscrutable reasons, the Iezu mothership had reanimated him after he died to kill Calesta: Karril claimed that she had done it out of gratitude.

Calesta was out of control, he'd already broken most of our most sacred laws, the Iezu of Pleasure had told Damien afterward. Our Mother wasn't happy about that, but she didn't want to kill one of her own children. The Hunter took care of that for her; she had to show her gratitude somehow.

Show her gratitude she had. Tarrant was free now; he still possessed his full powers and was technically undead, but the Unnamed's hold on him was broken. The scar on his cheek, proof of the Unnamed's wrath, had finally healed; he was free now, to do what he wanted, without the previous restrictions. Unfortunately, his system overtaxed by healing the damage done by Shaitan's lethal fae, Tarrant had blacked out. Damien, with some help from Karril, had managed to carry the unconscious adept here, to a moderately comfortable cave away from the volcano.

Damien shifted against the hard stone and looked back down at Tarrant. The adept was showing his arrogance, even in a near-comatose state; sometime during the past hour he had shifted in his sleep until he was mostly draped across Damien, apparently trying to leach the heat energy out of him. There was a definite proprietary aspect in the way he was wrapped around Damien, but Damien didn't intend to complain. If association with Damien could make the Hunter even a little bit more human, then it was well worth it.

Another smile flickered across his face as he thought. With Tarrant's obligation to the Unnamed dissolved, he would have no need for being the Hunter anymore; there would be no further need for the Hunt. Damien's vow to destroy the Hunter might well have been fulfilled, even if it was in a different way than he had originally intended.

Tarrant chose that moment to stir, muttering something under his breath in a language Damien didn't recognize. Damien automatically reached up to stroke the soft, Core-golden hair soothingly.

"It's all right, Gerald, you're safe. It's over."

The Hunter's silver eyes snapped open and he stared up at Damien, a momentary look of fear flashing across his face. Seeing his reassuring expression, the Hunter slowly relaxed, his lean body easing back into Damien's embrace.

"What happened?" he asked, his usually smooth voice hoarse and shaken.

Damien kept stroking Tarrant's hair, a soothing motion the reassured both of them; Damien was still absorbing the relief that had bloomed in his heart when he saw that Tarrant was alive. "The mother of the Iezu brought you back. Karril said that was her way of thanking us for dealing with Calesta."

Tarrant exhaled softly and melted into Damien's arms, resting his head on the priest's shoulder. They were silent for a few moments, letting the truth sink in; they were alive, they were together. Everything was going to be fine.

Then Tarrant lifted his head, his grey eyes flashing with determination. "How long was I out?"

Damien blinked. "Uh - about eight hours. Why?"

"We need to get back to the Forest, as soon as the sun sets." Tarrant said firmly, his eyes glittering. "I spent eight hundred years creating the Forest, shaping it to my needs: I won't lose it now, to that self-deluding fool of a Patriarch. He started this crusade: if he wants a new Holy Way, then that's what he's going to get."

Damien's insides dropped into queasy hell. This was not how he had pictured this conversation. He swallowed, hard, letting go of the other man. "Gerald - don't you think you're moving a little fast here? This doesn't have to turn into a war -"

Damien's voice faltered at the look on Tarrant's face. The Hunter shook his head slowly, an almost pitying look in his eyes. "Damien. I've made a point of not pretending to be something I'm not, but it seems you've managed to delude yourself regarding my nature without any help from me. Regardless of whether the Unnamed have any control over me or not, I have no intention of relinquishing my position as the Hunter."

Damien sprang to his feet, pacing toward the cave mouth, struggling to control his emotions. He felt as though the ground had just dropped out from beneath his feet. He must have heard wrong; surely, Tarrant couldn't really mean that? The adept claimed to love Damien - and he must, he couldn't possibly fake his emotions through the bond - so that had to go at least part of the way to redeeming him, didn't it? Granted, Tarrant had never even hinted that he was considering changing his ways - but he was free of the Unnamed now, why shouldn't he change?

Because he doesn't see any need to, a small voice whispered in the back of Damien's mind. Because he knows that you won't turn away from him now, and there's no reason for him to risk all that he's worked for.

Decades ago, some overambitious bard had written a lengthy ballad about the Holy Wars. He had vanished soon after; while some maintained that the Church had wanted to stop him from making them look bad, Damien suspected Tarrant might well have tracked the fellow down and killed him in revenge for butchering the traditional tune so badly. Despite the fairly mediocre efforts of said bard, the song had a knack for insinuating itself into one's head, and Damien couldn't quite keep the chorus from running through his mind as he stared at the emotionless stone of the cave wall.

