The Mary Sue Virus: Beyond Death

[ladydeathfaerie]

Title: The Mary Sue Virus: Beyond Death
Chapter Twenty Six: Dirty Little Secrets 
Fandom: Anita Blake universe
Rating: 18 and up
Warnings: graphic sex and violence, language, anything else i can toss in.
Disclaimer: the recognizable characters and places contained herein are the property of LKH. i'm merely borrowing for the sake of entertainment. no money is being made from this venture. the Sues are the sole property of their originators, Ginevra, Dazzledfirestar, Nanaea, SilverFoxChan and ladydeathfaerie. the concept and title of The Mary Sue Virus are used with permission from Dazzledfirestar. all beta work, plot bunny shooting and ass spanking is being done by Gin. 

The Mary Sue Virus: Beyond Death - Index Link 

The wooden floor was hard beneath her knees, pressing back against her bones painfully. Little spears of agony shot along her calves, up her thighs into her hips. She didn't mind, though. The pain was welcomed, needed. It helped her think, helped her concentrate on her prayers.

She knelt before the altar, head bowed and hands clasped together tightly in front of her. A spill of pale blonde hair hid her face from the large, crucified image of Christ against the back wall. She didn't want him to see her shame. Not while she was making her plea to him. She'd worn her best dress tonight, the dark navy blue one with lace at the collar and cuffs. A pair of stockings in nude and modestly heeled leather pumps in blue finished her ensemble. Perhaps if she looked respectable, God might listen to her again.

Eyes shut against the temptation to look up at Christ, she whispered the prayer so softly that she knew no one would hear her. Just as she knew the words so perfectly that she could recite the prayer whenever she felt the need to do so. "Heavenly Father, please forgive my sins. I am unworthy of Your love, but I pray You'll hear me tonight."

Tears formed, as they always did. And always after she asked Him to listen. She didn't try to stop them from falling, simply ignored them as she did every other time. "You are the Light that shines and guides me when I stray from the path, Oh Lord."

The last time she'd strayed, it had been the worst thing she'd ever done in her life. And she'd known, as soon as she'd done it, that she'd fallen from grace. She'd known that His favor had been taken from her. She'd committed the vilest sins imaginable. But that didn't stop the small, faint hope that He would one day forgive her. She shifted, pressing herself down further. A shudder rippled up her spine with the fresh spate of pain. "I am Your Child, Lord. I live by Your laws and love. I ask that You open Your heart to me once more."

Her hips moved slightly. More pain filled her body. But she kept her tone level, her back straight and her muscles rigid. "I am nothing without Your Love, Father. I am in need of Your touch in my life. I need You to make me whole."

The demon inside of her twisted and turned and she felt her body sliding back into the deep well of sensation. It was wrong to want like this. It was wrong to need and feel so intensely. She tried to fight it, tried to hold herself still. But she couldn't. She squirmed as the demon filled her, as it coaxed and teased and aroused her. Soft, panting breaths fell from her lips, the silk of her hair sliding back and forth against her face as she moved. She was crying now, both tears and wordless sounds that were shameful, Lustful. Wicked and wanton. It was always the same. No matter how hard she fought, the demon claimed her.

She could feel it moving inside of her, feel it as it clutched at her with skillful hands and mouth. Her tongue darted out, moistened her lips as she gasped and fought it. She felt tight and full, heavy with her sin. She felt ashamed. She couldn't stop herself.

"I need You to complete me, Father."

The empty church filled with sounds that didn't belong. Soft sobs and moans bounced off the high ceiling, a faint sucking noise mingled with them. Her body was on fire as the demon fought her control. Hands held her, cupped her in places where they didn't belong and sensation ripped through her like wild fire. She threw her head back and turned wide, wild eyes to the vaulted ceiling. The demon swallowed her whole, filling up every last inch of her. "Please, Father! Save me!"

Her scream reverberated throughout the sanctuary, throwing itself back at her. She could hear laughter in the fading sounds. Worse than that, though, were her own slutty cries of completion. The demon had done it to her again. Her body was tight and aching, little fingers of pleasure and pain plucking at every last nerve until she shook. And she clung to the demon, whimpered as it took more from her. She wanted it to go and she wanted it to stay. She was so confused. She couldn't understand why it had come for her at all.

As quickly as it had come, it was gone. She felt herself slide over. She landed with a slight thump against the wooden floor, her body twisted into an odd shape. Her legs were still curled up in her kneeling position, but she lay partially on her side and her front. The hard wood of the floor pressed against the tight pain in her nipples and made that wicked sensation skitter through her again. She could feel the demon caressing her, could feel the pleasure that it gave her. She was vaguely aware of the sound of footsteps approaching.

"My child!" It was on older man's voice, filled with concern. "Are you ill? What is it? Have you been hurt? Speak to me!"

She couldn't. There was no way she could tell the kindly father of her sins. He wouldn't understand. How could he when she didn't understand it herself? She struggled to rise, to find the words to tell him she was okay. But she couldn't do either. His hand touched her arm. "Merciful Father," he whispered. "You've been hurt. You're bleeding. There's blood... I'll go call for an ambulance. Don't move, child. Stay right there. I'll send Sister Bertrice to you. Don't worry. Everything will be fine."

There was the patter of footsteps hurrying away. She believed him, wanted him to take care of her. Wanted him to help her. She allowed herself to drift on the dreaming feeling that took her every time the demon came and claimed what it wanted of her. She was so tired of asking for His forgiveness. Maybe, if she asked the priest, he could help her find a way to win God's forgiveness for her sins. Maybe things could be normal again.

