#alta lee

[ultimaxellofficial]

More digital. Caven Dhouti and Alta Lee

[ultimaxell]

Our Darkest Days : Vampire AU

Sometimes…. Saho wondered if he even had a heart anymore.

It was more than just the fact he could no longer feel, could no longer see the colors he knew ran so vividly through the world, a memory painted in the, admittedly, flawed spectrum his mortal mind had, More than just the missing emotions he knew she should be there, knew he should be feeling but instead of their rampant appeal, he felt nothing but an aching hole in his chest, another reminder of what used to be. He loved his father, He loved his brothers, his friends. He loved them, with every aching fiber in his soul, but he could not feel it, could not feel the burning attachment that he knew was there…. And Yet still, he acted on it, played into like most Vampires did, only his was strengthened by the longing the dwelled within him, that longing for both emotion and the people they were attached to. Saho wanted Amun… He wanted Alta.

He supposed that was the human remains in him, the side of him that had died thousands of years ago when his father had brought fangs to flesh and turned him from a peasant misfit to a king. He could remember seeing in color, could remember the feelings that rushed through him, new, hot, vivid, only to be taken away after one hundred short years, all color fading along with his joy, his happiness, anything light in him. He had been told it was normal, told this was the way a vampires worked, and after thousands of years, Saho had accepted that. It didn’t matter so much anymore, and he even began to appreciate it, content that his chest no longer swelled with sympathy, no longer felt any empathy for those under him.

It was in moments like these, in the flickering candle light of what they had deemed the throne room, his back pressed against the high raised chair with, what looked to him like murky grey but was actually a vivid blue cushions comforting his body, that the thought rose up again, the question he held no answer to and did not really care to.

What what the price of immortality?

Was it simply your humanity, or was it possible that it was the very beating heart that lay in you chest? Sure, it beat against his hand as he held a curious hand over it, his eyes hooded, shadowed as he felt it’s rhythmic thump in one, two, threes, but his question laid more with the ‘heart’ or had he given that up, Handed it to his father In exchange for immortality and power that now sang through his veins? It wasn’t a question he wondered often. In truth, Saho was content with how his life was playing out, in what it was that he could do, what power he held over people and their thoughts. He knew what he was, a Vampire, a king, and most days it gave him a strong vivid surge of enjoyment to see people beg him for small things, a loan, a day… their lives, and their vigorous fear only proved to him what he already knew…. That he was made to be a king.

But sometimes he wondered what price had paid for such a right, what he had given up to make this his destiny.

The question popped up now, fresh in his mind now, as he stared down the men who had fallen to their knees before him, dark long hair falling in his face as his hands pressed flat against the floor, his body, invisible to other who were looking upon him, shook slightly under the weight of his stare, like his eyes weighed more than his body could handle, a thousand pounds of judgement and promised pain. Saho’s head tilted, his eyes blinking slow as he took the man in, his memory, longer than that of a normal human, could vaguely recall the image of this man standing before him, to promised wealth and reputation to the kings should they simply give him a small loan.

Saho had known that he would not be able to hold up the loan that he had given to him. He had know this was how it would end, that the man, so cocky before, so arrogant, so sure, would end up here once more, begging, pleading with him to give him just that one more chance, that if he just gave him a little more time, he could make him double, no triple what Saho had dished out.

He didn’t realize Saho had never intended for him to make it.

“So you’re telling me, that you have come here, empty handed….. And expect forgiveness?”

The man stiffened, his sobs silencing even as the tears spilled from his eyes. He knew. He knew what it was that was coming, the words that would fall from, his lips even before he said them. Saho knew that if he commanded it, the man would slit his own throat, that all the King had to do…. Was simply say no, and they would know just exactly what that meant. In Reality, Saho didn’t have to say another word, didn’t have to even look up from his worn boots, didn’t have to do more then wave his hand in his direction for all of this to be over...

But it was far more fun to go through formalities.

“What’s that? There is no mumbling in my court.”

The man shivered as Saho’s voice ran over him, his body shaking, trembling. Saho gave him a moment, a few seconds of his prolonged silence, before the quirk in his lips became to hard to hid, the twist of his lips into a wicked grin flashing in his eyes.

“You don’t deserve my Protection any longer. All that you have…. Belongs to me now.”

The man snapped up, just as Saho Lifted his hands…. And snapped his fingers.

The sounds of his screams reverberated through the halls as the men lining the walls, the ones hooded, flashing ravenous eyes snapping toward the man’s figure as he spoke, who responded to Saho’s gestures in an instant, their movements quick, a blur of motion, and all that could be heard was the screams, the splash of blood across stone as they tore into his flesh, the sight of it hidden by the splay of limbs, the rush of bodies of starving vampire fledglings flailing and covering the sight of the body being torn apart.

Saho only watched, grinning slowly as he leaned back into his chair, his hand coming up to catch his cheek against his knuckles. He settled, tilting his head to the side to allow himself to soak in the screams…. For a moment, anyway.

“So…. you couldn’t have killed him in a normal way…. Like say slitting his throat? Stabbing him with a knife that I know you have on you…. Snapping his neck maybe? You know, like a normal vampire king might have? Do you have to use the starving fledglings? I hate the sounds they make….”

The smile that had been creeping along his lips dulled into a surly pout as Saho turned his head to look at the person who muttered the words lowly, softly, to the point that they were reserved simply and only for him. Saho took a moment to take in the image of the man lying across one of the other thrones, his hands raise so his fore arms rested on his chest, his eyes, blue as the oceans and just as deep, just as vivid, locked on the little cube of what should have been colors that rested in his hands, fingers moving over them to rearrange the smaller squares again and again and again, his expression never changing from his typically bored mask.

Alta Lee was a Formidable man. It didn’t matter that he was currently sitting in a throne with a child’s toy in his hands, It didn’t matter that he had seemingly never allowed his eyes to move from his hands, his fingers that moved easily over the little rubix cube, Saho knew that the brown haired king had seen, heard, processed everything that had transpired with a troubling ease. He didn’t have to look to see the bodies on the ground, didn’t have to look up to know who it was that stood before them and whose blood now painted the ground. A Lee’s business was knowing, and Alta was a picture perfect Lee.

“I like using the fledglings…. What the point of starving them if we can’t use them?” Saho huffed, slipping from his Kingly air for a moment as he huffed back, a child again in a golden crown. Alta huffed, scoffed at the words, his gaze only flickering once toward the black haired boy.

“That would be the point. What’s the point of starving fledglings? It’s almost cruel.”

“As if You care about what’s cruel or not.”

There was a moment of silence as Alta could not say a single thing to that matter. Saho grinned. It wasn’t often he won in a battle of words against the Lee. If he were to keep score (Which he wouldn’t, that would be pointless) Alta would have 18654 wins to his 4.

