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Title: Blood Lines
Chapter Six: Awakenings
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] dazzledfirestar, [livejournal.com profile] mistress_o_muse, [livejournal.com profile] ginevrasm, [livejournal.com profile] rylan_m, and [livejournal.com profile] ladydeathfaerie. the concept and title of The Mary Sue Virus are used with permission from Dazzledfirestar.

Blood Lines - The Index

~*~

The pub was crowded. And noisy. And the smell was less than pleasant. Of course, given that he was sitting in a pub that catered to the common man, these observations were not unusual. They did, however, make him glad that he had taken the opportunity to duck into the pub early so that he could claim a seat for himself. He spared a glance for the crowd, taking note of the dirty, smelly bodies that clung to the edges of the uneven bar. More men clustered around each of the tables. There were farmers and dock workers and every other kind of laborer imaginable. Once upon a time, he'd found it nearly impossible to spend time in such places. The heavy stench of the unwashed had made it impossible for him to loiter in pubs and taverns. After dealing with the undead for so long, he barely noticed it.

This night, he was occupied by his own thoughts. It was not uncommon for a new task to bring painful memories rushing to the front. But this was no ordinary task. This time, he was seeking a woman taken from her loved ones. It was something that struck him deep, that ripped open his weakly patched wounds and brought blood rushing forth. This was a task that saw his heart aching with long suppressed emotion.

He hated it when he had to seek out stolen women. It was something that weighed heavily on his soul because he knew even before agreeing to the job that he would never be able to return the girl to her family. If God was being kind, the vile creature responsible for taking the woman would have already killed her by the time he found them. And if not... Well, he'd answer to God for the few lies he'd had to tell. No doubt God would forgive him for saving grieving families a small modicum of pain.

It would take him much longer to forgive himself those lies. Because every lie he'd ever told a family caught in the grips of sorrow, he'd told himself a thousand times over. And he had yet to believe them.

He hated the life he'd chosen for himself because of the pain it brought. But he cherished it, as well, because it reminded him that he was still alive. Every ounce of pain kept him moving forward, kept him focused and attentive. He still wasn't sure if he'd be able to keep the promises made to himself in the initial hours of his heart break or if his hand would shake and he'd find himself putting everything he now stood for aside. If he ever saw her face again... Would he be able to end their suffering? Or would he fall prey to the madness that ate away at the edges of his sanity daily?

Before he could slip too far down that path of though, a shadow fell over him. And a quick inhale of breath told him that he was dealing with something... other. It was too early in the day for one of the unholy to be out of their graves, so that left him with few other options. Even as his hand moved for the silver coated blade that he carried on his person at all times, his head was turning slowly toward the owner of the shadow.

The man was not tall and rather sallow looking. In fact, the yellowish hue of his skin gave him a sickly look. His hair was long and lank, heavy and clumped with grease. What wasn't caught at the back of his neck with a leather thong hung in his face and eyes that weren't quite of this world stared at him steadily. The man's hands were limp at his sides, thick nails yellowed with dirt caked beneath them. There was a sheen to his skin that spoke of constant perspiration. It gave him a slightly slimy countenance that likely repulsed anyone who crossed his path. But the stranger didn't feel like some kind of ghoul or other evil fiend. There was a faintly musky odor rising from him that spoke to wet fur. "What brings a lowly shape shifter to my side?" he asked quietly, so as not to alert anyone else that something foul wandered in their midst.

The man lifted the edge of his lip in a silent snarl that lacked bite, letting him know that his guess was correct. And the man was low in the pack. His canines were much sharper and far more pointed than the pack Alpha and his Betas. Definitely couldn't pass for human if he smiled. "You're the human that hunts vampires, ain't you?" The man's voice held a low, whimpering growl.

"And if I am? What business is that of yours?"

His words offended the other man, saw his intruder trying to frighten him with his speed and unnaturalness. But the knife flashed in the candlelight before the maneuver could be finished, prompting the other man to take a quick step back. "Stinking human!" the wolf snarled.

"State your business before I skin you." The order was delivered with a broad smile. His own version of a snarl.

"You've been hired to seek out a young woman by name of Alexis Quinn. Rich dandy from France offered you a large sum of money," the wolf said, remaining perfectly still. He motioned toward the empty seat across from him with the tip of his knife. The wolf took it and stared at him intently.

"You obviously knew who I was when you approached me. Why not simply say so?" He didn't put the blade away, but he relaxed his hold on the grip. Only just, though it was enough to convince the wolf he wasn't in any danger at the moment.

"Orders," the other man snorted out. The wolf stared at him a moment, gaze seemingly distant. But it was an assessing look. Not a particularly good one, suggesting this wolf didn't do much thinking on his own. Still, the smile he ended up giving was rather unpleasant. "Steven Rogers. Slayer of all things unnatural, though you have a fondness for staking vampires. This is because the woman you'd planned on marrying was spirited away by a vampire some ten years past."

Steven didn't let any surprise show. He knew his name was known amongst the members of the supernatural community. There had been death threats and attempts, but he'd so far managed to survive them. He knew that wouldn't always be the case, that someone someday would be faster than he. He would keep fighting until he found the bastard who had stolen his love away. After avenging her, perhaps he could then finally welcome death like a long lost friend. "And what orders could possibly bring you to my side this evening?" he asked.

The barmaid arrived and dropped a pair of tankards on the table top, one for each of them. She didn't spare a glance for his slimy companion, but she made sure to flash him a warm and inviting smile. Then she was gone and the creature across from him lifted his drink. "I know were you can find the missing Mistress Quinn," the man explained with a wolfish grin before taking a long swallow of his ale.

"And how do you know such information? Furthermore, how do I know I can trust anything you say? Wolf."

"Miss Quinn has an odd hobby, Master Rogers. She likes to roam the thieves' road at night, battling with the ruffians that pass her by. `Twas on this road that she met the vampire who spirited her away from her family and her betrothed," the wolf explained with a wide grin on his face. Instinct warned Steven that there was more here than he was being told, but it was blinded by his hatred of the undead. It didn't matter that the wolf was too forth coming with information. It only mattered that he was receiving said information.

