30 comments/ 85145 views/ 119 favorites Bloodsong Ch. 01 By: LadyMira A few things before you proceed: This is the first part of a multi-chapter story, and I usually like to do some character development and worldbuilding and boring stuff like that before sex ensues. So no, nobody gets laid in this chapter. Sorry about that. When I do get to the sex, there will almost certainly be some consent issues, so consider yourself warned. (Of course, you probably already know that, since I'm archiving this under the NonConsent/Reluctance label. Silly me.) There are also a lot of sci-fi/fantasy elements in this story. Also, tentacles. If that's not your thing, you should probably reconsider reading it. Other than that, please enjoy. Bloodsong Ch. 01 He noticed, and laughed. "There you go. You don't even like the bitch, but you are angry at me on her behalf. I'd complain, but that's actually one of your most endearing traits." He leaned over, cupping her shin with his hand and tucking a stray lock of inky-black hair behind her ear. "You are so soft, inside and out. I confess, I'm really curious to see if in time, you'll end up hardening or melting, and what will cause one or the other." She frowned, not quite understanding what he meant or what he was trying to get at. However, she strongly suspected it wasn't bound to be very flattering. Therefore, she leaned away from his hand, shook her head to return the rebellious curl to its chosen place, and pouted. "Well, perhaps I'll decide to disappoint you. Perhaps I'll remain exactly the way I am now." "Oh, yes, perhaps. But I strongly doubt it." Bloodsong Ch. 01 Nicolai seemed to mull that over. Valerie could almost see the notion take root in his mind and dig its way in. She knew he knew that what she had said was believable and made sense, and the reason it did was that it was true. Jack was the one who cared about her, in his own sick and twisted way. The game of cat and mouse they had been playing for the last seven years was theirs and theirs alone. Nicolai was just the guy who loomed over Jack's shoulder while he attempted to deliver intimidating speeches, and although he wouldn't say a word about it, he'd resent it immensely if his best friend turned out to be the first to get his hands on her. Nicolai seemed to have reached a similar conclusion, because he gestured at his cronies to stand aside before returning his attention to her, his face grim and serious. "Go. And don't even think about dropping him off in the desert, you bitch." "Wouldn't dream of it." She already had a far better place in mind. "Here's to hoping we never meet again." Something she knew he would support wholeheartedly, even if he'd never breathe a word about it. Which he didn't. With a wide, cheerful smile, Valerie marched towards temporary freedom, dragging her prey behind her. Bloodsong Ch. 02 Hello again, and thanks for all the feedback, favorites and votes y'all left on the last chapter. They meant a lot to me, honest. I wanted to update sooner, but this chapter turned out to be slightly -- er, a lot -- longer than expected. So long, in fact, that I ended up having to split it in two. The second part will probably be finished and ready to be submitted by the time this one appears. If you clicked on this story without reading the first chapter, please do so. I'm pretty sure you won't understand a thing if you don't. Also, for those who never thought to check my profile, I usually update my word count between chapters, so that you know how far advanced I am with the next one. That's all. On to the story. Bloodsong Ch. 02 "You are partially right. But there is one thing she did that isn't covered under territory dispute laws, and that I strongly doubt the Council will allow to pass." She stared at him, her expression blank and uncomprehending, until it hit her. "Yes, that. Even if it is common knowledge that they hated each other with fiery passion, she still slayed her sister. That's a blood crime. And I'm guessing even you know how easy the Council tends to go on those." "I see. Has she been sent through the gate yet?" "No. I was planning to escort her to Alkarosh myself. Just to be safe." "Wonderful. Where is she being held, what kind of security does the place have, and in how bad a shape is she?" Jack frowned at her, somewhat confused, until the penny dropped. "Oh gods, you are planning to break her out." She snorted. Hearing him talk, it almost sounded as if that had ever been in question. "For the love of fuck, Valerie, let it go. I know you went crazy a while back, but work with me for a moment. Try to remember what being sane feels like, and then ask yourself if that still seems like a good idea." "You know what definitely isn't a good idea, Jack?" she asked rhetorically. "Pissing off a girl with a sword. Am I going to have to add 'talk or I'll kill you' to every sentence I say? Because that will get old soon." Surprisingly, he rolled his eyes and didn't try to argue further. She both liked and disliked how forthcoming he was being with the information. Liked it because she needed it, and disliked it because it made her even more convinced that he had to be up to something. "We chained her up in the Mayfly's dungeon. That ought to tell you all you need to know about how well aunt Briseis is being guarded." Valerie bit her lip. It did, though she wished it didn't. The last time she'd had to get one of her colleagues out of there, her left foot had been hacked off. It had grown back eventually, but not before cementing her cautious respect for the old brothel's security system. Breaking out a very high-profile prisoner would be tricky indeed. "She hasn't been hurt badly, only roughened up a little. If you somehow manage to get through twenty stories of armed men and booby-traps, I'm sure you'll have no trouble carrying her up and out. Now, if you don't mind, I have a few questions of my own." "You have questions? See, that whole 'talk or I'll kill you' concept I just told you about? I don't think you get it. We aren't doing an equivalent exchange scenario. I ask, you answer. No vice-versas." "They are very simple questions." "Don't want to know, don't care." "Where did you learn to drive a car?" Alright. That one she had to stop and puzzle at. "I...what?" "Because you are without a doubt the worst driver I've ever seen. It's nothing short of a wonder that we haven't hit anything, and I can't even give you too much credit for that, since there are hardly any obstacles here beyond dunes. Furthermore, that thing right there next to your foot, which you haven't used once since we began this conversation and probably weren't even aware of before now? It's called a brake pedal. Kindly start using it." "My father taught me how to drive, and he was very good at it," she replied automatically, and felt silly for doing so. Defending the man was as useless as counting sand, and a perpetuation of a bad habit on top of that. She had spent her entire childhood that way; telling herself that he was without fault and that everything he did was fair and correct, as if that would ever make him forgive her for being born wrong and having killed her mother on the way out. Since it had been years since the last time she'd given him thought, it hadn't been irrational to believe that she had finally managed to refrain from brainwashing herself to think of him in a good light. But the memory Jack's question had awakened was one she knew to have never suffered revision. It had no need of it. The place that had been her home in Barashi, the white pebble road that went from the gates and twisted through the woods until it disappeared, lost in a distant horizon; she could see it before her eyes, as clearly as if she were driving on it instead of abandoning the highway and entering the desert proper. Her hands on the wheel, only they weren't her hands yet -- fragile, soft and ladylike, unused to hard work, fingers that had never held a sword or squeezed the life out of someone -- and another larger set around them, guiding and helping. Burly, good natured laughter -- father had seen something funny in the woods, she couldn't recall what, and then she had said something that was also funny, and it had been one of those rare times when he smiled at her without disdain. Instructions given genially instead of barked. The unavoidable jab about how it was a good thing he could teach her how to go places herself, since it was unlikely she'd ever find anyone willing to take her to them, but even that had sounded less harsh than usual. Everything her sixteen-year-old self had ever wanted, crystalized in a single fleeting instant. And now was a bad time to be remembering it, she told herself sternly. Getting lost in a daydream of times gone by was just the thing Jack would know to exploit to get the upper hand on her. "He did? Remind me to never accept a ride from him." Feeling too tired to think up a suitable snide response, she simply told him to go fuck himself. Which made him smile, for some reason she had no wish to dwell on. "Touchy, touchy. Alright, I have another one. Where are we headed?" Valerie let out a small hiss, stopped the car and leaned over. He looked taken aback by that, as well as he should. She kept the sword against his throat and started to unbutton his shirt. His eyebrows went up instantly, and his mouth twisted into a small insidious smirk. "Well, well, I didn't expect us to be headed there. Not that I'm objecting, mind you." "Shut it. Are you bugged?" Without waiting for an answer, she grabbed him by the hair and twisted his head so that she could look in his ear. Searching his clothes to collect any and all weapons he might be carrying had been the first thing she'd done after finding the jeep, but she honestly hadn't thought about hidden microphones or worse, tracking chips. Most likely he wouldn't enquire about their destination if he had one of the later, but she'd rather be safe than sorry. The fact that a more thorough search revealed nothing in the way of locating devices didn't relax her in the slightest. She still felt sure that there was something iffy about the whole situation. It hadn't seemed so while it was happening, but thinking back, escaping had been distractingly easy. "I know there is a catch here, I just know it. So, spill." "Because I asked where we are going?" His face was a perfect picture of outraged innocence, which naturally, only made her even more suspicious. "What about that is so unreasonable?" "It's not that, just..." she trailed off, leaning back on her seat and massaging her forehead with her free hand. Maybe it was just baseless paranoia. Trouble was, each time she had been baselessly paranoid in the past, she usually ended up proven right. Mostly because her brain seemed to have a knack for predicting the worst possible outcome, and the universe seemed determined to make her life as difficult as it could, but still. "I should just kill you. Get it over and done with." "Yes, that would seem like the simplest way to prevent any hypothetic harm from coming to you through me, wouldn't it?" He folded his hands, which made her twitch, which made him smile. "But you are not going to do it. Do you know how I know that?" "Can't imagine how you'd reach that conclusion, no." "Because things change, Valerie. But the more they change, the more they stay the same. And one of the most basic building blocks of everything that is you is this: you won't kill anyone who isn't in a position to put up a fight. So, yes. "He raised his arms with his hands open and turned towards her, grinning wildly. "I do think I'm relatively safe for now." "You...oh, just shut up!" Bloodsong Ch. 02 "I'm not going to hurt you, I swear. Do you want me to take the chains off? Maybe you'll feel better." It seemed to have been the right thing to say. At least it finally made the other girl acknowledge her. Her tearful eyes widened, and she lifted her head from the metal surface with a movement that looked suspiciously convulsive. Valeriana saw her lips move, silently repeating what she'd just heard as if she were trying to make sense out of it, and for the first time, a flicker of hope lit her face. "Help. Key." She twisted her neck to indicate the chains with her chin. "Key, they open with a key..." "We don't need one. See?" With a quick push on both sides of the spreader bar, she snapped the chains that bound the girl's feet, before doing the same with the ones encircling her wrists. It started to dawn on her, albeit very slowly, that she hadn't the faintest idea of what she was doing, why she was doing it, or what she hoped to achieve with it. She didn't have a plan beyond getting out, war in progress and new, potentially dangerous world notwithstanding. Anything would be preferable than continuing under Marabeth's care for the remainder of her stay on Earth, and leaving the other girl behind had somehow turned into a notion she couldn't even bring herself to consider. "I don't know if you can walk but, uhm, I'm really strong -- obviously -- so I don't mind carrying you if..." She stopped talking and rusher over. Other girl had just tried to get off the table and collapsed in a heap on the floor, and was hugging her knees tightly to her chest. Valeriana approached her as if she were a wild animal and extended her hand. She retracted it immediately, realizing that touching her wouldn't elicit the best response. So she just waited, while the other's hacking sobs filled the silence. When it seemed like she had calmed a little, she tried again. "Er. I'm going away. Escaping, I guess. Do you want to come with me?" "Is...is this a test? Please, I don't know, I don't know, don't punish me!" "It's not a test. I...I just think that, well, the woman who did this to you is a bad person and shouldn't be allowed to do anything else to anyone, so I don't want to stay with her. Or let you stay with her. "She could see the plethora of conflicting emotions that warred inside the girl play out on her face. "I'm not trying to trick you, or give you false hope, or, or...anything, really. But if you don't want..." "No!" Her scream was so high-pitched it startled her. Other girl crawled forward and hugged her legs, shaking her head vigorously. "I just want to go home. Please don't be lying. Please." "I'm not. I swear I'm not." Hastily, she sank on her knees next to the girl and hugged her. Other girl froze, unsure whether to shake her off or try to reach back. "Don't be afraid. Please." It was her own 'please' that did it, she realized as soon as she said it. It hadn't sounded as desperate as any of hers, but conveyed her meaning more effectively than any other word could have. "I'll get us out of here." "Yes," other girl whispered, tentatively reaching back. "I'd...I'd like that." "Okay." She got up, smoothed down her skirt and took a deep breath. A plan, she needed one. And while she racked her brains in search of one that didn't seem completely idiotic, her mouth went on babbling. "I don't know what we'll do once we are outside. Never been here before. Father always said that Earth was a filthy, ugly and foul place, and that there were a lot of more civilized worlds to visit, and everything I do know is from books which I'm sure are outdated. I mean, they talk about humans still using chariots as transportation, and I know for a fact that you people had automobiles way before we had, and...I believe someone called Henry was supposed to be king of Eggland?" She was sure that the other girl wasn't listening to half of what she was saying, but that was alright. She was barely listening to herself. "So you'll have to tell me where the safe places are, I suppose." The girl barked a laugh, both surprising and creeping her out. "Nowhere," she said, sounding less shaky than before, but just as broken. "Nowhere is safe." "Oh. Well, I'm sure we will find a place. I'm Valeriana, by the way. Valeriana Lazur." "I...I'm Rachel," other girl replied, pronouncing her name as if she were saying it for the first time. As if she had forgotten it and was trying to relearn it. "Rachel Redmont." Bloodsong Ch. 03 Hey again, loyal readers! (What? You slogged through a fuckton of sexless pages and are still reading even though you probably know that there are a few more to come. That counts as loyalty in my book.) Thank you for all your feedback and support, and for being so patient with the aforementioned shortage of ya-know-what. Hopefully, that will be taken care of soon. This was originally meant to be one very long chapter, but somehow it turned into two reasonably long chapters. Because I'm long winded and can't pace myself to save my life. I've submitted both at the same time, but if the next one hasn't appeared yet by the time this one is posted, you can probably find it on my blog. Some parts of it are also a bit graphic, in the sense that they include mutilation (don't worry, it grows back) and bloodletting. If that's not your cup of tea, you'll probably want to skip anything written between (*)'s and let your mind fill in the blanks however it wants. That said, please enjoy. ~ Mira ~ Bloodsong Ch. 03 "So, where were we? Oh yes, your jacket. I'm afraid it's not enough after all. I'll need the pants too. And, let me see...what's your shoe size?" ############## "Uhm. Hello?" Ki-laar looked up from the folder she was reviewing and smiled at her. It was probably meant to be a standard polite, yes-I'm-listening smile, but the abundance of black triangular teeth made Valeriana take a step back and gulp. Reminding herself of how essential it was to keep calm, she tried to play it off and smiled back in a way that even she herself could tell was unconvincing. "Mara....Lady Aramis said that I should take the, ah, slave she left with me back to the holding facility as soon as I was done with her. Which I, uh, am, so I'm going to do that now. If you don't mind." "Of course, yes. But wouldn't you prefer if I called someone else for that? The keepers can..." "Lady Aramis said that I ought to do it myself. She..." Inspiration speared through her mind as she went on, still with the same uncomfortable grimace frozen on her lips. "She isn't very happy with me right now, and I don't want to anger her further by disobeying." Ki-laar nodded in understanding. If she found anything odd about it, Valeriana thought, she'd likely chalk it up to her mistress being the standard definition of mad. "And, uhm, is there another exit besides the main one? She wanted me to see her sister out after I was done here, but told me to use the backdoor, and I don't quite... "Milady was probably joking. Either that or you are confused. The Mayfly only has one exit." Well. It had been worth trying. Half-satisfied with her efforts, she walked back to the room. Rachel seemed more composed, although considering how terrified she had been before, that wasn't really saying much. She was still naked -- Valeriana had thought about lending her her overcoat so that she could cover herself at least a little, but swiftly scratched the idea. As subservient as Ki-laar appeared to be, it was still unlikely she wouldn't suspect foul play if she were to walk past her with a covered slave in tow. The prospect of her getting the idea of calling Marabeth to double-check her story had her bordering on a full-blown nervous breakdown. "Hi again," she said, speaking slowly and quietly so as to not startle her. Rachel stopped hugging her knees and looked up. "I think I managed to fool her. We'll be able to walk out now, but you will have to act as if you are really frightened and broken and submissive and, uh, all that stuff." "Okay. Easy things to fake," Rachel answered, and laughed. Tiny, puny human or not, hearing her do that was still chilling. Her laugher sounded as if it should be produced by a ghoul or reanimated corpse, not something still alive. "Where do we go from there?" "I...haven't planned that far yet," she admitted. "I'm just hoping the main entrance won't be heavily guarded." Rachel nodded. Her lack of a solid plan didn't seem to concern her. Probably for the best, since she happened to be concerned enough for both of them. The other girl got up, looked at her as if challenging her to say anything about her nude body -- she didn't, she was trying to not be disrespectful and stare, and the fact that she felt compelled to act in such a way towards something that was barely a step above of a mindless animal wasn't entirely lost on her -- and came to stand in front of her. Valeriana frowned at the object she was being handed. "Er. What is that for?" "It's a collar. With a leash." She could see it was a collar with a leash. What the other girl wanted it for was the part she was having trouble with. "You put it on me, and I'll crawl whenever we see other people. So that no one will suspect." Stunned, Valeriana took the collar from her. It was a good idea, a smart one. She wouldn't have thought it up herself. On some level, she had always been