Blood Lines
Apr. 18th, 2012 03:31 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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marysuevirusTitle: Blood Lines
Chapter Two: Convocation
Fandom: something like the Marvel Universe, leaning mostly toward the Movie!Avengers branch. but with vampires. and werewolves. in a historical setting.
Rating: 18 and up
Warnings: lots of sex and violence, some language, anything else i can toss in. blood play/drinking. M/M, M/F, M/F, F/F, and any other combination that strikes my fancy
Disclaimer: the recognizable characters and places contained herein are the property of Marvel and whoever the hell else owns them.. 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,![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
dazzledfirestar, mistress_o_muse, ginevrasm, rylan_m, and ladydeathfaerie. the concept and title of The Mary Sue Virus are used with permission from Dazzledfirestar.
Blood Lines - The Index
~*~
Miriam lifted her head from the softness of her pillow to find that long, reaching fingers of silver-blue moonlight had crept across the floor toward the far wall of their chambers. She didn't need to look to know where Philip stood. He was always in the same place when she rose for the night, standing naked and proud in the ceiling to floor window that stood sentry on his side of their massive bed. One hand was clasped around the opposite wrist, his arms pulled almost absently behind his back. His feet were planted shoulder width apart on the stone floor, the finely crafted muscles in his thighs and calves bunched ever so slightly. As if he was prepared to launch an assault on an attacker.
She climbed from the bed, the soft slither of her dressing gown gliding across her skin as she crossed toward him. The sheer black garment had been a gift from Philip, crafted by one of the finest makers of ladies' clothing in France. The wide, belled cuffs and the neckline were edged with delicate ruffles of silk lace in a shade of purple that matched the hue of her eyes exactly. Tiny threads of silver danced through the lace, threads that sparked and spit blue fire in the moonlight. The diaphanous material clung to the curves of her breasts and the swell of her hips, the darkness of it framing the line of pale skin that showed between its two lapels.
Miriam stepped up behind him and slid her arms around so that she could pull him back into her. Philip obliged this action by moving his hands. They drifted forward and ended up coming to rest on hers. She was shorter than he was, but that didn't matter. She glanced around one arm, taking in the broad, open view of the forest surrounding their castle lair. The protective bars had been removed from the window so that the light could pour in unbroken. She frowned and pressed a kiss to his shoulder. "Young Clinton would reprimand you sorely if he were to see the bars unsecured."
"It is his job to worry. He would worry even if there were no dangers," Philip replied. She heard the smile in his words.
"He worries because he cares. He loves you. Silly husband," she teased softly. Not that her words weren't the truth. She knew that Clinton loved them both as one did with a lover. But they were his maker, the both of them, and there was the love of a child toward his parents. Once upon a time, Miriam might have thought such things as they did with one another among the silken bedding was obscene, an aberration railed against by the men who hid behind their ancient stone walls and religious convictions. But that time had passed and that Miriam had died. What she did with Clinton and her husband in the privacy of their own chambers was a thing of right and beauty.
"As he loves you, wife," Philip reminded her. She saw the faint hint of amusement that darkened his eyes.
"Perhaps I should summon him to see how much he loves you." She gestured to the window with one hand. "When he sees that you've unlocked the bars from the door without allowing him to ensure that our balconies and windows are safe for us to do so, his love for you will no doubt show in his frown and make itself known in the anger that colors his words."
The bars were a protective measure installed over the windows on the outside, a hinged grid that could be locked in place when they were abed or in other parts of the lair to keep any unwanted visitors from letting themselves in through the spectacular windows that framed their bed. Actually, they were glassed doors that opened out onto a large balcony, allowing them an amazing view of the forest surrounding the ancient castle. Concerned about the safety of such doors, the bars had been crafted and installed by a local smith. Miriam knew them to be forged of iron with a silver coating that made it impossible for any vampire or shifter to lay hands on them. There was a special hook used to open and close the bars and she'd woken more than once to find that Philip had opened the bars so that he could stand in the silvery light of the moon without interruption.
"He's more a mother hen than you are, wife," Philip complained good-naturedly. Miriam smiled up at him and rubbed a cheek against his arm.
"You're cold, darling. How long have you been awake? Have you eaten yet?" She asked the questions, even though she already knew the answer. It was the same nearly every rising. Philip never ate until Miriam reminded him and prodded him to do so. She sent out a silent call for two of their pets, knowing that he would eat the moment the chosen pets arrived. She would break her fast with him and then perhaps she'd be able to persuade him to join her in the bed.
"You know we have duties to attend to this night, wife," he reminded her. But he turned to look at her, his eyes bright with the love he had for her. She huffed out a sound that could have been taken as either disgust or boredom, one hand waving in the air as if to erase his words.
"And those duties will wait for us. The Convocation does not start until we are seated," she replied evenly.
"You know that there is nothing in the world I would rather more than to return to our bed and spend the entire evening teasing you to within an inch of your sanity." Philip turned to face her, a smile of regret twisting his lips up faintly at the corners. "But the longer we remain ensconced in our chambers, the longer the Convocation will be put off. You know that it eats up much of the night on normal occasions. I have a feeling that tonight's Convocation will be longer than normal. Better we get on with it now than allowing it to spill over into another night."
"You should not be allowed to look upon me with such hungry eyes while speaking such rational and measured words to me," she pouted at him. He turned in her hold so that he could stare down at her, his arms lifting up to curl around her body. The faint smile of regret morphed into something much more personal and tender, a real smile that he reserved just for her.
"If we had no duties, we would while away the entire evening. But we must oversee the Convocation. Matthias is being brought before us tonight," he said quietly. Miriam couldn't stop the sneer that twisted her lips.
"Perhaps Matthias will finally make his move and give us reason to end his miserable existence," she said hopefully.
"Matthias is too smart for that, wife. You know this. We have to wait for him to make a mistake so that he cannot claim we used foul means to remove him from the coven," he told her, his tone patient and calm. He had never used any other tone with her, though she had heard him raise his voice at other people when they'd done something that displeased him. It was usually not something that ever happened again.
"I should simply challenge him," she murmured before leaning in to drag the tip of her tongue along the line of his collar bone toward his throat. When she reached the point where those two parts met, she dropped kisses and nips against his neck to the underside of his chin.
"And what would you do, wife? Seduce him to death?" Gentle teasing laced his tone, brought the corners of his lips up into a smile that very few ever saw.
"You don't think I'm capable of defeating Matthias without resorting to my feminine wiles?" she asked, managing just the right amount of disdain. They only stared at one another for a few moments, then Philip leaned in and pressed a tender kiss to her lips.
"I know you're more than capable of defeating Matthias without using your feminine wiles, wife. But I also know that you don't care for the mess such an action brings about. You prefer slow clean over quick and bloody." His smile deepened and warmth crept further into his words. "Though I must admit that the idea of seeing you licking his blood off your dainty fingers does things to me that make it impossible to think of anything else."
Miriam smiled up at him, the expression wicked and dangerous. Then she leaned closer, until they were almost touching. "Bring me a criminal and I'll be happy to give you just that, my love," she whispered against his lips.
His grip tightened on her, a sure sign that he was on the verge of foregoing the evening's planned activities to do as she wanted. Spending time in bed with him never grew old. She'd loved it from the very first moment they'd become a couple and that hadn't changed as the centuries had passed them by. But they were pulled apart by a discreet knock upon the door. Philip gave her a look filled with regret before dropping a promise of a kiss to her brow.
The door opened a moment after they parted, a pair of pets letting themselves into the spacious chambers. Neither of the human pets took any notice of their nudity, the two of them stopping a respectable distance from Miriam and Philip to await their pleasure. Miriam's call had produced a man and a woman, both of them clad in a plain dressing gown that could, she knew from experience, be removed with a simply tug of one hand. Then again, there was no need to remove it when one could slide their hand under the edge to grasp at what lay beneath.
She allowed Philip to make his choice first and she wasn't surprised that he gestured that the young woman should attend him. She closed the distance between herself and her master, cheerfully offering her throat up to him. Miriam tossed a faint smirk in their direction before turning her attention toward the young man. He threw a knowing smile her way, then flicked one hand toward the bed in silent suggestion. She nodded and made her way back toward the enormous bed that dominated the room.
He was a handsome boy, barely past his twentieth year, with liquid hazel eyes and black hair that was long enough to be worn clubbed back at the base of his skull with a leather thong. He reached the bed before she did, body thrumming with excitement, and held a hand out to her when she approached. Miriam cast one last glance over her shoulder at Philip, who had wrapped himself around the young woman from behind, before she allowed her snack to drag her down onto the bed beside him.
His body was pliant against her own. None of her snacks ever experienced pain or fear. All of them came to her of their own free will, donated willingly. And all of them received pleasure in return for the gift of blood given to her. The young man rolled up and settled himself over her, his hands roaming her curves while his mouth ate at hers. She let her fingers trail lightly down his back and over the curve of his derrière before allowing them to slip under the garment he wore so that she could curl them around the length of his cock. He sighed and thrust his hips into her touch with enthusiasm.
Time slipped away, replaced by the thick, heavy, rapid beating of the boy's heart. His excitement and arousal ate at her senses, leaving her on the verge of losing control. Slowly, she drew her mouth from his, kissed a path across his cheek to the spot just under his ear. She worked her way down until her lips pressed to the throbbing of his pulse, until she could grate her fangs over the tender skin and bring forth a shudder and a moan. His hips thrust against her hand faster, working himself ever closer to his completion. It was the perfect time.
She moved her hand away from his body, slipping her legs around his waist so that the hard, heavy length of his cock was pressed against the softness of her woman's flesh. Each one of his thrusts dragged it back and forth against the tiny bundle of nerves hidden there. Bolts of pleasure zinged through her, magnified by the echoing sensation of his growing desire.
She held back, bided her time until the perfect moment, then sank her fangs deep. His body stiffened with the minute pain, with a rush of fulfillment, and she felt him spill himself between her legs. A long, low moan rolled up out of his mouth, painting her skin with his pleasure as surely as he'd done with the sticky warmth that spread over her thighs. After neatly withdrawing her fangs, she gently rolled the young man off of her, settling him on his back on the softness of the mattress.
His face was flushed with his pleasure, tiny drops of moisture beaded up on his forehead and across his chest. Those drops caught the light from the fire burning in the hearth, caught the flicker of candle flames, and became prisms that cast such minuscule rainbows across the surface of his skin that the human eye would never be able to detect them. There were times, when she was witness to such hidden miracles, that she recalled the first time she'd awoken in her new world. She smiled down at his angelic face and stroked her fingers through the silk of his hair. "Rest here, my pet, until you've regained your strength. Then you may return to your chambers. The rest of the night is yours to do with as you please."
"Thank you, Mistress," he replied on a faint, airy breath. A moment later, his eyes fluttered shut and his breathing evened out into the slow, gentle rhythm of sleep. Miriam slid from the bed and crossed the room to where Philip stood. He'd already lowered the girl down onto a lounge, her head resting on a rolled pillow that matched the floral upholstery covering the sofa. Philip looked at her with eyes that burned fiercely, dark with the fresh intake of blood and the passion flooding the air around them. A hint of pink touched his cheeks, giving him the look of a living, breathing human being.
"We should make use of our snacks' generosity," she told him, her eyes raking up and down his naked frame. The same thrill she'd felt the first time they'd shed their clothes for one another traced its way down her spine as she studied the perfection of his body.
"You should clean up, wife. The Convocation starts in half an hour's time. You need to look your best," he reminded her softly. She frowned, tossing him a pout, but turned for the door that led to their attached bathing room.
Miriam chose to eschew the giant bathing basin in favor of cleaning up with a ewer of warmed water and a sponge. She might have lingered over the sponge bath, but a growing sense of urgency ate at her mind. A memory of the conversation she'd had with Clinton the night before rose up and played itself back. The shifters. She frowned and hurried with the sponge. Lord Fury had to be informed of the situation with the wolves. Clinton had been sure that the wolves, or at least some of them, were intentionally breaking the rules of the Covenant. And Miriam had no reason to discount Clinton's opinions in the matter. He was Captain of the Elite Guard for a reason.
Upon completion of her sponge bath, she rejoined Philip in their sleeping chambers. He'd already dressed himself for the coming Convocation, his clothing well made and of impeccable taste. His trousers and frock coat were as black as pitch, with neat lines that lengthened his legs and torso. They gave the appearance that Philip stood taller than he actually did. His waist coat was dove grey, the shirt worn under it of crisp, brilliant white linen. The cravat at his throat was midnight blue and a thumb-sized, deep black gemstone was nestled among the dark silk. Moonlight shone off the polished toes of his black boots.