Steven tilted his head ever so slightly to one side. Interesting detail. The Frenchman hadn't mentioned it. Either he didn't know or he hadn't thought it relevant that the woman he planned on marrying spent time dealing with bandits. Much against his better nature, he found himself wondering if this Alexis Quinn was as spirited as his own stolen bride to be had been. Before that idea could lead him down old, well worn paths in his mind, he shoved it aside and refocused his attention on the wolf across from him. "Go on. I admit to being intrigued."

"I have it on good authority that she was seen taken from that road just this past evening," the man told him quietly. There was an earnestness to his voice that set the warning bells in the back of Steven's head ringing. Something about this was off. "I also have it on good authority that she was taken without consent, that she was unconscious and bleeding."

Instinct battled with memory and lost. He was suddenly immersed in images he'd never been able to remove from his brain. Images of a room that was in wild disarray. Images of blood freshly spilt. Images that he didn't want to see ever again, yet could never get rid of. "And you come to me with this why?" he asked teeth gritted against the flood of remembrance.

"Because you and my kind have a shared enemy. We want this common enemy eliminated. And my kind believe that the humans should not have to suffer such a blight upon their population," the wolf said, voice a little too sly. There were things Steven wasn't being told, some plotting going on that perhaps this wolf wasn't aware of. He should push the man's words aside and continue his investigation on his own. But if this information turned out to be truth, it would lessen the amount of days, perhaps even weeks and months, that he had to search for the Quinn woman.

Instinct said he should play this cautiously.

"I can take you to a witness," the wolf told him casually, almost as if he had just been inside Steven's mind.

"There's a witness?" he asked, not bothering to hide the skepticism in his voice.

"Aye," the wolf nodded, his grin widening until he gave the appearance of a fox having caught and eaten one of the farmer's prized hen.

"And you're going to show me to this witness out of the kindness of your heart?" he asked.

The grin turned even more wolfish than he'd thought possible. "Of course I am. `Tis pleasant to see we understand one another," the man knocked back the rest of his ale and stood. Steven lifted a single brow at the man's eagerness. "There is much to do today and the sunlight wanes even now. If you wish to get this investigation completed in a timely manner, we should go now before the moon shines and the vampires rise."

Steven weighed all he'd heard against the warnings that kept sounding in his head. There were things happening that he couldn't yet see and instinct told him that he should get up and walk away after slipping some poison into his own tankard of ale and sliding it to the man. But he'd been hired to do a job. He had to find Mistress Quinn and return her to the Frenchman. The man's purse weighed heavily in Steven's pocket, so he was duty bound. If he walked away from a possible lead, he would be denying his client the opportunity to find his missing betrothed. He didn't like the way this was shaping up, felt as if he was being used and maneuvered like a chess piece, but he felt he had little choice. He'd just have to keep his eyes open. Maybe, if he was lucky, he'd manage to figure out just what was going on here.

The coins he dropped on the wooden tabletop made a little noise as they hit, then settled against the flat surface. He let his gaze lift to the wolf's, let the other man see what thoughts went through his head. If the man had lied to him, Steven would kill him. Simple as that. And then he'd skin him and sell his worthless hide to the first person who offered. When he saw the smaller man's stance shift from cocky and assured to frightened, he allowed his own wolfish grin to make an appearance. "What are we waiting for? Let us go see this witness of yours."

~*~*~*~*~

She came awake slowly, to the sensation of the softest material she'd ever had chance to touch caressing the length of her body. It reminded her of the time she'd had opportunity to lay her hand against a length of what the seamstress had called the finest Chinese silk ever made. It had felt luxurious and decadent against the palm of her hand. This felt like that, only it was so much more.

It was difficult to waken fully, as if her mind was rising slowly the same way the sun did. There was a lethargy lingering in her limbs, weighing her arms and legs down. She attempted to move, but managed nothing more than to shift slightly in her cocoon of bedding and found herself caught up in the wonder of that silky feeling against her skin once again. It came to her gradually that she could feel that silky texture everywhere on her body. That prompted two thoughts at once. When had she taken all of her clothes off, because her mother had insisted that a proper lady never slept in her altogether, and why had she never before slept with nothing between her body and the bed linens? She was beginning to regret that decision because she could lie in bed all day and relish the slide of satiny smooth material against her own flesh.

The bliss of that silky texture was amazing, but the rest of the world conspired to pull her away from the feel of them. Just when she thought the feel of the bedding against her skin would drive her insane, a soft and gentle sizzling sound reached her ears. She knew the gentle crackle of fire, but she'd never quite heard it like this before. It wasn't the loud roar of a fire burning in the hearth, the flames eating away at thick pieces of wood with distinctive crackles and pops. This was a quieter, gentler sound, almost like a lover's voice whispering in her ear. There was a subtle hiss under the sizzling, making her wonder if there was a fire lit somewhere in the room. If there was, it was fresh and new because she thought she might be cold.

Her surroundings sank into her gradually, her senses coming alive one at a time. She had yet to move, was relying solely on sight and sound and smell for the moment. She could see flickers of light through her eyelids, golden illumination that was somehow brilliant and mellow at the same time. And she could see the thin spider webbing of tiny blood vessels that ran through her eyelids. That was startling for a moment, then she found herself caught up in tracing each path, trying to find where they all intersected and met. Trying to find the larger veins they branched off of.

She managed to pry her eyes open, lids fluttering up to allow a flood of golden light to fill her vision. She swore she could feel the muscles working to shrink her pupils down until she could see everything around her. Her eyes moved slowly, her head shifting on the thick softness of the pillow under her head. The walls were done in wood panels that were stained a deep, rich mahogany. Even from where she lay, she could see the burl of the wood, the patterns it made under the layer of stain. The bedding covering her was a pale, greenish-grey color while the furniture she could see was dark wood upholstered with a darker, greener colored material.