Including this one.

So he soaked in it a little.

“Next. Shalen Tustin.”

Saho, still reeling in his little victory against Alta, hardly heard the words that the courtkeeper had spoken, the rest of the court’s head turning as the wide double doors opened, revealing a small man with nervous mannerisms, his fingers touching as he shuffled forward, blues eyes flicking toward the fledglings that had returned to lining the sides before moving on to the kings that sat, unamused and imposing, at the head of the throne room. Saho’s head tilted, his mind racing as he tried to bring up some fragment of a memory on this man, but for the life of him, he could not remember.

The man stopped,paused in front of him, and from the corner of his eye, Saho saw Alta move, fingers dropping the rubix cube as he straightened his spine, twisting so that he faced the man with a  visible interest in his stance, something that caught Saho’s attention immediately. Alta didn’t care for court dynamics, and he very, VERY rarely showed any interest in anyone who walked in. Infact, Alta made it a point to simply ignore almost everything that was going on before him when it came to the days he had to hear what the public had to say, choosing to play some sort of childish game or ignoring everything around him. To capture Alta’s attention was something extraordinary, and now they whole heartedly had his attention as well.

“Why are you here, Mr. Tustin?”

The man shifted, mumbled something under his  breath as his gaze slid along the ground. Saho could hear Alta starting to shift again, and he knew from experience a restless Alta was not a Alta that anyone really wanted to deal with. It really wasn’t a matter on if he could hear him or not. Saho was, if not just a king, but a Dhouti, one of the strongest lines of Vampires, turned by by the originals themselves and holding their blood. He could hear him, perfectly, hear the words that slid past his lips, but Saho wanted to hear him articulate. He gave no special treatment, even to those that interested him.

“Why are you HERE, Mr. Tustin. I can’t be bothered to try and hear you if you want to whisper.”

“MY DEBT! I’m here…. I’m here to settle my Debt.”

“And what do you think you have that might interest me?”

There was a silence, before the man before them seemed to steel, and his eyes hardened as more people stumbled through the open doors. His voice was clear now, his mind already made up, long before he had even set foot before the Kings.

“My Daughter, Caven.”

And there was that human nature, the nature of loyalty so easily broken in the fragile creatures that made up most of the world's population. Saho blinked, his expression betraying nothing. He could not deny that he had expected something of the sort, the man's fortune, his house, his servitude, but to off his own daughter as repayment for a debt was something that saho had very rarely heard. He moved, shifting slightly as his gaze narrowed, the grin twisting his features, black and blue strands falling into mismatched eyes as he breathed his question, a simple one with a hopefully interesting answer.

“Tell me, why would your daughter be worth your debt?”

--------------------------

Vampire males, any of the males of the Originals blood without a lifemate, without their one, didn't dream. They didn't see in color and they certainly didn't feel emotion. Pain, yes, but not any good emotion. So why had he been reaching for a dream for the past few years? He was an ancient, an experienced warrior. He had no time for fantasy, or for imagination. His world was stark and barren, a necessity for battling an enemy who, inevitably, had been a friend or family member.

Over the first hundred or so years after losing his emotions, he had held out hope. As centuries passed, the hope of finding his one had faded. He had accepted he would find her in the next life and he was carrying out his resolve to do his last duty to his people. Yet here he was, an ancient of great experience, Alta of the Lee line, a lineage as old as time itself, a man of wisdom, a warrior renowned and feared, sitting wide awake, dreaming.

Dreams should have felt insubstantial, and at first his had been. A woman. Just a vague idea of her appearance. So, young in comparison to him, but a fighter in her own right. She hadn't been his concept of the woman who would partner him, yet as she grew in substance over the years, he realized how perfect she was for him. He had fought far too long to ever lay down his weapons. He knew no other way of life. Duty and sacrifice were bred into his very bones and he needed a woman who could understand him.

Perhaps that was what dreams were. He'd never dreamt until a few years ago. Never. Dreams were emotions, and he'd long ago lost those. Dreams were color, although not his. But they felt like color as the years shaped the woman. She was a mystery, sheer confidence when she fought. She often had fresh bruises and wounds that left scars on her soft skin. He'd taken to examining her carefully each time they met, healing her had become a traditional greeting. He found himself smiling inside, thinking how she was entirely confident when it came to viewing herself as a woman. For a few moments, he contemplated why he should be smiling inside. Smiling was equated with happiness, and he had no emotions to feel such things, but his memories of emotions were sharpening as he moved toward the end of his life, instead of dimming as he had expected. Because when he summoned the dream, he felt a sense of comfort, of well-being and happiness.

Over the years, she had become clearer to him. A fierce leader with exactly the same values he held on loyalty and family and duty. He would never forget the night, only a week ago, when he saw her eyes in color. For a moment, he couldn't breathe, looking at her in wonder, shocked that he could remember colors so vividly that he could attribute an actual color to her eyes.

Her eyes were beautiful, glowing blue with faint hints of gold and amber that darkened when he managed to elicit a laugh from her. She didn't laugh often or easily, and when she did, he felt it was more of a victory than any of the battles he'd won.

As dreams went, and they only occurred when he was awake, they always seemed a bit out of focus. But he looked forward to seeing her. He felt protective toward her, as if his allegiance had already swung toward his dream woman. He wrote to her, songs of love, saying all the things he wished to tell his one. And when she refused to rest, he'd lay her down, her head in his lap, stroking her thick mane of hair and singing to her in other languages. He'd never felt more content, or more complete.

He had often called her Varis, his tongue caressing the word. She had no idea what it meant, but that single word made a swarm of butterflies take flight in her stomach. Something that made him soar, made that smile that usually only played over his expression for his Dhotui display with a brilliance he could not wipe away.

And now, she was here. Her figure moving out from behind a man who did not even warrant a second glance. Alta could hear Saho’s words. Could hear the man speaking in hushed, trembling tones. But none of the words clicked with him. None of the words made any sort of sense when she moved forward, those blue eyes down cast.

He stared down at her, afraid to move or blink, terrified she would disappear, that his perfect dream would shatter. She didn't want them to see her injury. In his dream, she wasn't supposed to have an injury. She'd always been able to control his dream, but lately, reality had crept in a little too much.

Alta shifted out of the throne, his leg that was thrown so haphazardly over the side over the chair threw over to hit the floor. His fingers dropping the rubicks cube without a hesitation as he moved to tower over the small girl.

He gripped her chin in his hand and turned her face toward the light of the flickering fire, a small frown settling over his features.

“Your face is bruised.”

Those bruises shouldn't have been there. Reading her thoughts, as he always did, her warrior swept her hair from her face with gentle fingers. He allowed himself to just feel, to drink in her presence, to enjoy that moment of not just dreaming of her. He touched her hair, rubbing the silky strands between his fingers.