Philip had already laid out clothing for her and wordlessly helped her into her many layers of material. A pair of drawers and a chemise in the softest white cotton went on first, followed by a corset in beige. Silk stockings in black caressed the length of her legs. Several layers of petticoats, each one soft and made of cotton with lace flounces. When he finally had her undergarments in place, he helped her into the gown of the evening. It was crafted from plush silk velvet, the same midnight blue as his cravat. The gown rested low on her shoulders, exposing her throat and a small patch of pale flesh above her breasts. The bodice ended in a point, the skirt belling out around her legs as it fell to the floor. The sleeves of the bodice were small puffs of material that ended before her elbows. Lace edged the neckline and the sleeves, black as the night sky. There was also a shawl of black lace that Philip left laying on the bed for the time being.
"How much time do we have before we have to meet with everyone in the Great Hall?" Miriam asked, eyes sliding toward the monstrous wooden writing desk pressed up against one wall. Philip tugged on a silver chain at his waist, pulled his pocket watch free, and consulted it briefly.
"We've at least ten minutes before we must leave our chambers, wife mine," he told her.
"Excellent. I'm going to pen a letter to Lord Nicholas and inform him of Clinton's suspicions about the shifters. Would you be a love and send for a messenger? We shall require someone who is both a warrior trained and as fast as the wind." She crossed to the desk and sat, taking up the quill with one hand while the other drew a sheet of stationary from a drawer and laid it out before her. The top came off the ink pot with ease, then she dipped the nib into the ink and began composing her letter.
Miriam included a few pleasantries, enquiring politely after Lord Nicholas' health and his lands, before she got to the main subject of the letter. She told him of Clinton's supposition about the wolves, writing out in detail everything he'd told her and Philip the night before that pertained to what they felt were obvious attempts by the shifters to harm mortals and possibly bring into the light the fact that such creatures as werewolves and vampires actually existed. When she was sure she'd made as elegant and strong a case as possible, she sanded the paper to remove excess ink, then folded it and sealed it with a melted dab of crimson wax pressed with her personal seal. By the time she had finished, Philip had a messenger awaiting the missive.
Miriam rose from her seat and carried the message over to the young man. He reached for it without saying a word, his fingers closing over the edge of the paper loosely. She looked him up and down before offering him a faint smile. "Be sure that none but Lord Fury takes this missive from your hands. Then wait until Lord Fury himself lays a reply in your hand. Once he has given you his reply, you will come back to us straight away. You will place his reply directly into either my hand or the hand of Lord Philip. And you will allow nothing to delay your journey."
"I understand, my Lady," the messenger said with a bow of his head. One hand touched his heart briefly, then he was out of the room before she could say anything else.
Philip turned to her and offered up his arm. "Shall we, my love? The time draws near and I can feel the energy rising up from the Great Hall."
"Of course, my love. Let's go." Miriam smiled and laid her arm over his. They started for the door at a slow, sedate pace. They were going to make an entrance of it. She was certain of that. Just as she was certain that something was going to happen tonight.
She couldn't wait to see what it was.
~*~*~*~*~
Elsa smoothed her hands over the heavy satin of her skirts, watching her reflection in the mirror. The pale blue eyes that stared back at her flickered with her emotions, something she was still trying to work on. The last thing she needed to do tonight was show her fear and nervousness in front of Matthias. He would use it against her in the proceedings. She couldn't afford to let that happen. She needed to make a logical case because her future depended upon it.
The rich emerald green of her gown was bright and brilliant against the pale complexion of her skin. It helped the golden fire light trace the hints of deep red that threaded through her dark hair. The low, scooped neckline showed off her shoulders perfectly, the small puffs of sleeves barely covering her upper arms. A line of large buttons, purely a decorative item, ran down the center of her bodice and ended just above the large pleats that give the bottom of the piece a slight flair to it. Gold lace edged the neckline and circled each arm, the only touch of color to the entire gown. The hem of the skirt hung down so far that her feet were hidden from view, even when she walked.
She'd had one of the pets help her with her hair, the length of it pulled up into a low bun at the back of her head. The sides had been teased into long, hanging spaniel curls that framed the pale oval of her face. Having the dark, glossy curls resting against her cheeks only served to draw attention to the fact that her skin was white.
Once again, nerves saw her smoothing her hands down the front of her skirt. There was a slight tremor in her hands, just a faint twitch that was disturbing and telling. If any of the others saw it tonight, it could spell trouble. Then again, given that she was presenting a complaint in front of the Convocation later, it could help her cause. But it would only help her if her story was believed. Sighing, she turned and scooped up the gloves that rested on the table beside her mirror. Best she put on a brave face and not dwell on what could happen if she didn't win her petition.
There was a familiar, soothing feeling in pulling on her gloves. The crocheted lace was warm and smooth against her palms, the faintly golden material a compliment more than a detraction from the color of her skin. She took refuge in the remembered action, her mother's words echoing faintly through her head. "A lady never attends a function without wearing her gloves. She isn't properly attired without her gloves."
A pang of something that was likely regret and loss shot through her. Her mother. It had been a long, long time since she'd seen her mother. Or her father. Her entire world had changed the day she'd met Matthias, and it hadn't been for the better. Ever since that night, her life had become a living hell. And, as far as her family knew, she was dead.
"Miss Elsa? You should go now. The Convocation starts soon." The touch of the pet's hand on her arm brought her out of her memories. Shaking off the melancholy that came with thoughts of her family, she put on a smile that was wholly fake and nodded her head.
"Thank you, Penelope. I don't know what I'd do without you. Its a bloody good thing my head is attached or I'd forget that, too," Elsa told the girl. An enticing blush stained Penelope's cheeks, the soft scent of her blood perfuming the air. Elsa patted her hand in appreciation, then turned for the door and went to meet her fate.
Elsa decided that it wouldn't do to dwell on her life before becoming a member of the coven. It would only distract her from her purpose, which was to win her bid for freedom. She was honestly starting to believe that she would never escape Matthias if the Lord and Lady didn't intervene on her behalf. She'd already tried once to take a stand and had ended up locked away for her troubles. Had she known when she'd first met Matthias that he was a possessive, controlling arse, she would never have given in to his demands. Then maybe her life would have gone the way she'd wanted it to.
Stepping outside of her chambers, she wasn't surprised to find that the hall was filled with members of the coven, each of them in their finest garb and on their way to the Great Hall for the Convocation. She saw garments of silk and satin and velvet and linen, each one a different, glittering shade of color. There were reds as dark as blood, yellows as bright as the sun, blues as soft as the sky and greens as lush as the grass. Rich, loamy browns and pale, dove greys. Bursts of orange and pink and purple. The staples of high society, white and black. Some men sported the tall hats that were presently fashionable. Some women wore bonnets. Those without had their hair done up in styles similar to the one Elsa wore. There were gloves and walking canes and flashing gems.
If she didn't know personally that every single one of them was a vampire, she'd swear she was surrounded by the richest, most fashionable people of the empire.
Excited whispers ran through the crowd as they moved. Elsa fell into the midst of the coven members, allowing them to sweep her along with them toward the Great Hall. She took care to ignore the whispers and stares that were directed toward her, held her head up high and her spine stiff.
The Great Hall was already teeming with the coven's members when she passed through the large, open double doors. Seating was divided into four sections. There were two small areas at the front where the accused and the petitioners sat and awaited their turn before the Lord and Lady. A small partition was set up to separate the front section from the back, where everyone else in the coven would sit for the duration of the Convocation. A center aisle ran up the center between the two sides toward the raised dais at the other end of the large space. There were a pair of large, ornately carved wooden chairs with royal blue velvet cushions on them. The seats for the Lord and the Lady.
Lord Philip and Lady Miriam had yet to arrive, usually choosing to do so after the rest of the coven had arrived and taken their seats. Members of their personal guard lined the walls on both sides of the room, each spaced a certain distance from one another and each carrying a sword that held an edge so sharp, she'd seen one split a hair before. Some of the lesser guards stood at the doors, the first line of defense should trouble come their way.
"You'd be wise to drop you complaint, girl," Matthias hissed in her ear. A shaft of fear drove through her, making her wonder once again if she was truly doing the correct thing. Elsa forced herself to calm and turned slowly until she faced him, her face stiff and cold with an expression of haughty disdain she remembered her mother wearing often. "Do it now and I won't punish you too severely when this is all over."
"Trying to intimidate me, Matthias?" she asked with quiet dignity. He barely held on to the sneer she knew was bubbling behind his politely bland look. A slow, small smile spread across her face even as she plotted how she was to extricate herself from this if things turned bad for her. "It won't work. You will face our Lord and Lady tonight and you will pay for your crimes."
"I've committed no crimes, girl. You are my property and it is my right to treat you as I see fit. There is no abuse. You've no call to bring charges. And you will live to regret this day until the sun rises on your last night on earth. I can promise you a world of--"
"Is there a problem, Miss Elsa?" The voice was as polite as possible, but there was a thread of steel under the words. She and Matthias both turned to look at Clinton, Captain of the Lord and Lady's Elite Guard. While his hand wasn't resting on the hilt of his broadsword, the threat was still there in the shadows that flickered through his eyes. "Matthias. Trying to intimidate Elsa?" he asked the other man mildly. The barb in his words obviously found his mark because Matthias' expression darkened in the blink of an eye.
"Of course not, Clinton. I would never presume to interfere with the Convocation. Elsa is entitled to have her petty grievances heard, just like everyone else within the coven."
"I'm glad you feel that way, Matthias. I would hate to have to give Elsa her verdict here and now. Lord Philip and Lady Miriam do so enjoy the ritual of Convocation." He didn't say that they were looking forward to having Matthias subject to their ruling. Nor did he need to. Everyone within the coven knew that Matthias was slowly working his way toward permanent death. Clinton turned his bright blue gaze Elsa's way, gifting her with a brilliant smile as he held his arm for her. "Would you be so kind as to allow this poor soldier a chance to escort you to your seat? It isn't every day that I'm seen in the company of a beautiful woman such as yourself."
"Thank you, Clinton. That would be lovely," she replied and looped her arm in his. Then she inclined her head at her maker. "Matthias. I would wish you good luck, but I don't believe it will help you." Clinton turned her toward the front of the hall, then started toward the seating for the petitioners.
Matthias' hot, heavy gaze rested between her shoulders the entire way.
Clinton didn't linger long at her side. Elsa knew that he always escorted the Lord and Lady in and, given that it seemed all of the coven had arrived, he had to rush off to meet them. She settled into the seat he'd seen her to with a small sigh of relief. Matthias could glare her way all he liked, but he'd be doing it from the other side of the hall. He wouldn't be allowed anywhere near her during the Convocation or he'd forfeit his right to defend himself against the charges and Elsa would be awarded her petition.
In a few seconds, it didn't matter anyway. A sweeping wave of energy washed over the assembled members of the lair and brought everyone to silence. There was no need for fanfare or a public announcement to call the meeting to order. The Lord and Lady used their power as a means of announcing themselves and bringing the Convocation to a start. Elsa felt the entire assembly turned their attention toward the door at the back of the room. Whispers of energy, both excited and unhappy, touched the edges of her mind as each member of the coven strove to contain their power.
The graceful wooden door, carved with intricate designs and gleaming a dark, mellow gold despite its age, swung open on silent hinges. A thick cloud of power drifted out of the chamber before the Captain of the Elite Guards stepped into the hall. Clinton was clad in the uniform of his position, a pair of black, tight fitting breeches tucked into glossy, knee high boots and a tunic from a by gone era. The edges of the neck, hem, and sleeves were piped in silver and purple thread. A thick black belt wrapped his waist, a heavy broad sword with an ornate, bejeweled hilt hanging from the leather band. He oozed his own power, his face set in serious lines that kept hidden the gentle soul she knew he could be.
A scant few steps into the chamber, he came to a halt and stared, waiting until he had everyone's attention. Elsa knew that he had gained every eye in the room the moment he'd passed through the open door. His actions were done more for show than anything else. And to build the growing sense of anticipation that curled around her now. Thin wisps of it wrapped her ankles and caressed her shoulders, telling her that everyone was ready to begin the Convocation. A skitter of panic danced down her spine and left her worrying absently at the plump curve of her lower lip.
Seconds ticked by into a full minute. Clinton finally moved. The wave of power swelled and crested as the Lord and Lady stepped into the room. Lord Philip looked as dapper as any city gentleman, his frock coat and trousers as black as midnight on a moonless night. Glossy black shoes clicked softly against the stone floor. His shirt was snowy white, a perfect foil for the black of his coat and the grey of his waist coat. His cravat was the only real touch of color, a rich midnight blue that was matched to the gown Lady Miriam wore.