She thought she could have taken a lifetime studying the minute patterns stitched into the upholstery and she might have, had the sound of rain hitting a hard surface not pulled her from an upright chair. She slid toward the edge of the bed, shuddered under the seductively pleasurable feel of the linens dragging across her skin. It was easy to rise to her feet and she was caught up in the feel of the thick carpet beneath her feet. She glanced down and watched as her toes wiggled against the plushness beneath them. It almost pulled her away from the patter of rain against stone and glass, but the noise wormed its way back into her head, prompting her to move toward the velvet panels that obviously hung over the nearest window.

Tiny rivers of water ran down the glass pane and she could see the distinct shape of each one. She let her gaze follow a drop on its path to the sill, following each one down before lifting her eyes up to catch another. And another. And another. Until she looked up high enough to see the clouds in the sky. It didn't matter that it was dark and storming. She could see the shape of the clouds perfectly, swore she could feel them pressing down on the earth as they poured their contents out over the land. A fork of lightning came as if in slow motion, fingers branching off into wicked jags that spread across the night sky menacingly.

Thunder boomed overhead, rolled in the distance. It sounded so close, so very near to her. It echoed over the trees that she could pick out even in the darkness, thumping softly like the slow, steady beat of a heart. It was a mesmerizing sound. She found herself waiting for it with burning anticipation. Each time it pounded, something inside of her responded. Something opened, started creeping out.

But lightning flashed again and she saw the lay of the grounds below the window. And she knew then that she was at the castle where Clinton had taken her just... She couldn't remember when he'd taken her there. She couldn't recall much by way of recent memories. She remembered being here. She remembered Clinton asking her to stay with him. But after that, things were muddled and fuzzy.

The glass pane was cool under her palm, smooth and yet not smooth. The tips of her fingers could feel the slight imperfections in the surface. Had she ever noticed before that glass had imperfections? She turned her attention to the glass where her hand rested, intent on studying the smooth surface and look for the imperfections her fingers told her were there. But the moment she spied her fingertips, she was lost to the way they looked.

Long, elegant fingers were spread over the glass, each one pale as newly fallen snow and topped with a shining nail. They were thin, thinner than she recalled them being, and if she looked hard enough she could see the tracery of veins under the surface. They were a cold blue against the white of her skin, crawled under her skin along the tops of her hands toward her arms. She lifted a hand away from the glass and stared at it, turning it slowly so she could study it closely.

Some part of her recognized that there was something very strange going on, that things had changed drastically somehow. But it was a small part and it didn't seem very important in the face of the unearthly beauty she could see in everything she looked at. Her gaze slid up her arm from her hand, studied the paleness of the skin and the shape of the muscle underneath, until she came to the swell of her breast.

The skin there was white, pale like porcelain or perhaps even marble. Again she found tiny blue paths winding their way under her flesh. Her nipple fascinated her. Bringing her hand up, she allowed it to brush against the faint pucker of that nipple and nearly cried out with the overwhelming rush of sensation that poured through her. Never in her wildest dreams had she ever felt anything so amazing and hypnotic. It made her wonder if she was going to experience the same flood of sensation each time she touched herself or if someone else touched her.

She let her hand brush the swell of her breast once more, gasping in wicked delight as pleasure such as she'd never known filled her. That faint breath of sound echoed around the room, pulsing back to her like a heartbeat. She could hear the faint thumpthumpthump in her ears, growing louder and more enticing, could practically taste it pulsing against her tongue. Once more she was filled with a stirring somewhere deep inside. It felt primal and strong.

It might have frightened her had her hair not glided across her skin and caught her attention.

She let her eyes drift toward the length of fine black silk that lay against the paleness of her flesh. It was black as midnight, glossy and sleek. Even in the dim light of a single candle, she could see the individual strands as clearly as if they were laid out one by one. A tiny shake of her head saw them shifting and sliding over her breast, the smooth drag of all those gleaming threads giving birth to goose flesh that saw her shivering in delight. In enjoyment. In need.

It was practically a sensual overload when she let her hand stroke through her hair. The silk of it against her fingers was divine. The sensation of her fingers and hair pressing against her nipple was positively wicked. She couldn't stop herself from doing it again. Bolts of heat and need forked through her, reminding her of the storm spending itself outside. She turned her attention toward the window again, saw lighting strike the ground. Thunder rumbled almost immediately after and she again heard the beating of a heart in its echoes.

For just a moment, she allowed herself the luxury of doing the forbidden. She touched herself, teasing at her nipples in time with the rolling thunder and the flashing lightning. With each rumble of thunder, her hands tweaked and pulled at her nipples. The next rush of need flooded through her with the next bolt of lighting to fork across the sky. And with each touch, the sound of the beating heart grew louder to her. Stronger. Inviting. And that thing that had woken in her earlier began to uncoil with slow, sensual movements. The need grew and changed.

The sound of a beating heart, so slow and steady and enticing, grew louder and louder with each passing moment. It took several seconds for her to realize that it wasn't the thunder echoing outside the walls of the ancient castle. Nor was it the rushing of blood in her veins. It was coming from someone else. From inside the very room she stood in. Curiosity brought her around to face the rest of the large chamber. She found she wasn't alone.

The golden tones of the candlelight painted flattering highlights on Clinton's face, touching upon the faint crease in his brow and the way his lips turned down at the corners. That same golden illumination had molded itself to the planes of his chest, enticingly bare, dragging her gaze from his face to the expanse of his upper body. She thought she sensed hesitance from him, but that thought was over-ridden when her gaze slid to the side and she found herself staring at a young man wearing a pair of trousers and nothing else.

The candle's glow touched upon gentle features and a faint smile that seemed knowing and innocent all at once. He stared at her expectantly, obviously waiting for her to do something. Only she wasn't exactly sure what it was he expected. And it was hard to think about social niceties when all she could hear was the sound of his heart beating inside his rib cage. The slow, steady whumping rhythm was a siren's song that begged her to come closer. Begged her to press her ear to his chest and let it sing to her.

"Alexis," Clinton's voice was a distant push against the thrumming that pulsed in her brain. Her gaze focused more intently on the young man. She could see the way his blood pumped in his veins by the slight movement at his throat. She could hear the silent draw of his breath as his lungs worked. She could smell the masculine scent of him, all musk and sweat and perhaps a little arousal. It mingled with the rich, loamy smell of wet dirt leaking in through the cracks in the stone wall to create a heady olfactory cocktail.