"There you are! What are you doing in here, whore?" His voice was a sibilant hiss in the stillness of the church. She struggled to right herself, struggled to find the words to answer his question. But he didn't give her time. He grabbed her arm and jerked her up onto her knees. There was a soft thump, then his hand connected with her cheek hard enough to snap her head back. She whimpered, but didn't fight him. Not even when he reached between her thighs and grabbed. Pulled.

Something inside tore, pain spearing through her, and she felt thick warmth slide down her thigh. He stared down at her in disgust. "You're a worthless whore. He's never going to forgive you for that! How dare you desecrate his home with... with this!" he snapped at her, shoving the thing he'd pulled from between her thighs in her face. "He sees you. He knows what you're thinking. He knows you're a wicked, filthy fucking whore. The only way to save yourself is to do what I tell you to. Now get up! We're leaving!"

She got to her feet slowly, her body feeling wobbly. She watched him as he tossed what he held to the floor. She heard a woman's voice and knew that they had to get out of there before they were caught. He'd hurt the woman and she couldn't live with that. She couldn't let him do it. So she allowed him to drag her down the aisle toward the door. She could tell by the hold he had on her arm that he was as angry as she'd ever seen him. Part of her hoped that he'd lose that last bit of control he had and finish her off. Maybe, if she died, it would all stop. Maybe she could finally find forgiveness and peace then.

They'd reached the shadows when the woman appeared. The sister was heading directly for the spot where she'd just been kneeling not that long ago. He jerked her through the doors just then. But not before she heard the woman's gasp of surprise.

~*~

Father Michael Flannery heard Sister Bertrice's voice before he even made through the door that separated the main part of the church from his office. She was praying. Worry settled heavy around his heart and he hastened his steps toward her. The girl he'd found before the altar had looked pale and thin, as if she hadn't eaten in a good while. She'd been dressed nicely enough, but there was something about her had that screamed neglect to him. And then there'd been the blood. He'd worried that she'd been attacked by someone and had sought sanctuary inside St. Peter's.

He'd heard her scream, wondered if perhaps her attacker had followed her inside. If he had, there'd been no sign of any such person when Father Michael had stepped through the door and into the church. There'd been no sign of damage, but he'd seen the blood with his own eyes. The girl was obviously in some kind of trouble.

Sister Bertrice was crossing herself when he joined her, her lips moving in prayer. The girl was nowhere to be seen. "Sister?"

"She's gone, Father," the woman stopped her prayers to look at him. "She wasn't here when came out. I almost thought you'd been imagining things."

"I assure you, Sister, I was not imagining the girl. She truly needs our help."

"I know you aren't imagining things, Father. She left this behind." Sister Bertrice stepped to the side and motioned with one hand to the floor. The small puddle of blood was still there. But that was nothing compared to what he saw laying a few feet away. One of the silver candlesticks that belonged on the altar lay on the floor on its side. It was covered in blood. It hadn't been visible when he'd found the girl a short while ago.

He shuddered to think just where it had been.

~*~*~*~*~

"I'm sorry, sir," the pleasant male voice on the other end of the line said as soon as Jean Claude gave Aedan's name. "Miss Kinkade is in the middle of a meeting with a client and she isn't to be disturbed. I can take a message and have her call you back as soon as she's free." The rustling of paper carried across the line. "She has an opening at midnight. Who shall I say called?"

"It is important that I speak with Aedan now," the vampire said evenly. "Please tell her that Jean Claude is on the phone."

"Oh my God! The Jean Claude? As in the Master of the City?" The man sounded as if he were seriously impressed. "Of course we all miss Anita and we're so sorry for your loss. I wasn't aware that you knew Aedan. She works so hard and she's so serious. Do you mind if I put you on hold for just a moment? I'll let her know you're on the phone. Hang on."

There was a click and then music poured through the receiver, something that was almost tuneless and instantly forgettable. It lasted for several long minutes, then the line clicked again and he could sense her on the other end. "Jean Claude?" Aedan sounded confused. "Why are you calling? I'm in the middle of a meeting, but Craig made it sound as if it were really important. Is something going on? Did someone else get hurt?"

Her voice was low on the last sentence, as if she didn't want anyone else to hear her speaking. He could almost picture her with her back to her client, chair turned so that she looked at the wall behind her. It was almost enough to make him smile. "I am sorry for interrupting, ma poupette. There is something happening at Guilty Pleasures that you should be made aware of."

Her sigh came loud and heavy and he heard the soft creak of leather as she shifted in her chair. "I am not at your beck and call. I have more than one job to do here. Every time I turn around, it gets worse. I really don't need anything else thrown at me right now. Not unless you're prepared to watch me go completely around the bend."

"I would not disturb you if it were not important," he told her, pitching his voice so that it was soothing and soft. "There is a situation here that I think you will find of the utmost importance."

"Then spill it," she spat, voice filled with exasperation. It was enough to make him chuckle, but he held the impulse back. "I haven't got all night for chatting, you know."

"It is something that you should come to my office to discuss, ma poupette," he informed her politely.

"You know I hate that name," she muttered. "Can't it wait for a few hours? I've got an opening later this evening. I can use that and lunch and swing by to check things out. I'm really..."

"Aedan," he cut her off, his tone gone hard. She fell silent immediately, as he'd meant her to. "I do not think you understand. It is a matter of life and... Death."

For several long moments, she said nothing. If not for the fact that he could faintly hear her breathing, he would have sworn she wasn't there. Then the quiet was shattered. "Shit. Alright," she heaved another sigh and he could hear the tension that lived in it. "Let me rearrange my schedule. I've got to let Bert know what's going on. I can't guarantee how long this will take, but I'll be there. Make sure everyone is still breathing when I arrive."