A very male part of him rose up, dominant, protective, a hint of rage at the idea of another man uncovering her vulnerability, at the thought of a person striking her. The woman, his Caven belonged to him alone, as he did to her. The world could see the warrior in them both, but the man and the woman were an intimacy no other needed to know.

“She’s mine.”

His words were meant for Saho’s ears, his finger still tracing over features of a woman so small in comparison to him.

Colors as bright as the sun swirled in front of his eyes, nearly blinding him. Every emotion was magnified a thousand times. Humiliation. Embarrassment. Sorrow. Rage. A terrible sexual hunger, raw and volatile, a craving he'd never experienced.

This need, this craving, was stronger than any one thing he'd ever experienced. It took his breath and stole his sanity. The passion didn't just involve his body, every single part of him, heart and soul, seemed to have an overwhelming desire to be with her. Life mates. His one. She had seen the devotion his grandfather’s Alder one had to him. He paid attention to the smallest thing, seemed completely focused on her every moment, and that kind of concentration would make Alta crazy. He'd been waiting for her too long. He went weeks without seeing or talking to another person besides Saho. How could he possibly be in a relationship? He didn't know how. He didn't know the first thing about sharing his life or, or anything. He could barely breathe, his lungs burning for air.

He would try for her though, he knew this with only moments of finally knowing her.

“Who gave these to you, Varis?”

-------------------------------

Caven never thought she would be the kind of girl who would long for death.

It was a strange concept to her, to be sure. Death was something that she knew, every human familiarizing themselves with the ideal and concept when they were young, a just in case mentality on most and a forced perception on others. It wasn’t hard, not really, to grow used to the idea of it, the act of it almost becoming something of a rite of passage, a coming of age for most people that called Heaven’s Falls thier home. Death was familiar, an ever present constant, a shadow that stalked, hunted, followed around humans. It was a creature lingering, a companion that trailed in the shadows they left behind, always there, mostly unnoticed, but forever connected, pressing dark fingers into spines to send little ripples of fear along their bodies.

Caven knew that she should be scared. It would have been the logical thing, the most appropriate feeling. She should be terrified, she should be fighting against the bonds that held her, the rope that bound her wrists together and tied them to her waist,, she should be cursing the day she was born because this was it, this was how she was going to die. She knew that…. She knew what she should be feeling with a vivid clarity. It was the vision she had always had when the subject was broached, as it always was, particularly in the early hours of the morning as kinds, children, hid under blanket forts with nothing but a candle to illuminate their youthful, naive faces, hushed whispers of what they would do if they should ever be caught by the monsters that went bump in the night, grand illusions, bold boasts of fighting, of ripping them limb from limb as they went down fighting….

No one ever realized it wasn’t like how you imagined. It was never going to be the picture perfect scenarios you thought of in your head. Sometimes…. You didn’t get to play the Hero. Sometimes, you had to accept that you were never going to amount to anything….

Except a Pawn.

Caven moved, following silently behind the man she was forced to call her father. Her hands twisted, not in struggle,in simple discomfort, her fingers clenching as her eyes, bright blue locked on the ground before her as it passed under her converse clad feet, worn shoes scraping along the floor as she heard the doors open to reveal her tomb, her deathbed, her grave.

She didn’t mind, not really. It was strange, but rather than curse and bemoan the luck that had fall upon her, the luck of having a father too arrogant for his own good, too cocky to think he had to pay back what he owed to the Vampire Kings, Caven instead choose to greet death as an old friend, a creature so bonded to her it might as well have been her twin. She was no stranger to death, having dealt her own hand of it, dealt her own pain, and so she simply graze past him, her soul lingering, fluttering about in bony hands... She straightened her back, eyes dry of the tears that most expected of her, her blond hair falling to frame her face, pigtails spilling down her back to lightly graze over the small swell of her hips.

She found herself thinking, marveling at how little she regretted her short life. She had only lived for eighteen years, but there was only two things that she even found herself feeling even the slightest bit of remorse for.

One was she never really got to say goodbye to Vendetta, her one true friend in this world, the only girl that Caven would give anything for. Caven and Vendetta had been born on the same day, the same year, within minutes of each other at the same hospital. It had been simply fate that she had met the girl in her later years, when she was about three or four and her mother had dained to take her to the park on one hot summer afternoon. Caven, who had been nursing a bruise the side of a baseball on her side, hadn’t been moving much, simply playing in the sandbox when some kid had come up to her and knocked over her silly little castle, a tragedy of a castle really, but it had been hers and she had spent a total of twenty minutes on it, a eternity to a child. Caven could remember the sting behind here yes, could remember the rage, but she never got to express it, as there was a sudden yell, a scream that was more battle cry then anythings he had ever heard before, and the form of a small girl, perhaps smaller than even her at that time, the cry on her lips as she came flying in feet first to slam into this person, some random whose names she could not remember, whose face had long since faded from memory.

But Her first look at the girl who would come to mean everything to her was something that would never fade from Caven’s mind, forever ingrained in her soul, her heart, her mind.  She was beautiful, even back then. Her hair had been much shorter, long white strands that flowed around her in an almost mystical halo. Caven could remember looking at her, her eyes wide as she looke dup at the girl who was grinning down on her, thinking that there had to be some mistake, that there had to be some sort of mishap because this girl was far to gorgeous to have ever paid her any mind. She was like some sort of mystical creature, a warrior, a valkyrie on angel’s breath come to save the common rot that littered this earth. She was ethereal, strong and powerful, and she choose her to befriend. Years were not kind to Vendetta in terms of life, both Caven and Vedetta drawing short ends of the straws in terms of parents. Caven could remember Vendetta standing before her, another protective stance as she took a beating that should have found Caven’s already ruined flesh.

She was like that, protective of her, even when Caven had not earned such a gift. Caven did what she could to make it better. She was not strong, something she knew from her father's hand, her mother's whips, but hands that could not strike could heal, and Caven’s fingers had skimmed over Vendetta’s ruined skin, her bruises, her cuts that both belonged to her and did not. Caven would trace over the smile, false, it always rang so false, fingers brushing pretty pink lips and bright blue eyes wide and watery with tears she would not shed, a weakness they could not afford. She wouldn’t cry in front of Ven, for crying would equate to failure in the young Albino’s mind, and if Ven could fake a smile for her sake, Caven would do the same, her lips forcing a smile even as they brushed over bruises and cuts that she knew would sting long into the night.

Caven had not seen her this morning. Had not seen her when her father had woken her at the crack of dawn and told her to get ready, to not bother with breakfast because they were running late. She hadn’t gotten to say goodbye, but she had left a note, knowing, assuming, that whatever her father had planned wasn't good.

It was the only thing she could have done, but it wasn’t enough to express her heart on tiny lines on a page.

