Andrew Catalano hates Geneviere Austin.
Hates the way she walks, the way she smiles, the way she sways when she plays her violin. Hates the way her eyes light up with exitement at some insignificant thing. Hates the way her voice chimes like bells.
Hates the way she looks at him. It's that kind of innocent, slightly mischievous look that makes him want to tear at his hair and throw himself into the nearest fireplace. Yet he keeps his calm, schooling his features into a carefully crafted facade of composure. Unpleasant as it might be, he still has a duty toward her.
"Sire?" she asks. "Andrew?"
There it is again, that voice. Soft, obedient - and so, so wrong.
He takes a moment to swallow his disdain and turns to fully face her.
Geneviere hesitates slightly, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear before she continues.
"I was wondering if we could continue our session from yesterday?" She giggles slightly. "Or yesternight, if you want."
Andrew blinks once, twice. Does being a sire really comes with all this? You'd assume, a fledgling would know some things by instinct, he thinks but then again, it's not that long ago that he was a fledgling himself. Maybe some fledglings needed more care than others. Maybe he simply bit off more than he could chew when it came to this woman.
Then again, it's not like he has a choice.
"I'd prefer if you tried to repeat the lessons by yourself. I will be indisposed later tonight" he says, sounding more stern than he intended. Not that it is a bad thing. Some harshness may keep her away from him a bit, even if he can't leave her behind entirely.
Yet Geneviere doesn't let him deter her that easily.
"Are you sure? We barely started yesterday. And it's not like I have a lot of expertise in that area..." She tilts her head as if pondering over something and then looks at him again.
"Would you please reconsider, Andrew?"
Caine, how he hates that look in her eyes. He would call it "puppy eyes" but she is nothing like a puppy and even then he has little appreciation left for those.
"I don't think so" he replies curtly, turning away from her. It's best that he leaves before he says or does something he might regret.
He barely manages one step away from her when she catches his arm. Her grip isn't exactly strong and yet he almost recoils from it, as if it's blazing hot.
"Andrew" she murmurs, raising her gaze to meet his, green eyes shimmering with something akin to disappointment, making him grit his teeth.
His patience won't last much longer.
It's revolting how genuinely sad her voice sounds. He'd almost believe it.
He stares down at her, not saying a word. What could he possibly say?
Geneviere takes his silence as hesitation, a hint of a smile manifesting on her lips. She raises her hand from his arm, touching him lightly until she's at his shoulder, then his collar, tugging at it ever so lightly.
"I'll repay you, Andrew," she whispers, slipping her finger beneath the first button of his shirt, "but please, won't you teach me?"
He swats her hand away, glaring at her.
He can't do this anymore. Not now, not with her. Not with her.
It bursts out of him before he can do anything, before he can properly think about what he's doing.
The woman in front of him stops dead in her tracks. Confusion spreads over her face - confusion and a spark of something darker, something he should have avoided at all costs and yet...
And then it fills her expression completely, making his heart race in both excitement and fear. Her voice is still soft as she speaks but there's an edge to it, like a blade wrapped in silk.
He can't help but stand a little straighter, his gaze locked with hers. With her dead, icy eyes.
It feels like time stands still and yet suddenly she is upon him, hands on his neck, not quite choking but hard enough to bruise.
"Why," she hisses and he knows he should be afraid, maybe even begging for his life but adrenaline races through his veins and all he can think of is that it's her, it's her, it's truly her, "why can't you just let me live?"
She lets go of him. Her nails are stained with blood and his neck burns where she touched him but he barely notices. All he sees is the woman in front of him in all her cold, inhuman beauty, with hair as red as the wrath that burns in her eyes.
There's nothing he can say without making himself sound idiotic so he keeps quiet, waiting for her judgement.
"It seems, you have forgotten who you answer to. Let me remind you."
In the next moment, her lips crash against his like steel, cold, hard and unforgiving. It's a wonder his knees don't give in right where he stands and yet he still takes a step back to steady himself, wrapping his arms around her. Holding her, the woman he adores almost as much as he despises her. She opens her mouth slightly and he is eager to follow suit, tasting her, the blood on her tongue and he's losing himself, floating in ecstasy even as she breaks away from him, wiping at her mouth. In this moment, he thinks, she could order him to take on the Antedilluvians by himself and he would gladly throw himself into the fight.
Her face is completely expressionless as she watches him regain his composure and yet he can't help but think he sees a glimmer of satisfaction in her eyes. It should unnerve him but... All he can think of is the taste of her blood on his tongue.
She catches his dreamy gaze and cocks an eyebrow at him.
"I trust there will be no more complications?"
He shakes his head. However he might hate that she makes him play along with her derangements, he could never refuse her. Even if he wanted to.
She smiles slightly and closes her eyes, her posture slumping a bit.
It's only a moment until Geneviere opens her eyes again.
"Well," she says, catching his gaze, "shall we continue with our lesson?"