He did chuckle this time. "I will do my best, ma poupette." She hung up the phone before he could say anything else, so he settled the receiver into the cradle and glanced at the blonde leaning almost indolently against the wall. "She will be here as soon as she is able. She must rearrange her schedule for the evening. Can I have someone bring you a drink? Perhaps something to eat?"

"I'll pass," Edward replied, the weapon in his hand never wavering. Jean Claude shrugged a single shoulder with fluid grace and leaned back in his chair.

"Is that really necessary?" The vampire waved a hand at the gun. "Do you plan on shooting me?"

"Call it a precautionary measure. I'll put it away. Once Aedan straightens this mess out." There was a feeling of finality in the man's voice that hinted at bad things happening. For a moment, Jean Claude wondered if he'd summoned Aedan to his side so that she could watch Death shoot him. Would she care if he were injured? Would she try to avenge him or be glad to rid herself of him? Would she even survive if he were to die? He pushed those thoughts aside and gave Edward a pleasantly blank stare. No. If Death had wanted to end his existence, he would have already done so.

This visit was for something else. For whatever reason, Edward required Aedan's presence before he would consider explaining himself. Which meant it was something to do with her. Maybe the other man knew something that they didn't. Perhaps Aedan was in danger. He thought briefly of the night Anita had died and the depth of the emotion he had felt in her. There was a brief flash of pain, but it didn't hurt as deeply as it had before. He thought he should be bothered by the fact that he wasn't more upset over the loss of someone he'd loved so completely. He wasn't.

Instead, he found himself worried about what trouble could be heading Aedan's way. Fear filled him at the thought, almost blinding him to his surroundings. He was afraid of losing her. Not because she was his human servant but because she was someone he cared about. How had he come to care for her in such a short amount of time? He barely knew her. And yet, the thought of losing her before she was completely his left a cold, empty numbness somewhere near his heart.

Such thoughts had no place in a room with a man who casually held a gun on him. Jean Claude had no illusions that Edward would hesitate to use the weapon if he needed to. Just as he had no illusions that the ammunition would be anything other than silver. Slowly, carefully, he filed away the thoughts that had come for later use. For the moment, he had to remain focused on the matter at hand, alert and ready for anything.

The minutes ticked by slowly as the two men stared at one another. Neither one attempted conversation. The vampire knew that the mortal would answer or not as he chose. And it was obvious that Edward hadn't come here to talk. At least, not to Jean Claude. No. This was to do with Aedan. He hoped she arrived sooner rather than later.

He felt it the moment she entered the building. He could feel the tension that coiled within her as if it were his own. Either she was as worried about this meeting as he was or she was trying to hold on to the temper he was sure had sprung to life with his call. He considered, for a second or two, informing his guest that she was on the way. But he pushed the thought aside. Better to let her surprise him. Whatever this was about, he wasn't going to give Edward any more leverage than he already had.

There was no one with Aedan when she pushed the door to his office open, prompting him to wonder where her guard for the evening was. She shot him a glare and shut the door behind her before turning to look at the blonde. He'd expected her to come into the room and immediately raise hell. The fact that she didn't surprised Jean Claude. Instead, she removed her jacket and tossed it absently at a chair. It missed and landed on the floor. She stopped at the edge of his desk and propped her hip against it.

When Edward said nothing, she folded her arms over her chest and leveled a glare at him. "What is so fucking important that you had to drag me away from my client?"

"I heard an interesting piece of information today, Aedan," Edward drawled, stepping toward her. Jean Claude watched her fingers twitch against the leather of her shoulder holster. It would be so easy for her to pull her gun if she wanted to. He realized she'd removed her jacket and assumed her current position for just that reason. "I was listening to your friends talk and a phrase popped up that I never thought to hear put with your name."

"And what was that? Sweet and innocent?" The question was filled with her sarcasm. For whatever reason, it was enough to tighten Edward's grip on his weapon. Aedan maintained her relaxed pose, but her hand shifted closer to her own weapon.

"Human servant, Aedan," he replied, voice so devoid of emotion that it was chilling to hear. Jean Claude had never seen the side of Edward known as Death among his kind. Until now. There was nothing in the man's voice or his eyes, nothing on his face, that suggested he was even really human. Whatever life or warmth the man might contain was firmly locked away. Jean Claude shifted his attention to Aedan. She hadn't moved a muscle, but he could feel the tension and a thrill of fear running through her.

"And your point?"

"Were you ever going to tell me?" Edward took a step forward. She straightened, drawing away from the edge of his desk slowly. Though she wasn't a tall woman, standing at attention added to her stature and made her appear taller. There was something similar in the two of them, some presence that took control. It demanded that everyone in the room see them for the predators they were. Aedan might be young, but it was plain to see that she would one day rival the blonde she was staring down.

"It isn't any of your business," she shrugged a shoulder lazily. "So, no. I wasn't going to tell you."

"None of my business?" Edward stopped and cocked his head for a moment, staring down at the woman before him as if he'd never seen her before. Then he closed the distance between them until he stood directly before her. "I think, Chastity, that what happens here is very much my business. Let's not forget who made all of this possible."

"Call me Chastity again and I'll find out if you like being a eunuch," she returned without a hint of emotion in her voice. For just a moment, for a single tic of the clock, time held and Jean Claude found he couldn't shake the notion that the two of them were far more alike than he'd ever noticed before. There was something there, something that suggested a familiarity between the two that went deeper than he'd first considered. Then it slipped away as Aedan leaned into Edward and poked a finger into his chest, ignoring the gun he held on her. "What I do with my life is my business. That's why its called my life."

"There was a reason I wanted you to go to New Orleans or Florida," Edward snarled, the sound coming from deep in his throat. The sudden loss of cold, empty Edward the killer surprised Jean Claude. This was a man with emotions, a man who was upset beyond measure. One of his hands made a motion to Jean Claude. "I didn't want you ending up here. With him. Not like this."