In contrast to his well mannered gentleman look, she was a lady with a wild streak. Where as nearly every single female member of the coven wore her hair in the latest and most fashionable style, Lady Miriam defied the confines of society and allowed her hair to stream down her back, around her shoulders in wild disarray. The bloodied tresses tumbled like a bubbling stream, curls in a riot of motion as they framed the pale perfection of her face.
Lord Philip escorted his lady wife toward the dais, his hand never leaving her elbow as he helped her into her seat. She settled herself and looked out over the assembled coven with a wicked gleam in her eye. Her husband took his seat, then reached out and took her hand in his own.
The dull thud of a wooden staff pounding against the stone floor rang out and broke the silence. All eyes turned one more time to Clinton, who stood just off to the side of their Lord. "The Lord and Lady call Convocation for the House of Coulson to order. The floor is open and the first petition will now be heard."
~*~*~*~*~
The room remained silent as the first petitioner and accused stepped forward. Habit and duty saw Clinton allowing his gaze to drift over the room so that he could mark each face, test each waft of power, search for any who might mean to do harm. He saw no new faces, felt no strange fingers of power, saw nothing that looked suspicious. Thus it was with every Convocation he'd ever attended. He suspected that thus it would always be. One had to be a fool to attempt any kind of mischief in a room filled with every member of the coven. One had to be a fool to attempt any kind of mischief against Lord Philip and Lady Miriam at all. If the coven was unable to stop them, if Clinton could not hold them back, the Lord and Lady would have no problems ripping that fool to pieces.
He listened with half an ear as the petitioner laid their case out before Philip and Miriam. He'd stood guard over many of these meetings and had never seen one come to any form of conflict. Not that such an event couldn't happen. He had yet to see anyone attempt something so foolish.
Convocation was a monthly ritual that went back as far as any vampire could remember. Clinton had been told, when he'd been a newly made vampire, that the event was already ancient. No one knew who had started it, though there were a few ideas and guesses. Names had been lost over the centuries, forgotten in the ever thickening mists of time. Much of vampire history was verbal, stories and lore passed down from maker to child. He'd been told that there had been a time when vampires roamed freely, known to the mortals among whom they'd lived and hunted. But that freedom had ended after some great catastrophe and their kind had been forced into the shadows. To many now, a vampire was simply one of many myths that had survived the ages. Few mortal souls knew the real truth.
Because vampires were such long lived creatures, because they had a propensity for holding on to the smallest of slights, some elder with more brains than blood lust had decided that Convocation needed to happen. The stories had said that one too many fights had broken out among coven members. Those fights had been disastrous and deadly. In order to keep the vampires secret and to protect the mortal world from their fearsome abilities, a monthly assembly had been created.
Once a month, the coven would gather together and hear the grievances of anyone who felt they had a problem that couldn't be solved by ordinary measures. The head of the coven always acted as judge and jury during the Convocation, listening to both parties in the dispute before deciding upon a resolution that they believed was fair to both petitioner and accused. Their word was law and a ruling, once given, was final. The cases started with the simplest, and often most petty accusations, and moved through to the most heinous and barbarous accusations. Some meetings were easier than others.
Clinton's eyes landed on Miss Elsa where she sat. She was alone, no one sitting near by to openly show their support in her cause. Her hands were tight in her lap, fingers clutched together as she awaited her turn. He let his gaze drift to the seating where the accused huddled together. As with Elsa, no one dared sit beside Matthias. His face was handsome when it wasn't filled with arrogance and pride. It tended to be filled with those unattractive qualities through every waking hour. And he was staring at Elsa so intently, Clinton was sure the poor girl was very aware of it. Some part of him clenched down inside, muscles tensing for the moment he'd have to spring and take the man's neck off.
Matthias was a bully. The entire coven was aware of the fact. The only reason he still rose with the moon was because he had yet to do anything that warranted a death sentence. And it wasn't as if the Lord and Lady hadn't been looking. Matthias was very careful about his actions. With Elsa's petition to the Convocation, it was possible they might have the reasons they needed to deal with the man.
Clinton hated men who tried to bully women because they thought they were the weaker sex.
Much against his will, an image of Alexis Quinn rose up to blot out all else in his mind. He saw her as he had the night before, gilded in the silvery light of the moon overhead, skin pale as a ghost against the darkness. Her eyes had flashed with determination and intent as she'd fought against her opponents. More than that, though, she had fought against the constraints placed upon her by society simply because she had been born a woman. Alexis had stood defiant in the face of her perceived short-comings, had set out to prove to one and all that she was more than her sex.
In many ways, he felt Alexis and Elsa were two souls cut from the same cloth. Just as Alexis fought the criminals who preyed on society, so too did Elsa fight against the unwritten laws that forced women into a societal role as someone of lesser worth. For the past decade, Elsa had lived in the shadow of her maker, pushed into an uncompromising slot because she was of the fairer sex. And for the past decade, she had railed against the injustices he had laid upon her head simply because she had been born with breasts. Clinton had seen her fight against him, her actions soft and subtle. Gentle, like a woman's hands and touch. But no less determined than any warrior's sword.
So far, none of Elsa's attempts to break Matthias' control over her had done any good. She was still as much his possession as the frock coat and trousers he wore, much the same way women were the possessions of their fathers and husbands. And though she seemed a perfect lady of the age, there was a wildness to her that screamed she be allowed to run free. As much as the world had advanced around him in all of his long years, this was one thing that had not changed since the days when the sun had touched his skin. Too many women were left to chafe and wither under the restrictions placed upon them.
The case being heard came to an end, the Lord and Lady conferring silently before delivering their ruling. Both parties returned to their seats, apparently appeased by the decision made. Clinton sensed no change in the power level, no spike of emotion that might suggest something was about to happen. One of the Lord and Lady's aides called for the next petitioner and accused to rise and plead their case. There was a faint rustle of cloth as two women rose to their feet and approached the dais. He let his gaze shift toward Lady Miriam and felt a gentle warmth blossom in his chest.
She was the exception to the rule, the only woman he'd ever met who had defied society and broken free of the role they'd tried to force upon her. She was a beautiful woman who had no qualms about using her beauty to get whatever she liked. But under the gorgeous exterior was a sharp mind and a deep cunning that helped make her an excellent leader. She was both compassionate and ruthless when the occasions called for such emotions and she took the welfare of her people as seriously as she took the bestowing of pleasure upon her husband and Clinton himself.
He'd been under her spell from the moment he'd first laid eyes upon her. That had been quite some time ago and he'd still been fairly young. A man full grown and yet without the worldly knowledge that came with many days spent upon the earth. Some part of him loved her as he would any beautiful woman, longed for her the way an untried youth might long for his first love. But he knew that her heart belonged to her husband. While Lord Philip had no problems sharing Lady Miriam with him, Clinton knew that he would never allow her to leave his side, his love for the flame-haired vixen too strong. Just as Clinton knew that Lady Miriam would never consider leaving her husband's side.
Miriam was a fierce warrior, a mother-goddess to her people. Clinton supposed that was part of the reason he was attracted to her. Perhaps it was what he saw in Alexis. There was a strength of will in her that he had seen in few men. An honesty of character that said she would remain true to whomever she pledged her heart. And an streak of independence that was dangerous for a woman in these times. Combine those unique traits with a woman who was beautiful, capable, and deceivingly intelligent...
It was possible that he was more than attracted to her.
"The Convocation will now hear the petition of Miss Elsa Jones. The petitioner is requested to come forward. As is the accused and her maker, Matthias." The aide's voice pulled Clinton's thoughts from their meandering paths. His attention turned to Elsa, who had risen from her seat and was slowly making her way forward to stand before the dais. She was on Lady Miriam's side and she carried herself with the dignity and grace she'd been born with. Matthias swaggered toward the clearing between the dais and the seating area, his body radiating confidence and menace.
A hush fell over the amassed coven, every last eye and ounce of attention turned toward the event about to take place. From the corner of his eye, Clinton saw the postures of both Miriam and Philip straighten. They were as eager to hear this as the rest of the coven. He let his eyes seek out Elsa and watched as she struggled not to show her nervousness.
Seconds ticked by, the silence in the room growing heavier with every single moment. The longer the wait became, the more anxious the crowd was. The more intent they became upon Elsa, the harder she struggled to remain composed. "You may speak freely, Elsa," Lady Miriam broke the silence. She bestowed a gentle smile on Elsa that was filled with encouragement and patience. "None here will bring harm to you while you plead your case."
It was a very subtle warning with the weight of the world embedded into the words.
"I come before the Convocation today to seek a separation from my maker," Elsa began, her tone soft and strong. Despite her case of nervousness, she spoke without a hint of anxiety or fear coloring her words.
"Upon what grounds, Elsa?" Lord Philip asked quietly. If he felt anything about this situation, it was well hidden behind the bland expression he wore perpetually. "You know that every child is required to remain at their maker's side for a period of no less than twenty-five years. You've barely reached the halfway point. Why would you wish to sever the bond between you?"
"Because my maker, Matthias, is unnecessarily cruel and has taught me only the most basic skills required to survive in this world, my Lord. I have striven to learn those things has hasn't taught me, but it has been hard because he refuses to let me go anywhere without him." One hand gestured toward where Matthias stood. A glance at his face showed that he was doing his best to hide his scowl. But he had always been poor at disguising his upset, so there were hints of displeasure to be read upon his face if one was well versed in his expressions. "I wish to be free of him. He has little regard for my welfare and treats me as if I were a slave instead of his child. He..." Elsa broke off and swallowed, her eyes shifting down and to the side. "He forces himself upon me whenever it pleases him to do so."
"That is a lie, my Lord! I've only ever treated Elsa with the respect due a child of my line!" Matthias spat angrily.
"You will hold your tongue, Matthias. You will be allowed to rebut the charges when Elsa is finished," Philip said, his tone suggesting he wouldn't allow another such outburst. Matthias subsided, but his hands were curled into fists at his sides and his jaw was clenched tight. Philip turned his attention toward Elsa and offered her a faint quirk of his lips, his idea of a smile. "Go on, Elsa. Finish your say."
"I know it is unusual to allow a child to leave their maker's protection so early, but I feel I can learn more on my own than I can from Matthias."
"And where will you go for protection?" Miriam questioned.
"I had hoped that someone here would be willing to take me on as their child through the remainder of my time," she told them. Clinton noticed that she only barely stopped herself from scanning the assembly for someone who might help her.
"You know the laws that govern our people do not disallow Matthias' current treatment, Elsa. Our laws simply say that he may not harm you physically." Clinton say Lord Philip's words for the opening they were meant to be. Elsa did, too, because her face lost some of its composure and dark emotions prowled through her eyes, turning them fathomless and hard.
Elsa took a breath she didn't need before speaking. "My Lord, Matthias likes to punish me by locking me away in a coffin bound by silver chains. He will leave me in there for a full sennight before allowing me out to feed. Sometimes longer."
She fell silent, allowing a low murmur to ripple unchallenged through the coven members. Clinton was as surprised by this news as they were. Such tactics were frowned upon because they had a tendency to drive a soul insane. Once that happened, the vampire saw its last moonrise and was left outside to greet the sun. "Is there more, Elsa?" Lord Philip queried only after the whispers had died to nothing.
"He has branded me, my Lord." The admission brought loud gasps from several members of the coven. The murmuring began again, an annoying and insistent buzz of sound that carried easily in the large room.
Matthias' voice rose up over the murmuring, loud and indignantly strident. "My Lord! I would never dare brand one of my children! That is barbaric and frowned upon by..."
"Silence, Matthias," Philip ordered. He didn't raise his voice or allow anger to touch it. He simply spoke and the man did as he was told. Lord Philip rose to his feet and immediately brought silence to the coven. He allowed a few moments to slide by before turning his attention back to Elsa. She looked shaken to her core, but she held herself with pride. "You realize that you will be required to show us proof of such allegations, Elsa."
"I do, my Lord. I will require assistance, though. He made sure to brand me in a spot where it would remain hidden from the rest of the coven," she replied. This time, she did turn to look at the rest of the coven. She was obviously seeking out the help of some kind soul. Unfortunately, Matthias was also staring. Clinton could just imagine what the look in his eye told them. Anyone who dared help Elsa in her bid for freedom would find themselves Matthias' enemy. It was not a position in which most people wanted to find themselves.
As the silence wore on and no one rose to offer their assistance, an air of smugness surrounded Matthias. And one of defeat cloaked Elsa. "Would you accept the offer of my assistance, Elsa?" Lady Miriam asked, already stepping down off the dais. Elsa turned to her and gaped, unable to believe that help would come from her Lady's corner. Miriam's posture and voice silently told Matthias that he would regret his actions if he were to punish Elsa for this. Or even think about attempting to do the same with Miriam.