They marched with their heads high and proud

But not a man among their forces returned

And all the rivers of Erna ran red with blood

And the funeral pyres like a thousand suns burned

Damien could almost see it in his mind's eye, the destruction that Tarrant's power could have wreaked if turned on a dreadfully unprepared army - and unless he found a way to talk the Hunter out of his anger, he was about to witness that slaughter first-hand.

Damien closed his eyes, fighting down nausea. This wasn't how this was supposed to go! "So that's it?" he whispered, struggling against the tears that threatened to fall. "It's right back to square one?"

Slender fingers touched his cheek, light and cool. He could feel a hint of sympathy in that contact, radiating through their bond. Apparently, even Tarrant's death hadn't managed to sever that link. "It doesn't have to be." came the Hunter's voice, soft as his touch.

Opening his eyes, Damien stared into pools of liquid silver. "What do you mean?"

The Hunter's eyes softened, and he trailed his touch gently over Damien's jaw, a more tender caress than Damien had ever expected of him. "I love you, Damien Vryce. I don't know how it's even possible, but I do. And even though I don't intend to give up my role as the Hunter, I don't want to lose you either." His voice dropped a little lower, taking on an almost seductive tone. "Why don't you join me? The Church won't take you back after this: in the Patriarch's eyes, you're no better than me. He only allowed you to come with me in the first place because he hoped that you'd die on this quest - that way he wouldn't have your blood on his hands. He used you and threw you away: I would never do that to you."

Damien turned away again, mind reeling, feeling as though his world had just been turned inside out. Tarrant had never made the offer outright like that before; it had been there all along, in subtle hints and veiled suggestions, but never stated aloud. He couldn't believe he was even considering this: how far down the path to damnation must he already be, to seriously contemplate this offer? Yet, everything the Hunter said was true - and it wasn't as though he had anywhere else to go...

Realization struck Damien then, like a wall of icy water. It was over. He'd thought to redeem the Hunter, to turn him back to the light - and he had failed, plain and simple. It was a lost cause. Now, he had a single choice left before him; throw his life away in the defense of the people who had betrayed him, or stay with the one person who had ever truly loved him.

It wasn't that difficult a choice, now that he thought about it in those terms.

A slender hand came to rest on his shoulder, the perfectly manicured fingers light as a feather and cool as the sighing night wind. "Well, Damien?"

Somehow, in spite of everything, Damien's voice was steady, though hoarse. "We both know I can't leave you now, Gerald. I can't stay neutral, either - not after everything we've been through together." He turned back to face the Hunter, seeing the flicker of triumph in pale, silvery eyes. "You win, Gerald. Just - please. Don't kill them all."

A smile curved the Hunter's mouth - and somehow, that pleased expression was more terrifying than the most fearsome threat. "Of course not." he purred, one hand curling against the back of Damien's neck as he leaned forward and brushed a gentle kiss against the ex-priest's jaw. "After all, I have to leave some of them alive to carry the warning back, don't I?"

Ciani shook her head, pushing her hair back from her face. "This is suicide." she muttered under her breath, struggling to control her impatience and dread. She'd returned to Jaggonath to collect some of her notes on the rakh - and found the city under martial law. The Patriarch had declared a Crisis of the Faith, which gave him greater power than any person save the King himself. He was conscripting the people of Jaggonath in a frenzy of military preparation, and had issue an incontrovertible proclamation: any and all sorcerers and adepts within Jaggonath city limits must join the Church's army immediately. Any who resisted would be tried for heresy, and quite possibly executed.

Just to compound her dilemma, one of the leaders of the crusade - Andrys Tarrant - had managed to capture the heart of one of Ciani's best friends. She and Narilka Lessing had known each other for years, though they had drifted apart shortly before the demons from the rakhlands came. Now, Narilka was following her beloved Andrys into battle, since she enjoyed the same promised protection from the Hunter that Ciani had once possessed - and Ciani couldn't bear the thought of that innocent girl walking into the Forest without a friend at her side.