"That isn't your choice to make. First you tell me to stay the hell away from St. Louis. Then you tell me to watch over Anita like I'm some fucking babysitter. You can't have it both ways, Edward," Aedan replied crisply. She wasn't backing down from him and seemed determined to push every button the man had. "What was I supposed to do in New Orleans? Raise the dead on Halloween for the ghost tours? Or was I supposed to go raise old Mrs. Finklemeyer down in Boca because her senile daughter couldn't remember where mommy left the will? I'm better than that shit. You told me that, Edward. You! You told me yourself that I would be as good as the infamous Anita Blake with a bit of work. You told me that I had power."

"You do. And you're better than this. Than him," the blonde replied, voice once again under control. "You don't belong here. You don't belong with him."

"Not that it matters now, Edward, but I didn't have a choice in the matter. When Anita transferred her powers to me, she gave me her marks. And she told me not to deny him anymore. The marks don't go away unless one of us dies."

"Aedan and Minette belong to me, Edward. The decision was not theirs to make," Jean Claude inserted, just to make sure the other man understood what was going on. "With her dying breath, Anita gave them to me."

At his statement, Edward turned to stare at him. Again, there was nothing to see in his eyes, nothing on his face to give away whatever it was he was trying to hide. Instead, he wore a bland, blank mask. His voice, when it came, was even. Calm. "Aedan wasn't Anita's to give."

The statement was odd. So odd, in fact, that it left Jean Claude unable to make some reply for a moment. Not that he could have. Aedan moved then, stepping away from Edward to pace across the floor a few steps before she turned back and faced him again. "I'm not yours, either. Why do you care, Edward? Aren't I just another body in the end? Or maybe I'm another tool and you'll use me however you can, to get whatever you want. What the hell does it matter?"

"What is your interest in our Aedan?" Jean Claude gave his attention entirely to the other man, determined to understand why this was so important to him.

"My interest in her is my business," Edward told him, his gaze never leaving her face. She snorted and turned to once more stalk across the room. With her back to him, Edward gave his attention to Jean Claude. There was a small spark of something in the depths of his eyes before they once more filled with cold emptiness. "She shouldn't be here with you. She isn't ready for the kind of danger being your human servant brings. You see what it did to Anita. Would you subject her to the same thing? Aedan is nothing more than a child. She isn't capable of..."

"Fuck you, Edward," Aedan snapped. There was anger in her voice finally. The clatter of her heels on the floor announced that she'd once more returned to stand before the desk. "I'm as fucking capable as the next person."

Edward turned to her and, for a heartbeat, Jean Claude thought he saw something akin to true concern on the man's face. But the look was gone and the blonde frowned down at her. "You don't know what he really is or what he's capable of. You saw what happened to Anita. Do you really think you're ready to handle that? Do you really think you can be better than she was?"

"I won't ever know if you don't give me a chance to prove that I can do it. Will I? Anita wasn't much older than I am. I..."

"You're a baby compared to her," Edward cut her off. Jean Claude watched as he stared down into her face, then shook his head. It was obvious he'd come to a decision. "No. I don't like it. This wasn't part of the deal. You're not ready for this."

"You are not my father, Edward," she hissed at him. He said nothing, merely raised an eyebrow at her. Something passed through her then, something that made her shake with fear. She took refuge in her anger, turned it on the other man as if it were a weapon. "Go to hell, Edward. Any deal we had is off. You can go fuck yourself. I don't need you."

A slow, vicious smile lifted the corner of his mouth. The gun was tucked away and he stepped into her, his hands closing tightly around her arms. To Aedan's credit, she didn't struggle with him. She simply met his hard stare with one of his own. "You aren't half as grown up as you think, Aedan. And its a mean, ugly world out there. One wrong step and it'll eat you. I'm the best protection you've got, kid. The vampire can't protect you all the time."

"Neither can you," she shot back. "So just go where ever the fuck it is you go when you aren't breathing down my neck and let me live my life. I can't just get up and move. For better or worse, Minette and I are both tied to him. I'll do what I can and learn along the way. Who gives a shit if I get killed?"

The question startled Jean Claude. She'd asked it so calmly, without any inflection in her voice. As if she were discussing the weather and not her death. He expected something cold and empty from Edward. But the blonde surprised him by tightening his grip ever so slightly on her arms. It looked, for just a second or two, as if he wanted to shake Aedan. It was a feeling the vampire understood well. Again, there was that flash of pain at the thought of anything happening to Aedan. "Do you really want me to answer that?"

His words had a sobering effect. Her cheeks paled while her eyes went wide. She shook her head without saying anything. Edward released her, smirking as she took a pair of hasty steps back. "I don't need your help," she told him again, but her voice was a mere whisper and lacked any heat to it.

"Aedan, you aren't ready to take on the responsibilities that come with being Jean Claude's human servant," the blonde said, tone neutral. "You should have told me about this. I would have..."

"You would have what, Edward? You would have found a way out of it for me?" She stared at him with empty eyes. "How long did you know Anita? Didn't you ever learn in that time that a vampire can't unmake a human servant? There is no way out! The only way to take away the marks is to kill one of us. He might survive my death, but its a pretty safe bet I wouldn't survive his. You can't break this. You can't kill it. It doesn't matter if you like it or not."

Jean Claude cleared his throat and brought their gazes to him. Offering a faint, meaningless smile, he spread his hands wide and shook his head. He had to choose his words carefully, or she'd never forgive him for what he was about to say. "You are so concerned about whether or not Aedan is ready for this. Have you not considered what I am or am not ready for?"