Caven’s only other regret was something that she couldn’t really explain. For as long as shecould remember, Caven had been dreaming, thinking, envisioning someone who had long since become a comfort to her, a shoulder to cry on when she could not show tears to Ven. She didn’t know if they were real, she had to assume they weren’t, as she only ever saw them in her dreams, hazy images of a tall man with dark hair and bright eyes who brushed fingers over her skin, pressed kisses to her cheeks as she breathed in the comfort he offered without words, her hands grasping, clutching, reaching and wishing for such a handle in reality.

Her regret was she never found out who this person was, and now…. She never would.

But These regrets were few, and truly if she only had two regrets at the end of her life, This was something Caven could, figuratively, live with.

She heard her father speak, mumbling in his meek voice,earning an eye roll from the blond as she huffed her breath upward. She didn’t hear him as he moved, didn’t hear the footsteps approach her as she shifted on her own feet, fingers clenching, clasping, until she felt it, a hand on her skin as fingers hooked under her chin. Her face was forced up, a light gasp pulling from her lips as she blinked in surprise, and her eyes snapped toward the man whose hand brushed her skin so easily, whose touch rang a thousand bells in her mind, his very presences a soothing familiar feeling.

“I know you….” the words were out of her mouth before she could stop them, and she felt her heart, once hammering in her chest as his touch sung it’s call in her veins, stall at the sight of the frown that pulled on his lips. It was Him…. It was him, it was him, it was him, the man from her dreams, the one who so sweetly calmed her tears when she came to him crying, the one who in meeting healed her before all else, her body refreshed and vivid whenever he made her drink from his wrist. She recognized him, not by his looks, but by the sound of his voice, by the touch of his skin, light, almost hesitant, like he wasn’t sure it was her…. That frown however was a clear contrast to what she knew of him, and her heart plummeted. Had she disappointed him, was she not to his liking? The thought of being less than satisfactory suddenly hit her harder than it really should have, her eyes welling, stringing as she blinked rapidly and drew in her shaking breath. She wanted to be enough…. God she wanted to be enough.

His words, however, caught her off guard. No one had ever cared to ask that before…. Not anyone who didn’t know the answer already anyway.

“.... They were my fault, my lord… I was not fast enough to get ready this morning….”

She mumbled the words, her gaze lowering slightly away from him. The name he called her, she could remember it from her dream. It was always spoken so affectionately…. And today was no exception. Her heart fluttered a little at the sound, her breath catching as she leaned slightly away from him, though her body moved, leaned closer to his touch.

So absorbed with her discovery, Caven didn’t hear the commotion until it was at their front door, the doors slamming open and her name being called by a voice she would recognize anywhere.

“VENDETTA!”

-------------------

Her life was a living hell.

There was no way around it, no denying the world she lived in was wrapped in a dark mist of pure hell fire. Every minute of her waking hours nothing but a sad excuse of a life. Something that she would not wish on her worst enemy. There was no happiness besides the little moments she would steal away Dragging Caven and their sisters off, pulling from the fist and the lashes. The moments where her and Caven would sneak away, their secret spots hidden from prying eyes so they could just be. So they could just have each other. Wrapped in the little bit of happiness that both knew would not last long.

Her life was sad.

She didn’t want to be save though. Hell, if anything she wanted to be the hero of her and Cavens story. Wanted to be able to come down on the vicious world that they lived in. She couldn’t count how many times she had saved each of the small girls from the hands of their parents. Could not count how many times she had sucked down her own tormented emotions so she could show a toothy smile to the other girls. Show some sort of hope in the dark reality they called life. Her only saving grace, her only reason for continuing through the world was for Caven. For those blue eyes that stared so hopefully at her.

So she would be damned if her life was going to be a sad, hellish, and Caven-less.

With that thought in mind and blood dripping down her lip, dribbling down the column of her neck she pushed forward. Pushed through the onslaught of humans who tried to barricade the door from her, pushed through the guards, who she knew could have honestly taken her down. Fist pounded at her flesh, her mother’s screams reached her ears, but they held little suede over her. Not reaching any empathy as her voice cracked in a weak attempt of betrayal.

Elbows flew, catching her ribs, the side of her cheek, but nothing deterred her as she reached the spoked doors. Her hands pushing them open with a huff, tears that she had not even realized were falling causing her gasp to come out a little too desperate as she caught sight of the small blonde.

“CAVEN! DON’T TOUCH HER!”

Hands caught her as she lunged forward, fingers digging into raw flesh and squeezing on the what seemed fragile bones under their grasp. There was not too much she could do as her head slammed into the marble flooring, her head instantly pounding and brilliant lights playing behind her vision. But still she moved, even if it was lagged, sluggish under the assault of the body guards. The guards who seemed to be mildly distracted, their words flying towards eachother. Swearing at the guards at the door for even allowing her in.

The second she had a hold on her hands and knees, a white-hot flash of pain burst in her ribs, the red heads boot finding a home in between crushed bones. The air was gone and all she could do was arch, her mouth agape as stared wide eyed at the spiraling ceilings.

“I killed the last one, you gonna pick up the slack or do I have to do all the work?”

The red head spoke as she turned her head, her vision swimming as she tried to move out from under him. Blood poured from her mouth as she got back to her knees. Where she was only meet with yet another whip of pain, her head crashing back into the marble flooring.

“Let’s not be so hasty, why don’t you get your foot off our esteemed guest so she can speak properly.”

The voice echoed against the walls, reverberating through her very veins. Soothing a piece of her that she didn’t think she could get a hold of at the moment. There was a calm to it, a whisper of a promise that she could not grasp. But you could hear it, the tone lying right underneath the words. The tone of a leader, of a man not to be played with. A man in charge.

And Vendetta shivered against the cold of that tone.

But the boot moved, sparing her. Though she would not admit it, her heart hammered out a rhythm of fear as she laid there, pain radiating through her body. It would be a lie to say she was not letting said fear affect her, that she was only laying there still because of the pain. The truth was she was scared. Scared for Caven, scared for herself.

By the time she made her move to stand, her mother had entered the room. But Vendetta did not give her passing glance as she stood, a whine spilling from her as she winced from the pain that splintered at her side. Pale fingers gripped at the already bruising skin, her eyes finding those blonde locks again. Then finding the blonde locks of her best friends father. And she could not detain the rage that instantly burned through her, easily covering the fear as she approached the small group of three.

Her fingers of her free hand fisted, and the second it took for her hand to connect to the Shalen’s cheek seemed endless. But he went down, her hit so hard that she could feel her knuckles screaming from the contact. But her own body fell forward, breathless still.

“You’re not taking her from me. She’s not an ‘offering’ for a shit hole you cannot even keep up with.”

