A Long Way From Home

[Lylessa Uluki]

As Uluki and Mercedes walked beside the wagon, Uluki pondered a question she'd been wanting to ask. Well... not a question, really. A request. And Mercedes wasn't going to like it. Mercedes never liked last-wishes type requests. But Uluki trusted Mercedes completely, and this was something Rollick couldn't do.

"I was wondering something, Merc. If you could do something for me. If anything happens to me..." Uluki meant if the angel killed her, but there was no reason to be that specific. It would only worry Mercedes. "...If something happens, encourage Rollick to marry again. Help him. Maybe Julen could help too, could tell him how to find someone else. Rollick doesn't need to wait. He has nothing to prove to me. He should find someone new, and be happy."

"Rosemary, maybe. She's nice, and very pretty. She's hurting, but Rollick could make her feel better. He's very faithful. Unless... I mean, unless you wanted to be with him, of course..."

It was like a physical pain to talk about this, but Uluki knew it had to be said. She didn't want Rollick to sit around mourning for her. He deserved to be happy, and maybe Mercedes could help make that happen.

[Jenica Sabiny]

She nodded as he continued speaking after the returned kiss, leaving the statements to be picked over later. She wasn't sure she'd given up; she'd accepted her reality. Was that the same as giving up? She would need to ask. But she struggled again to formulate a phrase which he would understand. With a mental shrug, she gave up. She would ask later.

She tilted her head as he began examining her fingers, fighting the random and odd urge to tuck the tips of them under so that he couldn't see them. She reminded herself that she didn't care, and this urge was a silly human left-over. One which she wouldn't have felt before all of this. He was bringing it all back - and she couldn't decide if she were happy or angry. For purposes of their trip, perhaps it was best. It made it so much easier to fight her cravings for murder when she could remember that she liked this one and wanted him to stay. Though if it came out full-force, she didn't know what she would do.

Or rather, she knew exactly what she would do.

She feared this more than the angel. To wake up from a fit of blood lust, covered in gore and grime, looking at the carnage of what she'd left behind. She knew that for one moment, perhaps longer, she would regret. Sadness and shame would overwhelm her and leave her grasping for the connections she'd forged through desperation only two weeks before.

This would be painful, but after the pain passed lay the real fear. Without those connections, she would leave again. Her head would become quiet and the memories and thoughts would slide away. She would be gone.

Before she hadn't cared at all. If she were lost inside of the monster it affected no one beyond those she killed. Now this male had given her a reason to stay, but he stood as her sole anchor. She recognized her newly formed dependency upon his continued existence. And somehow she knew what would happen should he be taken away.

Now that she remembered herself, could process the world around her with more than a detached and vague sense of amusement, she truly wanted to stay. But she couldn't do so on her own.

Her eyes had glazed as she thought, and his voice snapped her back to reality with a startled blink - the first in several minutes. She blinked again and squinted, as though trying to make him out from across a thick mist. Her first impulse was to ask "what?," to reflect her own status as too far to understand. But she'd heard the question and remembered it. Instead of asking to make it all easier, she struggled to recall the memories beyond leaving her family behind.

"The streets. I trained. To fight."

Her eyelids fluttered; she couldn't remember the word she needed to tell him what she'd become. But she could show him. With sudden grace and surety, she flipped both hands so that the chain binding her wrists together rested in the groove between index and thumb. She gripped the length and snapped her hands apart, pulling the metal links tight - instant garrote. She raised this to her own throat and jerked her hands back; she would've choked if she'd needed air.

"Ways to kill."

[Julen]

“Jenica, no!” When she pulled the chain back against her throat, Julen’s single impulse was to protect her, to keep her from harming herself. Lunging forward, he seized both her wrists. It was only then, as he held her in his grip, that he realized his folly. She didn’t need to inhale. Her lungs drew in air solely for the purpose of using it to shape speech. The chain posed no more danger to her than a noose around the neck of a doll.

Sheepishly, he drew back, releasing her. “I’m sorry. Sometimes, I forget that the body -- I mean, that you don’t need to breathe.” Or maybe he didn’t forget. Maybe it was just too hard to acknowledge that his lover’s eyes didn’t water and her heart didn’t beat. That the body he caressed, and kissed, and spilled his seed into was little more than a corpse animated by stolen blood. Maybe thinking too much about that made him travel to places inside his mind where he didn’t want to go.