Edward crossed his arms and stared down into the vampire's face with a faint frown twisting his lips. "Its different for you. You're a few centuries old. You know what to expect. You know what you've gotten into here. She doesn't. I don't think Aedan appreciates the situation the way she should."

"Do you think I have no reservations? I have been thrust into such an intimate situation with these children." He lifted his hand to halt any complaints that Aedan might make. She shot him a glare, which earned a faint chuckle from the other man in the room. "They are little more than strangers to me, yet I must trust my life and the lives of those I am responsible for to them. They are untried and inexperienced. I have only my faith in Anita's choice to reassure me."

When neither of them said anything in response, he pressed on. "It will be a growing and learning experience for us all."

"That doesn't mean I have to like it, Jean Claude." Edward shook his head and turned his attention back to Aedan. "None of this would have happened if you'd done as I told you and stayed away from St. Louis."

"Are you forgetting the fact that you ordered me to look after Anita?" she asked him. He didn't bother answering her and Aedan shook her head. "Which was it supposed to be? Watch Anita or stay away from St. Louis? I wasn't capable of doing both."

"I never should have sent you here to watch over her. I should have sent you south. I should have done whatever I had to in order to keep you safe." The words were spoken mostly to himself, but Jean Claude couldn't miss the tone that accompanied them. For whatever reason, Edward truly hadn't wanted Aedan anywhere near St. Louis. And, by extension, any of the vampires that lived here. Curious. It was odd behavior for the assassin and it appeared that even Aedan was aware just how strange it was.

A glance toward her told the Master of the City that she was thinking about something quite intently. Then she offered Edward a smile that lacked warmth but was full of something twisted. Something almost gleefully sadistic. "Its too late, Edward," she said softly. Her feet echoed loudly as she took the few steps around the desk until she stood beside the chair Jean Claude was sitting in. "I belong to him now. And, to be honest, I don't think I want him to let me go."

Aedan rested her backside on the edge of his desk, her thigh pressed against his. Then she tossed her leg over his and straddled his lap. He watched her, nothing on his face to give away his thoughts, as she actually sat down and inched close until she could wrap her arms around his shoulders. She leaned in and took his lips with hers.

Her legs were hooked over the arms of the chair. The skirt had magically hiked up her thighs, allowing her to actually spread them wide enough that there was very little space between the lace of her panties and his own velvet encased crotch. Her breasts were mashed against his chest and her fingers slid through his hair with slow, sensual touches. He couldn't help himself and brought his hands to rest against her hips after sliding them slowly up her thighs. He vaguely noted she was wearing stockings and a shudder rippled along her spine when his fingers grazed the bare skin between their tops and the hem of her skirt.

Her mouth was hot and eager against his, lips soft and pliable. He shouldn't have let her tempt fate as she was, but the taste of her fired a hunger he'd been holding at bay almost since the moment he'd laid eyes on her in the cemetery. When his tongue slid into her mouth, she moaned and clutched at him harder. The hollow, metallic click of a gun being cocked brought them apart and Aedan turned to look at Edward without relinquishing her seat or her hold on him. "Aedan," Edward said, voice perfectly empty.

"This chair is comfortable. It should work. Off with the pants and I'll shove my skirt up over my hips," she reached for the buttons on his shirt. Jean Claude couldn't hold back the smirk. "We don't even need to get fully undressed. You can stay and watch if you want, Edward. Maybe you'll pick up some pointers."

"Aedan," the blonde ground out a little more forcefully this time. Again, she ignored him.

"I appreciate your enthusiasm, ma poupette. But I had something a bit more comfortable and private in mind for such a moment," Jean Claude told her.

"Aedan!" It was as close as the man had ever come to raising his voice. She pursed her lips in a pout for a moment before heaving a sigh. Jean Claude pushed the chair back so that she could simply slide off his lap. She tugged her skirt into place before turning to look at Edward.

"You've made your opinion perfectly clear, Edward. Now I'm going to make mine known. I don't want to give up my position here in St. Louis. I don't want to go back to being a scared little nothing. I have a purpose here. I can use my power without fear of being told I'm evil and corrupt. I have friends and I feel as if I belong. I won't let you take that away from me," she said in a firm tone that was oddly gentle at the same time. "I thought you, of all people, would understand what that means to me. I'm sorry that I haven't lived up to your expectations for me. I'm sorry I'm not Anita. I'm sorry for whatever the hell is wrong with me. I'm not sorry for where I am. And if you can't understand that, then maybe you should just leave and forget about me."

"It isn't that simple, Aedan. Not anymore. Not after everything I've done for you. I'm not about to go away. I told you before, I've invested alot more than just time in you. I plan on getting a return on that investment. One way or another," Edward informed her in his empty, cold, professional tone. "This isn't over between you and I. We will finish this discussion. You don't want to know what will happen if you fail me."

She didn't say anything, simply stared at him. He tucked the gun away and turned for the door. Pausing with his hand on the knob, he turned to pin her with a hard stare. "Don't fail me, Aedan." He opened the door. "Jean Claude."

After giving a nod, he was gone. Aedan sagged against the chair and sighed, her hands shaking as she reached out to lay them on the wooden surface of Jean Claude's desk. After a moment, she pushed away and went to retrieve her jacket from where it had fallen. "Ma poupette? Are you well?"

She slid the jacket on and settled it in place, doing up the buttons to hide her gun. "I don't ever fucking want to do that again." She was gone without another word and Jean Claude was left to wonder if she'd been talking about her conversation with Edward, the kiss she'd shared with him or both.