[ultimaxell]

Purgatory : Vampire au

The world seemed to blur around her, Cavens words ringing in her ears even as disappeared into the rafters. Vendetta watched with eager eyes as the door knob turned, waited with an impatience that didn't play a single note over her expression.

He made it that way, his accent caressing her, making something altogether different stir in her. Her tongue touched her upper lip. Her breath caught in her lungs. She had to fight the pull of his voice. Though his words barely grazed her, her focus purely on the sound.  The way his voice moved over her body, stroking like a caress, rasping like a tongue, yet still commanded, sent a chill down her spine. More than anything she wanted to obey her own body, to move towards him. Not because she was afraid of dying, but because the note of command in his voice was affecting her in ways she didn’t understand. He walked into the room and demanded the attention that he knew full well he was going to get without a seconds hesitation. “Focus,”  she whispered, her heart pounding. She had the feeling that if she allowed it he would be on the move and that he was going to be moving faster than she could ever truly anticipate. “Let's just say I wouldn't count on seeing them again."  His voice was even softer. More persuasive. Sliding into her mind so she felt warmth where there was darkness and cold. Where there was rage. Where she had to keep a hold of that rage and not allow whatever was in his voice to warm that cold. “I-I . . .”  She found herself stammering. All she had to do was press the button, but she couldn’t. Her fingers were locked around it.  She had no idea what language he spoke, only that he spoke it with the most intimate accent possible. She didn’t dare look away from the window or she would have closed her eyes. To hold his voice to her. Wishing she had known him before she was a stone inside. Before her smoldering fire had grown into a wildfire burning out of control, for vengeance.  "I don't count on seeing too much more of you." She pressed her free hand hard to her heart. It was beating far too fast. Pounding. Her mouth had gone dry. Even her head hurt, as if by defying him, her physical bodyprotested. It didn’t make sense to her. She’d always been her own person, able to stand up to anyone. She didn’t want to talk to him anymore, but she couldn’t pry her fingers loose from the trigger in the hand, her thumb hovering over the button. One simple press and the whole room was gone but She just stood there, one hip to the bar because it was holding her up. Her body trembled when she hadn’t been trembling faced with certain death.  Red eyes flickered to the rafters, away from the man that soothed a fire that she needed the flames to stay alit to get through this. Though her eyes switched right back to him.  Vendetta closed her eyes and forced her numb fingers to work. She pulled up the small detonator. The moment she did, she felt sick. More, her head hurt. Not a little bit, but pounding, as if by standing up against him, something inside her got left behind and set off little jackhammers tripping in her skull. She pressed a hand to her knotted belly before moving to pick up one of the guns lying on the bar next to her. Her hand shook and that shocked her. She had absolute resolve when it came to bringing justice to her father’s murderers. Of course she was afraid. No one wanted to die. But she was confident. And utterly committed to her cause. Still, her hand shook when it never had before. That was how much his voice had shaken her.  "Where are the rest of you?"

 There was a small tick to his lips, pulling lightly on the corner as he made his way into the room, following in suit to Saho. There was a moment of pure rush as he inhaled, allowing his own personal version of heaven to invade him. He could feel his heart pick up even as he scanned the room, as if he didn't already know where she was.  Playing into the little game of cat and mouse that "his" had decided to start, unbeknownst to her his abilities or just how far they ran.  Try as best he could the smile reigned over his lips, though Saho was speaking, his words an oddity to say the least, Alta could say that his focus was solely on the small girl crawling through the rafters. Waiting for an opportunity that he would surely give her, if just to get her down.  And it only took seconds to get his way, Saho was moving already, pulling forward to the other being in the room. And Alta followed suit once more, his fingers flexing in his pockets as he began to walk through the space underneath her.  And there it was, her feet slamming down full force from the swing into the side of his face. Something that if he had wanted wouldn't have happened, but he didn't stop. Instead he took the time to take her in completely. Simply wiping a thumb over the abrasion that ghosted over his cheek now.  But he moved, pushing forward after her, his body basically gliding over the sleeked floors to find its place behind hers. "Aren't you things supposed to get permission on entering, or does old age give you a waver on manners?"  Even as she softly made the insult, confidence muddled in every word, her foot came down hard on his, and her open palm rushed toward his nose. At least that was her intent. Alta shifted before she could complete the maneuver. Her foot came down where his had been and her hand shot out hard and fast, but he moved, faster than her eyes could follow right in front of her eyes. Was gone. And she gasped and took two steps forward, frantically looking around the small room trying to find him. Alta locked one arm around her belly from behind and caught her head in a firm grip with the other. He sank his teeth deep, part in need for her and part to teach her a lesson. The instant he did, he knew it was a mistake. He had fed thousands of times and he had never felt anything when he did, not that he had memory of. This time, everything was different. So different, and he hadn’t counted on that. He was vaguely aware of her gasp, the soft cry of pain when his teeth bit into her soft, exquisite flesh, her body struggling against his tight hold. He was enormously strong, and rather than aggression or fear on her part, he felt each movement of her body as erotic. The smoldering burn he’d felt, from the moment he heard her voice, flared into a bright, hot fire.  She was the other half of his soul. He had no time to court her properly. They were in a war and he needed to get her on his side, but more than that, he needed her to know he would protect her from anyone and anything, even herself.  He didn’t try to soothe her. He didn’t need to. She felt the strength of the pull between them all on her own, without compulsion. A need that went so deep, that was so strong, Alta couldn’t possibly resist, so how could she? He let himself feel everything. The beat of her heart matching the rhythm of his. The taste of her, bursting in his mouth like a fine wine. It was all there in her blood. So rich. Perfection. He was instantly addicted and knew he’d never get enough of that taste. She began to struggle. Her body was on fire, just as his was. He felt the way her soft sank into his hard. She molded herself to him, but she heard the vows he pushed into her mind, and she felt the tiny unbreakable threads tying them together. He felt them, and joy burst through him. She felt them and panicked. Still, he couldn’t stop, even knowing her just from the exquisite taste of her blood. The knowledge was there on his palate, in his body, soaking into every cell and organ. She was more than wild. She was feral, a woman who went her own way and made her own decisions but could ignite with the right man, turn into a storm of passion that would threaten to consume them both. And she was his. He tightened his hold on her.

She had made a mistake, that much was for certain. She had made a mistake in under estimating her opponent, something she, in her years of experience had warned multiple people against, had seen take the lives of countless slayers and people , people who she had known to be powerful and strong. All it took was one simple miscalculation, one little over confident moment, and the life you had was theirs to play with, theirs to take.

 And on your dying breath you could curse no one but yourself, because you were the one who had given it to them.

 Caven Gasped, Cried out as she felt his teeth skin into her skin. She had knowledge that Vampire bites were painful, were  agonizing and vicious and bloody, and while yes, the feeling of it wasn’t something she could call pleasant , It wasn’t anything like she had feared it would be. It wasn’t anything like that at all…. But it was just as terrifying.