"Of course, my Lady." Elsa nodded her head. When Lady Miriam joined her, Elsa leaned in and whispered a few words in the other woman's ear that were so low, Clinton was sure no one heard her. Miriam pulled back and frowned, eyes questioning what she'd been told silently. Elsa merely nodded and turned her back toward the other woman. Miriam's long, graceful fingers began making quick work of the laces holding Elsa's bodice closed. When it fell loose, Elsa lifted her hands and kept it pressed to her chest. The corset she wore underneath was next.
Elsa held her loosened garments to her body for a moment, leaving part of her back exposed before the darker line of her chemise started. Miriam put her hand on Elsa's arm and tugged her toward the edge of the dais while glancing up at Philip. He stepped down and, together, the two of them flanked Elsa on either side. Clinton was aware of the rustle of cloth as they moved her loosened garments aside. The room was filled with tense silence, every ear straining to hear anything that anyone said. Eventually, Lord Philip stepped back and returned to his seat on the dais. Lady Miriam helped right Elsa's clothing before she did the same.
When both of them were seated, a pained hush fell over the coven. It was an amazing feat given that they had already been as silent as the grave. All eyes were trained on the dais and on Elsa and Matthias' backs. Everyone waited to see just what was about to happen.
"Lady Miriam and I have seen proof that Matthias has indeed abused Elsa. Irrefutable proof that he has broken our laws and damaged one of his own children. Because the law is clear, we have no choice but to declare the bond between maker and child broken. Elsa is free to seek refuge from any who would have her. And should there be fear of reprisals, allow me to assure you that any actions taken against any member of the coven by any other member will result in an instant death sentence." He allowed his gaze to slide around the room and it landed pointedly on Matthias. "Will anyone claim Elsa as their own?"
No one moved or spoke. Clinton saw Elsa's shoulders sag ever so slightly in defeat.
"My Lord," Lady Miriam spoke up. "I believe I have a solution to this unique problem."
"And what would that be, my lady wife?"
"We shall take Elsa under our wing until such time as someone feels comfortable claiming her as their child. After all, we cannot leave her defenseless. One never knows when she might come under attack." Miriam's meaning was clear to one and all.
"My Lord!" Matthias snarled. For a moment, it seemed as if he would simply protest the ruling. Then he was in motion, a blur of speed and color that streaked across the floor toward the dais. Clinton was there to meet him, hand curled around the other man's throat to hold him at bay. "My Lord! You cannot do this! She's mine!" The words came out slightly strangled but they were still clear enough for one and all to hear.
"My Lord?" Clinton asked, barely strained by holding Matthias back.
"Yes, Clinton. What is it?"
Clinton spoke without looking away from the man he held, his blue gaze intent on the angered man's face."I challenge Matthias to a duel. With your permission, of course."
"Granted, Clinton."
He allowed a feral smile to spread across his face. Elsa hurried back to her seat, leaving the floor where the petitioner and accused stood open for the coming fight. In a single fluid motion, Clinton threw Matthias away from him and drew his sword. The metal rang through the room with crystalline clear notes. Someone tossed Matthias a sword and he'd barely wrapped his hand around it before Clinton threw himself into the fray.
~*~*~*~*~
The heavy blades of the swords crashed together in a loud clang of metal that quickly turned into a singing, high pitched note that carried to the arched ceiling suspended far above their heads. Philip only allowed himself a few moments to watch the fight. The ending, he knew, was a foregone conclusion. Matthias was old, but not so old that carrying a sword and using it to the best advantage was a buried memory that never grew dusty or was forgotten. He'd grown up at a time when the need for seasoned warriors wasn't as great and so had only learned perfunctory skills with the blade. His posture was wrong, as was the way he swung his sword. It was a sad statement on how much knowledge and pride had been lost in the centuries since he'd joined Miriam in immortality.
Clinton, on the other hand, was the perfect warrior. A trained soldier, adept in the use of all weapons. There was no weapon he had not mastered in his life and there was no weapon he could not use with totally lethal perfection. He preferred the feel of a bow and arrow in his hands, but he was as adept with a blade as he was with his bow.
Added to his weapons skills were his speed and his strength. Matthias was only half of Clinton's age. That made him slower. Not quite as strong. Less deadly. Not that he wouldn't give the other man a good fight. There was just no way he could win it unless he cheated. And cheating wasn't possible. Philip and Miriam would know if something as underhanded as cheating took place. Because he was so certain in the results of the fight, he let his attention drift and tackle other topics for the evening.
His first concern was the safety of his coven and the humans that lived around them. Clinton's news that the shifters were growing much bolder was troubling. For years, Lord Fury had kept a fragile peace between the vampire covens and the shifters. Not just in Europe, but all across the world. He was the person responsible for creating the Covenant that ruled them all. It had required no small amount of blood shed to prove to the shifters that the laws he and their elders had worked out were to be accepted and respected. Followed. But he had managed it. He had put and end to centuries of fighting that brought nothing more to their peoples than death.
Miriam's letter was sure to bring a reply. Lord Fury wouldn't let the messenger come back without one. The news he carried was far too important to be ignored. The only real mystery there was exactly what action the other man would take. If he would launch some kind of assault immediately or if he would wait and allow the shifters to become overconfident. If they were to give themselves away, Fury would use that as an excuse to bring and end to the Covenant and destroy anything that shifted from man to wolf and back again.
Whatever course of action the man took, Philip and his people would support it. They'd long struggled to keep the shifters from making problems for the mortals. His coven had come to an understanding with the local pack some time ago, but it seemed as if a few of the pack's members were trying to push their luck. And Philip was sure it was only a small number of the shifters. Many of the wolves were just as serious about keeping the packs and covens secret as the vampires were. But there were always problem makers to be dealt with.
A quick flick of his gaze told him that Clinton was still chipping away at Matthias' guard, making a point through a slow, intense assault.
He allowed his attention to slide to his left. Miriam sat upon her seat, enrapt in the battle raging before her. He could see blood lust singing in her eyes, the way her chest heaved ever so slightly as anticipation and excitement raced through her veins. It was always amazing to him when she showed such blatant desire for violence and blood shed. And it was always an immensely arousing spectacle.
His mind drifted back to the sight of her, pale and naked as she lay on their bed, with the tanned skin of her snack's body draped over her. His hips had churned almost violently between her thighs, her power leaking out into the room to heighten his arousal. It always made the feeding better. Headier. More pleasurable.
He enjoyed seeing her with other men. Or other women, depending upon her mood. It was decidedly wicked and wanton, behavior that would be frowned upon by polite society. Watching her allow them to touch her and taste her and fuck her was the stuff of dreams. It was something that never grew old for him. Because he knew, as much as Miriam hungered for the taste of another body on occasion, her love belonged to him. No one would be able to take it from him. Just as no one would be able to take her from him. He suspected, where they not involved in Convocation, she would have taken the opportunity to pleasure herself before the rest of the coven.
Lust sang through him as he thought about her body, how it was tight around his own when he drove his cock into her. How her hands stroked every inch of his flesh and her fangs teased at his skin. The little nipping bites she left behind drove him wild with want of her.
As he watched, her hand curled into a fist on the arm of her chair and the scent of her arousal battered at his senses like the enemy battered the gate. It sent need and heat spiraling through his belly and into his groin. His cock hardened in his trousers, a testament to just how desirable he found his wife.
The moment the Convocation was over and they were able to leave, he was going to hurry her upstairs and fuck her until she screamed for him. Then he'd fuck her again.
If only the damned meeting would come to an end.
Philip had never cared for the trappings that came with a position of power. He was capable of dealing with them. Quite adept at it, in fact. But the truth of the matter was, he could happily go the rest of his unnatural life without ever attending another Convocation. Ever. Ruling the coven came easily to him. Leading was something he'd been born to do. Trained to do. And he excelled at it. But the fact of the matter was, he'd prefer to do so without the silly rituals and the grand gestures. The only thing that made such trivial details bearable was knowing that Miriam would face them by his side. She was his rock and his anchor. She was the reason that he could get up with the setting of the sun face the new problems he would face every night.
The problem with having power such as they had was it leant itself toward being in a position to use it. The other members of the coven turned to Miriam and himself for guidance and help, some part of their basic make up. It was a as if they were programmed from their rebirth to recognized those more powerful than themselves and look up to them for leadership. As his and Miriam's power levels had increased, so too had the attentions of those with less power.
He was pulled from his thoughts of power and obligations by the sound of an enraged cry, such as one would hear from an angered bull or horse. He looked up in time to see Matthias charge at Clinton, his sword held in a position that spoke to just how poor his skills were with it. Faster than even some of the eyes in the room could see, Clinton dropped to one knee and drove his sword up into Matthias' belly. The other man's speed and weight forced him onto the blade up to the hilt. While it wasn't a killing blow, it would hurt for a few days to come while it healed.
A quick rise to his feet and a shove sent Matthias staggering backward. The metal of the sword rasped against bone as it withdrew from the man's body. Matthias' weapon dropped to the ground with a ringing clatter, the blade as pristine and clean as when he'd wrapped his hand around the hilt. Clinton followed after Matthias and his sword was there to rest against his felled opponent's neck when the other man dropped painfully to his knees. Matthias' hands pressed to the wound in his belly, his skin stained with the crimson spill of his blood.
"My Lord? What judgement do you pass?" Clinton asked, never once taking his eyes from the other man's face.
End his life, husband. He challenged our ruling. Miriam's voice whispered through his head, tinted with a thirst for blood.
If I had wanted him dead, wife, I would have accepted his challenge. I allowed Clinton to do so because he challenged only the ruling. He did not challenge our rule. There will be time for this fight to resume. And, when it does, I can assure you that I will finish it for good. In the time being, I believe I have a solution you may enjoy.
All eyes were upon him so Philip rose from his seat and addressed his comments to his captain even though he allowed his gaze to take in everyone present. "You will see him fed to counter the blood loss and to help begin the healing process. Then you will escort him to the coffin room and lock him in one as he has done to his child. A week to start the punishment. At the end of those seven days, we shall see what frame of mind he is in. If he hasn't considered changing his ways, we will lock in him for a further seven days."
"My Lord!" Matthias stammered, voice edged with pain. Clinton's men moved in and two of them brought the prisoner to his feet, then forcibly dragged him from the Great Hall.
"Clinton, please help Elsa get settled in a new chamber. Once that is done, you are to seek out a pet and slake whatever desires you have. You have served us well this night," Miriam told their captain. Clinton brought his feet together and bowed his head. He turned, strode to Elsa's side, and offered her his arm. The two of them left the cavernous chamber without saying a word to anyone else.
Philip glanced out over the crowd. "Convocation is at an end. Thank you and good night."
Chatter picked up as the coven trailed from the room in small groups. Philip looked to where Miriam stood and offered her a smile. "Shall we retire for the evening, my wife?" he asked, holding out his arm to her.
She took the proffered arm with a broad smile. "With pleasure, my husband."
~*~
Chapter Two: Convocation
Fandom: something like the Marvel Universe, leaning mostly toward the Movie!Avengers branch. but with vampires. and werewolves. in a historical setting.
Rating: 18 and up
Warnings: lots of sex and violence, some language, anything else i can toss in. blood play/drinking. M/M, M/F, M/F, F/F, and any other combination that strikes my fancy
Disclaimer: the recognizable characters and places contained herein are the property of Marvel and whoever the hell else owns them.. 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,
dazzledfirestar, mistress_o_muse, ginevrasm, rylan_m, and ladydeathfaerie. the concept and title of The Mary Sue Virus are used with permission from Dazzledfirestar.Blood Lines - The Index
~*~
Miriam lifted her head from the softness of her pillow to find that long, reaching fingers of silver-blue moonlight had crept across the floor toward the far wall of their chambers. She didn't need to look to know where Philip stood. He was always in the same place when she rose for the night, standing naked and proud in the ceiling to floor window that stood sentry on his side of their massive bed. One hand was clasped around the opposite wrist, his arms pulled almost absently behind his back. His feet were planted shoulder width apart on the stone floor, the finely crafted muscles in his thighs and calves bunched ever so slightly. As if he was prepared to launch an assault on an attacker.
She climbed from the bed, the soft slither of her dressing gown gliding across her skin as she crossed toward him. The sheer black garment had been a gift from Philip, crafted by one of the finest makers of ladies' clothing in France. The wide, belled cuffs and the neckline were edged with delicate ruffles of silk lace in a shade of purple that matched the hue of her eyes exactly. Tiny threads of silver danced through the lace, threads that sparked and spit blue fire in the moonlight. The diaphanous material clung to the curves of her breasts and the swell of her hips, the darkness of it framing the line of pale skin that showed between its two lapels.