Each moment spent staring at him brought more of that wild thing in her belly to life. She heard the steady thump of it more clearly because it grew stronger and louder and closer. Each pulse of his heart, each rasp of air, each rush of blood, fed into the thing inside of her. The brightness of the world around her faded into the background, lost to the beast that now gnawed at her belly. She felt, from a very far distance, the way her pupils opened wide. Felt a pain blossom in her mouth that should have dropped her to the floor. But it was nothing like the pain that ate as her belly.

It was the most agonizing pain she'd ever felt, staggering her despite the fact she was standing still. Her hands came up automatically to press her belly, vaguely taking note of the raised skin there. Something stirred at the back of her brain, some distant memory that flashed like a sword in the moonlight before being lost to the darkness of nothing. The ache throbbed and grew and climbed, spreading like poison to her arms and legs to leave them feeling leaden and out of her control. It climbed up into her brain until everything was misted with red. Her gaze focused sharply on the thick vein on the man's neck, pulsing with ruby red life.

"So hungry," she moaned, voice harsh and rough and dry. The beast burned through her, hunger washing over every inch of her until all she could think and see was food. She lurched forward, hands reaching for the young man as thought and logic slid away in the shadows of her brain. The hunger took control, sharpened her sense of smell until the only thing in her nostrils was the rich, coppery scent of blood. And her ears were filled with the beating of the man's heart.

"Remember what I told you," Clinton's voice was a soft whisper of sound at the back of her brain, a reminder that he was still there in the room. "She won't hurt you if you remain calm. And I'll be here to keep her from doing any harm once she starts feeding. You trust me, don't you, Adam?"

"I trust you, Master Clinton." The second voice was infused with music and beauty and the promise of food. She took another lurching step toward him, instinct telling her to chase him down and feast on him. To take it all and quench the burning hunger within.

It was so easy to give in to that voice. She barely knew she was going to do it before she found herself in motion. But she found herself in strong arms, more than capable of holding her, before she could even come close to her waiting meal. "Let me go!" she shrieked, struggling against the hold like a caged animal gone wild. "Let me go! So hungry!"

"I know, Alexis. I know," his voice was soft, his touch soothing. She could feel him in her mind, just touching to offer her his warmth and support. "And you will feed. I promise you will. But you must trust me and take your time. Do you wish to kill Adam?"

The words didn't make sense to her and she didn't care. She hungered so fiercely that it ate away at her belly with sharp, angular teeth that made her stomach ache and cramp. She tried clawing her way out of his hold, but his arms were strong and unmoving as steel. "Hungry!" It came out as a whine, an undignified sound that would have otherwise left her feeling embarrassed. But none of that mattered in the face of her need to feed and the tasty morsel standing just out of reach. Instinct had control and was guiding her actions.

"Alexis," his voice was insistent. Hard even though it was soft. It managed to worm its way through a small opening in the fog of hunger to her brain. "Alexis, I need you to listen to me."

She didn't want his words, or the gentle stroke of his hand against her bared flesh. Or his body curled around hers. She wanted the hunger to go away. She wanted to throw herself upon the young man only a few steps from her and gorge herself on him. She wanted to feed. If only Clinton would let her go. She tried lunging out of his hold gain, but his hold was sure. "Hungry!" she snarled.

"Alexis!" The sound of her name, spoken so softly and firmly in his voice, caught her attention. And that moment gave him the opportunity to blanket her with some invisible, intangible warmth that helped push the gnawing hunger down. Kept it at bay so she could think clearly. Some of the tension fled her muscles and she sagged in his hold. He didn't let her go. "Is that better?"

"I... " The question made sense to her. The words had meaning. But something was off about the whole situation. She just couldn't put her finger on it yet. "Clinton?"

"What is it, my sweet?" he asked softly, his voice a soothing balm against the whirl of confusion and need coiling through her.

"I don't understand. What's happened? I don't remember coming to the castle and..." she told him, voice trailing off at the end with her confusion.

"There was a fight on the road last night after I dropped you there. Several men must have taken you by surprise because when I found you, you were gravely wounded," he explained quietly. She thought she heard hesitation in his voice, but those thoughts were pushed aside by the hunger within as it tried to retake control. The throbbing of blood was loud in her ears and she couldn't be sure if she was hearing things. Her gaze focused on the stranger, sharpened on him, and she tried lunging for him once again. But Clinton's arms were strong around her and held her close, kept her from her goal. Again she felt that calming sensation wash over her and, again, she sagged into his hold. "When I found you, I brought you here. Our physician did everything he could. But there was a complication."

The sorrow in his voice made her turn in his embrace so she could see his face. So she could try to read in his eyes the words he hadn't said. But she was caught off guard by how... beautiful he looked in the candle light. The angles of his cheek and jaw were burnished gold, as was the short length of his hair. His eyes were the deepest blue and held some secret, some power, that drew her to him. She leaned in, mouth finding his as a different type of hunger filled her, and he obliged. His lips molded to hers in a soft kiss that was filled with desire and need. Hunger. Hesitance and apology.

When he pulled away from her, doing so before the kiss could be deepened, eyes that were the most amazing shade of blue she'd ever seen pinned her and held her. "I know this is all very confusing and likely frightening. But I promise I'll explain everything to you. After you feed. Everything will be so much clearer once you've fed."

She looked up at him, entranced with the shape of his lips. "You're so beautiful," she whispered.

Clinton offered her an indulgent smile, leaned forward to press his lips to her forehead. "We can talk about that after. First, my sweet. You must feed." He turned her as he spoke, put emphasis on the last sentence. The hunger that had been clawing at her belly earlier rose up ever so slightly to remind her that it was still there and he was correct. She needed to sate it. Her eyes fell upon the strange young man and the urge to break free of Clinton was just suddenly there.

"Feed," she whispered, half a question in that single word.