No longer worried about Jenica’s safety, Julen could finally focus on her answer to his question. She hadn’t said it, but he didn’t need her to -- her demonstration made the facts quite clear. She’d become an assassin. Like Soubrette. Only, not a funny, make-believe assassin. A real assassin. A real assassin who had killed real people.

Julen knew that this revelation should arouse some sort of moral outrage. Even before the hunger gave her no choice, she’d taken lives. Shouldn’t he be angry? Shouldn’t he be appalled? But instead, he felt only a deep sadness. He hadn’t known her victims. They were just faceless shadows flitting through his thoughts. But he knew her. He knew that she’d been desperate, and hurting, and broken. Her life probably hadn’t meant anything to her at that point. Why should she imagine that anyone else’s life meant more?

Julen’s shoulders sagged a little, and for a moment, he looked weary. She’d tried to tell him, but he hadn’t understood. The monster was so much more than the hunger. He’d thought that once she was human again, everything would be alright. But there would still be the sexual abuse she’d suffered. There would still be the time she’d spent as a killer. No angel was going to swoop down and fix those things. They were in his hands. And he was just a mortal man, unwise and flawed. What if his strength deserted him? What if he failed her?

Julen shook his head, attempting to shake away his doubts. She was scared. She needed his confidence now, not his insecurity. He couldn’t let her see him struggle. So, eager to direct attention away from himself, Julen posed another question.

“Did you like it? Fighting? Killing people?”

[Jenica Sabiny]

Her eyes widened and she loosened the grip on the chain when he grabbed her wrists. For that moment, she forgot that she was stronger than him, could kill him in a moment with little effort. She stared at him until he released her hands, then remained in place for several moments, frozen in place. When her hands lowered, it was a smooth, slow motion, as though trying not to provoke him.

She blinked, clearing away the sensation of panic. He hadn't hurt her. He hadn't wanted to. He'd wanted to stop her - and he had. He hated to see her hurt herself. She'd forgotten this odd impulse of his, and would likely forget again. But she didn't like his words. She leaned forward after he apologized, placing a finger over his lips to silence him.

"No sorry. It's not bad."

She wasn't certain enough of her words to tell him that she didn't want him to apologize for trying to protect her. She silenced his words as best she could, then dropped her hand to her lap. He was lost inside of his thoughts now, and she did not want to interrupt. She looked around the cart, taking in the assorted embellishments gathered for her own enjoyment. She stood and reached to take up one of the drawings, tracing one finger against the females twirling in the scene. She remembered the illusion he'd made for her, and the memory brought the faintest upward tilt to her lips.

He asked a question, and her eyes remained fixed on the drawing as she replied.

"Only the fighting. Never had a mark to kill."

She could go on to describe how she'd expected one type of person and gotten another. She could tell him about killing the bastards and bitches who came to her with requests to kill brothers and sisters, wives and husbands. She imagined he would be impressed by the moral compass which had once guided her actions with unforgiving certainty. But she couldn't. Beyond the trouble of organizing the ideas and thoughts into a coherent phrase, her throat was aching more each time she drew breath to speak. She rubbed one hand against her throat, letting her mouth fall open as she rotated her jaw. She focused on the small joints popping at the back of her mouth, though it wasn't enough to distract her from the grating.

She looked at the bottles of wine and moved to take one up, intending to break it and drink it down in her usual way.

[Julen]

The news that Jenica had never actually gone through with a hired killing brought a rush of relief to Julen -- although more for her sake than his own. He was proud that the trauma she’d suffered hadn’t pushed her down that dark path. And he was glad that she wouldn’t have those murders weighing on her soul. But for him, it made little difference. She could have told him all about her victims, all about the blood and bodies of innocents, and it wouldn’t have changed the love he felt for her.

Some women would be flattered by that sort of devotion. Some women would be titillated by a passion so strong that it corrupted innocence. Oddly, Julen doubted that Jenica was one of them. She’d never once tried to turn his heart towards evil. On the contrary, she’d asked him to rejoin the Lightswords. She wanted him to be good. Perhaps because she sensed that his happiness and sanity depended on it. Or perhaps because she needed his example to teach her, to remind her how to be human again. But whatever her intentions, the fact remained that she made his moral compass spin, until all the things that had once guided him were only perceivable as a blur.