aware that human intellect had some merits. Many of the things her homeworld's civilization depended on had been scavenged from Earth and originally conceived by its inhabitants. Still, she had never made the connection between humanity as a whole having the ability to produce useful things, and some individual humans being cleverer than your average beast of burden. She supposed that was good. If nothing else, at least it made her feel she was risking her comfort and safety for someone, something other than an emotion-fuelled whim. Ki-laar made no comment when the two of them walked by -- or she walked by. Rachel was dragging herself forward on her hands and knees, and she could tell she was crying, but said nothing about it. Not only because trying to comfort her would certainly raise suspicion, but because she was clueless about what she ought to say. She hadn't made her crawl, hadn't even insisted on it, it had been her choice alone, there was no reason for her to be so upset. And yet she was sure the tears were real, and her inability to comprehend the reason behind them made her feel out of her depth. Valeriana almost laughed at that. Out of her depth...she was so far out of it that by right, she should have drowned already. And she would, if it weren't for the minuscule part of her that was flailing stubbornly and desperately trying to learn how to swim. Most of the Mayfly was located underground. She had only seen the outside of the building once upon arrival, and felt reassured by the fact that it looked vaguely like the pictures in the books she'd read. A castle-like three-story mansion with turrets projecting from each corner, elliptical windows and little stone cherubs hanging over the door, the Mayfly seemed to have been wholly dragged out of a bygone age. Or would, if it weren't for the scarlet neon signs hanging right above the baroque ornaments, and the women clad in leather and little else than hung invitingly around the doors. She hadn't spent a lot of time on the levels above ground, since they weren't, as Marabeth had put it, of much practical interest. The brothel was only a facade hiding the den where greater iniquities were committed. However, if they wanted to get out, they needed to somehow get past it. "Right, I think you can get up now," she whispered. Rachel shook her head. "If they see me walk, we are dead." Valeriana though that was a slight exaggeration, but shrugged. The underground was mostly an endless maze of corridors and doors. She had learned to navigate it well enough to know that black door meant another corridor, white door with symbol plastered on it could mean whatever, and steel door meant a room she probably wasn't supposed to be in. The exit was an elevator, supposedly located in the western wing -- she was supposing because her memory or sense of orientation weren't good enough to recall it exactly -- that was sure to be under watch at all times. Her current strategy to get past security was flimsy at best. She'd thought about telling the guards that they were needed in another part of the complex, but upon hearing that Rachel had laughed her spine-chilling, broken laugh, and told her there was no way they'd buy it. The idea Valeriana had come up with afterwards, she had accepted a bit better. Instead of trying to distract the guards, she was to tell them that one of the madames from the floor above had requested a sex-slave to fill in for a prostitute that had fallen ill. The excuse wouldn't hold water, but she hoped to be able to sneak into the elevator while they verified it. "Someone's coming!" Rachel almost shrieked, and her heart skipped a beat. Doing her best to look confident and in charge and not at all like somebody who was aiding the escape of a human slave, Valeriana turned her back to whoever had walked round the corner, kept moving and silently prayed it wasn't Marabeth. She was clueless about what she'd say or do if that were the case. The fact that the approaching steps sounded nothing like the click-clack of the woman's heels was reassuring, but the fact that whoever was behind her suddenly halted and yelled "Oi, you!" less so. Especially given that the voice had sounded so much like Marabeth's as to be uncanny. She turned again, doing her best to mask her fear. The newcomer wasn't Marabeth, and regarded them both with unabashed curiosity. She was, if she dared to guess, likely in her forties or early fifties. Then Valeriana felt it -- the pull, the unmistakable pull of kinship - and amended her estimate to two, three thousand years. The woman looked like her voice sounded: like Marabeth and at the same time, subtly but surely unalike. Their eyes were the same steely grey, their hair the same mass of auburn curls. The stranger had hers piled up on top of her head and propped up like a badly constructed bee-hive instead of put up in a bun, as her sister -- because, Valeriana knew at once, that had to be who she was -- wore hers, and she was shorter and sturdier. But those tiny variances weren't what told her that she was dealing with a completely different person. It was the fact that whereas Marabeth radiated smug malice in everything she did, the woman in front of her seemed to drag playful mischief behind her like an invisible cloak. "Yes?" she asked. Her throat felt dry and her voice sounded raspy, but the woman took no notice. "You are the new girl, yes?" She started to nod, caught herself, thought about the pros and cons of admitting to it and nodded again. "One of those white-faced things told me you are to see me out." "Oh. Uhm..." "However, as you seem to already have your hands full, I believe I'll take care of that myself. Door's over there, innit?" She pointed in the direction both of them were headed. Seeing no other choice, Valeriana nodded once more. She felt like crying, but didn't. "By the by, your slave-girl looks upset. Forgot to feed her her daily dose of brainwash tablets, did you?" Rachel let out a chocked sob. Still, Valeriana thought, there was something in the way the woman said it that made her sound almost...reproachful. Gulping, she took a closer look at her face and realized. Her eyes weren't at all like Marabeth's. The color was indeed the same, but the emotion filling them galaxies apart. Where she would have expected to find the kind of contempt that even the mellowest of Tsikalayans reserved for humans, there was nothing but pity. "Know what? I'm not even bothering with speeches this time around. You, that cow of a sister of mine and every soul in this building can all go to hell." "Wait!" she cried, stopping the woman in her tracks. There was way too much blood running to her head, and her thoughts were spinning so fast they made her feel faint, but somehow, she knew. This, she felt, was her chance -- their chance -- and it was the only one they would have. "You...you dislike Marabeth, don't you?" The woman frowned at her. "Dislike is putting it mildly. Why do you ask?" "So you wouldn't mind doing something with a very high probability of displeasing her?" "Pissing her off is one of my top ten goals in life, yes. Again, why do you ask?" Rachel seemed to be wanting to pose the exact same question. It was all too obvious that keeping up the act was the only reason why she hadn't gotten up and started shaking her, and all that would be irrelevant in a minute. She could feel them in the back of her throat, burning, dying to be spoken. Words, again, and this time she vomited them out all at once, without regard for consistency or consequences. "I'm asking because I don't like her much either, and she was hurting Rachel -- this is Rachel, by the way, she's a human from the House of Redmont who has been in a camp of concentrations called Dachau - and this whole thing just feels wrong to do, so I'm deciding I don't want to be a part of it, and Rachel obviously doesn't either, so we are trying to get out but have no actual idea of how to get out, and it would mean a lot to us if you could help in any way possible, since you hate your sister and your sister would hate her escaping and me disobeying, but of course we -- well, I, I can't really speak for her because I can't read thoughts and no, Rachel, please stop crying -- understand if you think it's too much of a risk to take, but again, we haven't really planned..." "Is this some sort of joke?" The woman asked aloud, her eyes traveling from the crying girl to the girl who was still babbling her troubled little heart out and giving no signs of wanting to stop. Valeriana shook her head earnestly. Rachel covered her eyes and sobbed louder. "You truly wish to escape?" "Yes. Yes, we do. Will you help?" The woman just kept staring. After what felt like forever, she finally closed her mouth, took a step forward and threw her hands up. "Well, sod it. Why not?" ############## The jacket was an almost perfect fit. The pants were a little long, but not so much that rolling up the legs a couple of times wouldn't solve that. The shoes were, unfortunately, about five sizes too big, so she would have to do without them, which was bothersome but not problematic. She flexed her fingers, testing their strength and luxuriating in the sensation of having her body be her own again. There was still some balm left, but she hadn't required it. After taking care of Nicolai, learning where the cameras were located and disabling them by throwing the flashlight at them until they crashed, she had picked up her arm and held it against her elbow until they knitted together. It hadn't scarred, and felt as good as new, so all in all, things were going swimmingly. "You'll never get out, you know that?" With a sigh, she stopped examining the contents of her pockets -- box of matches, pack of cigars, handkerchief, and a loose button - and turned towards her disgruntled captive. Even she had to admit he was a sight, and patted herself on the back for it. Nicolai had looked so annoyed with the prospect of having his fine clothes stolen that she had taken pity on him and decided to make it an unwilling switch instead of simple theft. Somehow, the flimsy garment looked even more silly on him than it had on her. His scowl didn't help. "Bitchy tease." "Why, princess Nicky, is that honestly the best you can come up with?" She took a step forward, posed dramatically and wailed. "Oh deary me, who could have guessed? There exists a girl with no desire of taking a ride on my joystick! Thou dost be cruel, 'o mighty fate! Whatever shall I do but insult her, while ignoring that never would this thing have come to pass if I hadn't been busy thinking with my dick? Egads, drat, etcetera." "Laugh whatever you want. Before the day is over, your ass will be ours." "Yes? Because there is a whole squad of your people outside the door, with guns, waiting for me to come out and jump me?" His face was priceless. "Oh, come now. I wasn't born yesterday. That's part of the reason I made you dress up, actually. I didn't do it just so that you could look pretty. " She walked towards him and yanked him up, breaking the restraints that bound him. It seemed like such an easy thing to do, she thought wonderingly. Nicolai must have been feeling the same. Instead of looking relieved, he eyed the dampener around his hand with burning fury. "Of course, before we step outside, I have a question." "Methinks the answer is something like 'fuck you'." Valerie gave him a sweet smile and landed a hit on his nose, effectively mashing it in. "Ahhhhh, fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck." "Language," she chided, and cracked her knuckles meaningfully. "What floor are we on?" "Why do you give a crap what floor...?" Clearly he was incapable of taking a hint, so she gave him a more practical demonstration of her previous meaning. "Arrghhhh...floor eighteen! Floor eighteen!" "Good boy." She checked her -- his, previously -- watch and nodded to herself, deciding that she had spent enough time resting and replenishing while she dressed. When she realized that whoever was outside wouldn't burst in until she showed her face, she'd also eaten the food Nicolai had brought with him. The water was wonderfully cool and surprisingly not drugged, the bread freshly baked and still lukewarm. If that too had been intended as a joke, he didn't seem to appreciate her laughing at it. "Another thing. We are more or less from the same generation, right?" "Yeah. What about it?" Valerie pushed him forward and dug the tips of her fingers in the metal door before answering, which upset him -- frightened, rather -- even more. "I said, what of..." "Nothing. Just checking." She pulled the door open, and before he could react or protest, gave him a hard, sharp shove that landed him right in the middle of a flurry of silver bullets. Brains were funny things. Sometimes they registered the expected -- person dressed in white, dark hair, pale skin - long before they even started mulling over the unexpected -- that said person happened to be male. The ones belonging to the shooters seemed to be suffering a critical delay in that particular aspect. They kept shooting for about five seconds before it finally dawned on them that although the screaming sounded girlish enough, everything else about the one producing it yelled the opposite. By then, Valerie had already jumped in the fray and bludgeoned the first available person with the flashlight. There was one thing that was true about every son or daughter of Barashi. No matter how peaceful their upbringing had been, no matter how tame their personality, their natural element was a fight. She had witnessed it for the first time years, decades ago, long before experiencing it firsthand, when her sister Belladonna, who was the meekest and mellowest creature alive, had taken a bully's eye out with a hairpin without blinking or changing her expression. It was something innate, which you were taught to harness if male and to suppress as much as possible if female, but once it was out, it was out. And then there was no way back beyond the one you carved yourself. "Shoot her! Just fucking shoot that bitch!" Nicolai had finally succeeded in hoisting himself up, and was frantically waving his arms while shouting increasingly incoherent orders. She ignored them and kept running, occasionally throwing opponents out of the way or against walls, sometimes grabbing them, shielding herself from a particularly intense volley of bullets, and discarding them immediately afterwards. She was on a roll -- most of the enemy side was made out of Marabeth's personal army of mutated clones, and cleaning a path among them was as easy as tearing through a wall of wet rice-paper - but felt acutely aware that her luck could run out anytime. Her fears turned out to be somewhat accurate when she reached the end of the corridor. The door was locked, but that was of no consequence -- she just rammed it down with her shoulder and kept running. The part of the Mayfly she was in was, if she remembered the plans correctly, shaped like a U. There was supposed to be an elevator at the end of each curve, but her cell had been located near to the end of the left one and there was no elevator in sight, only a locked -- although not for long -- room. Clearly they had remodeled. Cursing under her breath, she turned back and peered around the corner. More and more people were filling the -- oh, there was Axis, and Byron, and creatively-named-and-too-full-of-himself-to-go-by-a-shortening Kalidriapolos, and that other guy with the brown tentacles whose name she could never remember and who squinted a lot. And Nicolai, of course. She got a teeny kick from the fact that he was still in the slave outfit, and that his companions seemed just as invested in snickering at him behind his back as they were on building a barricade to keep her trapped. They were moving, however. Step by step, the dense wall of armored bodies approached. Valerie retreated into the room she had previously unlocked and closed what was left of the door behind her. No weapons in sight, but it wasn't as if she had expected a flamethrower or askara blade to be hanging on the wall. She'd have to make due with whatever she had in reach, even if there wasn't much lying around that could be of use. Bloodsong Ch. 03 The space seemed to serve as a restroom for the guards and crew. There was a round aluminum table tucked in the corner, some chairs scattered about, a worn leather couch, a TV, and a coffee machine surrounded by empty mugs. The table caught her attention, so she ran towards it. The metal was malleable enough to mold, and for a second, she worried that it wouldn't serve for what she had in mind, but after ripping of a good chunk and twisting it around itself a few times, she had a thick and resistant stick. Some pulling, molding and honing later, she had a pretty serviceable, if crude, rapier, which she passed through the belt of her pants. It was unlikely to do much damage to the five Tsikalayans present, but would help her take the rest of her attackers out of the way and get to them faster. Not wanting them to find her cowering against a wall, she went towards the shambling door and paused in front of it. Not even a second later, it was brought down. The first man who entered had clearly expected her to be on the other end of the room. Upon finding her in his face, he let out an alarmed squeak and made a very awkward attempt to shoot her. She grabbed the gun out of his hands before he could press the trigger properly, threw him back, aimed at the others who were trying to get in and started shooting. She nearly dropped the gun in shock when it produced a loud, buzzing sound, and something that clearly wasn't bullets shot out of it. It was as if a tiny ray of blue lightening had been imprisoned inside and suddenly released. It hit its target and downed him instantly. A second look told her that even the design of the weapon was similar to the one Jack had used on her. Valerie narrowed her eyes and shot one of the retreating mutants. She was careful to aim at the ear, and hit it. He fell down, his mouth slightly open, his eyes empty of life. Huh. That was good. That was great. Finally she had something tangible with which to defend herself. The others had realized the exact same thing, because they weren't trying to enter the room anymore. It also meant that she wouldn't have to deal with anybody's true form unless they were ungodly stupid, which in Nicolai's case actually warranted a question mark. The tentacles would offer her a larger surface to shoot at, and if the magic contained in the gun was powerful enough to kill or incapacitate independently from where she hit them... She turned the couch on its side and crouched behind it. Although she was good for the moment, there was still the problem of getting out. Eighteenth floor meant too many floors between her and the surface, which would be less of an issue if she managed to get to an elevator. If she could hazard a guess, they would have prevented them from moving, but that still left her the option of climbing into the shaft and using the cables to move between levels. Risky, but doable. Unfortunately, there was an army between her and the nearest elevator, which made her plan close to impossible. Unless... Valerie banged her head on the back of the couch and cursed her own stupidity. It wasn't the closest elevator. Of course it wasn't. She had been thinking about distances in terms of left and right and how many bodies she would have to cut down to cross them, which in itself was pretty reasonable. Her error lied in applying that thinking to one plane only, when there was at least one more to consider. She eyed the TV and did a quick calculation of her own strength versus the density of the layer of concrete that separated her from the floor below, versus the resistance of your average old television. The Mayfly had thick walls, for obvious reasons, but its ceilings left something to be desired. And when the ceiling of one floor was the ground of another...that was a chance too precious and convenient to not take. She lowered the gun and grabbed the TV, a fact the enemy didn't fail to notice. With a yell, someone -- Nicolai, though he moved so fast his face was a blur, and the only way he was recognizable was by the skimpy chemise -- launched himself into the room and flew at her at the same time the TV was thrown with full force at the floor. Swift as breathing, Valerie punched him, dodged his shot and used her feet to break away the bricks and floorboards and iron bars that the crash had left intact. The thing about Nicolai, she thought, as she danced and darted to avoid his kicks and punches, wasn't that he was a poor fighter. In time, he could and would be great. What made him suck an easy target was the fact that he had started participating in combats more demanding than bar brawls about twenty years ago, whereas she had been fighting for her life on a weekly basis for nearly three