Miriam stepped up behind him and slid her arms around so that she could pull him back into her. Philip obliged this action by moving his hands. They drifted forward and ended up coming to rest on hers. She was shorter than he was, but that didn't matter. She glanced around one arm, taking in the broad, open view of the forest surrounding their castle lair. The protective bars had been removed from the window so that the light could pour in unbroken. She frowned and pressed a kiss to his shoulder. "Young Clinton would reprimand you sorely if he were to see the bars unsecured."
"It is his job to worry. He would worry even if there were no dangers," Philip replied. She heard the smile in his words.
"He worries because he cares. He loves you. Silly husband," she teased softly. Not that her words weren't the truth. She knew that Clinton loved them both as one did with a lover. But they were his maker, the both of them, and there was the love of a child toward his parents. Once upon a time, Miriam might have thought such things as they did with one another among the silken bedding was obscene, an aberration railed against by the men who hid behind their ancient stone walls and religious convictions. But that time had passed and that Miriam had died. What she did with Clinton and her husband in the privacy of their own chambers was a thing of right and beauty.
"As he loves you, wife," Philip reminded her. She saw the faint hint of amusement that darkened his eyes.
"Perhaps I should summon him to see how much he loves you." She gestured to the window with one hand. "When he sees that you've unlocked the bars from the door without allowing him to ensure that our balconies and windows are safe for us to do so, his love for you will no doubt show in his frown and make itself known in the anger that colors his words."
The bars were a protective measure installed over the windows on the outside, a hinged grid that could be locked in place when they were abed or in other parts of the lair to keep any unwanted visitors from letting themselves in through the spectacular windows that framed their bed. Actually, they were glassed doors that opened out onto a large balcony, allowing them an amazing view of the forest surrounding the ancient castle. Concerned about the safety of such doors, the bars had been crafted and installed by a local smith. Miriam knew them to be forged of iron with a silver coating that made it impossible for any vampire or shifter to lay hands on them. There was a special hook used to open and close the bars and she'd woken more than once to find that Philip had opened the bars so that he could stand in the silvery light of the moon without interruption.
"He's more a mother hen than you are, wife," Philip complained good-naturedly. Miriam smiled up at him and rubbed a cheek against his arm.
"You're cold, darling. How long have you been awake? Have you eaten yet?" She asked the questions, even though she already knew the answer. It was the same nearly every rising. Philip never ate until Miriam reminded him and prodded him to do so. She sent out a silent call for two of their pets, knowing that he would eat the moment the chosen pets arrived. She would break her fast with him and then perhaps she'd be able to persuade him to join her in the bed.
"You know we have duties to attend to this night, wife," he reminded her. But he turned to look at her, his eyes bright with the love he had for her. She huffed out a sound that could have been taken as either disgust or boredom, one hand waving in the air as if to erase his words.
"And those duties will wait for us. The Convocation does not start until we are seated," she replied evenly.
"You know that there is nothing in the world I would rather more than to return to our bed and spend the entire evening teasing you to within an inch of your sanity." Philip turned to face her, a smile of regret twisting his lips up faintly at the corners. "But the longer we remain ensconced in our chambers, the longer the Convocation will be put off. You know that it eats up much of the night on normal occasions. I have a feeling that tonight's Convocation will be longer than normal. Better we get on with it now than allowing it to spill over into another night."
"You should not be allowed to look upon me with such hungry eyes while speaking such rational and measured words to me," she pouted at him. He turned in her hold so that he could stare down at her, his arms lifting up to curl around her body. The faint smile of regret morphed into something much more personal and tender, a real smile that he reserved just for her.
"If we had no duties, we would while away the entire evening. But we must oversee the Convocation. Matthias is being brought before us tonight," he said quietly. Miriam couldn't stop the sneer that twisted her lips.
"Perhaps Matthias will finally make his move and give us reason to end his miserable existence," she said hopefully.
"Matthias is too smart for that, wife. You know this. We have to wait for him to make a mistake so that he cannot claim we used foul means to remove him from the coven," he told her, his tone patient and calm. He had never used any other tone with her, though she had heard him raise his voice at other people when they'd done something that displeased him. It was usually not something that ever happened again.
"I should simply challenge him," she murmured before leaning in to drag the tip of her tongue along the line of his collar bone toward his throat. When she reached the point where those two parts met, she dropped kisses and nips against his neck to the underside of his chin.
"And what would you do, wife? Seduce him to death?" Gentle teasing laced his tone, brought the corners of his lips up into a smile that very few ever saw.
"You don't think I'm capable of defeating Matthias without resorting to my feminine wiles?" she asked, managing just the right amount of disdain. They only stared at one another for a few moments, then Philip leaned in and pressed a tender kiss to her lips.
"I know you're more than capable of defeating Matthias without using your feminine wiles, wife. But I also know that you don't care for the mess such an action brings about. You prefer slow clean over quick and bloody." His smile deepened and warmth crept further into his words. "Though I must admit that the idea of seeing you licking his blood off your dainty fingers does things to me that make it impossible to think of anything else."
Miriam smiled up at him, the expression wicked and dangerous. Then she leaned closer, until they were almost touching. "Bring me a criminal and I'll be happy to give you just that, my love," she whispered against his lips.
His grip tightened on her, a sure sign that he was on the verge of foregoing the evening's planned activities to do as she wanted. Spending time in bed with him never grew old. She'd loved it from the very first moment they'd become a couple and that hadn't changed as the centuries had passed them by. But they were pulled apart by a discreet knock upon the door. Philip gave her a look filled with regret before dropping a promise of a kiss to her brow.
The door opened a moment after they parted, a pair of pets letting themselves into the spacious chambers. Neither of the human pets took any notice of their nudity, the two of them stopping a respectable distance from Miriam and Philip to await their pleasure. Miriam's call had produced a man and a woman, both of them clad in a plain dressing gown that could, she knew from experience, be removed with a simply tug of one hand. Then again, there was no need to remove it when one could slide their hand under the edge to grasp at what lay beneath.
She allowed Philip to make his choice first and she wasn't surprised that he gestured that the young woman should attend him. She closed the distance between herself and her master, cheerfully offering her throat up to him. Miriam tossed a faint smirk in their direction before turning her attention toward the young man. He threw a knowing smile her way, then flicked one hand toward the bed in silent suggestion. She nodded and made her way back toward the enormous bed that dominated the room.
He was a handsome boy, barely past his twentieth year, with liquid hazel eyes and black hair that was long enough to be worn clubbed back at the base of his skull with a leather thong. He reached the bed before she did, body thrumming with excitement, and held a hand out to her when she approached. Miriam cast one last glance over her shoulder at Philip, who had wrapped himself around the young woman from behind, before she allowed her snack to drag her down onto the bed beside him.
His body was pliant against her own. None of her snacks ever experienced pain or fear. All of them came to her of their own free will, donated willingly. And all of them received pleasure in return for the gift of blood given to her. The young man rolled up and settled himself over her, his hands roaming her curves while his mouth ate at hers. She let her fingers trail lightly down his back and over the curve of his derrière before allowing them to slip under the garment he wore so that she could curl them around the length of his cock. He sighed and thrust his hips into her touch with enthusiasm.
Time slipped away, replaced by the thick, heavy, rapid beating of the boy's heart. His excitement and arousal ate at her senses, leaving her on the verge of losing control. Slowly, she drew her mouth from his, kissed a path across his cheek to the spot just under his ear. She worked her way down until her lips pressed to the throbbing of his pulse, until she could grate her fangs over the tender skin and bring forth a shudder and a moan. His hips thrust against her hand faster, working himself ever closer to his completion. It was the perfect time.
She moved her hand away from his body, slipping her legs around his waist so that the hard, heavy length of his cock was pressed against the softness of her woman's flesh. Each one of his thrusts dragged it back and forth against the tiny bundle of nerves hidden there. Bolts of pleasure zinged through her, magnified by the echoing sensation of his growing desire.
She held back, bided her time until the perfect moment, then sank her fangs deep. His body stiffened with the minute pain, with a rush of fulfillment, and she felt him spill himself between her legs. A long, low moan rolled up out of his mouth, painting her skin with his pleasure as surely as he'd done with the sticky warmth that spread over her thighs. After neatly withdrawing her fangs, she gently rolled the young man off of her, settling him on his back on the softness of the mattress.
His face was flushed with his pleasure, tiny drops of moisture beaded up on his forehead and across his chest. Those drops caught the light from the fire burning in the hearth, caught the flicker of candle flames, and became prisms that cast such minuscule rainbows across the surface of his skin that the human eye would never be able to detect them. There were times, when she was witness to such hidden miracles, that she recalled the first time she'd awoken in her new world. She smiled down at his angelic face and stroked her fingers through the silk of his hair. "Rest here, my pet, until you've regained your strength. Then you may return to your chambers. The rest of the night is yours to do with as you please."
"Thank you, Mistress," he replied on a faint, airy breath. A moment later, his eyes fluttered shut and his breathing evened out into the slow, gentle rhythm of sleep. Miriam slid from the bed and crossed the room to where Philip stood. He'd already lowered the girl down onto a lounge, her head resting on a rolled pillow that matched the floral upholstery covering the sofa. Philip looked at her with eyes that burned fiercely, dark with the fresh intake of blood and the passion flooding the air around them. A hint of pink touched his cheeks, giving him the look of a living, breathing human being.
"We should make use of our snacks' generosity," she told him, her eyes raking up and down his naked frame. The same thrill she'd felt the first time they'd shed their clothes for one another traced its way down her spine as she studied the perfection of his body.
"You should clean up, wife. The Convocation starts in half an hour's time. You need to look your best," he reminded her softly. She frowned, tossing him a pout, but turned for the door that led to their attached bathing room.
Miriam chose to eschew the giant bathing basin in favor of cleaning up with a ewer of warmed water and a sponge. She might have lingered over the sponge bath, but a growing sense of urgency ate at her mind. A memory of the conversation she'd had with Clinton the night before rose up and played itself back. The shifters. She frowned and hurried with the sponge. Lord Fury had to be informed of the situation with the wolves. Clinton had been sure that the wolves, or at least some of them, were intentionally breaking the rules of the Covenant. And Miriam had no reason to discount Clinton's opinions in the matter. He was Captain of the Elite Guard for a reason.
Upon completion of her sponge bath, she rejoined Philip in their sleeping chambers. He'd already dressed himself for the coming Convocation, his clothing well made and of impeccable taste. His trousers and frock coat were as black as pitch, with neat lines that lengthened his legs and torso. They gave the appearance that Philip stood taller than he actually did. His waist coat was dove grey, the shirt worn under it of crisp, brilliant white linen. The cravat at his throat was midnight blue and a thumb-sized, deep black gemstone was nestled among the dark silk. Moonlight shone off the polished toes of his black boots.
Philip had already laid out clothing for her and wordlessly helped her into her many layers of material. A pair of drawers and a chemise in the softest white cotton went on first, followed by a corset in beige. Silk stockings in black caressed the length of her legs. Several layers of petticoats, each one soft and made of cotton with lace flounces. When he finally had her undergarments in place, he helped her into the gown of the evening. It was crafted from plush silk velvet, the same midnight blue as his cravat. The gown rested low on her shoulders, exposing her throat and a small patch of pale flesh above her breasts. The bodice ended in a point, the skirt belling out around her legs as it fell to the floor. The sleeves of the bodice were small puffs of material that ended before her elbows. Lace edged the neckline and the sleeves, black as the night sky. There was also a shawl of black lace that Philip left laying on the bed for the time being.
"How much time do we have before we have to meet with everyone in the Great Hall?" Miriam asked, eyes sliding toward the monstrous wooden writing desk pressed up against one wall. Philip tugged on a silver chain at his waist, pulled his pocket watch free, and consulted it briefly.
"We've at least ten minutes before we must leave our chambers, wife mine," he told her.
"Excellent. I'm going to pen a letter to Lord Nicholas and inform him of Clinton's suspicions about the shifters. Would you be a love and send for a messenger? We shall require someone who is both a warrior trained and as fast as the wind." She crossed to the desk and sat, taking up the quill with one hand while the other drew a sheet of stationary from a drawer and laid it out before her. The top came off the ink pot with ease, then she dipped the nib into the ink and began composing her letter.
Miriam included a few pleasantries, enquiring politely after Lord Nicholas' health and his lands, before she got to the main subject of the letter. She told him of Clinton's supposition about the wolves, writing out in detail everything he'd told her and Philip the night before that pertained to what they felt were obvious attempts by the shifters to harm mortals and possibly bring into the light the fact that such creatures as werewolves and vampires actually existed. When she was sure she'd made as elegant and strong a case as possible, she sanded the paper to remove excess ink, then folded it and sealed it with a melted dab of crimson wax pressed with her personal seal. By the time she had finished, Philip had a messenger awaiting the missive.