“Here. Let me do that for you.” The moment he’d seen her rub her throat, Julen had already started reaching for one of the wine bottles. Lifting it by the neck, he picked up a corkscrew with his other hand, and twisted it into the stopper. An instant later, the wine bottle opened with a soft rush of air. After taking a deep sniff, to make sure the contents hadn’t gone bad, Julen handed the bottle to Jenica. “Not as quick, I know. But this way makes sure there aren’t any shards of glass lying around.”

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have kept you talking for so long. I know it hurts.” Another sheepish smile appeared on his face as he realized he’d just apologized again, minutes after she told him not to. That seemed to be all he could do anymore. Apologizing to her, to Uluki, to Rollick, to Rosemary and Aorle. And none of it did any good. He could say it a thousand times, and none of them would be in any less pain.

“Maybe I should talk for awhile.” Julen glanced around the wagon, searching for conversational inspiration, and his eyes settled on the drawing that had attracted Jenica’s attention. “My mother used to tell me a story about twelve princesses who loved to dance. Would you like to hear it?”

[Jenica Sabiny]

She took the bottle with a wondering expression. Despite how consistently this male offered her assistance or gave her presents, she could not stop her immediate reaction of shock followed by suspicion. What did he want? He claimed he wanted her happy. But he took the body too. That there was such a thing as a combination of both wanting her happy and wanting sex with her was beyond her understanding. She had never experienced such a thing before, and could just barely guess at it now.

But she'd seen how the duskling loved her mate, and how the feelings went both ways. The idea that it was possible began to sprout. But then, she had nothing to give this male beyond herself. She only had a body. She did not resent her inability to speak on a general level, but she recognized how stilted her conversations were, how hesitantly she produced the needed noises and lisps to communicate ideas which these mortals found so easy.

The part of her that hoped wondered if that would change when...

He apologized again, and she shook her head. If they'd spent too long talking, it was her own fault. She'd insisted on speaking when there were other things they could do - but she'd wanted the conversation. The revelation startled her enough that she blinked and took a draught from the bottle, draining it half-dry in one long swig. She'd wanted conversation. After years of relative silence and only speaking when needed, she'd had a craving which she had successfully satisfied.

She realized this must be important. It must be something ground-breaking or relevant. Something to celebrate and share with her male. But she could not yet see why. She put it aside, to think on later. He'd offered her a story, and she wanted to hear it.

Still standing and gripping the bottle by the neck, she nodded. And then, in light of her revelation, she spoke.

"Yes. Please."

[Julen]

“Once upon a time,” Julen began, trying to remember his mother’s story. He’d thought that he knew the tale quite well. But now, faced with the task of actually telling it, he was surprised by how little he recalled. Just moments, really. Beautiful images that lingered in his head. The passage across the underground lake, the path lined with trees forged from precious metals, the enchanted ballroom. How did it all fit together? How did it begin?

“Once upon a time, there was a soldier.” That had stuck with him. This tale’s hero was not the youngest of three sons, as was usual. Only a simple soldier. But where had he been going? Why? What twist of fate brought him to that particular kingdom? Dredging his mind for answers, Julen unconsciously mingled his own story with that of the fairytale soldier. “He had served his lord very bravely in many battles. But he became sick of war, sick of killing. So his lord set him free to make his way in the world. And, as a reward for his loyalty, he gave him an enchanted cloak.”

Julen couldn’t remember where the cloak had come from in his mother’s story. But he knew that he’d need it later, and this seemed like a good time for its introduction. “So, with only the cloak and a week’s rations, the soldier set off to seek a new life for himself. And eventually, his travels brought him to a distant kingdom.”

“This king of this land had been blessed with much wealth, as well as twelve beautiful daughters. But a terrible puzzle kept him from happiness. His daughters, once vivacious and energetic ladies, now languished in their beds all day. The court physician could find nothing wrong with them, other than general exhaustion. Various cures were tried. But the situation continued unabated.”

“Only one strange clue to their curse existed. Every morning, a pair of dancing shoes could be found beside each of the princess’s beds. Dancing shoes that had been completely worn out.”

“In desperation, the king offered half of his lands and marriage to one of his daughters, as a reward for any man who could solve the mystery. Many had already tried. But no matter how vigilantly they stood guard outside the princess’s room, the result was always the same -- twelve exhausted ladies and twelve pairs of ruined dancing shoes.”

Now, Julen was getting to the part of the story he remembered more clearly. His voice became more confident and his words flowed more smoothly. “The soldier wasn’t sure he could do any better than those who had gone before him. But he wanted to help the king, so he decided to try. And he did have one advantage. He possessed the magical cloak that his lord had given him.”