fourths of a century. More time equaled more experience, which equaled greater chances of winning. "And that's that," she muttered when he fell down, unmoving. She picked up his gun too, shot the ones trying to get in to keep them at bay, and eyed the hole in the floor. Her antics while fighting had widened it enough for her to get through with relative ease, but there was one more thing she wanted to do before that. With a wide, cheerful grin, she pointed the makeshift rapier at him, lifted a lock of matted hair from his forehead, and used the tip to write. The wound healed over, but the bit of blood that managed to leak out before that sufficed to make her message marginally readable. Bloodsong Ch. 04 I have no idea whether this thing is going to post on the same day as Chapter III, so if it's been a while since then, hey there again, my pretties. I've already started on the next part, and you can check my profile for more information on how it's progressing. I'll try to update it at least every monday from now on. Other than that...well, you know the drill. *points* Story. Read. Bloodsong Ch. 04 "Ignore her, just ignore her..." She didn't realize she was talking out loud until she heard the woman's chuckle. So much blood, and the smell was so strong that it was almost as if she were breathing it in. It took her almost all her strength to not double over and start retching. "Get away from the girl, Maz!" Valeriana had never known that so much poison could drip from a single scream. A white and yellow blur filled her vision, making its way towards her, and she could not even raise her hands in protection because they were occupied trying to hold on to Rachel's lifelines. In her bleary, panic-filled state, she didn't recognize the woman as not a threat until she lowered herself to her level and gently but firmly tried to pry her hands away. "Love, stop, you can stop now. She's gone." She shook her head stubbornly and refused to let go. Of course she wasn't gone. She knew she wasn't, could feel in her soul that she wasn't, she wouldn't be gone while she held on. "A pity about your jacket, Briseis. I'm afraid it'll be nearly impossible to get the filth out, but I'll tell the keepers to give it their best try, and send it to one of your known addresses if they succeed." "You can take it and shove it up the black hole you call your cunt!" was her roaring response. "Oh, I see you haven't lost your penchant for drama. That's unfortunate. Here I am, lumbered with a sister who acts like she has run out of a Shakespearian play, and an apprentice who can't recognize a corpse." Marabeth let out a drawn out sigh and turned to her again. "Really, girl, it's dead. Just drop it before the smell sticks, or else you won't be able to wash it off until the next decade." "I...I don't..." Not dead, not dead. Not even if her eyes were closed and there was no heartbeat to be found. The blood wasn't even gushing out anymore, just trickling. That was a good sign, right? Right. It would be fine while she held on. "You won't...make me...let go." "Suit yourself. It's not like I don't have anything better to do than put up with you two. Ta-ta!" She started to walk away, but turned on her heels at the last moment and stared at them shrewdly, as if a thought had suddenly occurred to her. "Oh, and just in case it's not blindingly obvious...Valeriana, you are fired. Please see yourself out as soon as you are finished wallowing in denial. Same goes for you, Briseis. You should be long come by now." "Why, you black-hearted sh..." The woman never got to finish her sentence. Marabeth made a gesture with her hand, as if she were swatting away a fly. There was a horrible crunching noise, and an even worse one when the woman held her head between her palms and twisted to return it to its original position. She hadn't cried out once, even though it must have hurt both times. The only visible change was that the fire in her eyes now burned all the brighter. "That...was a mistake." "Look at me, I'm shaking in my expensive designer shoes." Valeriana blocked out the rest of the shouting. The blood had stopped running, so she ripped another string of cloth from her dress and clumsily tied it around Rachel's throat. She still had her eyes closed. Perhaps she had passed out? There was a lot of blood, it wouldn't be an unreasonable expectation. Or perhaps she was pretending to be asleep, bidding her time until Marabeth went away, that would also be smart... She let go. "She's dead, isn't she?" It was her voice, coming out of her mouth, but it felt like it belonged to someone else. The woman – Marabeth was gone, the argument had apparently ended while she soaked in the crushing truth – kneeled at her side and just nodded. "It's...it's all my fault." "No." The woman whispered hoarsely. "Of course it's not. Don't think like that." They said nothing more for a few minutes. The silence had settled naturally, and seemed too beautiful and fragile for any of them to attempt to break it. At last, the woman spoke, but the stillness continued to stretch inside her mind. Valeriana was only dimly aware of what was being said, but it sounded like she was offering to take her somewhere – the words 'wash' and 'food' and 'car' seemed to come up a lot. She said yes and nodded to everything because it seemed easier than trying to comprehend it, and when the woman extended her hand, she took it without thinking. With one last look at what had been Rachel, she allowed herself to be swept away into the unknown. ############## Mike was still alive, though weak, and would live on if she had a say in it. The same didn't apply to Byron. The best that could be said about that one was that at least some of the scattered parts were still quivering. Valerie crouched down to lift the human's shirt and examine the damage. Two parallel bullet wounds, right in the center of his chest, so there was little chance of none of them having hit something vital. At least the shots had been somewhat clean, she thought, slipping her hands under his back to lift him and noticing she could feel exit wounds there. Mike himself had closed his eyes and was barely breathing. His life was slipping away before her eyes, but that was no cause for worry. Valerie hadn't lost a charge to something so easily reversible in more than fifty years. "Okay," she whispered to his prone form. "This is going to be really uncomfortable for both of us." She lifted her hand to her mouth and bit down, dragging away a layer of skin until flesh showed and clamping it down of his chest before it had time to heal. It didn't work the first time, since her healing factor was still in overdrive, but she took a deep breath and persisted. It was a technique she had devised herself. As far as she knew, nobody else was familiar with it. She had told Mrs. Drakma, but the woman had never tested it herself, and told her to keep it a secret from the rest of the group. The reason being, she had said, that if they knew how simple it was to get them back up after a particularly nasty wound, they'd start fighting recklessly and perhaps die before she had the opportunity to get to them. Which made sense, and so she had obeyed. It had just occurred to her one day, while reattaching a leg. Her body never seemed to recognize a lost part at first. She had to force it to accept it again, because it trusted her to tell what went where and what was usually attached to it. Same principle with growing limbs from scratch; she needed to remember what shape they had had before and focus on what a normal arm of foot was supposed to look like so that the renewal process could even begin. She had kept that information in the back of her mind, and through the years, it had slowly developed into a full-fledged theory. And then the chance to test it had presented itself, and it had worked. Just as it would work now. "This body is a part of myself," she told it sternly. "Lost, now reunited. So heal." And it did. She felt it, and it was as if a blizzard were rushing through her, him, her, him, because right now there was no difference. Her blood mingling with his blood, overruling its desire to flee through the open wounds. Her flesh pressed against his flesh, knitting together like threads of a tapestry. Her heart beating, his slowly but surely starting to follow her lead. And then he, she, both of them were whole. Valerie looked down. Her hand had merged with his chest – a foreseeable if tiresome side effect that she knew no way of working around, and the reason why it was so important to not press down too hard – but he was alive, miraculously yet predictably alive. His eyes opened, looking muddled and unfocused. She sighed in relief and started to cut the skin around her palm, which caused him to look down sharply and open his mouth. She slapped him before the scream could get out. "Don't panic. I've just finished healing you, and I don't want to be Siamese twins with you, so calm down and let me finish." She yanked her palm away while he winced and whimpered an impressive number of variants of 'Oh my god!'. It left a hand-shaped mark on his chest, which she knew would only go away with surgery. And unpleasant reminder of what he had gone through, for sure. "All done. Now let's scram before the rest of them come down." "Am I going to turn into one of you now?" he mumbled weakly. "I don't wanna get extra parts..." "I wouldn't worry about that," she said, snorting. "A Tsikalayan is born, never made or turned." "Oh." He was too weak to walk, so she towed him over her shoulder. The others wouldn't be too far away, or at least she hoped so. She'd gone down two floors, so that one was the twentieth – the one Jack had all but admitted Mrs. Drakma was imprisoned on. She doubted she could trust him on that, and was even more reluctant to believe they had shoved the woman in the same cell as all the other difficult females, but it was a possibility worth exploring as soon as she rejoined her group. "Hey, Redmont!" Valerie registered that the voice was familiar and friendly before she could react violently, which saved her some embarrassment. The newly arrived posse counted at least ten people, two of which she knew and none of which was Santos or a girl. She nodded to Riley, the one who had spoken. Their appearance was decidedly convenient, if nothing else. "How did it go?" "Message successfully delivered, Johanna and the others are on it. Do you mind taking care of this lump?" She walked towards the men assembled on the other end of the hallway and deposited Mike in front of them. He groaned some objection at being called a lump, but was ignored. One of the others – Danvers, Australian, knife-nut, not much of a people person either – hauled him up and handed him a revolver without a word. Her eyebrows went up in surprise. "So you found guns." "Oh yes," Riley answered. "Turns out, if you escape on the torture room floor, you find no shortage of things with which to inflict damage lying around. Most of us have already upgraded from the chains." That was good to know. What he said next, less so. "We've lost twelve people so far, and found our girls, only...it doesn't seem as if they ignored them like they did with us." Valerie pressed her lips in a thin, longsuffering line. She'd be lying if she tried to claim she hadn't seem that one coming. The majority of Marabeth's cronies were heterosexual men who enjoyed challenges, so the fate that awaited a feisty girl upon capture was all too easy to guess. "They are very much prepared to fight, though." "Yes. Of course they would be," she murmured. No time to mull over or wince in sympathy, she told herself. If she wanted them to have any hope of escaping, she had to keep her head in the game and not let wayward emotions get the better from her. "Can you give me an estimate of how many armed fighters we have at our disposal, how much of the floor is under our control, and whether we have anything in the way of food and drink?" Riley seemed to think that over – although what there was about it that demanded that much mental effort was anyone's guess – before replying: "Fighters, total, about two hundred. Armed, less than half. And if you are planning what I think you are planning, yep, Santos told us to prepare for a siege independently of you two being successful in contacting someone on the outside." She fought a smile. Good old Santos, always one step ahead. Trying to hold their ground until Centrarc was brought down was in fact the best option available at the moment, and it was encouraging to hear that the preparations were already underway. "And...he did something else that he said himself he thought you wouldn't like, but...after we got the girls, he went 'Everyone means everyone!' and ordered us to open every cell we could find no matter the state or identity of whoever happened to be inside." Valerie swore under her breath. "Is he mad?" He had to be. Santos wasn't exactly a newbie when it came to rescues, escapes and making hard choices, so it surprised her that he would do something so blatantly...idiotic. "Everyone? How does he think we'll be able to keep that many people calm and controlled and still have enough fighters left to withstand a siege? They'll be worse than useless in battle, we'll spend more time babysitting that preparing weaponry, and if we lose, when the enemy comes down they'll be sitting ducks. Not to mention the potential for a riot to form at the slightest provocation." "Look, they really aren't that many. Most have already been sold and transported, and they could never fit the whole town in this building alone, so we are talking roughly six, seven hundred." Yes. Because being trampled to death by fourteen hundred feet was much different than by thrice that amount. "And I told Santos that it was best to leave them be until we were done cleaning up the last three floors, or to just tell them what was happening through the door and keep them fed while the siege lasts, but he wouldn't hear about it. He was...really messed up, after he saw what they did to his wife. We just couldn't say no to him." "What did they do to...no, wait, I don't...I can't know." She looked up at the ceiling, pretended it was the sky and prayed for strength. What was done was done, and now it all came down to damage control. "So everything depends on whether the Rivers destroy Centrarc, and if we can hold our own until then. That's...not very uplifting." She hated being dependent of anyone else by principle, but it got even more nerve-wracking when so many others were hanging in the same boat. Still, she was sure she could endure. She always did. "Take me to Santos. He and I need to have a talk." "Yeah, about that..." Danvers said, shuffling his feet awkwardly, "Santos said it would be best if you focused on finding Mrs. D and getting both of you the hell out of here instead of wasting time arguing with him about something already settled and done. We have more than enough people to fight, and as you said, everything will be useless unless that shit gets brought down. And that's not to say I don't have the greatest respect for Jo and Jon, but I'd feel much better knowing that my fate is in the hands of somebody who is a little less easily killable. Provided you can get out, that is." "That's fine," Valerie replied. She wasn't going to beat around the bush and pretend that letting her handle things above ground wasn't the sanest idea. There was a time to be modest about your abilities and give the underdogs a chance, but that was not when the situation was so dire. "I do have a few ideas about how to get us out. In the meantime, has Blakely shared anything else that may be relevant when it comes to actually getting rid of the thing? Because I'm told that it's impossible unless you are a high class magician, and yours truly can't even do simple card tricks." "Yeah, he did say something..." Riley paused to shoot the furry two feet tall abomination that had just rounded the corner and roared in their direction. It fell down with barely a sound. One of the other men had a less muted reaction and let out a dismayed shout, only to find himself the target of eleven annoyed glares. Even Mike joined in, and landed a vicious kick on the head of the still twitching creature when they walked past it. Valerie felt bizarrely proud. "...yeah. He said they had mentioned the Divide of Tescara, which sounds like it could be important. Any idea of what that is?" "Yes." Was her somber answer. She hadn't expected them to wait for elaboration, but they did. "It's a spell, and also one of the most relevant yet lesser known pieces of Earth's history. Did he say why they mentioned it?" "Because this thing...Centrarc... it's a perfection of that, apparently? They said something about it having been done twice before, but only talked about that one time." "I'm sorry, am I the only one who cares that we just shot down a monster? Guys?" That was Glare Target Guy. Someone backhanded him, but it didn't shut him up. Valerie sighed and went on. "If that's all, I don't think it will help me figure out how to destroy it, no. I already knew that part." In fact, she hadn't known until that instant, but in hindsight, it felt as if she ought to have. It seemed so obvious. If Marabeth had been one of the many magicians behind the casting of the Divide, which given her age was a distinct possibility, she would have retained the knowledge to replicate it, albeit on a much smaller scale. "Was that all?" "Just look at it! It's still staring at us!" "Well...yeah. Look, Ethan! Another monster for you!" Riley remarked in a dull tone, readying his gun. Ethan did his thing and muttered an apology afterwards. They still glared at him, though. "Guess you and Mrs. D will have to figure things out for yourselves once you get out. Where did you get the bit about another magician being needed, anyway? Blakely never said anything about that." "Jack Aramis," was her quiet answer. "So yes, not the most trustworthy of sources." Danvers and Riley exchanged a long look, quickly put up near-perfect poker faces, and cracked up almost as fast. "You went to your boyfriend for information? Seriously? No wonder you ended up captured." It was probably a bad idea, since he was the one who was busy cleaning the way for them, but Valerie spun around and grabbed Riley by the front of his shirt all the same. "Are you in the mood to learn what your balls taste like?" "C'mon, Redmont. Dude always, and I mean always, sends you roses on your birthday. Even though that's basically admitting he knows your address, and therefore, throwing a tactical advantage out of the window. If that isn't him trying to tell you something..." "Yes," she retorted, not caring if she sounded snippy. "Yellow roses. The kind you bring to your sick grandma when she's recovering from her hip operation. So what he's trying to say with them is, 'I'm hoping you end up in the hospital, and by the way, you are old.' Hardly the kind of stuff a girl can legitimately swoon over, and I can certainly see him giving up tactical advantage just to annoy me like that." "You always send flowers back, though." "Orchids. They mean 'You are a parasite." She noticed the kind of looks she was receiving and shrugged. "I'm a lot more to the point. Besides, he never changes his known address, so I don't need to give up anything." Riley snorted and pretended to wince. "Outch. Remember me to never, ever try to court you." "Don't kill anyone I like to drag yourself out of the friendzone, and you'll do just fine," she snapped back. "One way or another, he was probably lying about the spell-network only being destroyed in this one specific and difficult way, so from that we can suppose it will be a lot simpler than we may think. Or not. But I'll see when I get there." They had reached another intersection, and she didn't have to turn to know from whom the loud, startled squeal that followed had come. "Shut it, Ethan." "Why, why is this floor filled with..." She ignored the whiny wails and nodded sharply to both men at her side. As one, they started shooting, providing her with a moment to examine what they had in front of them. One thing she could give her homeworld credit for: nowhere else in the universe did you find a more bizarre melting pot of cultures and species than in Barashi. True, her kind ruled the land with an iron fist. But there was always space for those who came from worlds strong enough to make the High Council balk at the idea of trying to conquer them, and so the number of Barashi-born exogenous creatures had steadily grown. Earth had always been a peculiar case. There had been a similar alliance brokered with it in the past, back in the times when slavery was also common trade among humans, which had been dissolved with the casting of the Divide. You couldn't have an alliance with another world if said world was unable to recall your very existence. Bloodsong Ch. 04 "Alright, gentlemen," she