 ‘What are you doing to me…?’

 Caven’s body move, struggled against his hold, and as she twisted and pulled, she could feel his teeth sink deeper into her skin, feel the blood that should have remained in her body slide over tanned skin and drip onto the black cloth of her clothing. Her body squirmed, and she kicked back, trying to find anything she could to hurt him but it wasn’t any use. His hold was too strong, arms like iron bars around her body, holding her in place to a chest that was too broad and too soft for her liking.

  It was terrifying, horrifying, because even as she struggled, even as she cried out in fear and pain, There was something there, under the surface and boiling under her skin as it threaded its way through her blood stream. God was this some sort of new Vampire ability they didn’t know yet? Some sort of poison that made her want to give, made her feel a pull and a longing that was so misplaced in her heart that it seemed foreign  and tangible and real? Caven spat out a curse, her eyes starting to brim with tears as she realize there was not going to be any escape for her. Whatever he was doing to her, It was like he was becoming a part of her, like he was reaching in to take what he wanted from her very being and just making it his.  Caven’s hands moved, lifting one to the arm that held her head to the side, the other finding its way to his hair, tangling in the strands to…..

 To what?

 Honestly Caven didn’t know if she was trying to pull him away from her neck or if her hold was pressing him farther into the hollow of her neck. She hissed as she closed her eyes, cursing him, the kings, this king in particular…. He would be the death of her.

 But she wasn’t going to go down without a fight.

 “Get OFF ME!”

 Caven Snapped, finally pulled  her leg up only to slam it back down into the soft flesh of his inner thigh. She already felt weak, everything in her calling to just succumb to the dark flutter on the edges of her vision. Her words were losing their bite as her struggles weakened, Caven now having to fight to keep her eyes open.

 “Filthy Fucking MONSTER! VEN! JUST DO IT!”

 The first color he ever saw was Red.

 Bright, bloody, ruby red, vibrant against the expanse of pale freckles skin and long white hair. She was small, smaller then he had expected, her body curved with sin and temptation, the dips pulling at his gaze, demanding that he pay attention to them with his gaze, his hands, his mouth. Every inch of her called him, and it was a sort of muted realization that Saho realized that his girl, his lifemate, was beautiful, beyond so, and that it wasn’t really the connection, this pull he felt talking.

 She was gorgeous, even with the oddities in the colors of her hair and eyes, a being of wonder and magic and need given a physical form. She was carved from the gods hands, created as what he could only call the perfect being. He wanted her. The thought hit him harder than he had thought possible. He wanted her, in all the ways eh had ever read about and with every fiber of his being; Saho Dhouti wanted this tine albino slip of a girl. Really Saho had never anticipated ever being this drawn to anyone, and it was clear some things were left out of lore for a reason.

 This sort of want… it surpassed it, developed into a need as he took a step closer.

 “The Rest?”

 Saho tilted his head, allowing a sort of confused expression to cross over his features, a mock twist of contemplation playing on the edges of his features. His graze traveled, but it never left her form for every long.

 He wanted to hear her speak again. He wanted to know what her screams would taste like on his tongue.

 “Oh…. You mean Our Court. You don’t need to worry about them…”

 It was amusing, he mused, to see her expression shift into one of surprise as she moved, all but a blur to her before he was just before her. Her scent was heavenly, something absolutely addicting, and he couldn’t help but to take a deep breath as he leaned over her, a dark grin starting to spread over his lips as his hand lifted from his sides. The wires that she had place… he hadn’t been able to escape them all, and he could feel the little slices of pain bloom along his sides, his legs…. None of them reached higher then his hip, and the dark red spilled onto black with a sluggish haze.

 “They’re finding all your little friends. You… You should be more concerned about what I am going to do to you.”

 “Maybe you should be a bit more concerned with what I could do to you.”

 Her voice… He didn’tHer words confused him, at first. His expression dropped, but it was her eyes, the flick toward the pair he could hear struggling behind him that made him turn. Alta had the blond one in his arms, his fangs already in her flesh and his eyes closed as she struggled against him. He didn’t seem like he as paying any attention to the world around him, and it was only as Saho’s gaze shifted from his best friend to the door just behind him, where he saw the mechanism attached to it for the first time.

 Saho’s blood ran cold.

 Not him.

 “ALTA MOVE!”

 He was moving before he could even thing, His body responding to the knee jerk reaction of protecting what was his. All he could remember was Turning, pushing forward and begging his body to move faster than it was, the feeling of Alta under his hands as he forcibly shoved him across the room, into the couch as it flipped over, offering a cover for him and the blond in his arms.

 Saho didn’t have time to get out of the way.

 He would remember fire, the heat and pain that came as it exploded with sound and light. Saho’s arm came up, trying to cover his face as she rocked back and push off his heels, throwing himself back from the explosion but not able to escape it’s reach. There was pain, fire along his skin as he hit the floor with a thump and a gasp, his eyes closing as a ringing exploded in his head and his mind slipped into the haze of disorientation. Everything was pain. That was all he could feel, all he could see as he gasped and felt the blood well in his throat. He ached, and everything was ringing, his head pounding with every beat his heart gave. His arm stung with every little movement, his sides screaming as he tried to shift.

 But he was still alive.

  He groaned as he turned, pushing himself off the floor so that he could lift himself to his feet. Pain racked his body, his vision swimming, but even through this haze, he found his gaze moving over the ruins of the apartment that  had once rested over the bar.

 “You…”

 There was pain, heat along his arm and legs and side, pain along his face as he felt blood spill from where skin had been charred way. His eyes locked on her figure, curled on the ground and still. In any other occasion, he might have been worried about her being dead, but he could still hear it, her heart beat, beating weakly but there in her chest. Saho moved, crossing the room to stand before her, sharp teeth gritting as he reached down, uncharred fingers curling around her pretty pale neck, a dark and twisted grin spilling onto his lips.

 “You have no idea what you’ve done have you? You’ve used up your trump and… it looks like I’m still here… still the victor. How does it feel to have risked it all, Only to fail?”

 He purred against her as he shoved her against the wall, eyes flashing as he pressed his body against hers, uncaring of the pain that hit him. He would make her see… It made him almost giddy with the knowledge that he had nothing left, that now all he had to do was just take what he wanted.

 “You’ve given it your all…. But don’t worry…. You’ll see I’m a Fair man…

 I’ll give you everything I have to make you realize you have no one left but me.”

[ultimaxell]

Purgatory : Vampire AU

This was just for fun

Vendetta pulled white strands of hair into a high ponytail at the back of her head and contemplated the fact that she was going to die tonight, and it was of her own choosing. She was going to war with the six kings. They didn’t know it yet, but they would be walking right into hell. They thought they were going to have everything their own way, but they were wrong. Very wrong. She was a woman. She was young. They dismissed her as no threat to them. And in that they were making a very, very big mistake.