“That night, before the princesses went to bed, he slipped on the cloak and it made him invisible. So instead of standing guard outside their bedroom, he could follow them inside. And there he waited. One by one, the princesses went to bed, until darkness held the room. Hours ticked by in silence. Then, right around midnight, the soldier heard a grinding noise.”

“Instantly, the eldest princess rose from bed and lit a lamp. By its flickering light, the soldier could see that a portion of the bedroom wall had slid aside, revealing a stone staircase. Still dressed in their nightgowns, the princesses hurried down it, with the eldest leading the way and the youngest bringing up the rear. For a moment, the soldier was too surprised to do anything. But just as the wall began to slide shut again, he dashed after them.”

“Unfortunately, in his haste, he stepped on the trailing gown of the youngest princess. ‘Sisters, sisters!’ she called out. ‘Someone is following us.’ But they could see nothing, so they simply chided her for letting her imagination get the better of her.”

“Down and down they went, until the stone steps finally ended at the edge of a vast underground lake. There, waiting for them at the lake’s edge, was a boat shaped like a giant black swan. Rows of oars lined either side of it, but there were no rowers to use them. One by one, the princesses filed onto the boat, with the eldest seated at its head and the youngest at its prow. Then, in one smooth motion, the oars rose from the water, before dipping back in. The soldier just barely managed to jump into the boat as it pulled away from the shore.”

“And, as he did so, he accidentally bumped against the youngest princess. ‘Sisters, sisters!’ she called out. ‘Someone is following us.’ But they could see nothing, so they simply chided her for inventing phantoms to excuse her own clumsiness. Swiftly, the boat moved across the lake, with no light except for that cast by the eldest princess’s lamp, and no sound except for the splashing of the oars.”

“At the far side of the lake, the princesses disembarked and started down a long path. Following them, the soldier was amazed to see that trees shaped from copper, silver, and gold lined the trail on either side. And it occurred to him that the king might have trouble believing the truth about his daughters. After all, who could blame him for doubting such a fantastic tale? So the soldier reached out and snapped a branch from one of the copper trees, tucking it safely beneath his cloak. But as he did so, the leaves jingled softly.”

“Only the youngest princess, who was the closest to him, heard. ‘Sisters, sisters!’ she called out. ‘Someone is following us.’ But they could see nothing, so they chided her for breaking off the branch herself.”

“Finally, they reached a magnificent palace. At its door, they were greeted by twelve men, as handsome as any the soldier had ever seen. Each man held a pair of dancing shoes, which they presented to the princesses. After putting them on, the princesses allowed the men to take them by their hands, and lead them into a vast ballroom. Haunting music filled the air, although there was no orchestra to play it. And the sisters began to dance.”

“For awhile, the soldier watched them -- especially the youngest. In her lacey white nightgown, she seemed to spin around the ballroom like a milkweed seed caught by playful breezes. How the soldier envied her partner! Eventually, he could stand it no longer, and retreated to another room, where he would await the moment of their departure. But the youngest princess noticed the door open and shut, seemingly in its own. Momentarily excusing herself from her partner, she went to investigate.”

“When she stood alone in the room with him, he could no longer resist. Tenderly, he embraced her.” Stepping close to Jenica, Julen took the wine bottle from her, setting it down on the floor of the cart. Then he placed one hand on her hip, while the fingers of his other hand laced with hers, raising it, as he’d done before when trying to teach her how to dance.

“Being wrapped in invisible arms, no matter how gently, startled the youngest princess. ‘Sisters, sisters!’ she started to call out. But he silenced her with a kiss.”

Tilting his head, Julen brushed his lips against Jenica’s mouth. She aroused such strong emotions in him -- such fierce hunger, such deep compassion, such awestruck wonder. Everything he’d felt before meeting her seemed dull and muted by comparison. “I love you,” he whispered. This was not part of the tale, from which he’d significantly strayed. But Jenica always treated his declarations of love as fiction anyway. “I love you with all of my heart.”

Julen knew how the story needed to end. He knew the soldier needed to return to the surface, present the evidence he’d gathered, and break the curse. But right then, he couldn’t bear to leave the balcony. Couldn’t stand to be torn from his princess’s arms. “When he kissed her, all fear fled from her body. So they danced. Alone, unseen by any of the others. The princess and her invisible partner.”