said, pointing in the general direction of one of the approaching horde. "Biology lesson time! That's a Skadra. Skin produces acid, do not touch. Melts bullets too, so don't waste them on it. Melee weapons advised. Second line, Caprionixes. Nasty motherfuckers, shoot at will, and be careful with their teeth because they usually go for the neck. The rest are ordinary mutants and mixtures, not much harder to take out than your average steroid loaded body-builder. You take those, I'll deal with the giant snake thing. Class dismissed!" She added the last part under her breath, because she was already flying. Taking out the snake thing, or at least keeping it at bay so that the others wouldn't have it chomp off their heads, turned out to be a tiresome task. When its head hit the floor at last, the rest of it was already littered with downed bodies. Hardest fight so far, she thought, wiping a bead of sweat from her brow, and she hadn't even been alone this time. At least there hadn't been any mortal victims from her side – Ethan the Shrieker was a better fighter than his constant nagging made her give him credit for, and even Mike seemed to be able to hold his own when in possession of a loaded gun. She walked towards the dying Skadra. It would expire in minutes if left alone, but meanwhile, it had its uses. Since it had led the attack, she supposed it was the leader, and therefore the most valuable source of information available. She kneeled beside it and leaned over to speak to its blobby head. "Hello, I'm Valerie," she said. " And I'm about to let you choose how painfully you are going to die." ############## "I had a daughter, once." Valeriana looked up from her plate, startled. They had spent the last hour merged in a silence as still as a grave, while around her, servers went to and fro and the patron of the café shouted orders in a loud, boisterous voice. Having it be suddenly broken, and worse, being forced back to reality by the tone the woman had used, left her a little shaken. Someone looking at her wouldn't be able to tell, though, seeing as she was already trembling as if she were locked in a freezer. The woman didn't say much else for a while, and since she wished nothing more than to get back to huddling into her little ball of silence, Valeriana didn't ask any further questions. Instead she played with her bread and stirred the cup of coffee she did not intend to drink, and looked out of the window. It was misty. Thick grey clouds hung in the sky, promising rain, and humans – people, she corrected herself – walked past the café in a quick, worried pace, hunched and bunched in heavy winter clothes. Winter. She had never known the thing called winter before except from books. Barashi was perpetually immersed in tropical heat, and the only cool thing there was the ocean. She wondered if Rachel had liked winter or summer better. It seemed like a strange thing to think about, given that she had washed the girl's blood out of her hands scarcely an hour ago, but it stopped her from focusing on how unclean they still felt. If she looked at them, really, honestly looked at them, she was positive she could see red. "Her name was Chloe." Valeriana mumbled 'That's pretty' and hoped that her disinterest wouldn't be mistaken for rudeness. The woman was looking directly at her. However, her eyes had acquired a distant, trance-like quality that told her that wherever she was, it wasn't in the present. "She was so sweet and full of life, right up until she wasn't. Two hundred years old and fresh as a daisy, and then she suddenly just...started wilting. And then before I knew it, she was gone." "I'm so sorry," she said, swallowing. Her fingers were working without input of her mind, and had already reduced half of the bread she was supposed to be eating to crumbs. The woman shook her head as if she'd just waken from a long dream and gave her a weak, resigned smile. "Don't be. It's a...sad thing to outlive your child, but in the eyes of most species, she lived more than her share. That's the price that comes with living as long as we live and care about things that are ephemeral, and the reason why so many of us refuse to care at all. With Chloe... everyone knew what was wrong with her, of course, though they wouldn't dare say it to my face. Bad blood. Human blood. She was never destined to last long, and it was all my fault in the first place, for falling for the wrong person." Again that smile, so faint and wistful. "Do you know why I hate my sister?" "No my lady, I don't." The woman waved an impatient hand. "Just call me Briseis. Mrs. Drakma, if you want to be needlessly formal. There are no ladies here." She took a sip of her own coffee before continuing, her voice low and venomous. "Marabeth disapproved – still disapproves - of my relationships with what she considers...lesser beings. Back then, things weren't as they are now. Once upon a time, before the Great Divide, our kind and humanity had similar enough values to get along. We still sneered at them from above, but they were useful and understandable, and so at times we deigned to shake their hands. I...went further. I fell in love. And my sister, who fancied herself chief of family after our father's death, decided to take matters into her own hands." Another sip, and this time the porcelain cup shock slightly with the trembling of her hand. "She killed him. He was my husband, and she killed him out of pride and pettiness." "I'm sorry," she repeated. She didn't know the word, but would have to be blind and deaf to not understand how much it meant to the woman. "I...I had a canary once. Belladonna – that's my sister - promised me she'd feed it while I was on a trip, only she forgot, and it died. She didn't do it on purpose, but I was mad at her for days afterwards. So I can understand it a little." "A husband is hardly the same as a pet, Valeriana, and murder is hardly the same as negligence." The woman sighed. "Think about it in terms of losing one's mate, and you'll be closer to understanding the situation. But no matter. I've been here for so many years. I have watched civilizations rise and fall, and lost enough friends and acquaintances to repopulate a nation tenfold. And the reason I am telling you this is that...it gets easier. Not better, never better, but one day you will wake up, and the pain you thought would consume you will be nothing but a dull ache. If you are to stay here, you need to know that, or else caring will kill you." "I don't even want to stay here. I don't even want to care. I just want to go home." "From what you told me about your situation, that road is closed for now. You will have to live among humans for who knows how long, and as you see more and more of them, you will start to understand them. I feel like I should warn you about that because I've seen so many of our kind come and go from this world unchanged, but nothing about you tells me that will be the case. You stopped and took an interest when it would have been so easy to just walk on, and it may not have worked out how you expected it would, but that doesn't mean you ought to stop. Only that you need to learn how to deal with the consequences, and to not let failure defeat you." "I don't want to..." She was crying in earnest now, which was odd, considering she thought to have exhausted her tears half an hour ago. The woman reached over the table and stroked her hair while she sobbed. "I only knew her for minutes, I shouldn't feel bad, it's wrong, it doesn't...make...sense." "Sssshhh. It's completely understandable. You are young and inexperienced and likely sheltered, and it would be unreasonable to expect you to not be shaken up by this. But you will learn." Once more, the woman's eyes got that distant, faraway look. "In time, you will learn. And you don't know how glad I am that finally, finally...I've found someone else who can." ############## Mrs. Drakma didn't look up when she came in, and Valerie stopped for a moment to observe her. The Skadra hadn't lied, and surprisingly neither had Jack, but his definition of 'roughened up a little' was far too flexible, she immediately though. Mrs. Drakma's hair was even more of a mess than usual, and there was a large, badly healed scar marring her cheek, which couldn't have been inflicted by accident. It was impossible to make damage stick on one of her kind unless you were using something made out of askara or swiftly dosed the affected area in an assortment of drugs and paxpernia. The brutalization had, therefore, been completely intentional. They hadn't dressed her as a slave, though. She was still in one of her usual ensembles – black cargo pants, flowing flannel shirt, long jacket. They had even allowed her to keep her favorite hat. She cleared her throat audibly. The woman did look up then. Her face broke into a puzzled smile. "Valerie?" she rasped, and tried to lift herself from the floor, only to have the chains push her back. "Whatever are you doing here, you silly girl?" Valerie rolled her eyes. She'd never be caught saying that her esteemed and respected leader was dense or going gaga – even though being over three thousand years old, she was surely entitled to the later - but it was true that nowadays, it sometimes took a while until she properly grasped a to everyone else fairly clearly cut situation. "Breaking you out. No, actually, make that 'breaking everyone out'." Determined to not waste any more time, she walked towards Mrs. Drakma and briefly took her hands in hers before moving to rip apart the manacles around her wrists. She was a bit startled when the woman batted them away. "No," she said. "There is no need for that." "Uhm. What?" "I know you are only trying to help," she went on, reclining back against the wall as if they were lounging in her living-room, or something, "but trust me, there is much about this situation that you don't understand. Too many things at stake. Freeing me now would do nothing but hinder everything in the long run." Valerie stared at her. It was her turn to be slow. A part of her brain was registering everything she heard with the diligence of a scribe. The other struggled to make sense of it, because how could it? She had risked a lot coming down there. Hell, upon finding out about the invasion, she'd made freeing her number two on her list of priorities. To hear her say she didn't need – didn't wish, even – to be saved was nothing short of a bucket of cold water thrown at her face. Mrs. Drakma took notice of her inner conflict, motioned her closer and added. "I know this is difficult to take in, but I need to go to Barashi..." Oh-okay. They had definitely tortured her insane. "Great! Good! Then we'll get out, and then you can buy a ticket to the gate in Montreal." "...and I need to stand trial, before the High Council and the gods that watch our lands." Valerie did her best to not give her a horrified look. What had they done to her, she wondered, to leave her so disconnected from reality that she thought she needed to stand trial? "Listen," she said, very slowly and very carefully, so that the woman would have no trouble getting her meaning and so that she could calm down her frazzled nerves at the same time, "I know you are proud that you killed Marabeth. If I had been the one to do it, I'd be singing about it on a rooftop. And I know that right now you may be going through a slight 'My only mission in life has been accomplished, so consequences and everything else be damned.' phase. But if you let them drag you before the Council, you'll be facing capital punishment, and trust me, it will be a lot harder for me to rescue you from that. So please, for everything that is good and holy, can we get a move on?" Mrs. Drakma shook her head sadly. "You still don't understand. It is true that I am proud. But the second my sister died, something else was set into motion. Something bigger than you, and right now, more important than my freedom." Valerie sighed, straightened up and looked her down. So it would have to be that way, would it? "No. What I understand is this: everyone else is one floor up, building a barricade, cleaning up the place and preparing for the fight of their lives so that they can hold and distract the enemy for as long as it takes for you and me to get the fuck out of here. I am not going to ignore the sacrifice they are making just because you are being difficult for some vague, unexplained reason. Now, are you going to let me get you out of those chains and walk with me, or will I have to drag you?" "As I said. I need to stand trial." "As I said, that's nonsense. They'll kill you." She hadn't planned for things to go like this, but there was nothing for it. She'd have to use some tough love, and once they were safely away, she'd start working on getting whatever conditioning Mrs. Drakma had been submitted to out of her brain. She would forgive her, she thought, for what she was about to do, provided she was able to bring her back to sanity. Again she reached for the chains and pulled. To her shock, they didn't give an inch. She frowned and pulled again, more forcibly, without achieving any results. Mrs. Drakma's face was closed off and unreadable, but she knew – somehow, she knew – that the woman was doing something to hinder her attempt. Sure enough, when she pulled again and again failed to break them, a small smile tugged at the corner of her lips. She faced her, her fists clenched, her thoughts frenzied. "What's happening?" "I am disabusing you of a common misconception," was her cryptic answer. "In this case, the until now widely recognized belief that my sister is the greatest magician there ever was." "Well of course she isn't. She's dead. Old Johnny Abracadabra has more power in his middle finger than that bitch currently has." Never one to give up easily, she tugged at a different chain, but it was as if she were wearing a dampener again. Even though she was using all her strength, they refused to break. "Do you mean they got someone to enchant these things?" "No. I mean that there is something I've never told you, and I am doing so now only because I don't wish you to worry about my safety." The woman got up. Before her incredulous eyes, the previously unbreakable chains opened and fell against the wall. Mrs. Drakma straightened and adjusted her jacket before turning to her with a hesitant smile. "Surprise, I'm a magician!" All that Valerie could do in answer was stare ahead and mouth 'What.' Her brain had frozen. Magic! The most annoying force in the universe, as far as she was concerned. That her dislike for it was grounded in bias, and that said bias had grown from the fact that magic was a powerful offensive weapon that she did not control or knew how to defend herself from was irrelevant. She had nothing personal against, say, Rivers or Harmon – well, she had more than enough against the later, but in that case her distaste was related to Judith being a dirty coward and not much else – but that was because she knew them. Trusted them, to a point. And although a very large part of her was convinced, or trying to convince herself, that everything was alright, that the person in front of her was still the person she had always believed her to be...something else told her that there was so much wrong with the situation that she needed to distance herself from it and prepare for the worst. "Now, I know what you are thinking," Mrs. Drakma went on, shutting the door with a snap of her fingers. "Why didn't I tell anyone about it before? I suppose I could have, but in truth...I've been saving it for an occasion like the one that will present itself very soon. So as you can see, your fears are heartening but baseless. I am hardly unprotected." "You are a magician," Valerie repeated, not quite recovered yet. She felt that was the sort of news that ought to be digested one bit at a time. "How did I never notice that?" "Because since I never used it, it wasn't noticeable?" Mrs. Drakma suggested. She instinctively looked around for cameras, but the woman shook her head. "Don't concern yourself about that. I've made it so that they show a loop of me sleeping and trying but failing to get myself loose. This will stay between the two of us." "Why did you never..." She swallowed, hating the barrage of thoughts that threatened to erupt and drown her mind, and hating the fact that they were all to the point even more. "You never did anything with it when you could have done. When it could have saved lives. We could have..." She stopped. Her mind had caught up enough for a frightening deduction-slash-possibility to occur to her. Narrowing her eyes, she took a step back towards the door. "Just how powerful are you?" "More than my sister could have dreamed to be." Yes. Stepping back had been the right initiative. "Then," she said, and she could feel it come up. Time had made her harsh and standoffish, so sometimes she hit the space in her mind where everything was ice and sharpness without even knowing she had done it, but this time there was no mistaking it for what it was. She had never expected to have to direct it towards the person to whom she was directing it, however. "Pray tell, why did it take you so long to kill her? You swore up and down that was your goal in life, but if what you are saying now is true, you could have ended her countless times. And still, you let her live." "Magic – her magic – killed my love. Using it to avenge him would be an insult to his memory." "And not doing what needed to be done ensured that who knows how many more lost their loved ones, because we didn't save them when we could easily have had!" There were tears running down her face now, and she couldn't seem to stop them. The coldness wasn't in her mind anymore, but slowly creeping down and closing in on her heart. It shouldn't hurt so much, she reasoned. It was betrayal, but she wasn't unused to that feeling. It had been years since the last time it had hit her so hard that she felt she was being cut open from the back in. But Mrs. Drakma hadn't been her leader and nothing else. She had been her mentor, surrogate mother figure, friend. She though she knew her. It was now clear that all that time, she'd been staring at a mask. "You could have done something." "The plan I have," the woman replied, seemingly oblivious to her pain, "is one that has been in the works for more than a thousand years, and much of it hinges on keeping what I am a secret. Look at it this way, Valerie: I could have crept into a hole while I prepared it. Instead I chose to fight in a way that put myself rather than my mission at risk. You may not agree with my methods, but in the end, I swear to you: everything you have lost and fought for will seem worth it. "Unless your great ultimate plan is to take over Barashi and abolish slavery for good, I fail to see how I'd ever support..." Valerie stopped talking. Mrs. Drakma's face had just turned and interesting shade of red. "Wait. Are we having another one of those moments in which I say something sarcastic and it turns out that I'm exactly right in every way? That's really your plan?" She dared to sneak another look at the woman and groaned despite herself. Of all the stupid, impossible, megalomaniac plots she could have cooked up, that was the one she had settled on? There was aiming high, and then there was trying to fly towards the sun, and what she proposed was definitely the later. "Fabulous. I think I'm going up again and leaving you to entertain yourself with your crazy. Come join me if you suddenly feel compelled to make yourself useful." She walked towards the door, intent on getting out and away before she broke down completely, but was unable to reach it in time. A wave of force slammed in her back, knocking her over. She scrambled up and retreated, a snarl escaping her lips before she could help herself. Bloodsong Ch. 05 A.N - Hello there! Did you guys miss me? (Well, if you missed the story, I suppose that's enough.) I know I may have sorta told-said-implied that this would be the chapter in which this story's virginity get's busted, and I was actually going to keep my word on that one, but then I went and wrote too much, and had to make it a two-parter. As always, thank you for your support and encouragement. It means the world to me. Also, a very special thank you to my editors - Ellienora35 and...well, the other one does not wish to be named - who went through this and helped make it 100% more awesome. Now read, dammit! ~ Mira ~ P.S. - It just occurred to me that I've mentioned this everywhere but here, so...I have a blog where you can read the chapters before they appear here on Lit, if you feel that you really can't wait for them to be approved. You can find the link on my profile. Bloodsong Ch. 05 "I thought it was better to deactivate that function for now," he explained, and she scowled. "As I was saying, in addition to the apology, I'd like your word that you'll both behave and cooperate with your training. There is no way you get to avoid it, but it doesn't need to be hell." She tilted her head and pretended to consider it. Then she honestly did start to consider it, despite her initial reservations about anything that resembled giving in. He'd said he could be patient, that he'd wait before actually raping her, meaning that whatever he intended to do to her in the meantime couldn't be as bad as that. She'd never roll over just to make her life easier, but if there was a chance, no matter how small, that a measure of acquiescence would offer her a chance of freeing herself, then... "And I can already see the wheels turning in that pretty head of yours, wondering how long you'll have to play the part before I leave a knife at your side and turn my back on you. That sort of thing may have worked on Nick, but..." He seemed momentarily at loss for words. "...well, it's Nick. He's not the brightest crayon in the box." Unfortunately, that about summed it up. "You're just fine with what happened, then?" she pressed as soon as he removed his hand, not quite believing it. The last time someone of the male persuasion had looked in her direction with intent to do more than talk and stare, he'd been found floating face down in a river the day after. There was a reason for her permanent lack of love interests, beyond always being busy with work. They tended to have an incredibly short life expectancy, so eventually, she had given up on having them at all. Having him not care about her going far beyond kissing with someone in his circle of trust was...uncharacteristic to say the least, and disappointing. She had been hoping for a fight, a fallout. Divide 'em to break 'em. But apparently not. "Sounds a bit hard to believe." "Let's put it this way. I lost all my capacity to care about who or what that idiot sleeps with on the day I found out he was moonlighting as my aunt's boy toy. If I thought he had an actual interest in you specifically, then I'd feel jealous. But that guy has no self-control or capacity to be discerning when it comes to where he tries to shove his cock, so that's hardly the case. As for you...why would I mind? It's not as if you weren't thinking about me the whole time." "That..." Was technically right, much to her chagrin, but she'd rather die than acknowledge it."