"Yes, my sweet. Feed. Do not fight your instincts. They'll guide you. And I'll be here to help you through it." His hold on her loosened, but didn't fall away completely. Instead, his hands shifted to her shoulders and he walked her, ever so slowly and carefully, forward until they were only a few steps from the strange young man. "I want you to remember that Adam will not fight you. He isn't meant to be prey. That means there is no need to stalk and hunt him. You would do better to woo and seduce him. Promise him everything he could ever want with a look and a smile. Grant him desire with the touch of your hand and the kiss of your lips against his skin. Do this and he'll happily give you everything you might never think to ask for."

There was cool seduction in Clinton's voice. It stroked down her back and teased her like a long-known lover. She shuddered with the weighty feel of his words against her brain matter, instincts telling her that he was correct. That this would be good for both of them if she simply teased and cajoled. Clinton's hold on her slid away completely, leaving her to do as she would without any interruptions from him.

Adam was an exquisite looking young man, with angelic features and soft eyes that promised he would allow her to do whatever she wished with him. Golden hair cut in the modern style framed the shape of his face and emphasized the emerald hue of his stare. His lips curled up in a smile meant to coax. His head tipped to the side ever so slightly, a silent invitation. It pulled the flesh and muscles there taut. Exposed the large pulsing vein that lay hidden under his skin.

An odd sensation slid through her, a kind of tingling pressure that was centered in her mouth. It distracted her for just a moment. Her teeth seemed to be shifting, bringing her tongue up to glide lightly over the edges of each tooth in an effort to discover what was going on. The soft, pink muscle dragged over a particularly sharp point and there was a quick, sudden stab of pain as the flesh parted. A few drops of blood leaked out to fill her mouth. The taste of rich copper flooded her senses.

The hunger pulled at her.

Her feet crossed those few remaining steps between herself and Adam that she felt she'd flied. She moved so fast, she couldn't recall moving at all. His skin was warm and supple under her hands as she ran them up his arms to his shoulders. He shuddered with her touch, a soft moan filling the silence of the room. She leaned in, her nose catching the delicate scent of his blood through his flesh as it mingled with sexual lust and need. She pressed a single kiss to the column of his throat, a tender promise to him, before scraping her teeth over the same spot.

It was a kiss, but it was unlike any kiss she'd ever given in her life. Her lips touched his skin and caressed it. At the same time, primal instincts took hold so that she pressed her teeth against his flesh, bit at it until they sank in. Once the surface was broken, there was a rush of thick fluid against her tongue. She swallowed on reflex and felt heat explode in her belly.

She could smell the copper of his blood rising from his skin, the scent sharper and stronger than before. With it came hints of pleasure and lust and just the slightest tang of fear. It was heady and potent, bringing a soft growl up her throat. Her tongue was coated in copper and warmth, her stomach flaming with burning desire. His breath was a harsh rasp of noise in her ear, his hands light and possessive against her bared flesh. She could hear each rush of air as it moved in and out of his lungs. Could hear the steady, hard thump of his heart. Could hear it when it sped up just a touch and pumped more rich fluid into her mouth. And even though her eyes were closed, she still saw the room around her through someone else's gaze, saw the way Clinton watched her as she coiled herself around her meal and fed.

It was all too much. The heat in her belly turned into a roaring blaze. The hunger burst free of her thin control and roared up over her head. Everything was hazed in red. Hands that had rested gently on the stranger's waist tightened down until he gasped loudly with the pain. Her mouth pressed against his throat harder, muscles clenching down the second he tried to pull away. Her teeth sank deeper, seeking more.

His heart was pounding in his chest, thumping madly with fear and surprise. Laughter bubbled up, would have escaped had she been capable of lifting her mouth away from his tender flesh. He struggled against her hold, tried desperately to push her off of him. She clung that much tighter, pulled harder, drank deeper.

Time held no meaning as she took all she could. It felt right, tasted so good! And she could literally feel life flowing back into her veins. She inched closer to the warm body in her arms, curled tighter around him. Dug her teeth in deeper. She felt flesh rip under her bite and rejoiced when more precious ruby liquid flooded her mouth. She barely heard the soft whimper of pain or the strained voice that spoke so near to her ear. "Master Clinton..."

"Alexis, enough." The command rolled through the room and it gave her pause. There was a compulsion in it that made her want to stop. But the hunger snarled in response, whispered in her ear so that she tightened her grip even more. The man in her arms screamed, a mix of pain and terror. By God, that mix of emotion tasted good. She clamped down further, bringing another cry from the man.

Alexis! Stop at once! Clinton's voice flooded her head and beat the hungry beast down. It fought against him, but he was stronger than the hunger. His arms wrapped around her body while words and a wash of power filled her head. In an instant, almost everything ceased and faded into blackness. She soon found herself dragged forcibly away from her tasty snack, his arms like iron around her as she struggled against his hold. Struggled to get back to the delicious human being he'd brought her.

Said human was currently being supported between two men, his head hanging and his limbs limp. She could see that he was pale and his breath was slow. Ruby droplets leaked from his throat where she'd bitten him and rolled down his pale flesh, leaving crimson tracks in their wake. The men carried their burden from the room, taking with them her meal. The beast clawed at her, demanding that she break Clinton's hold in order to go take back her snack and finish what she'd started. She attempted to do just that, but his grip on her was impossible for her to break. It left her with only one choice.

Alexis turned in Clinton's hold and threw herself at him. She must have surprised him because he let go of her as he stumbled back. Fingers crooked like claws, she swiped at him and came away with flesh under her nails. The shock in his eyes died quickly enough. "Alexis, stop this foolishness!" he snarled at her, hands reaching for her arms.

A hiss slid out of her mouth as she ducked back and away from him to avoid his reach. Before he had a chance to read her plans in her eyes, she darted forward, under his arms, and launched herself at him, fingers digging into his flesh while her mouth sought the plump vein in his throat. He grabbed hold of her and threw her away from him in disgust. She ended up practically on the other side of the large chamber, landing agilely on all fours as if she was a common house cat. She took a moment to gather her senses before launching herself at him again.