[Jenica Sabiny]

She listened in rapt attention, watching his gestures and facial features shift with the telling. The story intrigued her and she creased her brow, straining to both remember and follow the details and twists within the tale. She wanted to understand the conclusion when he reached it, and forgetting the beginning would decrease her chances of appreciating the ending.

If her male forgot or deviated from details, she couldn't have known. He could have told her any version of the story, and she'd have believed it to be the truest version of the tale. Even if it weren't, she appreciated the tale as a whole. She did not often hear stories of any kind and was content to enjoy the one being provided.

Though there were so many other things he did which she was not used to. She spent her waking moments bursting with perpetual confusion and intrigue, wondering what he would do or say next and why it did not involve pain. She was even beginning to expect this lack of further injury in her life, a belief which brought even more confusion to her.

Something shifted in her mind, as he took the wine and then her hand and guided her into a dancing position. It clicked and scraped its way across her awareness until it had entirely reformed into a foreign entity. She did not know what it was or what it meant; she could only stare at it with her inner eye and wonder. The chains clinked and limited how far her hands could rise or her feet move, but they were long enough to allow the couple a comfortable enough distance. And if they were uncomfortable, it didn't occur to her to complain.

She stared at him in the same wonderment she had at the wagon when she'd first entered and seen all he had prepared. The gifts and bottles and other amenities which had been done for the sole purpose of her. She could not understand this world she'd become part of, where she was cared for and brought gifts and by this male's own words loved. It made no sense; it was inconsistent with the world she had known for as long of her life as she could remember. His lips brushed against hers, and he did not push further to demand the only gift she had in return. And then he spoke those words again, the love words which threw her mind into a frenzy of trying to discover why. What did he want? Why was he so nice? He said it was for love, but what was that? Some human thing she could not yet fathom; something which seemed strong and persistent and even stubborn.

He spoke of fear and of being alone. And the thing which had been created within her mind understood that in his eyes she was the princess he spoke of. She did not know how she knew this information; before, she would have thought he was only continuing the story, or that he'd gone insane and thought himself invisible.

Somehow, she found the meaning, and rather than be baffled by why he would reference something like that, she understood that he was seeing her through the eyes of his own world. A world where he found her beautiful and tragic. Where he found her worthwhile.

He had not demanded what was rightfully his. Because of this, she felt that she would gift it herself, spurred on by the odd monolith newly residing within her thoughts. It egged her on, encouraging something sweet and gentle rather than the normal poke-and-tumble.

She tilted her face forward to capture his lips in a kiss. Where her mouth normally tasted of the metallic stain of blood, the wine had given her lips and tongue a sweet flavor laden with naturally tart grapes. It begin as the barest touch, light and gentle - and then she closed her eyes as she pressed forward to deepen it, swaying with music only he could hear.

[Julen]

The sweet taste surprised Julen. As Jenica deepened their kiss, he slid his tongue across the soft curves of her wine-flavored lips, savoring the hint of intoxication. He’d never minded the tang of blood, just as he’d never minded the roughness of their usual love-making. But those things didn’t belong in this moment. For the first time, she was giving him something she’d never been able to give before. She was joining him in the place he’d tried so hard to build for her. Their castle in the air, shaped from poetic notions, scraps of faith, and silly little dreams. They couldn’t stay in it forever -- Julen knew that. The hunger and the monster waited outside its walls. Eventually, they would have to be dealt with. But, for a little while, there was refuge. There was peace.

He wanted to thank her. Thank her for giving him this thing his heart had so craved; thank her for trusting him with this fragile new piece of herself. But what words could ever convey his gratitude? So he only drew her closer, abandoning their formal dancing stance as he wrapped his arms around her. Held her against his warmth, and his heartbeat, and everything else that was also owned by her.

Forsaking the taste of wine, Julen’s kisses traced the shape of her jawbone, each one a carefully placed marker, like breadcrumbs dropped to lead him back. And he couldn’t help wondering if anyone else had explored this path. He knew that, as a vampire, she’d had sex with lots of men -- usually right before killing them. But had there been anyone who’d loved her? Someone after she fled from her brother, but before she encountered Bela?

“Say my name,” he pleaded. His voice sounded as hoarse as hers usually did, and his throat felt as dry. He couldn’t recall if she’d ever spoken it. In truth, he wasn’t entirely sure that she even remembered what it was. But he needed to know that this moment belonged to him. “Please.”

[Jenica Sabiny]

She did not know how to answer his longing. The desperate craving in his voice to hear the word, a sequence of noises which others used to call upon him and only him. She knew the word; she'd heard the others use it. But she'd never said it herself.