...is the most ridiculously conceited thing I've ever heard." "Of course it is. Are you still pondering your answer now that you know that whatever option you pick, you won't be any closer to getting rid of me?" "Then what's the point of picking at all? The way you put it, it seems I have a choice between being an obedient, boot-licking whore, or the most troublesome victim ever. Since both will take me through exactly the same path, you don't really need to be a genius to figure which one I find preferable." Saying preferable was being too generous, but it got her point across. Her words had struck a nerve – and that was 3 – 1 in her favor, with his single point being due to dumb luck and carelessness on her part. So far, he had managed nothing besides making her wet and cold and irritated. She had hurt him thrice in that time. It was a poor comfort, but comfort all the same. "I don't care what you do to me, and you'll never get me to play along." "So that's how it's going to be?" "Don't make it sound as if it's something I want." "Oh," he said. "I know it's not. You are too wrapped up in what you believe to be your duty to be familiar with the concept of wanting. Yet another thing I intend to change soon enough." "I'm sure I'm sufficiently acquainted with the concept. For instance, right now, I want your eyes grilled on chopsticks." She hadn't expected that would shake him, since they had long ago ceased to be impressed with each other's threats, but having him laugh at it was just a little insulting. "Do you want to know something I found out some time ago? The level of absurdity of your threats is a perfect gauge to find out how helpless you feel at any given moment. The more elaborate they are, the less in control you feel. Keep that in mind, sweet Valerie." He leaned over. Fearing that he would try to kiss her again, she turned her head to the side, but he just grinned at her instead. "See? You've just proven my point." "Rot in hell." "Not just yet, my love. Not just yet." He turned to go, but stopped and looked at her one last time before exiting the room. Valerie thought she had seen something flicker in the depths of his eyes – something that was raw and determined but not entirely unsympathetic – but chalked it up to her imagination. "I want you to know that you can stop this at any time. All you need to do is call out, say that you are sorry and will cooperate, and mean it." She rolled her eyes so hard it was nothing short of a miracle that they didn't fall out of their sockets. "Otherwise?" "Otherwise," Jack answered, his voice unnervingly calm, "there will be other buckets." Then he was gone. ----------------- Once left alone, Valerie did a careful assessment of her situation and determined that she was screwed. To escape, she had to get the dampeners off. She wouldn't make it far with them on. In her current state, she doubted her ability to keep herself upright, let alone walk and fight. To take the dampeners off, she would have to free her hands. Taking the dampeners off came with a very real risk of dying, since she had never known a Tsikalayan to survive a full decapitation, which was what would be needed to remove the one around her neck. Then there were the trackers and only gods knew what else, though those worried her less. And before she got to all that, she'd have to get rid of the chains, which would be a problem, since her hands were held in a position that didn't allow her fingers to touch and she was too weak to break bone this time around. It was like that old riddle with the chicken and the fox and the grain, only the fox had already devoured the chicken and the grain had been pinched while she was distracted. Freeing herself was impossible. She would, therefore, have to do her best to deal with this new torture that Jack had devised. It sounded laughable, until you considered it for more than a second. She was drenched – the wool of her dress had absorbed most of the water instead of letting it drip to the floor, ensuring that it would stay in close contact with her body and eventually freeze. She could barely move, so trying to fend off the cold by running or jumping up and down wasn't a viable possibility. She couldn't pass out and ignore everything, since he had deactivated...no, wait. Scratch that. She could pass out, even if right now, it could only be done the traditional way, which involved more pain. On the bright side, that meant it would last for more than a couple of minutes, and the only way he'd get her to call for help and mercy would be by mastering ventriloquism. It was not ideal and only barely acceptable, but since no other feasible alternative presented itself, she'd have to go with it for now. The wall was hard, but not as hard as her skull, so it took her a few attempts to get it right. ------------- It was snowing. Valeriana caught a flake with her tongue, because she'd heard somewhere that was what you were supposed to do with them – creepy looking statues and balls to throw at people were supposed to come in at a later stage, she gathered. It tasted like water and smoke. Not very much like she had imagined it would, she thought, catching another in her hand and inspecting it. They looked different from what she'd seen in pictures, too. Instead of being like tiny geometrical stars, they were wisps of wet cotton, and it didn't take long until the hood of her jacket was heavy with their amassed weight. She shook her head, spreading it around, and looked at both sides of the street before crossing over. Traffic on human Earth wasn't like it was in Barashi, where automobiles were still a rare commodity, and the worst that could happen if you didn't pay attention was being run over by a chariot. Here, she had to be careful. Walking away from an accident unscathed would raise too many questions, and Jack's aunt had been adamant about the importance of a low profile. She bought a newspaper from the boy that stood shouting around the corner with the money that her hosts had given her and leafed through it. Most of the headlines pertained to the war. She was trying to educate herself about it the best she could, so there were some words and names of locations that were starting to seem more familiar – Japan, which her hosts had told her to now be the enemy of the country she was living in, had attacked a place called Hawaii some weeks ago, and the news was dedicated to the fallout. She only hoped it didn't mean that soon there'd be armies on the streets, killing everyone. Barashi hadn't known an inner war since before the Sinking, although its people were always searching for means to wage it on other worlds, and fighting those was a man's duty. She was unprepared for one as grave as the headlines made it out to be, and nobody was around to protect her. For the first time, she truly resented Jack for sending her there. Even if family bonds had clouded his judgment when it came to Marabeth, would it be too much to ask to not be shipped off to a world on the brink of war? Still feeling a bit miffed, she rolled up the newspaper and turned the corner, walking further and further away from the busier streets and occasionally stopping to ask directions. It appeared that her accent was worse than her previous encounters with English-speaking humans had led her to believe. She had to repeat herself multiple times, and was asked if she was Russian almost as often. At last she found the place and had to check the paper on which she had scribbled it down to make sure she was where she was supposed to be. None of the houses around her looked like they had been lived in recently or, at least, not by people who were concerned with things like paint or unbroken windows. She was examining a drawing on a wall and frowning at the crudeness of it when she heard a yell behind her. "Girl! Valerie! Over here!" She turned. Jack's aunt stood on the sidewalk on the other side of the street, waving at her. "Come on, come on, chop chop. We have a lot to take care of today." "Oh?" she managed to expel before she was grabbed by the arm and hauled away. Yet another thing in which the woman differed from her sister, she thought. Whereas Briseis was like a bouncy ball of barely contained energy, Marabeth always moved very slowly, like a snake on the prowl. When she let go of her, the girl had to run to keep up with her pace. "Where...uhm...where are we going?" "My place. One of my places. I have many of them." They walked – ran, in her case – around the block. The other side didn't fare much better. It still looked abandoned and untidy, but there were fewer houses and more warehouses. She was directed towards the one on her left and motioned through the empty doorway. An assortment of strong smells – oil, turpentine, rotten fish - hit her nose like a ram. The woman seemed to not notice, or perhaps she was already inured to withstand it. She moved through the empty warehouse in a sequence of quick, jumpy steps and stopped at the door on the opposite side. Valeriana followed hesitantly, wondering what in the world they were doing there. Despite having called it her place, it didn't seem as if she lived there. The woman's manner and clothing might not exactly scream 'high-class', but she also couldn't picture her or anyone else wanting to sleep in such a dumpster. "Here we are. Take a seat." She looked at the chair she was being offered, and then around. It was an office, tiny and cramped and mostly empty beyond some pieces of worn furniture and piles of yellowed files. "I realize it's not the Savoy of meeting spaces, but we'll manage. You can start by filling in this form." Valeriana stared, numbly, at the piece of paper shoved in front of her. The list of questions wasn't very extensive, but it was odd to say the least. She scribbled down the information that came the easiest – gender, name, date and place of birth, and so on – and puzzled at the rest of it. At last, she lifted her head and faced the woman's expectant gaze. "Is there a problem?" "Yes. Uhm What is this about relations in the slave trade?" "Stock inquiry for when we take in someone from Barashi or other bound worlds known to trade in flesh. It avoids uncomfortable situations in which we end up sending someone after their third cousin who is so very nice, but made the wrong choices in life. Of course, if they detest their third cousin with the heat of a thousand suns, that won't be a problem. It's a useful thing to know, at any rate." "Oh. And...previous training in martial arts and/or military strategy?" "Fancy way of asking if you are any good in a fight. Are you?" "I...wouldn't know." "You are here because you are guilty of murder, are you not?" She bit her lip and shook her head. People were asking her that question way too much lately. Not that she blamed them, but still. "That wasn't a fight." Feeling more unsure of what she was doing by the minute, she perused the rest of the questions and settled on the one that made her stomach lurch. "Reason for applying?" "Means 'Why are you here?' I wouldn't have thought that one would be too hard to figure out." "It isn't, but...I can't exactly write that I'm here because you asked me if I wanted to join and I said yes because there is nothing..." She trailed off. Saying that would be a mistake, wouldn't it? It wasn't as if she meant to sound ungrateful. She certainly appreciated everything the woman had done for her so far, unasked. If it weren't for her help in settling her in a temporary home, she'd be sleeping on the streets. However, it was the truth, no matter how rude. She had no idea of what she wanted to do with herself until Jack arrived, and not knowing how long that would take, she felt she ought to occupy the time with something. Saying yes when she'd been asked if she had any interest in joining a liberation society – whatever that was – hadn't been a very thought through decision, but she had done it anyway because she reasoned that it wouldn't be worse than working for Marabeth. "Allow me to present it in another way: you don't think it is right to strip someone of his or her freedom just because you can, true?" Valeriana bobbed her head up and down, grateful that there was something to which she could honestly provide the right answer. "And you wish to contribute to change that state of affairs, true?" Another heartfelt nod. "Then that's your answer, right there." "Well, yes, but...I thought...I mean, you never said anything about fighting or sending anyone after anybody, and..." The way the woman was looking at her didn't make her feel any less foolish. She averted her eyes, shifted on her chair and nervously rubbed the tip of her shoe on the floor. "I just wasn't expecting that, that's all." "And pray tell, what were you expecting, girl? That we'd be walking on a slave market, handing out pamphlets and preaching about equality and free will?" Something like that, yes, only she wouldn't admit to it now that she had heard it presented like it was such a ludicrous idea. The woman frowned, leaned over to snatch the half-filled form from under her hand and scrutinized it. In time, she leaned back and closed her eyes, sighing. "I should have known. You truly are as young as you look, aren't you? Are you at least age-locked?" Panic rose in her chest. She wasn't, and it hadn't occurred to her that that might be problematic. Among her kind it was customary to halt the aging process while you still looked young. Not too young, though, because after it was done, it would be a long, long while before time started to show on one's face again. She had been planning to implement her own age-lock at twenty five, like Belladona and Angelica had done – Tessalia had chosen to wait until she was almost but not nearly thirty, probably because she liked the idea of always being the eldest far too much. Slowly, she shook her head, hoping to all the gods that she wasn't in too much trouble. "We shall have to take care of that soon. There are invaluable benefits that come with it. Becoming harder to kill, for one. You will certainly need that if you decide to stick with us. But returning to the fighting issue, let it be known that most of our group is made out of humans. If they can hold their own, I don't see why you shouldn't. Which reminds me...Frank and Tonya said there had been some trouble during your first week at their place. I trust that's resolved?" Valeriana bit her lip, nearly dying of embarrassment. She had hoped the woman wouldn't have been informed of that. "It...it was nothing, just a misunderstanding." "I've been told that you refused to do any housework because, quote, 'That's what slaves are for." "Well...yes, but...I apologized, and I told them I'd do the dishes and washing from now on." "And how is that going?" She dropped her eyes and fixated on her shoes, too mortified to look up. "I'm...not very good at it yet. But I've only broken one plate and two cups so far, and it's not really my fault that the washing machine keeps swallowing socks." "Heavens. At least they won't have to put up with that much longer, even if you are rethinking your decision to join us. If you are, do not fear. I'd be saddened, but I wouldn't leave you to fend for yourself. Still, I need a definite answer." Valeriana gulped. She could say no, couldn't she? If she truly wouldn't be abandoned one way or another, she could just say she was very sorry but that she couldn't do it. Not if it meant she would have to fight her own people or fight at all. She didn't know how, was afraid of what would happen if she even tried and didn't... An image of a bloodied throat and bloodied hands passed before her eyes, swift as a breeze and just as fleeting, and she stopped mid-thought. She hadn't known anything then either, hadn't been able to do a thing, and someone had died because she was useless and soft of body and mind, and no matter how hard she tried, she never seemed to be able to do anything right. 