Miriam rose from her seat and carried the message over to the young man. He reached for it without saying a word, his fingers closing over the edge of the paper loosely. She looked him up and down before offering him a faint smile. "Be sure that none but Lord Fury takes this missive from your hands. Then wait until Lord Fury himself lays a reply in your hand. Once he has given you his reply, you will come back to us straight away. You will place his reply directly into either my hand or the hand of Lord Philip. And you will allow nothing to delay your journey."
"I understand, my Lady," the messenger said with a bow of his head. One hand touched his heart briefly, then he was out of the room before she could say anything else.
Philip turned to her and offered up his arm. "Shall we, my love? The time draws near and I can feel the energy rising up from the Great Hall."
"Of course, my love. Let's go." Miriam smiled and laid her arm over his. They started for the door at a slow, sedate pace. They were going to make an entrance of it. She was certain of that. Just as she was certain that something was going to happen tonight.
She couldn't wait to see what it was.
~*~*~*~*~
Elsa smoothed her hands over the heavy satin of her skirts, watching her reflection in the mirror. The pale blue eyes that stared back at her flickered with her emotions, something she was still trying to work on. The last thing she needed to do tonight was show her fear and nervousness in front of Matthias. He would use it against her in the proceedings. She couldn't afford to let that happen. She needed to make a logical case because her future depended upon it.
The rich emerald green of her gown was bright and brilliant against the pale complexion of her skin. It helped the golden fire light trace the hints of deep red that threaded through her dark hair. The low, scooped neckline showed off her shoulders perfectly, the small puffs of sleeves barely covering her upper arms. A line of large buttons, purely a decorative item, ran down the center of her bodice and ended just above the large pleats that give the bottom of the piece a slight flair to it. Gold lace edged the neckline and circled each arm, the only touch of color to the entire gown. The hem of the skirt hung down so far that her feet were hidden from view, even when she walked.
She'd had one of the pets help her with her hair, the length of it pulled up into a low bun at the back of her head. The sides had been teased into long, hanging spaniel curls that framed the pale oval of her face. Having the dark, glossy curls resting against her cheeks only served to draw attention to the fact that her skin was white.
Once again, nerves saw her smoothing her hands down the front of her skirt. There was a slight tremor in her hands, just a faint twitch that was disturbing and telling. If any of the others saw it tonight, it could spell trouble. Then again, given that she was presenting a complaint in front of the Convocation later, it could help her cause. But it would only help her if her story was believed. Sighing, she turned and scooped up the gloves that rested on the table beside her mirror. Best she put on a brave face and not dwell on what could happen if she didn't win her petition.
There was a familiar, soothing feeling in pulling on her gloves. The crocheted lace was warm and smooth against her palms, the faintly golden material a compliment more than a detraction from the color of her skin. She took refuge in the remembered action, her mother's words echoing faintly through her head. "A lady never attends a function without wearing her gloves. She isn't properly attired without her gloves."
A pang of something that was likely regret and loss shot through her. Her mother. It had been a long, long time since she'd seen her mother. Or her father. Her entire world had changed the day she'd met Matthias, and it hadn't been for the better. Ever since that night, her life had become a living hell. And, as far as her family knew, she was dead.
"Miss Elsa? You should go now. The Convocation starts soon." The touch of the pet's hand on her arm brought her out of her memories. Shaking off the melancholy that came with thoughts of her family, she put on a smile that was wholly fake and nodded her head.
"Thank you, Penelope. I don't know what I'd do without you. Its a bloody good thing my head is attached or I'd forget that, too," Elsa told the girl. An enticing blush stained Penelope's cheeks, the soft scent of her blood perfuming the air. Elsa patted her hand in appreciation, then turned for the door and went to meet her fate.
Elsa decided that it wouldn't do to dwell on her life before becoming a member of the coven. It would only distract her from her purpose, which was to win her bid for freedom. She was honestly starting to believe that she would never escape Matthias if the Lord and Lady didn't intervene on her behalf. She'd already tried once to take a stand and had ended up locked away for her troubles. Had she known when she'd first met Matthias that he was a possessive, controlling arse, she would never have given in to his demands. Then maybe her life would have gone the way she'd wanted it to.
Stepping outside of her chambers, she wasn't surprised to find that the hall was filled with members of the coven, each of them in their finest garb and on their way to the Great Hall for the Convocation. She saw garments of silk and satin and velvet and linen, each one a different, glittering shade of color. There were reds as dark as blood, yellows as bright as the sun, blues as soft as the sky and greens as lush as the grass. Rich, loamy browns and pale, dove greys. Bursts of orange and pink and purple. The staples of high society, white and black. Some men sported the tall hats that were presently fashionable. Some women wore bonnets. Those without had their hair done up in styles similar to the one Elsa wore. There were gloves and walking canes and flashing gems.
If she didn't know personally that every single one of them was a vampire, she'd swear she was surrounded by the richest, most fashionable people of the empire.
Excited whispers ran through the crowd as they moved. Elsa fell into the midst of the coven members, allowing them to sweep her along with them toward the Great Hall. She took care to ignore the whispers and stares that were directed toward her, held her head up high and her spine stiff.
The Great Hall was already teeming with the coven's members when she passed through the large, open double doors. Seating was divided into four sections. There were two small areas at the front where the accused and the petitioners sat and awaited their turn before the Lord and Lady. A small partition was set up to separate the front section from the back, where everyone else in the coven would sit for the duration of the Convocation. A center aisle ran up the center between the two sides toward the raised dais at the other end of the large space. There were a pair of large, ornately carved wooden chairs with royal blue velvet cushions on them. The seats for the Lord and the Lady.
Lord Philip and Lady Miriam had yet to arrive, usually choosing to do so after the rest of the coven had arrived and taken their seats. Members of their personal guard lined the walls on both sides of the room, each spaced a certain distance from one another and each carrying a sword that held an edge so sharp, she'd seen one split a hair before. Some of the lesser guards stood at the doors, the first line of defense should trouble come their way.
"You'd be wise to drop you complaint, girl," Matthias hissed in her ear. A shaft of fear drove through her, making her wonder once again if she was truly doing the correct thing. Elsa forced herself to calm and turned slowly until she faced him, her face stiff and cold with an expression of haughty disdain she remembered her mother wearing often. "Do it now and I won't punish you too severely when this is all over."
"Trying to intimidate me, Matthias?" she asked with quiet dignity. He barely held on to the sneer she knew was bubbling behind his politely bland look. A slow, small smile spread across her face even as she plotted how she was to extricate herself from this if things turned bad for her. "It won't work. You will face our Lord and Lady tonight and you will pay for your crimes."
"I've committed no crimes, girl. You are my property and it is my right to treat you as I see fit. There is no abuse. You've no call to bring charges. And you will live to regret this day until the sun rises on your last night on earth. I can promise you a world of--"
"Is there a problem, Miss Elsa?" The voice was as polite as possible, but there was a thread of steel under the words. She and Matthias both turned to look at Clinton, Captain of the Lord and Lady's Elite Guard. While his hand wasn't resting on the hilt of his broadsword, the threat was still there in the shadows that flickered through his eyes. "Matthias. Trying to intimidate Elsa?" he asked the other man mildly. The barb in his words obviously found his mark because Matthias' expression darkened in the blink of an eye.
"Of course not, Clinton. I would never presume to interfere with the Convocation. Elsa is entitled to have her petty grievances heard, just like everyone else within the coven."
"I'm glad you feel that way, Matthias. I would hate to have to give Elsa her verdict here and now. Lord Philip and Lady Miriam do so enjoy the ritual of Convocation." He didn't say that they were looking forward to having Matthias subject to their ruling. Nor did he need to. Everyone within the coven knew that Matthias was slowly working his way toward permanent death. Clinton turned his bright blue gaze Elsa's way, gifting her with a brilliant smile as he held his arm for her. "Would you be so kind as to allow this poor soldier a chance to escort you to your seat? It isn't every day that I'm seen in the company of a beautiful woman such as yourself."
"Thank you, Clinton. That would be lovely," she replied and looped her arm in his. Then she inclined her head at her maker. "Matthias. I would wish you good luck, but I don't believe it will help you." Clinton turned her toward the front of the hall, then started toward the seating for the petitioners.
Matthias' hot, heavy gaze rested between her shoulders the entire way.
Clinton didn't linger long at her side. Elsa knew that he always escorted the Lord and Lady in and, given that it seemed all of the coven had arrived, he had to rush off to meet them. She settled into the seat he'd seen her to with a small sigh of relief. Matthias could glare her way all he liked, but he'd be doing it from the other side of the hall. He wouldn't be allowed anywhere near her during the Convocation or he'd forfeit his right to defend himself against the charges and Elsa would be awarded her petition.
In a few seconds, it didn't matter anyway. A sweeping wave of energy washed over the assembled members of the lair and brought everyone to silence. There was no need for fanfare or a public announcement to call the meeting to order. The Lord and Lady used their power as a means of announcing themselves and bringing the Convocation to a start. Elsa felt the entire assembly turned their attention toward the door at the back of the room. Whispers of energy, both excited and unhappy, touched the edges of her mind as each member of the coven strove to contain their power.
The graceful wooden door, carved with intricate designs and gleaming a dark, mellow gold despite its age, swung open on silent hinges. A thick cloud of power drifted out of the chamber before the Captain of the Elite Guards stepped into the hall. Clinton was clad in the uniform of his position, a pair of black, tight fitting breeches tucked into glossy, knee high boots and a tunic from a by gone era. The edges of the neck, hem, and sleeves were piped in silver and purple thread. A thick black belt wrapped his waist, a heavy broad sword with an ornate, bejeweled hilt hanging from the leather band. He oozed his own power, his face set in serious lines that kept hidden the gentle soul she knew he could be.
A scant few steps into the chamber, he came to a halt and stared, waiting until he had everyone's attention. Elsa knew that he had gained every eye in the room the moment he'd passed through the open door. His actions were done more for show than anything else. And to build the growing sense of anticipation that curled around her now. Thin wisps of it wrapped her ankles and caressed her shoulders, telling her that everyone was ready to begin the Convocation. A skitter of panic danced down her spine and left her worrying absently at the plump curve of her lower lip.
Seconds ticked by into a full minute. Clinton finally moved. The wave of power swelled and crested as the Lord and Lady stepped into the room. Lord Philip looked as dapper as any city gentleman, his frock coat and trousers as black as midnight on a moonless night. Glossy black shoes clicked softly against the stone floor. His shirt was snowy white, a perfect foil for the black of his coat and the grey of his waist coat. His cravat was the only real touch of color, a rich midnight blue that was matched to the gown Lady Miriam wore.
In contrast to his well mannered gentleman look, she was a lady with a wild streak. Where as nearly every single female member of the coven wore her hair in the latest and most fashionable style, Lady Miriam defied the confines of society and allowed her hair to stream down her back, around her shoulders in wild disarray. The bloodied tresses tumbled like a bubbling stream, curls in a riot of motion as they framed the pale perfection of her face.
Lord Philip escorted his lady wife toward the dais, his hand never leaving her elbow as he helped her into her seat. She settled herself and looked out over the assembled coven with a wicked gleam in her eye. Her husband took his seat, then reached out and took her hand in his own.
The dull thud of a wooden staff pounding against the stone floor rang out and broke the silence. All eyes turned one more time to Clinton, who stood just off to the side of their Lord. "The Lord and Lady call Convocation for the House of Coulson to order. The floor is open and the first petition will now be heard."
~*~*~*~*~
The room remained silent as the first petitioner and accused stepped forward. Habit and duty saw Clinton allowing his gaze to drift over the room so that he could mark each face, test each waft of power, search for any who might mean to do harm. He saw no new faces, felt no strange fingers of power, saw nothing that looked suspicious. Thus it was with every Convocation he'd ever attended. He suspected that thus it would always be. One had to be a fool to attempt any kind of mischief in a room filled with every member of the coven. One had to be a fool to attempt any kind of mischief against Lord Philip and Lady Miriam at all. If the coven was unable to stop them, if Clinton could not hold them back, the Lord and Lady would have no problems ripping that fool to pieces.
He listened with half an ear as the petitioner laid their case out before Philip and Miriam. He'd stood guard over many of these meetings and had never seen one come to any form of conflict. Not that such an event couldn't happen. He had yet to see anyone attempt something so foolish.
Convocation was a monthly ritual that went back as far as any vampire could remember. Clinton had been told, when he'd been a newly made vampire, that the event was already ancient. No one knew who had started it, though there were a few ideas and guesses. Names had been lost over the centuries, forgotten in the ever thickening mists of time. Much of vampire history was verbal, stories and lore passed down from maker to child. He'd been told that there had been a time when vampires roamed freely, known to the mortals among whom they'd lived and hunted. But that freedom had ended after some great catastrophe and their kind had been forced into the shadows. To many now, a vampire was simply one of many myths that had survived the ages. Few mortal souls knew the real truth.