Clinton caught her by the throat with one hand. The room around them blurred for a split second, then her back met the stone wall with enough force to drive the breath from her lungs. She thought she heard the stone crack ever so slightly. Her hands came up immediately to curl around his wrist, struggling against his hold while trying in vain to uncurl his fingers from around her neck. Panic beat the beast back and left her in fear for her life. Her feet kicked uselessly at the air, her eyes locked on his face.

Dear God, his eyes were glowing. It was like staring into blue fires, and the lines of his face looked more angular, as if his face was thinning down even as she watched. He was angered, temper boiling madly below the surface calm. She could actually feel his emotions in turmoil, could feel them tumbling and rolling against her mind. "Oh, God. Clinton! Please. You have to stop. You're going to strangle me. I can't breathe," she pleaded, lungs aching with the need for air.

Something in his face shifted, the fire in his eyes slowly banking until they were merely an ordinary blue again. He just suddenly looked the way she'd always seen him and his hand dropped away from her throat. Alexis landed on the floor in a heap, gasping for air while her hands rubbed gently at the abused portions of her neck. His sigh was long and loud and filled with regret. "Alexis, my sweet. Don't you realize what's happened?" he asked her quietly. He held one hand out toward her, a silent offer to help her to her feet. She shook her head and stared in confusion. His next words came so silently, she had to strain to hear them. "You have no need to breathe any longer."

"I... What?"

"There was an accident in the woods. You were taken by surprise by several men. When I found you yesterday evening, you were almost dead. The physician did what he could, but the wound was too serious. There was an infection and you'd lost so much blood," he paused, his eyes turning dark with remorse. "There was nothing to do but let you die or..."

"No!" she spat, shooting to her feet. "It isn't true. Its a lie! You're lying! It can't be true."

But it was true. Memories were flashing through her mind, images of a fight on a darkened road with a group of men who had taken a dislike to her simply because she'd done away with their comrades. There'd been a fight and then the last remaining ruffian had driven his sword into her gut. She could remember the pain as it had spread through her like fire. She could recall hearing his voice, seeing a vague silhouette of Clinton against the shadows of the trees. Her gaze skimmed the room frantically, seeking out the smooth surface of a looking glass. One hung on the wall on the other side of the room and she hurried toward it in the hopes of making a liar of her own scattered memories.

It was not to be, though. Because there was no denying the reflection she saw in the mirror. Her skin was paler than ever, eyes shining with a light that had never been there before. And her stomach lacked the stab wound she could now clearly remember receiving. She'd felt it with her own hands not so long ago. But the most damning evidence of his words was the blood drying around her mouth. It had spilled down her chin and was drying in rusty brown stains that mocked her childish hopes. Opening her mouth showed her the twin fangs on either side of her mouth, dainty pearls with sharpened points made for rending flesh. She whirled on him. "You had no right!"

"I'm sorry, Alexis. You were dying. I had to make a choice. I couldn't--"

"No! You had no right! It wasn't your decision to make. You... turned me into this thing. You had me drinking someone else's blood. You..." Her words trailed off as what she'd said, and did, hit her hard. Oh, God! She'd nearly killed Adam. She'd swallowed his blood greedily and she'd almost killed him. A low moan rolled up her throat as her stomach twisted and knotted. Her hand flew to her mouth, her body already in motion. There was a chamber pot near the bed and she made use of it. The stolen blood burned her throat as she vomited it up.

"Alexis," Clinton's voice was soft and soothing. One hand stroked her head gently, brushing her hair away from her face as he tried to comfort her. She reached up and knocked it away, turning an accusatory glare his way.

"Don't touch me! I don't want you to touch me. I don't want you near me. I don't want anything to do with you ever again!" she spat.

"I didn't have a choice, Alexis. You were dying." There was no apology in his voice.

"You had no right!" she snapped and rose to her feet once again. Her palms met his chest forcibly and shoved him away from her. He stumbled back a few paces. "Get out! Get out and leave me be! I never want to see you again."

He stared at her for a few seconds, his eyes stormy with emotions. His lips pulled down in a frown and he gave her a curt nod. Then he spun on his heel and marched from the room, leaving her naked and alone.

And confused.

And very, very frightened.

~*~*~*~*~

Philip,

I have received Lady Miriam's missive and it brings to light serious issues that I feel must be addressed with all great haste. I have called together the members of the Senate for an emergency meeting. I have had other complaints about packs all other covens. I suggest you make ready for my arrival and the arrival of the Senate.

I'll be seeing you within a week of receiving this message.

Yours,
Nicholas Fury


Philip sighed as he allowed the short, terse words to scroll through his mind yet again. He'd read it half a dozen times since it had been delivered into his hands by the messenger. Reading it again would not help. Trying to decipher it again would not help. Lord Nicholas was a man of few words and he never spared any that were not easily understood. Philip would find no hidden meanings in the short letter at all. What he did find was the fact that the leader of all vampires was on his way to Philip and Miriam's castle. As were all the members of the Senate. Because the werewolves were creating a stir that did not sit well with the vampires.

Some days, Philip thought that he'd have been much better off had he stayed alive and kept his place in line for the throne. There was much less political intrigue to be found within any court in Europe than one would come up against within the hierarchy of the covens.

With the fine, folded piece of parchment in hand, he made his way up the hall to the private chambers he shared with his wife. He'd been pulled from Miriam's side to deal with a few minor issues that should have only taken a handful of minutes. He'd ended up being away from her for more than an hour as one issue after another had come up, culminating in the arrival of the messenger Miriam had sent off a sennight ago. He'd been hoping for the chance to have a quiet, relaxing evening with the love of his life. The Fates, however, were fickle bitches that seemed to take great joy in utterly fouling up his plans. Because now he and Miriam had to deal with the imminent arrival of members of the Senate.

As he neared the closed double doors, he was assaulted with a rush of emotion. There was a mixture of simmering rage, gnawing guilt, and deeply buried fear that tasted so very familiar. Something had upset Clinton so intensely. Philip had an idea he knew what it was because he'd only seen Clinton this emotionally charged a few times before. All of those incidents had involved women. Something had obviously gone wrong with Alexis.