'Perhaps I'll remain exactly the way I am now.' Her own words, coming back to curse her, and suddenly she felt unsure if she ought...wanted, even...to live up to them. "If I say yes, will I be able to save people?" The woman smiled in a way that made her think about a very self-satisfied cat, and pursed her lips pensively before replying. "That, my dear, it's entirely up to you." --------------------------- Jack's oldest memory was from when he was five. He had a tenuous awareness of things having happened to him and with him before that, but they were foggy, indistinct. Looking at them was like trying to see his face in a damp mirror. The shapes and colors were right, but all sense of detail and importance, was lost. As far as he was concerned, his life had begun on the day his mother swallowed a bottle of paxpernia and hung herself from a chandelier. The most vivid recollection he had from the occasion was that of her feet dangling in the air over the dinner table, the tips of her shoes barely touching the oranges piled up in the fruit bowl, a pool of urine soaking the tablecloth. After that, there had been a hasty funeral, which he hadn't attended, and many faces coming and going, none of which he could bring before his eyes. Deciding what ought to be done with him had led to much grumbling among friends and relatives, but at last it had been settled that since his father was still alive in the homelands, the task of finishing the boy's education was his to undertake. Bloodsong Ch. 05 So some person or another had brought him through the gate and left him at the door of Crag's Fall, to present himself and make a claim of kinship. It hadn't been disputed, and he had been given food and a room, but that had been it. The man who was said to be his father rarely if ever made an appearance – it had taken him months to learn he had another residence in Alkarosh – and nobody mentioned his mother or acknowledged him beyond what was strictly necessary. Things had gone on like that for close to a year. And then his aunt had entered the scene and taken an interest. He had been elated. Nobody had ever taken an interest in him before. She had resolved that he needed a home where his existence was actually valued and determined that hers would do. He had packed and accompanied her on her return to Blackburn Hill, and for better or worse, there was no denying that the decision had made his life...different. It had certainly afforded him an unusual skillset. Jack sighed and rubbed his forehead. Too many memories that he usually wouldn't even try to deal with were jumping up like wayward rabbits, and there was no keeping them down. Still, that was par of course for a memorial: remembrance of things past, the good and the bad, the dirty and the painful. "I really don't see why we are doing this," Nicolai complained, loudly. Jack gritted his teeth. "Because there wasn't enough left for a proper burial, and we didn't have the time to do one of these before." He took the armful of objects – personal items of aunt Marabeth that had been salvaged from the Mayfly before it was burned to a crisp – and distributed them in a circle among the pile of logs. To be truthful, he wasn't looking forward to the prospect of spending the night standing in the middle of a field much more than Nick was – wherever his aunt was now, he doubted she cared much if they did either - but the proper traditions needed to be observed. "Clothes and jewelry," his – for now, still, though that had been in doubt for a while – best friend muttered, shaking his head to himself while lighting the fire. "I still don't think that's the kind of stuff she'd like having in the afterlife. Told you we should have brought her favorite flogger." "Hah." He gazed into the flames as they rose. His thoughts were drifting away, back to the girl he had left behind to submit or freeze. They had the whole night to take care of the memorial because if his calculations were right, it would take her at least two, three days put away in the cold to mellow out. Not to say he wouldn't check on her in the morning, but he doubted that her response would be any different to what it had been hours ago. He sighed again, this time with exasperation instead of melancholy. If she weren't so damned stubborn, she'd...but then again, if she weren't, he wouldn't want her half as much. "Just say your part so that we can sit down." "Do I have to?" Jack lifted his eyes towards the star-speckled sky and reminded himself that not so long ago, Nick had literally saved him from getting burned. That he'd done it shortly after snogging his girl was an entirely different story, but they'd get back to that sometime. Preferably once he felt confident he'd be able to discuss it without giving in to the temptation of breaking something. Something like Nick's neck. "Because I'm not sure I count as..." "You slept with her, so you count as lover, so you get to say the part," he deadpanned. It was as if they hadn't gone through all that before. Nick groaned and threw his arms up in the air. "Once! And I was completely shitfaced, so how does that make me her lover?" "You still crawled in bed with her willingly, which is more than can be said about every other man or woman she took in the last two thousand years or so." Although the very idea of it was enough to make his thoughts blanch, he was grateful that he'd been made privy to that information. It had helped enormously on the 'not murdering the other man on the spot' front. If Nick couldn't keep it in his pants when confronted with the self-proclaimed scariest bitch that had ever lived, he reasoned, it was indeed too much to expect him to resist Valeriana in a seductive mood. Knowing that Nick hadn't intended it as a betrayal didn't make Jack feel less sour about the whole thing, but made it easier to get his temper under control, which was imperative in that particular situation. If he killed him – well, she would just love that, wouldn't she? It was probably half the reason why she'd chosen to seduce the moron as a means to escape. So he'd get his payback in smaller, subtler ways. Interspaced with the occasional bout of physical violence, of course. "Fine." With a defeated sigh, Nick walked towards the fire and halted in front of it, spreading his arms and cleaning his throat before continuing. "As it was, so it shall rise again. Of the flames that burned us no ash shall be born. Split apart for now, we'll stand together in the darkness everlasting, until everything's time runs its course and a new fire lights." "And now the personal bit." Surely the part he'd have the most trouble with. As predicted, Nick looked around, searching for an escape, but eventually decided to man up and face the fire again. "Er. Godspeed, lady Maz. Fucking you was like fucking a python – elastic and kind of terrifying. Would still totally do it again, though," he added, as if that would somehow turn the statement into an acceptable eulogy. Knowing that it was honestly the best he could do wasn't all that comforting. Looking around, Jack couldn't help but think that it was depressing, in a way, that after three thousand years, only one person would willingly attend his aunt's memorial – Nick didn't count, since he had practically dragged him there by the scruff of his neck. He could hardly fool himself into thinking that things would be different if they'd done it in Barashi and spread the word beforehand. Perhaps his father would have attended too, if he weren't too busy, and some passing acquaintances might feel compelled to show up out of curiosity if nothing else, but that would be it. Aunt Marabeth had been respected but never loved. His part was lengthy since he had three different roles to play out. Ideally, they would be spoken by different people, but there weren't enough to go around. So he said the words belonging to a son, because she had been the only mother he had ever known that was more to him than a name and a dangling pair of legs, and the ones belonging to a friend, and the ones belonging to a loyal servant. Then there was nothing but silence, occasionally interrupted by the crackling of burning wood. Nick began to yawn soon after, so they sat down and uncorked the bottle they'd brought along. The wine was watered down and tasted sour, as ceremonial wine usually did, but each of them downed a glass before he spoke again. He had to say something, he felt, or else his thoughts would drift to Valeriana again, and he wished to keep her away from his mind at least for tonight. "So. A python? That's oddly specific. How did you learn how it..." "Dude. Ever heard of a metaphor?" "It just wouldn't surprise me. After all, there was that business with the octopus a few years back." "That was once, and I was..." He stopped and looked down at the second glass of wine he had just poured himself. Shaking his head, he turned it over and let it seep in the ground. "Never mind." "Well..." Jack said, and this time he couldn't not let his bitterness show. "I, at least, find it reassuring that when you try to stick your dick in the wrong thing, you only do it once." Nick stopped fiddling with his broken watch and stared at him warily. For a fleeting second it seemed as if he had chosen to ignore the veiled accusation, but instead he said: "I already said I was sorry, didn't I? Even if I hadn't, she was the one who threw herself at me!" "You had no business taking her up on her offer." Keeping the growl out of his voice was difficult, but he managed it. "I thought we had already established that nobody was to touch her but me." "No we hadn't. Not in so many words." Yes, not with words because he would have expected it'd be glaringly obvious without any need to issue a formal statement. Then again, it was Nicolai. He wouldn't know a hint if it approached him and handed him a business card. "Still, I acknowledge it was one of the stupidest things I've ever done, and that I deserved what I got afterwards. From her and from you." In his opinion, he hadn't given him enough, if only because it would have been inconvenient to punch his teeth out more than once while they were in the process of fleeing a collapsing building. Afterwards he had been too busy to even try. What Valeriana had done to him had been satisfying, though, and also enlightening. It had certainly provided him with a warning and a set of guidelines of what not to do. "You did look far prettier than her in that dress. Coming from me, that's saying a lot." Nick snarled something about bitches and wind on his balls, which he chose to ignore for obvious reasons. Now that there was no turning his thoughts away from Valeriana, he lost himself in contemplations of what he would do after the first stage of her re-education was done with. She'd hate it, and hate him - even more than she did already, which was the only reason why he had picked the route he had. He wouldn't be harming her, not really. Even if she made him lose his temper and forced him to be harsh, there was no way that his cock would hurt her more than his fists ever had. That was one of the advantages of having been her worst enemy for so long. Now that he had her, now that he didn't have to play the part anymore, everything he could do would seem mild when compared to the things that lay behind them. Even if she didn't enjoy it from the get go - an outcome he had already resigned himself to be likely - he would have the rest of eternity to convince her to change her mind. To learn to love what he did to her, and then, maybe, hopefully, him. He had told himself countless times that if she yielded, if she would only show the most minuscule indication that deep inside she felt something, he'd be merciful. Gentle. Forgiving. But then he would look into her eyes and see nothing but sky-high walls of loathing, and the harsh reality would set in. There was no spark, - there never had been - no flame to be rekindled, no tender feelings to salvage with a slow seduction and words of love. She left him no choice but to make sure she burned for him, by any means possible. "I just don't get it, you know?" Nick was saying, and he had to shake his head a few times and reorganize his thoughts before he realized that the other man had been talking to him for a while about things not related to his privates, and that he hadn't heard a word of it. "The whole fucking world is covered with women, and you go and fixate on that? Sure, she's...aesthetically pleasing." A word he had undoubtedly chosen with care, knowing that a less clinical term would set him off all over again. Nicolai Cicerny was as thick as a brick when it came to most things, but disturbingly shrewd in others. "But she's also nutty as a fruitcake with a side of homicidal and her cunt is probably as poisonous as her tongue. Don't punch me, you know it's true." He was a bit too late saying that, but once he was done groaning and cleaning the blood from his mouth, Nick went on as if no interruption had been made. "Let's see, you had...whatshername? The bitchy brunette with the blue eyes that came after the bitchy brunette with the green eyes. Afro-some-such?" "Afrodesia." "That, yes. Well, she was damn hot." "And shrill, and empty-headed, and far too clingy for my tastes." "Irrelevant. Chick was all over you. Also not a cripple and a murderess. You see, you can find one who fits your type and that you don't have to tie up to fuck, unless you are into that kinky stuff. They'll also not try to rip your dick off at the first available opportunity. So you have no excuse to be this hung up on Miss Lunatic-and-Psycho." "Let me ask you something, Nick. Have you ever thought about a girl, man or creature for longer than a night?" He scoffed and replied that of course he had, causing him to rethink and rephrase his question. "After you've got what you wanted. In terms other than 'Boy, I can't wait to hit that again." "You mean, has there ever been someone who made me stop and consider the idea of settling down and having a ranch of kids? Fuck no! The universe is vast, and filled with oh so many pretty things you can wrap around your cock. Why would I ever want to give that up?" "Then it's useless to even try to explain it to you, isn't it?" "Nah," Nick said, shaking his head. Against any form of better judgment, he poured himself some more wine and took a swig before continuing. "I get what you are trying to say. But let me ask you something. You said 'After you got what you wanted'. Which, if I'm remembering correctly, you never did. So really, you have no way of knowing you won't lose interest when you do." "Not going to happen." He was sure of it, although he couldn't tell Nick how he was sure. His feelings were the basis of so many things about him and so deeply ingrained in his being that having them erased would wipe out too much of himself. If he told him that, Nick would find it hilariously sentimental and say so, and then he would feel compelled to make him swallow one of the burning logs, which he couldn't do because he was aiming to keep things peaceful. It was still a memorial, even if they were drifting away from the remembering the deceased fondly part. Therefore, he said nothing more and did his best to not take the subsequent condescending pat on the back too personally. "You'll change your mind. Hopefully, not too late." Nick paused, looked at him and shook his head in disbelief. "And you could have told me about that part before today. I wouldn't have laid a finger on her if I had known, and it would have given me more time to get you to think straight." "You shouldn't have done it one way or another, and I am thinking straight." "Yeah? What did your old man say about it?" Jack pressed his lips in a thin, bloodless line and said nothing, which in the end told him more than enough. There was an unbearably drawn-out pause, and then a shocked whisper. "Oh shit! You haven't told him yet?!" "Haven't had the time. I'll send word once we are through the gate. Since we are going to Alkarosh first, that will give him more than enough time to swallow the news." "You think? He'll be pissed." He shrugged. Although they had long ago exited the treating-each-other-as-strangers phase, his relationship with his father was shaky at the best of times. Putting his own wants in second place to the man's desires and views of what was acceptable was a mistake he had committed once before but would never repeat. There would be a row, and accusations flung left and right, but things would settle eventually. They had to. "And pissed at me for not having..." "As you said, I had never breathed a word about it before. You couldn't know, and there was nothing you could have done to keep me from making this decision." There was more that he would have liked to add, but his cellphone chose that exact moment to ring. He picked up, listened to Axis' report and shoved it back in his pocket with an annoyed grunt. "She's being difficult again." "Astara take her, what's she done this time?" Jack shot him a wary glare and gestured at him to zip it. Only after a few uncomprehending stares did he get his meaning. He swore then, loudly. "Fuckdammit, I forgot about that. And come on, can you blame me?" He couldn't, no, because even he had only remembered it by chance. Funerals and memorials were the domain of the four Lords of Death, and they didn't take kindly to having lesser godlings mentioned in such occasions. It wasn't an issue where he was concerned, since he had never developed the habit of invoking a god's name for any little reason, as Nick did. Still, it was a bad omen that none of them needed, just as he didn't need the author of the blunder leaning over and stage-whispering. "Do you think bribing them with what's left of the wine will convince them to leave us un-smitten?" He was about to answer, but the fire beat him to it. They had taken the necessary precautions to stop the bonfire from spreading through the field. They had brought the pile of logs to a spot where the wheat – the closest earthen equivalent to the herbs customarily burned in such occasions – had been harvested already, and cleaned the area from anything that could catch fire from a loose spark. They hadn't, however, expected the flames to grow so high that they had to crane their necks to look at their top. A thrill shot up his spine as he watched them separate like a many-fingered hand being opened, clash with each other and take a dive towards the ground. He took a step to the side just in time. Nicolai wasn't equally lucky. "What?!" he yelled, jumping up and down and ineffectually trying to put out the fire on his sleeve. When another fiery arm spurted from the main column, he jumped down and squatted on the dirt to avoid it, before rolling over to smoother the flames. "No, seriously, fucking what?!" "Magic," Jack replied, eying the bonfire with growing unease. The fire had just shed any pretense of being a natural happenstance and morphed into arrows. The rogue jets didn't look like they were trying to aim at him, though, or else he would have already been hit. There was definitely a consciousness commanding them, and that consciousness seemed to have it in for Nick. The other man yelped and, belatedly realizing the same thing he just had, cowered behind him. "Very powerful magic." "You don't fucking say!" Nick roared. The flames burned higher still, before abruptly shooting down and running over the ground. Around them this time, not with them as target. It took them only a second to digest the obvious: that the fire was twisting itself into words. "Ha...hair...harp...wait, that's not English!" Evidently. The fact that the words were written with runes should have been enough to clue him in about that. Nick stopped hugging his leg and frowned. "Harakh-ani...still alive...what's does that last one say?" "Lantja. Prized one, dear." Jack rubbed his forehead. He could just feel a headache coming up. "It says 'Still alive, dears." Since the fire seemed to have calmed down now that the message had been passed, Nick felt free to unglue himself from his back and snort loudly. "Well. What the hell does that mean?" Jack shrugged. He didn't need to know the meaning, though that too was clear. It was enough that he recognized the handwriting. Bloodsong Ch. 06 Hiiiiii my lovelies! I'm so, so sorry for the delay. I hope none of you guys wandered off in the meantime. That said, the chapter is here. It's not as long as I would have liked it to be, and perhaps it won't be what most of you expected it would, but...oh, I'll shut up now. Happy readings. CHAPTER VI -- FIRE AND ICE: PART II In which...oh, you know. It's that chapter. Valerie woke up. One of the few upsides of having done that so often in the past days was that there was no lag in her mental processes or confusion about where she was. She immediately knew what was going on, resented it just as quickly, and went on with her reassessment of status and surroundings without missing a beat. Cold -- biting, all-encompassing cold -- was the first thing her senses registered. The second was that she wasn't standing but lying down in a depression on the floor, which was a relief, but she quickly understood that giving her a minor reprieve wasn't the reason why they had positioned her like that. There had to have been more buckets while she was unconscious because she was lying in water. Not covered in it -- it went past her ears and hugged her temples, but her nose and mouth were well above it, so she could still breathe. Seeing was a bit more taxing because of the freezing mist that wafted through the cell. It floated down on her, settling on her eyes and making them water. She quickly closed them, not wanting the cold to burn them out. The water was also freezing. She could see the beginnings of what would undoubtedly be a layer of ice in an hour or so form around her paralyzed limbs. They had given her something, some poison that kept her from moving and prevented her from reusing her previous method of knocking herself unconscious. As much as it irked her, it seemed she would have to withstand it until she fell asleep naturally. She couldn't imagine it would be too hard. In the past seventy years, her body had been submitted to more physical torment than anyone alive, and beaten up more often than half a thousand piñatas. It wasn't even the first time she had to face temperatures below zero. There had been that thing in Norway, and that other when she had been locked in a freezer, and Siberia, and... When she was little, Valerie had been prone to daydreaming. She was friendless, and life was dull, so she would sit in her father's library and look upon the map of the many worlds that covered the western wall in its entirety. Then, she would focus on one part of it, one place and name of a place, and relocate herself. Her body would remain seated at the table, and she would blink and breathe and give monosyllabic answers if anybody happened to pass by, but in her mind, she would be far away, unshackled from flesh, running over purple and yellow plains and swimming in seas of foam. She didn't need to know much about the places she journeyed to, only their names and locations and what those suggested, but had strived to learn. The fact that she would be found hunched over a thick geography book just as often as she was staring into space had been the only reason why nobody had thought her simple in addition to crippled. Then, she had grown up a little, made a friend, and suddenly life outside the dream world had turned out to be just as fun as her travels, so she had stopped visiting it as often. However, the ability, the compulsion to detach herself