~*~*~*~*~

Rhiannon stared out the window of her Jeep at the building before her. It was an older one, as wide as two houses put together, rising only four floors from the ground. It was an apartment building and each floor had four apartments on it. One of those apartments was now hers, her new home. She'd quickly come to realize that she would not be returning to Tennessee once the wolves stopped mourning. Firstly, she didn't really think they'd ever stop grieving the loss of one of their own. Secondly, she'd come to understand just why it was Marianne had sent her here. The pack's sorrow had been a convenient excuse, but Rhiannon knew it for the tactic it was. She'd been sent here to start living again.

Jeremy had been her world for a very long time. When he'd died, part of her had gone with him. She knew that both Marianne and Verne had made a place for her to help her cope with her own grief and sense of guilt. The other woman had told her more than once over the years that she needed to let go and find herself someone else. Rhiannon had always resisted, had always felt that to do so would be to betray the memory of the man she'd loved with all her heart.

But now, having spent the past few weeks here, she was starting to understand that there was a difference between letting go of Jeremy and betraying him. Seeing the way Richard had reacted to Anita's death had shown her just what her life might be like if she were to continue allowing the grief to rule her heart and mind. She'd been fast on her way to becoming old and alone. Marianne was too much of a friend to let it happen. She'd done what she'd needed to do. Rhiannon wouldn't be surprised if the woman knew more than she'd said when she'd told her apprentice she'd needed to come to St. Louis.

The moment she'd stepped off the plane and felt the pack's sorrow enfold her, she'd known. There was still purpose to her life, still reason for her to continue. And then, at the cemetery, she'd seen what it was that she was here for. Together, she and the part of her that remembered being Nan, had seen the utter desolation on one face in particular and had known that it was far more important that she be here, with people who needed her, than back in Tennessee where she would be haunted by memories. That had been compounded by her sudden, intense relationship with Richard.

She'd found, when he wasn't mourning his loss like some gothic romance heroine, that he was quite a personable individual. That he was actually likeable. She'd come to enjoy his company. But there was still that touch of wildness to him that had nothing and everything to do with his second nature. His temper was volatile and unpredictable. And he could be so irrational, so blind to everything around him. When he focused solely on his problems, the entire world ceased to exist. She'd found them fighting as often as they'd fucked. It was at a point now where she simply couldn't handle being around him anymore.

Realizing that the only course of action left to her was to move into her own place, she'd contacted Marianne and requested that someone pack up her possessions and bring them to her. That meant the mismatched furniture in her small apartment, along with her clothes, books and other things. She'd explained it to Richard after she'd gotten a place to live, after a pair of Verne's wolves were on their way with her vehicle and a trailer filled with the physical proof of her life.

The news that she was moving out, that she was making a place for herself, hadn't gone over well with him. Richard had been as vocal and as angry as she'd ever seen him. For a time, they'd had a shouting match that she'd been sure would convince his neighbors to call the police. But the yelling had died down when she'd explained to him that she couldn't live off of him indefinitely. When he'd calmed and become more rational, they'd actually discussed her move. Richard had finally seen the sense in the action.

Sighing, she fished in her purse for the keys to her new place. Her mind turned to the Ulfric again. It had been doing so for some time. She wondered, not for the first time, if there was any real attraction between the two of them, or if their relationship had stemmed out of mutual grief more than mutual desire. Not that he wasn't amazing in bed and easy on the eyes. It just felt more and more every day that there was nothing in common between the two of them that didn't happen within the pack or between the sheets. That was no basis for any kind of personal relationship. And, if she were being perfectly, honest, she had her hands full trying to find a way to make the pack a healthy, whole unit again.

She didn't think she could do that if she was warming Richard's sheets for him.

There was also the fact that she didn't think she wanted to warm his sheets anymore. Lately, her thoughts seemed to be centering on Nathaniel. A lot. Her mind had started drifting off at any given moment, recalling all those lovely little things she associated with him. The smell of vanilla that clung to him was enough to make her mouth, and other parts, water. The soft silk of his hair as it slid against her skin. The gentle but reassuring presence of him. She'd spent enough time in his company at the Circus to know that. All of it combined was driving her mad with want of him. Which made her bouts of sex with Richard strange. Because she still wanted the Ulfric, but she wanted the lavender eyed leopard just as much. It was enough to confuse her brain and her libido.

It was the growing fascination with Nathaniel that saw her making the decision to move out, to find some place of her own. She needed the space for both her mental and physical health.

Rhiannon was so lost in her thoughts of Nathaniel that she didn't see the figure standing by her door. The knock on her window scared the living hell out of her, sending her heart into overdrive. A faint frown creased her forehead as she turned to get a look at the moron who'd frightened a couple of years off her life. What the hell was Edward doing outside her car? There was a faint smirk on his lips as he made a motion with one hand requesting her to roll down her window. She did so slowly, some small part of her warning her to be careful. "Good evening, Edward. Can I help you?"

"Miss Fitzpatrick," he inclined his head, his gaze taking in the last bunch of boxes in the back of her Jeep. He offered her a smile. "I came to ask you a few questions about magic. How about I help you bring your things inside in return?"

"What kind of questions?"

"I'd like some information about what Anita did. I've heard that you might know something about it. I'd appreciate any help you could give me," he told her. The warning bells were still going off, but she couldn't figure out why. It seemed an honest, genuine question. Giving the request a few minutes of thought, she came to the conclusion that it wouldn't hurt to grant him the answers he sought.

"I'll try," she finally said. He nodded and motioned to the back of the Jeep.

"Is that all of it?" Something in his tone sparked her concerns, but she shook it off and gave a nod. Climbing from the driver's seat, she went around back and opened the hatch. Silently, the two of them gathered up a box each to carry up to her apartment. She could feel him at her back as she led him to the door into the foyer. He was silent as he climbed the stairs after her up to the fourth floor, waited for her to unlock the door and followed her into the apartment.