Because vampires were such long lived creatures, because they had a propensity for holding on to the smallest of slights, some elder with more brains than blood lust had decided that Convocation needed to happen. The stories had said that one too many fights had broken out among coven members. Those fights had been disastrous and deadly. In order to keep the vampires secret and to protect the mortal world from their fearsome abilities, a monthly assembly had been created.
Once a month, the coven would gather together and hear the grievances of anyone who felt they had a problem that couldn't be solved by ordinary measures. The head of the coven always acted as judge and jury during the Convocation, listening to both parties in the dispute before deciding upon a resolution that they believed was fair to both petitioner and accused. Their word was law and a ruling, once given, was final. The cases started with the simplest, and often most petty accusations, and moved through to the most heinous and barbarous accusations. Some meetings were easier than others.
Clinton's eyes landed on Miss Elsa where she sat. She was alone, no one sitting near by to openly show their support in her cause. Her hands were tight in her lap, fingers clutched together as she awaited her turn. He let his gaze drift to the seating where the accused huddled together. As with Elsa, no one dared sit beside Matthias. His face was handsome when it wasn't filled with arrogance and pride. It tended to be filled with those unattractive qualities through every waking hour. And he was staring at Elsa so intently, Clinton was sure the poor girl was very aware of it. Some part of him clenched down inside, muscles tensing for the moment he'd have to spring and take the man's neck off.
Matthias was a bully. The entire coven was aware of the fact. The only reason he still rose with the moon was because he had yet to do anything that warranted a death sentence. And it wasn't as if the Lord and Lady hadn't been looking. Matthias was very careful about his actions. With Elsa's petition to the Convocation, it was possible they might have the reasons they needed to deal with the man.
Clinton hated men who tried to bully women because they thought they were the weaker sex.
Much against his will, an image of Alexis Quinn rose up to blot out all else in his mind. He saw her as he had the night before, gilded in the silvery light of the moon overhead, skin pale as a ghost against the darkness. Her eyes had flashed with determination and intent as she'd fought against her opponents. More than that, though, she had fought against the constraints placed upon her by society simply because she had been born a woman. Alexis had stood defiant in the face of her perceived short-comings, had set out to prove to one and all that she was more than her sex.
In many ways, he felt Alexis and Elsa were two souls cut from the same cloth. Just as Alexis fought the criminals who preyed on society, so too did Elsa fight against the unwritten laws that forced women into a societal role as someone of lesser worth. For the past decade, Elsa had lived in the shadow of her maker, pushed into an uncompromising slot because she was of the fairer sex. And for the past decade, she had railed against the injustices he had laid upon her head simply because she had been born with breasts. Clinton had seen her fight against him, her actions soft and subtle. Gentle, like a woman's hands and touch. But no less determined than any warrior's sword.
So far, none of Elsa's attempts to break Matthias' control over her had done any good. She was still as much his possession as the frock coat and trousers he wore, much the same way women were the possessions of their fathers and husbands. And though she seemed a perfect lady of the age, there was a wildness to her that screamed she be allowed to run free. As much as the world had advanced around him in all of his long years, this was one thing that had not changed since the days when the sun had touched his skin. Too many women were left to chafe and wither under the restrictions placed upon them.
The case being heard came to an end, the Lord and Lady conferring silently before delivering their ruling. Both parties returned to their seats, apparently appeased by the decision made. Clinton sensed no change in the power level, no spike of emotion that might suggest something was about to happen. One of the Lord and Lady's aides called for the next petitioner and accused to rise and plead their case. There was a faint rustle of cloth as two women rose to their feet and approached the dais. He let his gaze shift toward Lady Miriam and felt a gentle warmth blossom in his chest.
She was the exception to the rule, the only woman he'd ever met who had defied society and broken free of the role they'd tried to force upon her. She was a beautiful woman who had no qualms about using her beauty to get whatever she liked. But under the gorgeous exterior was a sharp mind and a deep cunning that helped make her an excellent leader. She was both compassionate and ruthless when the occasions called for such emotions and she took the welfare of her people as seriously as she took the bestowing of pleasure upon her husband and Clinton himself.
He'd been under her spell from the moment he'd first laid eyes upon her. That had been quite some time ago and he'd still been fairly young. A man full grown and yet without the worldly knowledge that came with many days spent upon the earth. Some part of him loved her as he would any beautiful woman, longed for her the way an untried youth might long for his first love. But he knew that her heart belonged to her husband. While Lord Philip had no problems sharing Lady Miriam with him, Clinton knew that he would never allow her to leave his side, his love for the flame-haired vixen too strong. Just as Clinton knew that Lady Miriam would never consider leaving her husband's side.
Miriam was a fierce warrior, a mother-goddess to her people. Clinton supposed that was part of the reason he was attracted to her. Perhaps it was what he saw in Alexis. There was a strength of will in her that he had seen in few men. An honesty of character that said she would remain true to whomever she pledged her heart. And an streak of independence that was dangerous for a woman in these times. Combine those unique traits with a woman who was beautiful, capable, and deceivingly intelligent...
It was possible that he was more than attracted to her.
"The Convocation will now hear the petition of Miss Elsa Jones. The petitioner is requested to come forward. As is the accused and her maker, Matthias." The aide's voice pulled Clinton's thoughts from their meandering paths. His attention turned to Elsa, who had risen from her seat and was slowly making her way forward to stand before the dais. She was on Lady Miriam's side and she carried herself with the dignity and grace she'd been born with. Matthias swaggered toward the clearing between the dais and the seating area, his body radiating confidence and menace.
A hush fell over the amassed coven, every last eye and ounce of attention turned toward the event about to take place. From the corner of his eye, Clinton saw the postures of both Miriam and Philip straighten. They were as eager to hear this as the rest of the coven. He let his eyes seek out Elsa and watched as she struggled not to show her nervousness.
Seconds ticked by, the silence in the room growing heavier with every single moment. The longer the wait became, the more anxious the crowd was. The more intent they became upon Elsa, the harder she struggled to remain composed. "You may speak freely, Elsa," Lady Miriam broke the silence. She bestowed a gentle smile on Elsa that was filled with encouragement and patience. "None here will bring harm to you while you plead your case."
It was a very subtle warning with the weight of the world embedded into the words.
"I come before the Convocation today to seek a separation from my maker," Elsa began, her tone soft and strong. Despite her case of nervousness, she spoke without a hint of anxiety or fear coloring her words.
"Upon what grounds, Elsa?" Lord Philip asked quietly. If he felt anything about this situation, it was well hidden behind the bland expression he wore perpetually. "You know that every child is required to remain at their maker's side for a period of no less than twenty-five years. You've barely reached the halfway point. Why would you wish to sever the bond between you?"
"Because my maker, Matthias, is unnecessarily cruel and has taught me only the most basic skills required to survive in this world, my Lord. I have striven to learn those things has hasn't taught me, but it has been hard because he refuses to let me go anywhere without him." One hand gestured toward where Matthias stood. A glance at his face showed that he was doing his best to hide his scowl. But he had always been poor at disguising his upset, so there were hints of displeasure to be read upon his face if one was well versed in his expressions. "I wish to be free of him. He has little regard for my welfare and treats me as if I were a slave instead of his child. He..." Elsa broke off and swallowed, her eyes shifting down and to the side. "He forces himself upon me whenever it pleases him to do so."
"That is a lie, my Lord! I've only ever treated Elsa with the respect due a child of my line!" Matthias spat angrily.
"You will hold your tongue, Matthias. You will be allowed to rebut the charges when Elsa is finished," Philip said, his tone suggesting he wouldn't allow another such outburst. Matthias subsided, but his hands were curled into fists at his sides and his jaw was clenched tight. Philip turned his attention toward Elsa and offered her a faint quirk of his lips, his idea of a smile. "Go on, Elsa. Finish your say."
"I know it is unusual to allow a child to leave their maker's protection so early, but I feel I can learn more on my own than I can from Matthias."
"And where will you go for protection?" Miriam questioned.
"I had hoped that someone here would be willing to take me on as their child through the remainder of my time," she told them. Clinton noticed that she only barely stopped herself from scanning the assembly for someone who might help her.
"You know the laws that govern our people do not disallow Matthias' current treatment, Elsa. Our laws simply say that he may not harm you physically." Clinton say Lord Philip's words for the opening they were meant to be. Elsa did, too, because her face lost some of its composure and dark emotions prowled through her eyes, turning them fathomless and hard.
Elsa took a breath she didn't need before speaking. "My Lord, Matthias likes to punish me by locking me away in a coffin bound by silver chains. He will leave me in there for a full sennight before allowing me out to feed. Sometimes longer."
She fell silent, allowing a low murmur to ripple unchallenged through the coven members. Clinton was as surprised by this news as they were. Such tactics were frowned upon because they had a tendency to drive a soul insane. Once that happened, the vampire saw its last moonrise and was left outside to greet the sun. "Is there more, Elsa?" Lord Philip queried only after the whispers had died to nothing.
"He has branded me, my Lord." The admission brought loud gasps from several members of the coven. The murmuring began again, an annoying and insistent buzz of sound that carried easily in the large room.
Matthias' voice rose up over the murmuring, loud and indignantly strident. "My Lord! I would never dare brand one of my children! That is barbaric and frowned upon by..."
"Silence, Matthias," Philip ordered. He didn't raise his voice or allow anger to touch it. He simply spoke and the man did as he was told. Lord Philip rose to his feet and immediately brought silence to the coven. He allowed a few moments to slide by before turning his attention back to Elsa. She looked shaken to her core, but she held herself with pride. "You realize that you will be required to show us proof of such allegations, Elsa."
"I do, my Lord. I will require assistance, though. He made sure to brand me in a spot where it would remain hidden from the rest of the coven," she replied. This time, she did turn to look at the rest of the coven. She was obviously seeking out the help of some kind soul. Unfortunately, Matthias was also staring. Clinton could just imagine what the look in his eye told them. Anyone who dared help Elsa in her bid for freedom would find themselves Matthias' enemy. It was not a position in which most people wanted to find themselves.
As the silence wore on and no one rose to offer their assistance, an air of smugness surrounded Matthias. And one of defeat cloaked Elsa. "Would you accept the offer of my assistance, Elsa?" Lady Miriam asked, already stepping down off the dais. Elsa turned to her and gaped, unable to believe that help would come from her Lady's corner. Miriam's posture and voice silently told Matthias that he would regret his actions if he were to punish Elsa for this. Or even think about attempting to do the same with Miriam.
"Of course, my Lady." Elsa nodded her head. When Lady Miriam joined her, Elsa leaned in and whispered a few words in the other woman's ear that were so low, Clinton was sure no one heard her. Miriam pulled back and frowned, eyes questioning what she'd been told silently. Elsa merely nodded and turned her back toward the other woman. Miriam's long, graceful fingers began making quick work of the laces holding Elsa's bodice closed. When it fell loose, Elsa lifted her hands and kept it pressed to her chest. The corset she wore underneath was next.
Elsa held her loosened garments to her body for a moment, leaving part of her back exposed before the darker line of her chemise started. Miriam put her hand on Elsa's arm and tugged her toward the edge of the dais while glancing up at Philip. He stepped down and, together, the two of them flanked Elsa on either side. Clinton was aware of the rustle of cloth as they moved her loosened garments aside. The room was filled with tense silence, every ear straining to hear anything that anyone said. Eventually, Lord Philip stepped back and returned to his seat on the dais. Lady Miriam helped right Elsa's clothing before she did the same.
When both of them were seated, a pained hush fell over the coven. It was an amazing feat given that they had already been as silent as the grave. All eyes were trained on the dais and on Elsa and Matthias' backs. Everyone waited to see just what was about to happen.
"Lady Miriam and I have seen proof that Matthias has indeed abused Elsa. Irrefutable proof that he has broken our laws and damaged one of his own children. Because the law is clear, we have no choice but to declare the bond between maker and child broken. Elsa is free to seek refuge from any who would have her. And should there be fear of reprisals, allow me to assure you that any actions taken against any member of the coven by any other member will result in an instant death sentence." He allowed his gaze to slide around the room and it landed pointedly on Matthias. "Will anyone claim Elsa as their own?"
No one moved or spoke. Clinton saw Elsa's shoulders sag ever so slightly in defeat.
"My Lord," Lady Miriam spoke up. "I believe I have a solution to this unique problem."
"And what would that be, my lady wife?"