from her form, had never gone away. It had remained at the back of her mind, ready to be summoned. She was doing it now. There were rules, of course. Even when she was away, her body still held some power, so there had to be parallels between reality and dream. She couldn't imagine herself in a desert or on a tropical beach because her senses would betray her lie. So she thought about a place where it was freezing but that wasn't her freezing cell, where she was just as uncomfortable but never helpless, where... She was lying in water, and her body felt numb. Before, it had felt as if a million billion spears were piercing it, but no more. She had gone beyond the edge of coldness and into the limbo where it was freezing so badly that the water was like a warm blanket. A wave went over her head, and if her tongue were able to discern flavors in its frozen state, she would have tasted salt. Her fingers were so stiff she believed they'd break if she attempted to flex them. Her legs two useless weights. She looked up and squinted at the bulwark of the ship she was clinging to by a rope. Something moved on the upper deck -- she could see its shade in the water, dancing around the floating blocks of ice. Then, she heard it. A scream -- loud, piercing, and frightened -- the sound of heavy boots stamping on wood, sharp words exchanged in barashnik, a gunshot...and that was her cue to go up, so she did, trusting that the heat of the upcoming fight would banish the cold for good. It was the fifth of September of '73. She was on a slave ship headed for the gate of the Barents Sea, and that was a memory, not a construct of her feeble mind. She had won then. She had returned more than two hundred souls to shore and fed their jailers to the depths of the arctic after a short battle. This time around, she forced the fighting to go on. One of the sailors would be thrown overboard, and another would emerge to engage her, and she would battle that one too, never tiring, never giving up, feeling as alive and happy as she'd ever been. Far below the clouds, in a cell as chilly as her dream, a tear remained captured in the corner of her eye and slowly began to freeze. ************* Nick had said he had business in town, so Jack had dropped him off at the end of the boulevard and watched him stagger towards the nearest club with no regrets at all. At least, that would get him out of his hair for the time being. Nick had emptied half of the bottle of wine they'd left in the car, allegedly because he needed to relax after all the 'freakiness' they had experienced, and had already been halfway to the point where his drunken antics stopped being even mildly amusing. The business that required his attendance would be remarkably less pleasant but nonetheless unavoidable. He drove through the sprawling network of roads until he reached the main entrance of his aunt's home -- his now, he supposed. It blended in well with the French-colonial architecture that surrounded it although it had been built only a few decades ago. The security cameras poised on the walls and the fingerprint-sensitive lock were both very XXII century though. He spotted Axis leaning on the gate, parked the car, and approached him. He steeled himself for what he knew could only be bad news. The building stood where he'd left it, so it wouldn't be too serious, but still. "She wants to talk to you." Was the first thing out of the man's mouth, and the first thought to enter his mind was 'It's a scheme of some kind' because that was all it could be. It had barely been half a day, which was nowhere near enough to convince someone like Valeriana to capitulate unless there happened to be a catch. "Says there are important matters you two need to discuss." "Of course there are. Have you checked her dampeners every hour?" Axis gave him a sharp nod. "And monitored her cell nonstop?" He started to nod again, but stopped midway and frowned. "Cell? But she's in a...ah, wait. I'm not talking about Redmont. I'm talking about your aunt." "Her? What does she want?" Aunt Briseis was about the last person on the planet he would expect to want to say anything to him. Despite being family, he could only recall meeting her in person once or twice in a non-combative context, which was no fertile breeding ground for closeness. On top of that, she had slaughtered a relative he did care about -- Still alive, dears, still alive... - and been paramount in making Valeriana disregard years of shared memories in favor of a life of endless fighting for a species that did not deserve her efforts. One of those would suffice to ensure she had his dislike, but together they coalesced into something which hatred was too kind a word for. Wanting to beg for her life would also not be the reason why she had called for him, that would be a show of weakness. If both of his aunts shared a quirk of character, it would be that extracting blood from a stone would be easier than convincing them to cast aside their pride. "She didn't say." Shaking his head, he went inside. Aunt Briseis was being kept in the basement. It being the basement of a place that had belonged to his other aunt, escaping from it wasn't a task to take lightly. There were armed sentinels stationed around each corner, thick crisscrossing iron bars covering every window and wall, and almost as many security cameras. Still, he was under the impression all that was a waste of resources when it came to containing the woman. So far, she hadn't tried to escape once or exhibited resistance that didn't reek of affectation. If anything, she seemed satisfied with her current predicament, something which he would have found more puzzling if he weren't aware of her history and beliefs. If she was willing to be sentenced and lose her head because she wished to make a point, so be it. He doubted anyone besides her pet humans would miss her much. Well, Valeriana would. She had become unreasonably attached to the old cow, but that too would change soon enough. "Aunt Briseis." The woman looked up, not the slightest bit startled by his sudden appearance, although he had taken care to not make his approach audible. She straightened herself and ambled towards the front of the cage. "I'm told you wished to speak to me?" "I do." How she managed to sound so high and mighty even with half of her face smashed was beyond him. "And?" He waited while she paused as if to compose her thoughts. Another needless affectation, to be sure. She would have researched her speech at least a dozen times even before asking for him. "It's about Valerie." That wasn't entirely unexpected, since it usually was. It was the only subject they had in common, seeing as she wasn't prone to wasting words on complaints about him looking pale and needing to eat better or other aunt-like things. "I've heard you managed to capture her." "Yes." "I hope you know that I happen to love that girl as if she were my own, and I will be extremely disappointed in you if you treat her poorly." Damn her if she didn't sound like an aunt just now. One of those annoyingly overbearing aunts who made sure everybody's business was their business and never refused a chance to stick their noses into it. He was half expecting her to start tsking him as if he were three years old or complain about her cat's flatulence. "Don't hurt her, Jack. I mean it." "I have no intention of hurting her unless she presses the issue." Which she would. It never ceased to irritate him how unable she was of looking at two options and picking the reasonable, painless one. Still, in a way, he was grateful for aunt Briseis' influence on her. He too had changed in the last century or so, and although he would always remember her fondly, he doubted that the person Valeriana had been would hold much interest for him now. The thing he had loved the most about her back then was her potential to do, to be so much more, and having seen that potential realized, there was no way of not looking at that girl in his past as an inferior, incomplete model. Of course, the current one had some kinks that needed to be ironed out, but he had every intention of keeping her as intact as possible. "So far, she has been nothing but spiteful and difficult." "She is entitled to be both. You haven't exactly been a gentleman to her, my dear nephew." "Only because she seems to have forgotten how to be a lady." And that had come naturally to her, while he had needed to teach himself to be less than correct. It had started with their first fight, which he could recall with perfect clarity. Back then, he was still set on being reasonable -- on talking and trying to subdue her with words instead of violence. She either hadn't been able to or refused to understand and kept pushing back until he had snapped and hit her. He hadn't made a conscious decision to do it. She had challenged him, and his hand had reacted before the rest of him did. But then something had seemed to flip in his brain, and suddenly they were fighting in earnest, all pretenses of civility put aside, every instinct that told him he needed to protect her restrained. After that, it had become...easier. Easier to look at her and have the proper responses to facing an enemy superimpose what would have been his usual ones. Easier to punch her in the face or kick her off a building and resist the temptation of running towards her and comforting her as soon as he registered that she'd been hurt. Easier to not care if she cried or screamed and cursed him. And then more time had passed, and it hadn't become easier, but easy, period. "You love her too, don't you?" his aunt asked, interrupting his train of thought. He scowled, because that was a low shot, even if it had missed the target in that particular instance. True, he loved her, and he knew it was the real thing because, like Nick had been kind enough to remind him, there had been so many women after her but not a single one that came close to replacing her. He had also loved her for so long that the flames inside him now burned cold and blue, allowing him to be pragmatic about his feelings. Since they currently interfered with his goal -- possessing the person to which they applied -- bottling them up was the logical thing to do. He shook his head and told his aunt exactly that. "So you will destroy her so that you can have her. I can't help but think that sounds counterproductive." "I wouldn't destroy her. She's stronger than that," he replied, with absolute conviction. Even in her weakest moments, he had always thought her strong, but only after seeing what time and having a cause to fight for did with her had he realized just how much. That was one of the parts he intended to keep. The masochistic self-righteousness he could do without. "I don't even intend to change her. Just the way she thinks about some things." Things he had tried to explain to her in the past, only to have his words thrown back with venom. This time, he'd make her listen. Understand. "Your thoughts are what you are, Jack. You can't change one part without changing the whole." "Very philosophical. Is that everything you wished to say, or is there more?" She said nothing, only stared at him with disgusted reproach. It irked him because it was exactly the same look that Valeriana would direct at him in the first stages of their budding enmity. He supposed that answered the question of where she had learned it. "This is partially your fault too, you know? I wouldn't have to be so rough with her if you hadn't brainwashed her into thinking your way." "Oh," she said quietly, "it is my fault, yes. More than you know. But I'll never apologize for guiding her when she discovered the light -- because yes, she managed that on her own, and guide was all I did. The fact that she's hurting...that she's been hurting for so long...the blame of that rests squarely on your shoulders. She truly loved you, you know? And you were such a disappointment. Jack took another step towards the cage before he could stop himself, his eyes narrowed to slits. He could spot no insincerity, no wavering in her tone, but he knew she was lying with every tooth she had. Not about Valeriana being disappointed in him, for he also knew full well that not being able to give her what she had wanted was by far the worst thing he'd ever done to her. Undoubtedly she had been hurt by his refusal, just as he had bled internally the hundred thousand times he had asked her to stand by his side and she had called him insane and repeated no, no, no. But she had never loved him. Even when they were younger and at peace with each other, she had never given him a sign that she felt more for him than friendliness mixed with filial affection. "Jack," his aunt said, her voice suddenly growing soft. He sensed another deception coming. "After what happened in Riverside, she couldn't keep her eyes dry for a month because she missed you. Because losing what you two had, what you can still have, crushed her, so be kind to that girl. It's the best shot you will get at having her in any way that matters. "Kindness never got me anywhere with her," he spat, because it was true. He had been nice, and the gods knew how hard that was for him, but somehow she had made it seem like the simplest thing in the world. He had supported her the best he could and laughed at her jokes even though back then she had yet to master wit. He'd even tolerated her shrewish sisters and boor of a father. He had been her best friend, and the fact that he had been her only friend didn't detract from that. In the end, she had still spurned him for the most inane reason of all. "And I will have her no matter what." "Then you will disappoint her again and hurt her more than you ever did before, and before you know it, every one of your hopes will turn into impossibility." That was when Jack knew he had enough of the woman for the rest of his lifetime. "I'm begging you. Think this through before you..." "Goodbye, Aunt Briseis. I'll see you at the trial." ************* "This, girl, is a Mauser. You hold it like this, and then you shoot it like this." The loud bang came close to making Valeriana fall backwards in shock. Instead she let out a loud, startled 'Eeep!" and jumped away from the woman. Not far enough for her to not be able to throw her the weapon, though, which she did with an idle gesture. "Try it yourself, now. Doesn't matter where you point it, as long it's not at you or me, I just want you to get used to the sound and feel of it. We can't have you acting like a scalded cat every single time you hear a gunshot." "Al...alright." She picked the thing up gingerly and examined it, being careful to keep her fingers away from the trigger. Firearms weren't uncommon in her world, but most of them were designed to be used when you were in your true form, and as such, looked nothing like the one she held. She mentioned it to the woman while she turned it this way or another, gaining herself time to amass the courage she required to actually fire it. Jack's aunt nodded in agreement. "True. You won't be using those a lot, I'm afraid. Switching to your true form when you are not fighting or behind closed doors may be frowned upon back in the homelands, but up here, it's downright dangerous. I don't know how familiar you are with the workings of the Great Divide, but nowadays it only prevents the discovery of artifacts or texts relating to our kind, and even so, only of those that existed in the time it was cast. The general mind wipe was done only once and never intended to be something maintained through the centuries. If you call attention to us, let a human see you in your true form...well, nobody else may take him seriously, but it still isn't worth the risk. In other words, don't do it unless you absolutely have no other choice." Valeriana gave her a faint, embarrassed smile. So she didn't know. She shouldn't be too surprised, of course. If the woman hadn't been in contact with others from Barashi, if she had even showed confusion upon being told about her own nephew, then it was unlikely that she'd be aware of it. "That...well, that won't be a problem. See, I don't have a true form." "What do you mean, you don't? You are Tsikalayan." "Yes, I...I know. But I still don't have one. Or just can't switch to it. Same thing, really. " The woman frowned at her, seemed to be about to say something, seemed to change her mind and seemed to change it back. After a play's worth of emotions had traveled over her face, she asked at last: Bloodsong Ch. 06 "I don't wish to pry or be offending, but this can be important. Are you full-blooded?" "Full-blooded?" She frowned at the term, not quite comprehending it. "As opposed to what?" "As opposed to mixed with something else. I know your last name is Lazur, so...is your mother Barashi-born, or anything of the like?" "What? No! She is...was Tsikalayan. Just like I am." "Was she in the habit of taking lovers not of her own kind?" That one nearly made her sputter with indignation. What? Nobody with any sense of self-respect would do that, though that probably wasn't a wise thing to say in her present company, and she knew from things Tessalia had told her that her mother had always been faithful and without fault. Suggesting otherwise was just preposterous, and ridiculous, considering she looked just like the twins and both of them were their father's spitting image. But of course, the woman couldn't know that either. "I take it the answer is no. And as I said, I am not deliberately trying to be insulting. It's just that my Chloe lacked a true form too, and that could be a possible explanation for..." No. That train of thought had to be stopped. "I can shift some things. My teeth. My nails. I can make them sharper if I want to. Could your daughter do that?" The woman slowly shook her head. "There is that, then." "It could also be some kind of shape-lock. Sometimes they aren't strong enough to hold everything back. But since those are impossible to undo, I suppose it's useless to wonder." She gave her a stiff nod, still seething a little. "Valerie, I had to ask. You could be half Skara for all I know, and it pays off to be aware of these things in advance." Valeriana sighed, defeated by logic but still angry. It was all very well and understandable, but nobody could expect to just accept having his or her parentage put in doubt. And then there was the name thing. It was the second time the woman called her that. "Fine. And, uhm, my name is Valeriana. Not Valerie." "Yes, I do know that. It's a shortening. What's wrong with it?" "Nothing, I just..." "Besides, Valeriana sounds like the name of a somber old matron who spends all her time drinking absinthe and pretending she is too above it all to care about other people's lives. Or perhaps that was just that other Valeriana I knew. Though she could have been a Victoria, now that I think about it." "I thought it sounded like a poisonous herb," she said, not caring if she sounded sulky. "Oh yes, it sounds like that too. That's just twice as much reason why you should change it to something that fits you better, now that you will have to drop your surname one way or another." Valeriana blinked, wondering what the woman was talking about now. She took notice of her confusion and slapped her forehead. "Oh, of course you wouldn't know, this being your first banishment and such. Still, I would have expected it to be common sense. Things may have changed since my time, but I don't believe it has become possible to kill the mate your father chose for you and flee the bloody world without ending up disowned in the process. By law -- if you care to obey it, that is -- you have lost the right to use your family's name." "Oh," she said, her voice tiny and weak. Yes, that was indeed what her father would do, and having to hear it like that hurt more than expected. "I guess I'll have to think about something, then." "Useful tip: if you pick something with a 'ch' sound in it, replace it with a k. If you chose something with an s, replace with x. It just sounds so much more intimidating that way. And you will want to seem intimidating when dealing with some of the people we will be dealing with." "Uhm. Alright." "You will also be wanting to drop the uhming. It makes you sound insecure." "But I, uhm...sorry...I am insecure. Well, often. Most of the time." The woman heaved a sigh. "That's no reason to let other people see it. Now, are you going to shoot today or not?" Valeriana nodded, and aimed clumsily at one of the metal canisters in front of her. She sneaked a look at the woman through the corner of her eye and saw her lips pursed in disapproval. Realizing what her mistake had been, she pointed the handgun at the pile of wood and debris instead. That way there was no chance of the bullet ricocheting, she reasoned. This time the woman seemed to approve of her choice of target. Taking a long, deep breath, she pressed the trigger. "Eeeek!" she exclaimed, dropping the gun at