He set the box down where she told him to, then dutifully returned to the Jeep with her to retrieve more of her belongings. They both made a few more trips, with Edward always at her back and disturbingly silent, until they had everything brought in. The boxes were all stashed in their rightful places before Rhiannon motioned to her old, worn sofa. "Have a seat. Would you like something to drink? I have some pop, some juice and..."

"Water's fine, thank you," he interrupted. She nodded and slipped into the kitchen to fetch a bottle from the fridge. For herself, she put a kettle of water on the stove to boil so she could have a cup of tea. Her nerves insisted that she needed it. He'd taken a seat in one of her chairs and she handed him the bottle of water. Some part of her was screaming that he didn't belong in her house and the thought came that she was going to need to set up some kind of protective warding or something. And she was going to need to do a thorough cleansing.

"What kind of information are you looking for?" she finally asked him, sinking into the thick cushions of the sofa. He offered her a smile and, for a second or two, she saw a flash of predator in the look. But it was gone so suddenly that she felt she'd imagined it. He twisted the top off the water bottle and took a drink before putting it down on the small table at his elbow.

"I don't know if you're aware, but I was Anita's friend." Something in the way he said 'friend' brought the hair up on the back of her neck, but she couldn't understand why. Instead, she shook her head to let him know that she hadn't been aware of that. "I don't know much about magic. What little I knew was what she'd tell me. Now, I don't think I have someone to ask and I don't quite understand what it was Anita did."

Rhiannon blinked at him. "What do you mean, what she did? Just what is it that you need to understand?"

"How did she manage to transfer her... powers to Aedan and Minette? How did she give them whatever it was that she gave them?" he asked bluntly.

"She used a spell," Rhiannon said, as if it should be common knowledge. Edward spread his hands in a gesture meant to indicate that he was as ignorant about spells as he was about magic in general. Again, there was a faint trill of something along her spine that made her wonder what he really wanted to know. Maybe she shouldn't tell him everything? He looked harmless enough, but she knew far too well that looks were almost always deceiving. "Anita crafted a spell that would shift her powers and abilities to anyone she was in contact with when the spell was cast."

"But how? What did she do? Can it be repeated?"

"Well, of course it can be repeated," she told him and watched as something shifted in his eyes. Her warning bells clanged loud enough to wake the dead in China. So that was his angle. Choosing her words carefully, she went on. "Anita contacted Marianne some time ago and told her she needed a security measure. She felt that someone was after her and she wanted to make sure, no matter what happened to her, that the people she cared for would be taken care of. Kept safe."

"How long ago did this happen?" The question sounded innocent enough, but she knew better. There was something slippery about Edward. Despite the fact that he was acting like he was nothing more than curious, there was something about him that she couldn't quite put her finger on. Something that screamed to her that the man wasn't what he seemed.

"I don't really remember. Perhaps six months ago," she shrugged a shoulder, as if she didn't realize that the time was important to him. "She was insistent that Marianne help her find a way, though. And Marianne has a touch of precognition. Enough that she could sense that Anita had a reason to be concerned. So she started working on a spell."

"I wasn't aware that Anita would be able to cast a spell. I thought you had to be a witch to do that," he muttered, mostly to himself. Rhiannon couldn't help it. She chuckled at that. The sound of her mirth brought his gaze to her face, sharp and questioning. It made her uncomfortable, but before she could shift in her chair, the kettle whistled to let her know that her water was ready.

"Excuse me a moment," she said as she stood, then she did her best not to run for the kitchen. She was glad he didn't follow her. The time it took to prepare her tea gave her the opportunity she needed to get control of herself. She was pretty sure she knew just why the man was asking such questions. For whatever reason, it had something to do with Aedan. She was going to have to tell him more than she'd originally planned on.

When she returned to her living room, he hadn't moved. Tea cup in hand, she resumed her seat on the couch and gave him her attention once more. She offered him a smile and gestured to herself. "Do you see a witch when you look at me?" she asked him.

He studied her closely, as if he'd never seen her before. She understood the scrutiny and didn't move so much as an inch. Finally, he shook his head. "No. You look like a college student."

"That's because what people think of as witches doesn't really exist. Literature and popular opinion have been unkind to people who practice the craft. My point is that you don't have to look like or be a witch to do magic. Magic is all around us. I think the existence of things like vampires and shape shifters should be proof enough of that."

"I don't know that I'd consider them magic," he replied.

"My point is, there's magic everywhere. And any one can use it, so long as they know how. That includes people like Anita who have specialized versions of magic. And that includes people like you, who have no more magic than most of society. All magic takes is intent, good or bad, and the desire to see it happen."

"So you're saying that anyone could cast a spell if they believed in it strongly enough."

"And if they wanted it strongly enough," she added, nodding at him.

"Would Anita's own brand of magic have helped or hindered this spell?"

"The spell was tailored to Anita's magic. It was part of what made it work. In fact, if Anita hadn't carried the magic she did, the spell wouldn't have worked for her. Or for anyone else." She stared at him a moment, watching as he slowly processed what she'd told him. "Let me put it this way. Take today at the range. You picked weapons for us that were universal, right? Something that we all should have been able to handle without too many problems."

"Yes."

"And Janika had that little gun to fit her little hands. You and Aedan each carry weapons that you've picked personally, right?" She watched as he nodded, could see the understanding dawning in his eyes. "What works best for you might not work best for someone else, even though they're the same height, have the same size hands and so on. Right?"

"Yes. So you're saying that Anita's magic was a key part of the spell. Hers and hers alone. Anyone with the same type of magic wouldn't have been able to make it work because she uses her magic different from other people."

"Exactly." Rhiannon nodded her head at him, both amazed and pleased to see that he'd made the connection so quickly.