"We shall take Elsa under our wing until such time as someone feels comfortable claiming her as their child. After all, we cannot leave her defenseless. One never knows when she might come under attack." Miriam's meaning was clear to one and all.
"My Lord!" Matthias snarled. For a moment, it seemed as if he would simply protest the ruling. Then he was in motion, a blur of speed and color that streaked across the floor toward the dais. Clinton was there to meet him, hand curled around the other man's throat to hold him at bay. "My Lord! You cannot do this! She's mine!" The words came out slightly strangled but they were still clear enough for one and all to hear.
"My Lord?" Clinton asked, barely strained by holding Matthias back.
"Yes, Clinton. What is it?"
Clinton spoke without looking away from the man he held, his blue gaze intent on the angered man's face."I challenge Matthias to a duel. With your permission, of course."
"Granted, Clinton."
He allowed a feral smile to spread across his face. Elsa hurried back to her seat, leaving the floor where the petitioner and accused stood open for the coming fight. In a single fluid motion, Clinton threw Matthias away from him and drew his sword. The metal rang through the room with crystalline clear notes. Someone tossed Matthias a sword and he'd barely wrapped his hand around it before Clinton threw himself into the fray.
~*~*~*~*~
The heavy blades of the swords crashed together in a loud clang of metal that quickly turned into a singing, high pitched note that carried to the arched ceiling suspended far above their heads. Philip only allowed himself a few moments to watch the fight. The ending, he knew, was a foregone conclusion. Matthias was old, but not so old that carrying a sword and using it to the best advantage was a buried memory that never grew dusty or was forgotten. He'd grown up at a time when the need for seasoned warriors wasn't as great and so had only learned perfunctory skills with the blade. His posture was wrong, as was the way he swung his sword. It was a sad statement on how much knowledge and pride had been lost in the centuries since he'd joined Miriam in immortality.
Clinton, on the other hand, was the perfect warrior. A trained soldier, adept in the use of all weapons. There was no weapon he had not mastered in his life and there was no weapon he could not use with totally lethal perfection. He preferred the feel of a bow and arrow in his hands, but he was as adept with a blade as he was with his bow.
Added to his weapons skills were his speed and his strength. Matthias was only half of Clinton's age. That made him slower. Not quite as strong. Less deadly. Not that he wouldn't give the other man a good fight. There was just no way he could win it unless he cheated. And cheating wasn't possible. Philip and Miriam would know if something as underhanded as cheating took place. Because he was so certain in the results of the fight, he let his attention drift and tackle other topics for the evening.
His first concern was the safety of his coven and the humans that lived around them. Clinton's news that the shifters were growing much bolder was troubling. For years, Lord Fury had kept a fragile peace between the vampire covens and the shifters. Not just in Europe, but all across the world. He was the person responsible for creating the Covenant that ruled them all. It had required no small amount of blood shed to prove to the shifters that the laws he and their elders had worked out were to be accepted and respected. Followed. But he had managed it. He had put and end to centuries of fighting that brought nothing more to their peoples than death.
Miriam's letter was sure to bring a reply. Lord Fury wouldn't let the messenger come back without one. The news he carried was far too important to be ignored. The only real mystery there was exactly what action the other man would take. If he would launch some kind of assault immediately or if he would wait and allow the shifters to become overconfident. If they were to give themselves away, Fury would use that as an excuse to bring and end to the Covenant and destroy anything that shifted from man to wolf and back again.
Whatever course of action the man took, Philip and his people would support it. They'd long struggled to keep the shifters from making problems for the mortals. His coven had come to an understanding with the local pack some time ago, but it seemed as if a few of the pack's members were trying to push their luck. And Philip was sure it was only a small number of the shifters. Many of the wolves were just as serious about keeping the packs and covens secret as the vampires were. But there were always problem makers to be dealt with.
A quick flick of his gaze told him that Clinton was still chipping away at Matthias' guard, making a point through a slow, intense assault.
He allowed his attention to slide to his left. Miriam sat upon her seat, enrapt in the battle raging before her. He could see blood lust singing in her eyes, the way her chest heaved ever so slightly as anticipation and excitement raced through her veins. It was always amazing to him when she showed such blatant desire for violence and blood shed. And it was always an immensely arousing spectacle.
His mind drifted back to the sight of her, pale and naked as she lay on their bed, with the tanned skin of her snack's body draped over her. His hips had churned almost violently between her thighs, her power leaking out into the room to heighten his arousal. It always made the feeding better. Headier. More pleasurable.
He enjoyed seeing her with other men. Or other women, depending upon her mood. It was decidedly wicked and wanton, behavior that would be frowned upon by polite society. Watching her allow them to touch her and taste her and fuck her was the stuff of dreams. It was something that never grew old for him. Because he knew, as much as Miriam hungered for the taste of another body on occasion, her love belonged to him. No one would be able to take it from him. Just as no one would be able to take her from him. He suspected, where they not involved in Convocation, she would have taken the opportunity to pleasure herself before the rest of the coven.
Lust sang through him as he thought about her body, how it was tight around his own when he drove his cock into her. How her hands stroked every inch of his flesh and her fangs teased at his skin. The little nipping bites she left behind drove him wild with want of her.
As he watched, her hand curled into a fist on the arm of her chair and the scent of her arousal battered at his senses like the enemy battered the gate. It sent need and heat spiraling through his belly and into his groin. His cock hardened in his trousers, a testament to just how desirable he found his wife.
The moment the Convocation was over and they were able to leave, he was going to hurry her upstairs and fuck her until she screamed for him. Then he'd fuck her again.
If only the damned meeting would come to an end.
Philip had never cared for the trappings that came with a position of power. He was capable of dealing with them. Quite adept at it, in fact. But the truth of the matter was, he could happily go the rest of his unnatural life without ever attending another Convocation. Ever. Ruling the coven came easily to him. Leading was something he'd been born to do. Trained to do. And he excelled at it. But the fact of the matter was, he'd prefer to do so without the silly rituals and the grand gestures. The only thing that made such trivial details bearable was knowing that Miriam would face them by his side. She was his rock and his anchor. She was the reason that he could get up with the setting of the sun face the new problems he would face every night.
The problem with having power such as they had was it leant itself toward being in a position to use it. The other members of the coven turned to Miriam and himself for guidance and help, some part of their basic make up. It was a as if they were programmed from their rebirth to recognized those more powerful than themselves and look up to them for leadership. As his and Miriam's power levels had increased, so too had the attentions of those with less power.
He was pulled from his thoughts of power and obligations by the sound of an enraged cry, such as one would hear from an angered bull or horse. He looked up in time to see Matthias charge at Clinton, his sword held in a position that spoke to just how poor his skills were with it. Faster than even some of the eyes in the room could see, Clinton dropped to one knee and drove his sword up into Matthias' belly. The other man's speed and weight forced him onto the blade up to the hilt. While it wasn't a killing blow, it would hurt for a few days to come while it healed.
A quick rise to his feet and a shove sent Matthias staggering backward. The metal of the sword rasped against bone as it withdrew from the man's body. Matthias' weapon dropped to the ground with a ringing clatter, the blade as pristine and clean as when he'd wrapped his hand around the hilt. Clinton followed after Matthias and his sword was there to rest against his felled opponent's neck when the other man dropped painfully to his knees. Matthias' hands pressed to the wound in his belly, his skin stained with the crimson spill of his blood.
"My Lord? What judgement do you pass?" Clinton asked, never once taking his eyes from the other man's face.
End his life, husband. He challenged our ruling. Miriam's voice whispered through his head, tinted with a thirst for blood.
If I had wanted him dead, wife, I would have accepted his challenge. I allowed Clinton to do so because he challenged only the ruling. He did not challenge our rule. There will be time for this fight to resume. And, when it does, I can assure you that I will finish it for good. In the time being, I believe I have a solution you may enjoy.
All eyes were upon him so Philip rose from his seat and addressed his comments to his captain even though he allowed his gaze to take in everyone present. "You will see him fed to counter the blood loss and to help begin the healing process. Then you will escort him to the coffin room and lock him in one as he has done to his child. A week to start the punishment. At the end of those seven days, we shall see what frame of mind he is in. If he hasn't considered changing his ways, we will lock in him for a further seven days."
"My Lord!" Matthias stammered, voice edged with pain. Clinton's men moved in and two of them brought the prisoner to his feet, then forcibly dragged him from the Great Hall.
"Clinton, please help Elsa get settled in a new chamber. Once that is done, you are to seek out a pet and slake whatever desires you have. You have served us well this night," Miriam told their captain. Clinton brought his feet together and bowed his head. He turned, strode to Elsa's side, and offered her his arm. The two of them left the cavernous chamber without saying a word to anyone else.
Philip glanced out over the crowd. "Convocation is at an end. Thank you and good night."
Chatter picked up as the coven trailed from the room in small groups. Philip looked to where Miriam stood and offered her a smile. "Shall we retire for the evening, my wife?" he asked, holding out his arm to her.
She took the proffered arm with a broad smile. "With pleasure, my husband."
~*~
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(no subject)
Date: 2012-04-18 06:09 pm (UTC)I love how you've worked so many details about how vampire culture works and little tastes of backstory (both personal and cultural) into all this. It's nice to get a look at what life is like for the vamps outside the elite too. I would love to see more of Elsa and her settling into her new life.
Miriam... oh, Miriam. LOL Part of me kind of loved how detached she seemed from her snack and what he was doing. It was very "yes, dear. Get on with it." to me and that just seemed perfect. I'm sure she's never like that with her husband (or Clint for that matter) but it worked so well in this. And she can complain all she wants but she's just as work focused as Philip and they are so damn perfect for each other! :D
Ah, Clint and his overdeveloped sense of chivalry. lol Though I guess, given how old he is it's just a sense of chivalry and it was totally appropriate way back when. I love the comparison of the women around him from his perspective too. That was a lovely touch.
Mmm. I love the way that man's mind works. lol The sense of "oh, well... this isn't worth watching. I know what'll happen." from Philip is so perfect. The bit of history about Fury is fabulous too and... damn. Mmmm... he and Miriam are just made of sex! LOL I love them!
Fabulous work. Seriously, I can't wait to see what happens next!
(no subject)
Date: 2012-04-18 07:54 pm (UTC)i received criticism once that i'd written a perfectly good vampire story without actually going in depth with just who and what the vampires were. so i thought that i should perhaps attempt that here. hopefully, where Elsa is concerned, we can get more on her life, before the change and after. and before and after live with Matthias. it is my intent to give everyone more about everyone. so... yeah.
i think Miriam is ever the practical one, even when she's in the heat of any kind of emotional event. at least, ones that don't concern her personally. but yes. with Philip and with Clint, i expect she's very involved. and yes. she's focused. she just doesn't want to let it on to anyone. makes her look less dangerous. but they really are well paired to one another and i totally love them as a couple.
i really loved Clinton's chivalrous thoughts and how he viewed the women of the time. i felt he would see women as more than things men are allowed to own. given the way he watched Alexis fighting off random criminals with no care for herself and that he saw why she was doing it... yeah. i think he sees women are far more than merely possessions.
i like to think that Philip is very self-aware and that he knows what his people are capable of. Clinton's abilities are what earned him his position and i have to believe that Philip would leave him to do his job unless he wasn't sure that Clinton could manage it on his own. i thought that a touch of information on Fury would be good here. and yes. he and Miriam are totally made of sex.
i'm so glad you liked it, bb. we'll see what comes next when i can brain properly.
(no subject)
Date: 2012-04-19 01:22 am (UTC)And damn, you surprised me...Elsa being one of the coven! LOVE it! For some reason I had a mental image of Jason Isaacs in the role of Matt...guess Lucius is feeling jealous or something. ;D)
It is an honor to serve Lord and Lady Coulson!
And I'm ready for another chapter...NOW!!! LOL :-)
(no subject)
Date: 2012-04-19 01:48 am (UTC)there are good things to be had when i don't share every minute detail of the story with people. cos. you know... surprise! yes. Elsa's part of the coven and there's more to her story. i had no mental image of anyone in the role of Matthias (you don't know how many times i misspelled that. sheesh) and i'm not sure where you're getting Jason from.
you're going to have to wait for that chapter. cos, you know... brain power and all. thanks for reading, bb.
(no subject)
Date: 2012-04-19 03:43 am (UTC)I dunno what else to say except that I want more. Please. Pretty please?
(no subject)
Date: 2012-04-19 05:55 am (UTC)glad you enjoyed it and i'll get you more when i figure out what comes next. and i find my brain.
(no subject)
Date: 2012-05-15 08:50 pm (UTC)loved all of it. looking forward to the next installment.
(no subject)
Date: 2012-05-15 11:59 pm (UTC)glad you enjoyed, hon. thanks for reading.