There was a cool aura of calm surrounding Clinton's hectic emotions that brought a smile to Philip's face. Miriam was, as ever, a sea of tranquility in the face of her children's upset and hurt. No doubt she was attempting to soothe Clinton's bruised ego with pretty words, gentle smiles, and tender touches. It appeared that, so far, she was having no success.

There was a third spot of emotion that left him puzzled for a moment. It was both calm and excited all at once, faded and muted as if it was buried firmly in the background. Curious, Philip let his connection with Miriam open and strengthen so that he could hear her thoughts and feel her feelings even as he listened in with his sharp hearing to catch the words actually spoken.

"She pushed me away, shoved me aside as if I were little more than trash. She wants nothing to do with me!" Clinton's voice was strident with his emotions, loud and belligerent to hide the hopelessness that lived underneath.

"I'm well aware of what happened between you and the girl, Clinton," Miriam replied softly. Philip knew that she had her hand on his cheek, her touch meant to be a gentle reminder that she still cared for him. That she always would. "And I'm so sorry. But she's had a shock to her system. She needs time to--"

"Time? Why does she need time? She'd made her decision. She admitted that to me. How is this different?"

"Because she's no mewling babe, Clinton! She wanted to take control of her own life. Which is precisely why you became fascinated with her," Miriam told him. Through her eyes, Philip could see the anguish that the other man tried desperately to ignore. It was written into the lines of his face and it burned in his eyes as surely as if someone had used a brush to paint it there. "She's had everything taken from her or forced upon her without the kindness of considering her opinion or asking for her consent. For the first time in her life, she was going to make a decision for herself. She wasn't going to have someone else impose their decisions upon her. Why do you think she chose you over her betrothed?"

"I was a tool, a chance for her to escape her humdrum life," Clinton snapped back.

"Oh, of course that's how she saw you. Because she is a cold, calculating snake intent on using the first man who proves a distraction from her boring, every day life and not a warm, passionate woman who may have actually fallen in love with your handsome face and your seductive charm." The hard edge of Miriam's words saw Clinton's frown deepening even further. She glared at him, willing him to listen to her. "Has it not occurred to you, my sweet, that she's angered because everything changed and it happened beyond her control?"

"She was dying!"

Miriam sighed, filled with a surge of sympathy. "I know this, Clinton. And she'll understand it after she has time to adjust to the changes."

"She had decided to say yes. What does it matter how that happened?" he snapped churlishly, temper getting the better of him.

"Because she didn't get to say yes to you. Which is what all of this was about!" Miriam shot back, finally allowing her own anger to color her words. Given her feelings on the subject, Philip was surprised she'd waited this long to give it free rein. "Have all your years taught you nothing of women? We are as possession to men, something to be bought and sold to suit their whims and fancies. We are allowed no thoughts of our own, no chance to be our own person. We are confined and defined by that which lies between our thighs. To be used for breeding and the bettering of lands and monies. And those of us who dare to find our own happiness and make our own lives are often times beaten down. We're not given a choice in our own lives. This was to be her chance to speak for herself. Allow her a day or two to be upset that her moment was stolen from her by the Fates."

"And what am I to do while she rages against the Fates? She wants nothing more to do with me." Even without using his other senses, Philip could feel the hopelessness that surrounded the younger man. He drew a breath he hadn't needed in a very long time and reflected upon the impetuousness of youth.

Miriam's tone gentled and Philip saw, through her eyes, her reach out to cup his face with her hand. "You wait for her to rage herself out. When she's empty and lost and in need of kindness, you'll be there to give it to her."

"She needs guidance. She knows nothing but what instinct tells her. And instincts drove her to nearly rip Adam's throat out when she fed from him earlier," Clinton admitted softly.

"And she will have guidance. From someone who poses no threat to her. Someone who will understand how much she hates her place in the world," Miriam told him. The smile she gave Clinton was her most understanding and angelic. One hand motioned to the third person in the room. Miriam and Clinton both turned and Philip saw that it was Elsa who sat waiting in silent patience.

"You want me to guide a newly born?" Elsa squeaked softly. There was surprise on her face. "I'm still considered newly born. And you would have me help someone else?"

"Of course, my dear," Miriam smiled at the girl. She glided across the room to where Elsa stood and took up a position next to her. "Alexis will identify with you. You can befriend her while teaching her how to conduct herself now that she's vampire. She's going to need friends here." Then Miriam turned to face Clinton, her smile positively wicked. "And, at the same time, she can talk the girl around to speaking to you again. Its the perfect solution to this problem."

Philip could feel the rebellion brewing within Clinton.

"And it will give you time to think about Alexis' position," Miriam reminded him sharply.

Some sharp retort sprang to his lips, but he chose to hold on to the hurtful words. Instead, Clinton turned and stalked away from Miriam. Philip didn't bother hiding himself when the younger man slapped the doors open to allow himself out into the hall. He shot a dark look at Philip, then seemed to recover his senses enough to dip into a quick and dirty bow. Clinton stalked away from him without saying a word, shoulders tight with his rage. Philip watched him go before once again heading on his way.

Miriam was still standing beside Elsa, giving the girl that same coaxing smile that he'd seen bring kings and popes to their knees. The young woman looked frightened for her life. "If I fail, my Lady, Clinton is going to hate me for the rest of eternity," she whispered.

Miriam's smile turned secretive. "Clinton's temper is something fearsome, to be sure. But he will hold no grudge against you if you don't win his lady love over. He fails to realize that Alexis will come around. After some time. She's mourning the loss of her humanity right now. Once she discovers that this life is so much better than her old one, her animosity will be a thing of the past." She tipped her head to the side, sending fiery tresses cascading over her shoulder as she listened to absolutely everything and nothing at all. "Go now, child. She's alone and afraid. She needs to see a friendly face if she's to begin acclimating. She's in the green room. And you're welcome to take guards with, if you feel you need them. I will not allow anyone to bring harm to my people. Not even if its one of my own doing the harm."