"What went into this spell?"

"Most of it was will and intent. Anita had to want to pass her abilities on in order for it to work." She paused a moment as she considered what all she should and shouldn't tell him about the spell that she, Marianne and Anita had crafted for the other woman. "There was also a series of trigger words to set the transfer in motion. It couldn't just be that she wanted to give up her magic. It doesn't work like that. She had to either voice or think the words that opened the doorway."

"What do you mean?" he questioned. She thought, if he were a cop, that he'd be writing everything she told him down in a little pad. But he wasn't. Perhaps he had a recorder on him? But that didn't seem right because everything she said would be muffled. Maybe the man's memory was just that good.

"No matter how you practice magic, there's always some form of a ritual to perform. There are components required to make it work. Sometimes, those components come in the form of candles. Or a pentacle. The athame and the chalice. Sometimes, those components come in the form of words. Part of what made Anita's spell work were the carefully crafted trigger words. Those words served several purposes. First, they prepared her body to let go of the magic. Second, they opened a doorway between her physical and metaphysical self. Between where her magic was and the rest of her. Third, they would actually complete the transfer. She could use names to help with that, but touch is best. That way, there's no chance the spell can go screwy and someone who wouldn't know what to do with the magic didn't have to suffer through it."

Rhiannon fell silent and watched him as he mentally sorted through what she'd told him. She idly sipped her tea, enjoying the taste and feel of the honey chamomile as it slid down her throat. Finally, his face showed that he was finished considering it all. "So what you're saying is she had to want it to work and she had to have a place to make her magic go."

"Yes. If you combined the words of the spell, her magic, and the touch of someone who could receive the gift, the spell would work flawlessly. It also helps if the person or persons who accepted the magic understood what was happening and agreed to it."

"So its possible to do it again. All the spell would need was some work to adjust it to which ever person would be casting it?"

Here was the tough part. Sighing, Rhiannon set the cup down and gave him an intense stare. Something inside of him seemed to respond because the speculative look that had been on his face slid away and left little by way of emotion on it. "There's more to it than that, Edward. First, the person casting the spell has to want it to work. They could say the words all they wanted and it wouldn't make the spell work. They would have to want it to succeed."

"Okay. So they need to want to be rid of the power," he nodded. "What's the other part?"

"Second, it takes a death to fuel the spell."

"Sacrifice?" She stared a moment, wondering if he was purposely ignoring what she meant or if he truly had no idea. She rather thought it was the latter. Frowning, Rhiannon shook her head and sipped her tea again for the calming effect it had on her nerves.

"Yes and no. In order for that spell to work as its supposed to, the person casting it has to be dying. Their death is the final component that fuels the magic. If they aren't dying, it won't work. And sacrificing someone else won't work, either." She held up a hand to forestall anything he'd say. "Death is a kind of power all by itself. When the body is dying, its easier to destroy the anchors that tie the magic to them. Its similar to the idea of someone's soul pulling away from the body as it dies. The bonds that tie the spirit and magic to a person are weakest right on the verge of death."

"Death."

"Yes. Death is the battery that powers the whole thing. Intent and will are what make the transfer happen, along with the desire to see it done." Rhiannon watched as his face shifted from a bland mask, as it hardened into something that was meant to frighten. Something that didn't belong on the face of a living human being. Only monsters were supposed to wear such ugly faces.

"Anita knew she was going to die," he whispered softly. The words sent shivers up her spine and she had to force herself to remain still. "She did this because she knew she was going to die."

"It would seem that way," Rhiannon nodded at him. Edward turned to stare at her a second or two before inclining his head at her.

"Thank you for your help, Rhiannon. I really appreciate the time."

"I'm glad I could be of help," she said, rising with him to escort him to the door. He said nothing else as he left the apartment. She pressed the door closed behind him, carefully turning the deadbolt and sliding another pair of locks into place. Leaning against the wooden panel, Rhiannon stared sightlessly across the room. "Goddess above, Aedan. What the hell kind of mess have you gotten yourself into?"

~*~*~*~*~

He stared down at her as she lay sleeping on the filthy mattress. Woman. Seductress. Eve. Sister. Whore.

He'd forced her to strip her clothes off when they'd returned to their home. And he'd taken the blankets from her. So she lay unclothed and uncovered. Her curves called to him, a sweet siren's song that made lust flood his veins. His body responded, cock growing, thickening in anticipation. God above, how he wanted her.

This was all her fault.

I know a thing or two about sweet little sister.

She was painted like the whore she was. Blood stained her thighs, along with evidence of her sin. It glistened in the dim light of the flickering candle. Called to him. Urged him on. Demanded and seduced. Even in her sleep, she was playing with his need and desires.

Whore.

Her pale hair spilled like spun silk across the mattress, only partially covering her face. Her breasts rose and fell in time with her breaths. Her nipples were hard and peaked. Pointing. Begging. Pleading.

Filthy whore.

She shifted slightly. Her breasts bounced, asking him to take them in his mouth. Her thighs fell apart, showing him the still glistening folds of her cunt. Sinful slut. She made him forget that he had promised his life to God. She made him want things. Want her.

"Give me strength, Father," he whispered the plea almost silently. She moaned softly, her hands moving in her sleep. One crept between her thighs and rubbed at the plump, moist lips there. Her hips jerked. His cock twitched in response. God had forsaken him again.

"Whore!" he spat at her.

Her body was hot and tight and wet around his as he shoved himself inside of her. She woke with a cry, fought him for a moment, But then he began thrusting into her, began fucking her, riding her, using her, hurting her, completing her...

"More!" she gasped, locking her arms and legs around him. "Harder."

"Whore."

"I love you, brother."

He fucked her harder.