The monolith knew. It whispered suggestions and phrases to her, gently encouraging her to give him what he wanted. But the words made no sense; they were too similar to those he spoke, and she could not say them without wondering why she did.

He had made a request of her, something so simple and incidental that it should have been easy. But she found herself at a loss. Had he forgotten his name? Did he just want to hear it for some personal reason he could not say? Or...the monolith whispered, its voice as torn and broken as her own...or did he want something more? Humans did not place so much emphasis on names; names were just identifying marks. Something they used to pick each other out from the crown. But he knew his name. He responded to it. It wasn't his own name he wanted to hear. He wanted what she called him. Her own title for him; what she used when she thought of him inside of her own head.

She struggled. She debated. And she wasn't used to doing these things. She was used to blurting the first thing that came to mind, but this surge within her mind made her take pause and consider. In a moment, she hated it. This was not like herself; this was not how she was, not how she thought and spoke. With a mental heave, she shove the monolith to the side and spoke with honesty instead of more deliberation.

"You're my male."

Her voice was stronger than it had been before, and the tone was possessive. She was not saying something romantic or sweet; she was claiming ownership of his body and mind. He was her mate by his own reckoning, and though she could not accept his love she would not let go of his person. A bit of red tinted her eyes as she leaned forward for another kiss, far stronger and more demanding than before. Whether it hurt him or not did not matter to her; once it ended, she met his eyes and snarled.

"Mine."

[Julen]

So much for castles in the air.

As Jenica’s lips found his again, rough and demanding, arousal shuddered through Julen’s body. His hands slid to her arms, gripping them tightly. He wanted her more than words could describe. Although her mouth forced itself against his own with bruising intensity, he still pressed back into the kiss, meeting hunger with hunger.

And that was when Julen knew. In a flash of unwelcome clarity, followed by a wave of dark despair, he realized that she needed a better man to save her. He was not a knight in shining armor -- he wasn’t even a soldier with an invisible cloak. If Aorle was here, he would only respond to the good things in Jenica. He would only love the princess. He would slay the hunger and the monster without a second thought.

Julen loved the princess, yes. But the hunger excited him and the monster intrigued him. He couldn’t fight them with the dedication Jenica deserved. He would take her to the angel. He would stay with her for the rest of her life, if that was what she desired. And, ultimately, he would fail her. Because even now, even understanding how wrong this was, he couldn’t peel his fingers away from her flesh, couldn’t make his heart stop racing.

“Yours,” Julen agreed, when Jenica snarled her claim. “Forever and always.” And if his eyes glistened a little too brightly, if a single tear escaped, he doubted she’d notice. I’m sorry. I’m sorry all I can do is tell fairy tales and cast pretty illusions, instead of actually being the man you need me to be. The one apology he actually owed her. And the one apology that couldn’t seem to make it past his lips.

Loosening his grip on one of Jenica’s arms, Julen slid his hand upward -- over shoulder, and neck, and cheek -- until it reached her dark hair. There, he tangled his fingers with the thick strands, tilting her head back to expose her throat. Ravenously, he sucked at the newly revealed flesh, his kisses wet and fierce. Despite his dark mood, the despair drove him onward almost as much as the lust. He hoped she was really rough with him this time. He hoped she really made it fucking hurt. Maybe, somewhere within the pain, he could find some small measure of penance.

[Jenica Sabiny]

Her male's heart was racing. She could hear it pounding in his chest, the blood rushing through his body and settling where she knew him best. Her eyes glistened as the red grew stronger; she parted her lips and released a long, staggered breath as his mouth drew her throat's flesh inside. Her own hand mimicked the course his had taken to twine into his hair and pull his face harder against her neck, a low growl making her entire body vibrate against his.

This male was hers. Hers. This body pressed against her, these hands gripping and squeezing her breasts above and below her tattered blouse, the lips and tongue working against her throat and jaw. Every part of him was hers for the taking, for the keeping. She could do whatever she wished - he had granted her this right with his words. The red become more powerful as her own desires thrashed in her mind. His body pressed against hers, plunging inside - his chest cavity laid open and bare, a gaping hole where lungs had once lain - his heart throbbing in her fist as she pumped it through a hole in his ribcage, keeping him alive while she peeled the flesh away from his face - a loud cry as he shuddered and released deep inside of her, thrusting until he collapsed forward against her, panting and spent as he had many times before...