Most people didn’t know when they were going to die, she mused as she rigged the explosives on the door to blow, the charge precise, sending anyone in front of it outward with little blowback into her beloved bar, hopefully leaving it intact. Still, if the charge didn’t kill them all before they got inside, she would give up the bar’s interior in order to take the battle to them. Tonight, the six kings were going to come for her, and she would take as many of them with her as possible.

Marba Huxly had been a good man. A good neighbor. An even better father. The bar was successful because he had a reputation for being honest and was a good listener, because he genuinely cared about his customers, his neighbors and especially his daughter.

He knew everyone by name. He laughed with them. He attended funerals when they lost someone. He got them home safely at night if they drank too much. He cut off the ones that were spending too much and needed to be home with their families. He was just a good man. A good man some vampires had pulled out of the bar and beat to death because he wouldn’t sign his establishment, the one that had been in the family for two, now three, generations over to them.

Marba had also served in the U.S. Marines and he knew his way around weapons, especially the making of bombs. He was a specialist in the field, so much so that he actually had helped out the local bomb squad the three times they’d gotten calls, because what he knew about explosives, few others did, and what he knew, he taught his daughter.

Vendetta had been given an unusual education and she’d loved every minute of it. Her father made it clear he loved her and was always proud of her, and he’d always been patient with her, but he believed in teaching his daughter everything he would have taught his son. He was patient, but he didn’t make it easy because she was a girl. She was required to do everything, and learn everything, he knew about defense and offense. She’d soaked up the training.

Vendetta smiled grimly to herself as she laid out a grid pattern on the floor of the bar and then paused to glance out the window, looking down the street. This had once been a good, decent neighborhood, a place she had called home for nineteen years. She’d grown up in the apartment over the bar. It was a big building, right on the corner, prime property. The building and three others on either side had been in their family for generations. Her family had taken good care of them and never sold, not even when property values soared.

Her eyes narrowed as she returned her attention to the delicate job of setting wires throughout the bar. Low. Mid-calf. Thigh. Hip. She crisscrossed them, building a web. Yeah. They should have known all about that white haired baby when they dragged her father out of his own bar and beat him to death. They’d broken nearly every bone in his body before they killed him. She knew, because the ME had told her.

Rage welled up. Swirled in her belly. Deep. So deep she knew she’d never get it out. She knew why they’d broken his bones. She’d heard about the “persuading” technique from a few of the other business owners. The monsters wanted properties signed over to them. Her father had already signed his property over to her. She owned the bar. They’d gone after the wrong person. And now they were coming for her because she’d sent them an invitation. Not to buy her out, but to war.

She would have signed over the bar in a heartbeat to them if they’d called her and told her they had her father. They thought it was important to teach the neighborhood businesses a lesson: what they wanted, they got. They weren’t going to get what they wanted, not even after they killed her. She’d made certain of that. They wouldn’t touch Caven, either. They wouldn’t get to harm the last person in the world she loved.

Her fingers traced over the delicate flesh on the back of sun kissed hand, her smile fleeting as she met eyes with the small blonde by her side. The only other person who she cared so whole heartedly for. The only person she could truly state she wanted to protect no matter the cost.

"They are already downstairs..."

Her voice was soft, a tremor running through her even as she soothed her little assassin.

Vendetta ran her fingers through the blonde tendrils and pulled her forward allowing her head to press against Cavens lightly. And she just breathed, trying to calm the loud clattering in her chest. Which only grew louder as the clamoring downstairs grew. The loud howls of excitement mixing heavily with the screams of torture, something that sat a little too heavily on her.

"If they don't show I want you to run, Caven. Don't stay here. You know it's going to turn out bad for us if the rest of the girls don't show."

-------------

When a human male waited for years to find the right woman, and he found her, he guarded her as best he could and treated her right. When a Vampire male had waited for centuries to find the only woman who could save him, he didn’t just guard her. He surrounded her with every protection possible. Alta Lee stared down at the woman who held the other half of his soul.

Vampires rarely saw the outer shell of a person. For him, his lifemate was the only and the most beautiful. Always. He could see, though, even by human standards, that his woman was truly beautiful. He knew this without ever knowing her form, before laying eyes on her,  She was also a warrior, trained to fight, and she had every intention of bringing that fight to the men who had killed her family.

She thought she was good at hiding her emotions, but he had been around for centuries, and even without the ability to read her emotions, he was more than adept at reading expressions. There was defiance in the set of her mouth. That beautiful mouth kept his attention riveted to it. Defiance was in the set of her chin, the chin he wanted to taste. Her rebellion showed in the glitter of her blue eyes.

There was something wild in her. Something untamed that matched the wildness in him. He was predatory. As high up on the food chain as it got. He didn’t know anyone who defied him. Or disobeyed him. Or looked at him with feigned innocence, all the while plotting to do exactly what she wanted, but Caven was doing just that.

For his species, there was only one woman to complete a male. She didn’t have to be born a Vampire. She could be a human psychic, they’d learned, and she could be born in any century, in any part of the world. It was a big world and there were many centuries to hunt in. Finding his lifemate was truly like looking for a needle in a haystack, but with even worse odds. Not that he had searched too hard through the centuries. Too scared to find his other half, to find the one person he knew he would end up losing himself too.

“Did you hear me?”  he asked, keeping his voice pitched low.

Blue eyes moved from the wood of the ceiling, even as he breathed in his newest addiction, they moved to capture Saho's mismatched gaze.

"There's more."

For the first time that he could remember since he was a child, he was uncertain how to proceed. She belonged to him. There was no denying that. The moment he heard her voice, he saw in color. Vivid, brilliant, overwhelming color. So bright he’d had to close his eyes against the blinding beauty.

Taming this girl was not going to be easy, and one wrong move would set him back. He didn’t have time to make mistakes with her.

He felt the impact of her gaze hitting him right in the gut. Blue gems weren’t as beautiful as her eyes. He hadn’t realized he’d be so susceptible to a woman, even his own lifemate. He hesitated, unsure what to say. How much to say to Saho.

Though his silence was probably not the best bet.

They were surrounded by men, women, vampires and humans, blood already splattering the wooden floor. Vicious predators in their prime, and he couldn’t chance it. Couldn’t chance this girl being found out by his squad. Not yet, and not without him by her side.

“There’s more of them upstairs.”

-----------------

Alta was hiding something. Of this much, Saho was certain.

Years by the brown haired boy’s side had given Saho a insight into his mind that most were not privy to, a knowing of the little ticks and quirks that spoke of his thoughts, screamed them louder than if he had shouted them an inch from his ear. Saho Knew him, knew him better then he probably would have liked to admit, and he knew when his best friend was hiding something from him, or if not specifically from him, at the least there was some information he was withholding.