Now, the crusading army was a mile within the southern reaches of the Forest, heading for the Hunter's keep. The Forest seemed to be sleeping, oddly: the trees were utterly silent, no animals stirring, no signs of the unlife that usually filled the shadowy woodland. The Patriarch claimed that it was a sign that Calesta had killed the Hunter, and that all that remained now was to cleanse the Forest of his remaining evil: Ciani, though, couldn't quite shake the feeling that those skeletal trees were merely biding their time. She was riding in the vanguard with the other fae-Workers, next to Narilka and Andrys. Looking over at the young girl riding next to her, her pale face framed by gleaming black hair, Ciani couldn't hold back any longer.

"Nari, don't you think... well, that this is too easy?" Ciani whispered, careful to make sure that none of the Church warriors were within earshot.

Andrys looked at her askance, clearly wondering why she was questioning their luck, but Narilka nodded solemnly as she pushed a strand of hair behind her ear. "Yes, actually, I do." she said in her soft, throaty voice, her dark eyes troubled. "If the Hunter was truly dead, I think the Forest would be out of control, all its inhabitants attacking anything that moved. This feels... wrong."

Ciani nodded. "That's what I thought, too." She gestured at the trees around them. "This place was a whirlpool of fae long before the Hunter came: if he was gone, at the very least, it should have reverted to its wild state. It's too quiet - like it's trying to lull us into a false sense of security."

Andrys was starting to look deeply unsettled now. "You think... maybe he's still alive?"

There was a moment of heavy silence, then all hell broke loose.

Close a hundred huge, snarling white wolves leaped from the trees all around them, red eyes blazing and ivory fangs dripping. The neatly ordered ranks dissolved into chaos, men and women screaming in panic. Ciani grabbed her springbolt, kneeing her horse closer to Narilka's - then one of the wolves lunged straight at them. She caught a glimpse of eyes that burned like hellfire and a gaping scarlet maw lined with lethal fangs, then her horse screamed in terror and bolted. She caught hold of the reins and tried to calm the beast, but it was insensible with terror: all she could do was cling to the saddle as everything dissolved into a blue motion... then a heavy weight impacted her side, and she fell, hard.

She landed on her side, completely winded. Gasping, she pushed herself up on one arm - just in time to see one of the albino wolves tear the throat out of her horse. She was in a clearing, some distance from the battle - not far enough, though, to escape the dreadful cries coming from the Church's holy warriors.

The wolf released the dead horse and let the corpse's head fall limply to the ground as it turned toward Ciani, mouth dripping with blood and saliva. Still gasping Ciani raised her springbolt - but the wolf made no movement, either forward or back. It's tongue lolled slightly, and the adept was suddenly stricken with the deeply unnerving impression that the canine was laughing at her. She glanced at the weapon she held - and realized that the firing mechanism was shattered. Oh, hell.

Slowly and painfully, Ciani climbed to her feet. The wolf stayed put, its red eyes mocking her. Clutching her bruised arm, she glared at it. "Well? Are you going to attack me, or just stare me to death?"

"Now, now, Lady Ciani - that's no way to talk to one of your hosts. Where are your manners?"

Ciani nearly leapt out of her skin as the all-too-familiar voice crawled through her mind, cold and mocking and insidious. The Hunter himself stepped from the shadowed trees, smirking triumphantly. When Ciani saw who was with him, though, she nearly collapsed again.

"Damien?"

The Knight of the Flame was standing close at Tarrant's side, his face expressionless. Ciani felt a stab of hope pierce her heart - maybe Tarrant didn't intend to slaughter them after all? - but that hope faded slightly when she looked into Damien's eyes. There was almost no recognition there, no trace of warmth: the priest's once-brilliant hazel eyes were dark and cold. The eyes of a stranger.

Ciani felt her throat tighten with dread, and she unconsciously gripped the useless springbolt tighter. The wolf that had been staring at her had turned when the two men entered the clearing; it dipped its head momentarily in a sort of bow to the Hunter, then padded over to Damien and nuzzled happily at his side. Automatically Damien ran a hand over the wolf's silky ears, and it sat down on its haunches next to him with a happy swish of its tail. Ciani couldn't believe what she was seeing; a wolf of the Forest, acting as though Damien was a long-lost friend? What the hell was happening?

Seeing her alarm and confusion, the Hunter smiled darkly. "You see, Lady Ciani, there have been a few changes around here. Since Amoril proved untrustworthy, I found myself in need of a new second-in-command. Damien here very kindly offered to fill that post."