Let's play.

She snarled and shoved him away from her to fall against the bottom of the wagon, following his path with her own body. Her upper lip curled up as her knees dropped on either side of his waist, resting her entire weight against his crotch. The visions were too strong; her cravings too powerful. She wanted him inside of her; she wanted him bleeding and screaming into her mouth as she ripped his lower lip away with her teeth. She raised her hands to take his wrists and suspend him against the ground for the taking, waiting for the mutilation she wanted more than even the blood itself...

Clink.

She snarled and tugged again, frustrated. Her legs shifted slightly as though dragged by the force of her arms. She tugged again. And again.

And then remembered.

She froze all at once, staring down at him. This male who brought her meaningful presents. Who had never hurt her. Who said he loved her. Her male.

She inhaled a long, shaking breath, and her body followed suit. She trembled hard enough that her hair vibrated, the chains clinking quietly where they bound hands and feet together. Long enough for a slow dance, but not long enough for...

All at once she shoved up to her feet and away, falling back to her rump and scraping back further until her back hit something solid enough to stop her motions. Her hands came up to grip her head, pressing against her temples as she squeezed her eyes shut and flinched. Fighting herself; fighting what she'd nearly done. The desire had ebbed but the visions remained, and most of her wanted to make these dreams reality.

No. No no no. This male is mine. He's mine and I like this one. Remember, remember, you like this one. Remember...

[Julen]

The impact of hitting the wagon floor barely registered with Julen. His senses were all too focused on anticipated pleasure. When Jenica straddled him, he arched against her, a moan of arousal bursting from his lips. He was already so close. He wanted her to rip off his pants and ride him hard, until his hips were bruised, until his body ached. The red glow in her eyes completely eluded him. Even when she began to struggle against her chains, he didn’t understand. Instead, he reached for the key that hung around his throat, intending to free her hands so she could hold him down however she pleased.

And then Jenica started trembling. Immediately, lust fled from Julen’s body like heat extinguished by a chill wind. Concerned, he stretched out a hand to reassure her, but she was already pushing herself off him and scooting away. That was when he finally realized. She hadn’t been about to fuck him -- she’d been about to kill him. Belated fear flared bright in Julen’s eyes, driving him to scramble backward, until he ended up on the opposite side of the wagon as Jenica. For a moment, he just gawked at her. Then, unconsciously mimicking the gesture he’d seen from her so many times, he clutched his arms until the pain came. His fingernails were not long enough to draw blood. But they left white indentations in his flesh.

Without being summoned, two voices began a silent debate inside his head. One spoke the bitter accusations of his rational mind. The other was simply an echo of his still racing heart.

I can’t do this. I can’t do this. I can’t...

You coward. You stupid coward. You want her to kill you, don’t you? So you don’t have to feel bad anymore. So you can stop trying. What do you think happens to her when Uluki and Rollick find her crouched beside your mutilated corpse? Do you honestly believe that they’ll just shrug and take her to the angel anyway? No. They’ll kill her -- or, far more likely, she’ll kill them. And it will be your fault. Because you couldn’t cope with something that you fucking started.

I can’t do this, I can’t do this, I can’t...

Then who will? Karsimir isn’t here. You’re the one who couldn’t keep your lips to yourself. You’re the one who convinced her to risk everything. You’re the one who thought that it would just take a little love and angel dust to turn a monster back into a woman. Jenica is depending on you. If you don’t do this, she’s lost. There’s no one else.

Julen looked over to where Jenica sat, clutching her head and muttering to herself. Because of him. Because he’d surrendered to his own selfish lust. Julen wanted to tell her he was sorry. But he couldn’t imagine that another apology falling from his lips would mean anything more to her than a piece of rotten fruit dropping from a dead tree. With a tremendous force of will, Julen uncurled his fingers, and set his hands in his lap. Then he spoke the only words which seemed to do any good.

“Just before dawn, the princesses returned to their room in the palace, and the soldier followed them. Then he went before the king to tell him what had happened. At first, the king was skeptical, but when the soldier presented him with the copper branch, he couldn’t argue. He ordered the princesses to be moved to a different room and the old one was boarded up. So the princesses returned to their normal lives, and the soldier married the youngest of them, and there were no more ruined dancing shoes. Everyone lived happily ever after.”

“Happily ever after.” Julen repeated the phrase, as if that could somehow make it come true.