And that just wouldn’t do.

“Is there?” His voice came out low, almost a hum as he took a step forward. Mismatched eyes flicked from the floors, the blood and carnage, to the members of the Kings Court that stood next the Kings of the Vampire Realm, of the people he had come to call family, or as close as he got without the blood ties.

Saho knew there was more people here. He could smell them, their scents mingling with gunpowder and blood, something that created a musk that was both alluring and disgusting. His hand moved, coming up to tap his chin before running through the back and blue strands that adorned his head. He knew that there was someone here, knew there was more than the humans that had been mingling in this ratty bar in the human quarter The City of Purgatory. He knew it, like he knew the patterns of ink that traced his skin or knew the face he stared at every time he caught his refection in the mirror.

He knew it because one of the people here was his lifemate.

Her scent called to him, mingled in the scent of death like a heavenly perfume, caressing his skin and pulling him forward by the strings of his heart. He knew her, could see her in his mind even though he had never had the pleasure of truly laying eyes on her. Even now his heart thumped wildly, though the world around him remained grey and dull he could see pulses at the edges of his vision, ticks where color threatened to give way and to claim his world, but he didn’t allow it. The first sight of color he would see would be her. He knew it, demanded it, And Saho Dhouti was a King. He would get what he wanted, deserved it. The world would bow to his whim, or he would bring it down around him.

There were none who stood in his way, none that could deny him anything. He had lived for thousands of years… there wasn’t anyone who could challenge him that didn’t live within his walls.

Footsteps fell over head, and Thane’s head tilted as his Blue gaze shifted upward. Saho swallowed thickly as Thane moved, long dark hair falling over his shoulder as he rolled his body to pop his spine 

“More of them? Then let’s get this over with…. This party sort of sucked.”

“No more than usual.”

“Really? Feeding puns, Nexus? I expected more out of you.” Thane’s dead panned voice didn’t dim Nexus’s smile, but Saho wasn’t really paying attention. His gaze was moving over to the stairs that lead to the upper apartment, the very steps Thane was moving toward.

Saho couldn’t help but to reach out, his hand clamping on the taller man’s shoulders, stopping the other King in his tracks.

“Me and Alta got this, You Ami, and Ami take the rest of the squad and look around for any stragglers or party favors. Maybe we can salvage today if we get enough…. But be sure to keep them alive, Thane.”

“Yeah Yeah, I got it. No fun sucking on Dead bodies… BLAISE.”

“Hey! It’s blood, alright, and if you just kill them, it’s even still warm.”

“Disgusting.”

“No more than Aiden’s ‘Let me Fuck and beat two girls to death at the same time’ Deal.”

“Don’t bring me in on your freaky blood shit.”

“IT’S NOT FREAKY, YOU’RE FREAKY!”

“Mature.”

Their voices mingled together as they filed out, and Saho couldn’t help the fond smile that slid of his face at the sound. These men were his brothers, His best friends, and the very people that held his heart in a way that no one else really could. He would give his very life if it meant he would see them safe… which was exactly why he sent them out of the bar.

His gaze moved back to the bodies that littered the floor, of humans nad vampires alike. Whoever had done this was human, and whoever had done it, it was a good bet they were waiting for them upstairs. Saho didn’t want there to be the possibility of one of them getting killed, and that was a risk he wasn’t quite willing to take.

Though there was one more risk he wasn’t really willing to take still here, he mused as he took his first step onto the stairs, then another.

Saho turned, his gaze snapping to Alta as the smile dropped and a frown replaced it. He reached out, pulling the taller boy to him by the neck, resting his forehead against his as he closed his eyes, breathing in the scent of his best friend. Alta meant something to Saho that he could not explain, something powerful and compelling that Saho never wanted to give up. They were never apart, never not by each other side, and whatever one did, the other was sure to follow. Thousands of years had built a bond they could not break, a bond that had withstood time, tests and people alike.

But Saho didn’t like the thought of Alta In danger.

“Be safe, Tovak. I need you, don’t go dying on me”

He gave him a grin before turning back, and bounding up the stairs.

--------------------------

“No.”

Her voice was soft, but there was steel in her words, iron in her tone that matched the steel rod that was her spine. Caven Shook her head, blond pigtails falling over shoulders as she sucked in a breath, reaching out to intertwine her fingers through Vendettas. Blue eyes narrowed on storming red, flashing with lightning and determination.

“I’m not leaving you. You got a lot riding on Revenge, but Revenge does no good if you’re dead.”

If nothing else, Caven could understand revenge.

She had been young when the Kings came to her home. Maybe only four or five. They had arrived in the dead of night, be it fr effect or just a general lack of caring was beyond her. They had showed up at her door, her father’s door, and all she could truly remember was waking up as her father shook her silently, picking her up from her bed and throwing her into a room that stunk of death and rotting flesh, the compost heap , she would later realize.

She had listened as her father told them he was the only one there, that the rest of his family had moved on, and she had to listen to his screams as they tore him apart.

Her father had protected her in the only way he had known how that day. He had surrounded her in death, and Caven found that no matter how much she tried she could not make the stench of death rinse off her skin.

Their footsteps hit the stairs with a heavy thump, and there was a strange moment of silence. Caven’s fingers squeezed Vendetta’s one more time, Before she let her go, her hands falling to the twin knives that stayed attached to her thoughts at all times, sliding into her customary stance as she kneeled, jumping up to catch hold of the rafters with her hands, flipping so her legs could hook on the wood and allow her to dangle just before her white haired best friend.

“If They don’t show They’ll find our bodies together. To the grave, Ven. We’ll stick together to the grave.”

She had only just managed to slip into the shadows of the rafters as the door opened, and in stepped two of the Kings of the Vampires.

“Just one of you? That’s interesting I could have sworn I heard a voice up here…”

The one who stepped in filled the doorway, mismatched eyes falling on Vendetta as he stuck his hands in his pockets and positively grinned.

“Though you are a pretty one.... Which Is good, considering I like what’s mine to at least be pleasing…. Though I gotta say, If anyone else were to find you as appealing as I do… well…”

He stepped forward a dark chuckle on his lips, Caven moving as he did to mask her own steps in the rafters of the roof, Her eyes trailed over the man, his black hair falling into his eyes and tanned skin covered in ink. He seemed at ease, completely undisturbed.

“Let’s just say I wouldn’t count on seeing them again.”

Though her gaze moved to the door just in time to see him enter.

He was terrifying, massive and intimidating all rolled into one. He stood an easy two feet over her height when she was on the ground, his blue eyes narrowing as he took in the room.

That one… he was hers…

Her kill.