Ciani's blood ran cold and she stepped back in horror. "You're lying!" she cried, inwardly praying that was the case. "Damien, you wouldn't -"

"Things change, Cee." Damien said quietly, not meeting her eyes. "As someone once told me... there's no future in pretending not to be something you are."

The world stopped turning. Those were her words, her words that she had spoken so callously that night in the rakhlands - the night she left him for good. After the Master of Lema had been defeated, when he asked her again if they could still be friends, maybe even try to work out their differences: she had told him that there was no chance of that, that even if he hadn't been in love with Tarrant she would have had to leave him, because she was an adept and he was not. She had said that it would never have worked - that she could not deny the reality that she was different from him.

Tarrant glanced at Damien, a faint smile tracing over his face before he turned back to Ciani, his eyes cold and deadly. "You really shouldn't have come here, Lady Ciani. My debt to you is paid: did you think I would spare you?"

"I had no choice!" Ciani cried, desperation breaking through her fear and shock. "The Patriarch declared a Crisis of the Faith: any fae-Worker who didn't aid the Church would be executed for treason! You think I wanted to be on this suicide mission? I was forced, under pain of death - and I couldn't let Narilka walk into this death-trap alone. I've known her since she was a child, but I lost contact with her a few years ago: she's in love with your descendant, Andrys, and she's hell-bent on following him. I had to try to help her, to make her see sense..."

Ciani's voice trailed off helplessly: there was no mercy forthcoming in the Hunter's eyes. He had discharged his debt to her in the rakhlands, she had no protection from his wrath. She knew his laws: good intentions were of no importance. To raise a sword against the Forest was to sign your own death warrant, that law had never been broken, and he was unlikely to start now. In desperation, Ciani turned to Damien - the Church Knight who had once loved her, whose heart she had broken in a moment of selfishness. Despite that bad blood, surely he wouldn't let the Hunter do this: surely, he would save her?

"Damien, please... I'm sorry..."

For an instant, she thought she might have seen tears in Damien's hazel eyes, but then he turned away from her. Her blood ran cold, and she whipped back around to see Tarrant regarding her with icy triumph in his pale, deadly eyes.

"Too late, Lady Ciani. He's mine now."

Then coldfire erupted from the Forest's floor around her, and she screamed as the icy flames enveloped her. As the burning cold consumed her, the last thing she saw was the pure, hungry evil in the Hunter's eyes as he watched her die...

Damien closed his eyes, tears stinging slightly behind his eyelids. A moment later, though, the sensation faded. There was no point in weeping over Ciani; Tarrant was right, she had left him, he owed her nothing. He would give anything to be with Tarrant; if this was the price he had to pay, then so be it.

He felt Tarrant move close behind him, heard the man's soft voice. "She doesn't deserve your grief, Damien. She never did."

Damien drew a deep breath and steadied himself. He turned, and smiled at the Hunter, his hazel eyes calm and bright. "You're right, Gerald. She doesn't."

Tarrant smiled, his slim hand cupping Damien's chin as he moved closer. "I'm so glad you finally see that." he purred, before pressing his mouth to Damien's.

The ex-priest pulled him closer, relishing the feeling of the lean body close against him, the residual fae of the adept's coldfire Working still humming along his skin. Eventually he drew back, smiling at his lover as he reached up and brushed a stray lock of golden hair out of silver eyes. "It really is so much easier this way, isn't it?" he murmured, letting his calloused thumb trail gently along the Hunter's soft lips.

Tarrant returned his smile, one hand idly tracing the sculpted muscles of Damien's chest as he leaned into the ex-priest's embrace. "Absolutely." He kissed his once more, then pulled away, silver eyes glowing with satisfaction. "Come - I want to see the Patriarch's face when he sees you in your rightful place, at my side."

Damien grinned. It had hurt at first, turning his back on everything he believed in - but the pain was gone now. With the echoes of Tarrant's adept-Sight, he could almost See the dark fae coiling around him, clinging to his skin like a lover's caress. The Forest had accepted him now, because he was bound to Tarrant, and because he was bound to the darkness. He had accepted the dark fae's embrace, and it flowed deeply in his soul, cleansing away the remnants of pain and regret, washing away his old life and letting him begin anew.

Without so much as glancing at the body of the woman he had once thought he loved, Damien Vryce turned and followed the Hunter deeper into the Forest.

Ah, poor Ciani. Well, that's chapter two: next one will be the last. It will also be the darkest one yet, so be warned. The end is coming! (heh heh. Apocalyptic joke, anyone?)