"Yes, my Lady," Elsa dipped into a curtsey, then rose to glide out of the room. She fumbled into a quick curtsey when she spied Philip and hurried through the door. Philip allowed himself an indulgent smile and closed the panel behind her. When he turned back to Miriam, she was watching him speculatively.

"Clinton has been throwing a temper tantrum," she informed him, as if it was something of which he wasn't already aware.

"Clinton is a child. He'll get over it," he returned quietly. Then he sighed and shook his head. "I can understand his frustration. I just wish he would realize that Alexis has much to adjust to and she requires time for that to happen. This experience has been traumatic for her."

"You know I know this better than anyone else," Miriam replied quietly.

Philip inclined his head. "It was a risk that had to be taken if she was to live. You know what he'd have been like, had she not survived."

"Of course, Philip. We've seen him go through it before. And I want to see him happy. But he should have expected that things would not be sunshine and rainbows right from the start. She's just gone through a huge shock. Of course she's going to be a touch upset about it." Miriam stopped and sighed, shaking her head as she did so. "It is something we do not have time to deal with, though. There is already so much going on. I had word from one of the daytime guards that there may have been a stranger outside our walls today. Matthias is sulking and you know that means nothing good for Elsa or the rest of us. And there's the threat of the shifters becoming too unruly. I believe our calendar is full for quite some time."

Philip nodded his head in agreement. Miriam was correct in everything she said. They didn't have time for young Alexis to become accustomed to her new life. Not if it put their people at risk. But he'd seen first hand how the change affected those he loved. It didn't matter how prepared a soul thought they were for a life lived in shadows and darkness. There was always a period of fear and adjustment. "Our calendar is about to become a little more chaotic, my love," he informed her, offering the fine parchment he'd brought with him.

Miriam shot him a look, then crossed to his side and took the missive from his hand. Her face was serious as she read it and only got worse from there. He estimated she read it four or five times before finally looking up at him. "Lord Fury is coming here?"

Philip nodded. "As is the rest of the Senate."

"We have so much to do. Rooms must be prepared. Extra pets must be brought in. More guards put to the walls. The castle needs to be cleaned," she rattled off absently. They were things that needed doing, but he knew his wife well enough to know that her mind was turning over everything else that needed to be dealt with. "I wasn't expecting him to pay us a visit so soon."

"I know, Miriam. There is obviously something going on that we are not aware of. No doubt Lord Fury will enlighten us upon his arrival."

"This missive has the feel of war to it," Miriam said softly, her fingers still curled around the parchment. He felt the small kernel of fear that lived in her chest. "I'm tired of war. We've both seen our fair share of death and bloodshed in our long lives. This modern age was supposed to protect us from the senseless slaughter. This is supposed to be the age of reason and science. Still, men seek out death and destruction of their kind and of every other thing on the planet."

"Humanity hasn't changed, Miriam. We have," Philip responded gently, his arms closing around her to pull her into his chest. "I like to believe that we value life more than the mortals because we've seen time and again how easily its taken from us."

She inched closer to him, as if seeking warmth from his frame. She wasn't. She was seeking comfort from him in an effort to stem the tide of memories he could feel threatening to overwhelm her. He tightened his hold on her happily, whispering an old French lullaby to her in an effort to help keep her from falling into that madness again. "I don't want to see our people plunged into a war, Philip. You know what that would mean."

He did. There had been war for his people once already. It had been devastating for the vampire race. Mortals had learned of their weaknesses and had used them to full advantage. Because of that war, his kind had taken to the shadows. They lived their lives shrouded in darkness and secrecy and he'd met few people outside of the covens who actually knew anything about their kind. Most of what people knew of vampires was through myths and legends that had been passed down through the generations. Much of it was incorrect and harmful. They didn't need another war.

"Then we must do our best to see that it doesn't come to war." He pressed a kiss to her brow and gave her an open, honest, genuine smile. "There. Now that we've discussed that unpleasant business, let us discuss the other unpleasant business."

She blinked at him in confusion. "What other unpleasant business?"

"You were rather harsh with Clinton earlier, my sweet," he reminded her, tone as gentle as could be. She shook her head and made to pull away, but his hold on her was such that she couldn't break it without a struggle. The tension eased from her and she sagged against him.

"He was being an arse, Philip," she mumbled into his chest. "He should understand why the girl is displeased with him. I shouldn't have to explain it to him."

"Clinton is a man of emotion. Rational thinking is not one of his finer qualities. He'll realize he was out of line eventually. And when he does, he'll come to you and apologize. Then he'll apologize to Alexis and all will be right with the world again," Philip told her before leaving a trail of kisses over the curve of her cheek.

"I should have been more understanding with him. I should have--"

Philip hushed her words of guilt with a kiss that saw her swaying closer to him. He urged her into motion, walking her backward toward the bed. As he did so, his hands worked at the laces on her bodice. By the time they reached the bed, he was pulling the bodice from her. "You were as understanding as possible. He's very stubborn. Once he calms down, he'll see the wisdom of your words. For now, though, put all thoughts of Clinton and his troubles from your mind. Put thoughts of Lord Fury and possible war from your mind. Think only of me and allow me to put all unpleasant things from your mind."

"Do you really think now is the time for such indulgences?" she asked even as her hands worked at the buttons of his waist coat.

"My darling Miriam," Philip smiled and found the closure on her skirt. The heavy material slid down her legs, leaving her in her under pinnings. She was making quick work of the buttons on his linen shirt. "It is always the time for such indulgences."

He rid her of the petticoats, of her corset, and of her chemise. She was left in nothing more than the expensive silk stockings that he'd had brought to her from France. His hands slid down over her soft skin to rub against the silk hose. Miriam shivered and reached for the waistband of his trousers. "On the bed, my darling," he ordered her. She hurried to do as she was told. When she was settled, her hands reached for the ribbons holding her stockings up.

"Leave them, my sweet. I want to feel them against my skin as bury myself inside of you again and again and again."

Miriam only smiled and laid herself out on the bed. Philip's hands moved to his trousers, rid himself of them, then joined her on the bed. He was true to his word. In only a matter of moments, all of the troubles she'd had resting on her shoulder were gone.

All that was left was pleasure.

~*~
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