[Mercedes D'Amour]

A smile crept to her lips as she heard someone hum along to their made up song. Music always seemed to help in these sorts of situations – Aimee could feel the mood in the cart lifting up from the mud, only to be plunked back down in it again when Julen spoke. Her fingers faltered on the strings before she stopped playing entirely and obediently hopped off her board-rail seat. The idea of walking pretty much the whole way didn’t bother them; travel was something they were accustomed to. Despite the slightness of her frame, Mercedes was quite strong - her muscles lean and tight to the bone – three weeks on the road would actually be quite refreshing from all the sitting around they seemed to be doing lately.

Merc leaned against the side of the cart and listened to Uluki’s encouraging ideas. She only hoped the vampire would make it there in the first place...again, too much thinking about the future would not do her any good. Idly she picked and strummed the odd note as though she were flipping through pages of a songbook in her head – starting up a song, changing her mind, moving along to the next – then she abruptly stopped the vibrating strings again. Nervous energy. Perhaps once they got moving some of that would dissipate. They were relieved when the call to move forward sounded out and Merc just as silently took up a position beside the cart.

A light breeze swept her hair into her eyes, but she didn’t make any move to brush it away from her face. She wasn’t really looking through her eyes anyway – only enough to make sure she didn’t run into the wagon or trip on a stone in the path. In truth, Mercedes was sleeping. A quick game of mental rock-paper-scissors had landed Aimee as the one to take the first shift. It was a common enough thing for Aimee to be addressed as Mercedes – she did share her sister’s body after all – so didn’t bother rousing Merc when Uluki started making her request. Even part way through, she saw no reason to wake her sister and was more than prepared to comfort Uluki and placate her fears. It was her suggesting suitable partners that made her snap her head to the side.

“WHAT?!” It was both of them at once. Their first word of the day. Merc’s mouth opened and shut twice more before any other sounds came out. Merc shook her head firmly, bangs slapping against the side of her face, as though she were trying to shoo a fly. No way. No way was Uluki going to pull this – another “final request” thing. She loved the duskling, but sometimes she could be a little paranoid about death. There was no harm in being prepared, she supposed, but yikes! It’s not that they didn’t think Rollick was a great guy – it wasn’t that he was too old for them either – but...it was just a strange thought. That their best friend’s husband would find comfort in their arms with his wife’s blessing?

Any unscrupulous noises coming from the wagon were completely ignored. They were totally focused on Uluki. Merc reached out and firmly took the duskling by the shoulder, making her turn towards them.

“Uluki…I…we…you’re not gonna…gods how do I put this?” she sighed, then Aimee spoke up.

“We’re honoured you asked us first, Uluki.”

“Yeah, that. And, it’s nice that you’re being prepared and all, but you’re NOT going to die.”

“Again.”

~Aimee!~

[Lylessa Uluki]

Uluki forced a tight smile onto her face. "You're right. It's fine. We'll all be fine."

She didn't believe that. At all. But pursuing the subject would only make Mercedes and Aimee worry, and there was no point in upsetting them. Uluki had made her wishes known, and they would remember it when the time came. Uluki had accomplished her purpose in the conversation, really... though her heart would feel a lot more peaceful if they'd just agreed to help Rollick.

Uluki had come close to death too many times to believe reassurances like that. The time she had died and been resuscitated, and several other times when she'd been so close to death she could see the darkness, and feel the icy fingers. She was too far past the point of believing death was something that happened to other people, or waited till you were old. She'd lost too many friends in their prime, as well as having been so close to death's door herself. For a few horrible moments-- moments of shock, disbelief, horror, and terrible, terrible grief-- she'd even lost Mercedes, before Aimee saved her sister.

The last time Uluki had made a last request like this to Mercedes, it had been to save Rollick instead of Uluki if a choice had to be made, when they battled the evil god. Though both Uluki and Rollick had lived, Uluki's request had been far from unnecessary. As Uluki lay on the ground, her body torn and scorched far past the point of survival, feeling her life ebbing away like sand pouring through an hourglass much too fast, her one comfort had been that her wishes were known, and she wasn't taking Rollick with her.

Uluki was saved then by magic that was both powerful and timely, but it had been a close thing. She knew she wouldn't always be so lucky, and she could only hope that Rollick would be alright without her, that someone would try to heal his heart. But demanding the comfort of certainty would hurt and upset Mercedes and Aimee. Uluki would just have to trust them to take care of him if he needed it.

"Nothing to worry about. What song were you playing just now? I liked it."