once and covering her ears before the bullet was even out of the barrel. "Sorry, sorry, sorry, let me try again." "Take your time," the woman said, quietly adding: "We have a long, long day ahead of us." ************* The cell door opened with a creak. Even though he had checked the security cams before coming down, Jack took a step backwards because there was always the chance that Valeriana had managed to pull something with them. There were very few things he would put past her after everything that had happened in Westmont. Underestimating her and treating her as if she were anything less than armed to her teeth at all times was a mistake he would be loath to commit again. He scanned the cell with his eyes before walking in, determining if she was still where he had left her the last time he had doused her with water. The air inside the cramped space looked as if it were covered with a white film, and the heat of his breath condensed when he exhaled, fogging his vision. Nevertheless, he was still able to make out the contours of her shape, lying in the shallow depression. She wasn't moving, not that he had counted on her being capable of that after the first few hours. He closed the door and kneeled next to her, grimacing. She didn't seem to be conscious, but seeming guaranteed nothing. He used his fists to break the layer or ice that encased her, hitting the cold water underneath, and lifted her up to examine the damage that had been done so far. Her skin felt both unnaturally rigid and worryingly tender. He had counted on the first, but not the later. The purple and blue blotches that covered her face and arms were even more disturbing to him. They couldn't have all formed in the past few seconds, and if they were any older, her healing factor should have taken care of them by now. If her state and the low temperature were retarding the healing somehow -- which he had never known to happen, but with her, anything was possible -- then he ought to put a stop to the whole thing before he harmed her irreparably. He wouldn't actually do it until he knew for sure that something was wrong, though. The chance of it being a trick was still too high to rule out. So he kept holding her, occasionally stopping to rub the side of her neck and searching her face for any sign of life. When he found nothing -- not that that meant a thing, she was quite capable of putting on a façade of being asleep -- he checked her pulse to see if its racing betrayed what her features refused to express, and stopped dead. There was nothing. No blood beating under his thumb, no quickening of the flow when he pressed down. He stared at her again, refusing to acknowledge what reality was telling him. No. No, it couldn't be. He hadn't gone through so much trouble to finally get her, only to lose her like this. The only thing stopping him from switching to full-blown panic was the sense of familiarity the whole situation had. He still had the image of her sputtering blood and twitching on the floor of her home etched in his brain. This could be nothing but a more elaborate version of the same ploy. There was only one way to know for sure. He had brought the askara dagger he had taken from her with him, because he had counted on waking her and using it as a means to intimidate her. Now he was using it to slice his palm from side to side because Valeriana believed herself to be much more creative and far better at keeping secrets than she was, and because he'd be damned if he allowed her to trick him into removing the dampeners again. He cut her too, although a little more artfully -- askara was one of the very few things capable of leaving a mark that could only be healed by time, and he had no wish of ruining her skin with sloppy slashes -- and pressed his hand down on her shoulder. She jolted forward at the contact and Jack grinned, convinced that he'd exposed her attempt for what it was, but there was no sign of life in her eyes. They weren't even staring ahead, just open and looking at nothing. He brought his hand down again, and again she jerked at the contact. This time it was obvious that wherever her mind had wandered too, the body he held wasn't currently hosting it. It simply responded to the change in pressure, though that made him wonder why the dagger hadn't brought forth a similar reaction, until it hit him. It wasn't the pain he had to be causing her -- she would be so used to that that any impulse to react to it would be either burned out or too subdued to come forward -- but the temperature. She was cold, freezing, so the warmth of his hand would feel like a scorching iron in contrast. Still, hurting her was a necessary evil that he was more than prepared to commit. He pressed harder. There was a trick to it, he knew. It wasn't simply a matter of willing her body to heal, otherwise the technique would have been discovered a whole lot sooner. It was about inclusion, everyone being equal and part of a whole, and other soppy new age nonsense that no other Tsikalayan in his right mind would have thought about. Still, once something became known as possible, it became just as easy to imitate if you put your own personal spin on it. You are mine, he told her in thoughts, wondering if she would be able to understand him now that they were connected. You are mine, and I will never allow you to die. Never. When he started feeling her pulse again, it didn't came as a surprise, but he was relieved all the same. ************* Valerie woke up, and it was like resurrecting because for a while that stretched into forever, she felt as if she were dead. Even the pain that came with consciousness was blissful because it was real and tangible and proved that she was still connected to her body, although that connection seemed to be made out of strings as thin as cobwebs. It was also all that it could do at the moment, feel. Her remaining four senses were giving her no input whatsoever, and movement was impossible, lest she have that peaceful bliss turn into complete agony. Her eyelids felt too heavy to lift, her eyes too fixed to move around. There was no sound, though someone was tapping her arm as if to catch her attention, and presumably saying things to which she was supposed to listen. Her nose was obstructed and felt as if it had been broken twenty times over, and she couldn't find her tongue or the will and words to speak. The soft tapping became insufferable after a while -- her body seemed bigger, bloated and swollen like a sponge, which in turn magnified sensation until every little tap felt like a forceful blow. Then it stopped. She exhaled, but carefully, having no wish to turn the newfound relief into more pain. Something popped in her ears, causing her to wince, and after a while, she felt water splashing inside them. Someone lifted her head and turned it to the side, slowly, giving her more than enough time to adjust to the new position. Liquid trickled out of her ear and onto the side of her neck. She could hear, now, though there wasn't much said. Only cooing, shushing noises, possibly in answer to a whimpering that she found was coming out of her own lips. She was turned to the other side, and the process repeated before she was allowed to lay back and rest. "Can you hear me? Valerie?" Well of course it would be him, she thought, but there was no anger rising in her chest, no defiance in the realization. That would just be a waste of energy, and she needed every smidgen of that to stay awake. "Don't talk. Just nod if you do." That would also be a waste of energy. Besides, she wasn't sure she could obey even if she so desired since her head was as heavy as her eyelids, and moving it only a little made her feel nauseous enough to nearly pass out again. Instead she retched, and choked on what came up -- water, only more water, and that too was to be expected, considering she couldn't remember her last meal anymore. Coughing, she expelled what was left of it and curled over her empty stomach in a futile attempt to make the pain stop and conserve warmth, completely forgetting that she wasn't alone. She wanted to sleep. Sleep was good. Perhaps she would have a dream in which she wasn't freezing. Hands were ghosting all over her body -- Was she wearing anything? Did she care? -- occasionally stopping and massaging when they found her too stiff. She made a sound like a small wounded animal and tried to scoot to the other side of the bed. Bed, she was in a bed, and then not, because she had miscalculated where it ended and tumbled onto the floor in a tangle of blankets that were too thin to help with the coldness. Despite her body screaming at her not to, she wrenched her eyes open and waited for the room to stop spinning. She was seeing red, which was strange, since that only happened literally when she was deep into berserk mode, and then there was never any pain, because adrenaline and rage washed it all away. "Come here." Her head darted towards the sound of his voice and was shaken even more rapidly, although that hurt so much she wanted to cry. Jack stood up and walked around the bed, slowly, giving her ample opportunity to retreat. Which she did, but then she hit the wall and there was no more space to go to. He crouched down. His face looked askew among all the red, as if she were watching him through a wall of running blood and a dozen distorted lenses. Blood. She blinked twice and lifted a shaking hand to her eyelids. They came away wet and crimson. "My eyes. What's wrong with my eyes?" It came out as a terrified, distorted 'Mwuhuhu?', but he seemed to get her meaning. She was too freaked out to not try to fight when he touched her again, so he had to use both his hands to restrain her while he shifted to his true form. Two tentacles ripped through the back of his shirt and wrapped around her shoulders, not tightly, just enough to restrain her while he used his now unoccupied hands to reach for one of the vials aligned on the nightstand. Feeling she had nothing to lose and her agony was about to become meaningless, Valerie fought like a cat, clawing him and trying to do to his face what he had done to hers. At last he managed to immobilize her head long enough to drip a few drops of clear liquid in the corners of her eyes. It burned. Not enough to make her miss the cold, which didn't seem to go away no matter what, but so much that it tore a scream from her. "Calm down. It's medicine." He was lying. Had to be. Nothing meant to heal could hurt so much. "What..." She meant to say more, but nothing intelligible came out beyond: "Can't...I...think..." "I had to drug you after all, so yes, you are bound to not be able to think clearly for a while. Now lay still." Something broke through her hazy, panicked thoughts. Drugs and nakedness and being asked to lay still. She didn't need much in the way of lucidity to draw conclusions about what that meant. Half-mad with desperation, she bit him and tried to get away once more. Instead of backing off, he lifted her effortlessly and positioned her on the bed. She clung to the blankets and wrapped herself in them the best she could. Jack made no move to stop her. His eyes -- perhaps he hadn't been lying about the drops after all because hers were starting to see clearly -- twinkled with amusement. He sat down next to her, and she tried to kick him away. Drugs or no drugs, she would defend herself to her last breath rather than submit to him. She would fight because otherwise she was nothing. "Do you know what's the fastest way of ensuring someone's continued obedience and loyalty, Valerie?" he asked, after a solid minute of unbroken eye contact and quietness. "Yes," she murmured, but either she had been too inarticulate this time, or he was choosing to ignore her -- the later, no doubt -- because he went on as if he hadn't heard. "Satisfying all of that person's needs. And if you happen to come across someone who needs for nothing...well, you can always create some. It's the easiest thing in the world if you have the means." They were heading there, the mostly sane voice in the back of her thoughts said. She could still hear it, but faintly, as if it were being filtered through a layer of thick honey. It went hand in hand with the deprivation/creating dependence thing she had called him out on what seemed to be eons ago. "And you need a lot of things right now, don't you?" Yes. Reason. Having her head stop feeling as if it were filled with fuzz and dust bunnies and needles. Clothes. Him away from her. Warmth -- no, not that, she needed that but couldn't need that because it was exactly what he wanted her to need. Strength, yes, that was... "Feeling a bit nippy, aren't you?" She scowled and hoped that was a rhetorical question, though her barely suppressed shivers were probably answer enough. "Maybe you should let me take care of that. After all, I did promise I'd make you melt, and you certainly seem to want to." Another one she wouldn't dignify with a reply. Strangely, her head felt more disarrayed now that she had stopped moving than when she'd been fighting him. She took that as a sign to keep it up. "Valerie. Stop that, or we are going to have problems." He would. Her being in trouble quotient was already so high that adding anything else to it was likely to overload it. Suddenly, Valerie was lifted up again. Usually she would have attempt to kick him for even daring to make physical contact, but he was taking her off and away from the bed, and she wasn't so out of it that she couldn't recognize that as good, desirable. Beds were bad when she was in his vicinity. The change of position allowed her a better view of where she was being kept. Not a cell -- no, wait, that was wrong, she was in it when she didn't want to be and had no way of getting out, so it was a cell even if it was more reminiscent of a hastily assembled hospital room. There were two doors. Jack was carrying her towards the one on the left, and somehow, she didn't think that one would be the exit. Her suspicions were confirmed when he opened it, revealing a small bathroom. He deposited her on the rug in front of the shower and walked towards the counter under the sink, turning his back to her. Seeing her chance, Valerie bolted towards the door. "No," he said, shooting a tentacle in front of her and causing her to trip. "I don't think you will be going anywhere soon. Here, take this." She barely heard him because she was too busy with keeping her head from spinning, but did react when he pulled her up by her hair and tipped her head back. She tried to knee him, but he caught her leg before it connected with his groin. "Quit being stubborn. It's just more medicine." She eyed the green and blue pill warily. Even if she half believed him to be telling the truth, she'd be damned if she let him put something in her mouth without concrete evidence of what it was. She gritted her teeth and pressed her lips together, so tightly that it took them only a few seconds to start feeling unresponsive and numb but had to part them almost immediately when he slapped her cheek. The blow was strong enough to knock her head back and nearly make her pass out again. Jack used the opening to slip his thumb and index finger between her lips and pry her mouth open. She tried to bite, but the improvised plier was far stronger than her jaw. He pushed the pill in, all the way to the back of her throat, and poured water in her mouth while keeping her head still. Caught between swallowing and choking, she chose to choke, but the contractions sent the pill down all the same. He released her head, and nodded in satisfaction when she made no further movements. Bloodsong Ch. 06 "Much better. Now come here. You are shaking like a leaf, and a bit of warm water will do you good." She flinched at the word water but perked up at the mention of warmth. Perhaps thinking she hadn't heard him, he gestured towards the tub. Still, she made no move to get into it. With a resigned, grumbling noise, he picked her up and pulled the curtain aside. She was laid down on the bottom and fought to not flinch again when the hard, cold surface touched her back. Jack pulled the curtain back so that he was out of her sight, but the shadow he projected on it allowed her to remain aware of his whereabouts, and the sounds she heard -- a zipper being pulled down, clothes hitting the floor -- were far too enlightening about what he was up to. Since he wasn't looking at her, she didn't bother to suppress a shudder. The only silver lining she could see in the whole situation was that the drugs he had given her seemed to be on its way out of her system, either naturally or because whatever he had forced down her throat was expelling them. The mess in her mind was slowly tidying itself up, allowing her some much needed space to think. Pain, cold and the prospect of what was coming; those were the things keeping her trapped in a loop of scatterbrained hysteria. Now that she felt sane and grounded once more, she could ignore the first ones and focus on avoiding the later. Her circumstances remained what they had been back in the cell, sans chains and plus an emergency ward worth of bruises. The fact that she knew she didn't stand a chance of winning wouldn't keep her from fighting him, of course, but it wouldn't help any. That he was going back on his declaration of not wanting to do anything sexual to her for now also didn't come as a surprise to her. If she had a penny for every 'I lied!' she had ever heard from him, she would have a dollar and a quarter. She knew exactly how much because she had been counting. Valerie eyed the edge of the tub. No bottles of shampoo, no shaving knives or anything she could spray in his eyes to gain herself some time. Maybe if she shoved the bar of soap down his throat? "Once again, no." Jack stepped in the tub and wrenched the shower head she had just grabbed out of her hands before she could attempt to strangle him with it. Without missing a beat, she switched back to her initial plan and went for the soap. He caught her from behind, trapping her arms tightly against her sides, and she stiffened. Not because he had been brutal in doing so -- that was a given -- but because she was suddenly acutely aware of his cock, pressed threateningly against her bare bottom. He leaned in, his breath hot against her ear. "One more move, one more, and I swear I'll shove it up your ass just the way you are now. Is that what you want?" "Yes," was her dry reply, because she knew a bluff when she heard one. Luckily, he did too because he chuckled and turned her around instead of taking her at her word. "Come on, say it. You know you want to." "Say what?" Valerie shrugged, and immediately recoiled when she realized that the gesture had made her breasts bounce, calling his attention to them. She looked away quickly, not wanting to face his appraising eyes, and felt almost grateful when he laid a hand on the small of her back and pressed her against him, obscuring his view from her front. This time he nibbled at the shell of her ear instead of whispering into it. "Ah yes, that. If you insist...I have you now, my pretty." "Not that, the other..."Oh gods, who cared. She closed her eyes and tried to think, which was now even harder than when she had been drugged out of her mind, in part because she couldn't focus on anything but his closeness and lack of clothing, in part because she was starting to see that there could truly be no way out. For all that it was said to be one of the major moments of any girl's life, she had never given much thought to how she would lose her virginity. When she'd been younger she had just assumed that it would happen during her mating ceremony, as it was supposed to, and she had never thought too much about that because she saw no use in fretting about something that might never happen. Then, she had left Barashi and discovered that though humans were certainly worthy of consideration and rights equal to her own, they didn't attract her in the slightest. Then again, she couldn't recall ever feeling attracted to one of her own kind, so it could be that the problem was with her and not them. Sex in general held no appeal to her, one way or another. She had witnessed it being used as a weapon to break and dominate too often to want to try it out. Even knowing her experience was biased and that there was pleasure to be had in it, she didn't think it could hope to compare to the things that were actually important. To the feeling of returning somebody home, of having done her job and having done it well. If she were willing to be even more ferociously honest with herself, she would also add that an orgasm probably had nothing on closing in for a kill, on that moment right before eyes were closed forever, on the rush that came with the knowledge that that life that had been someone else's was now hers to take. One thing was certain: in no way, no world, no circumstances whatsoever, had she ever considered nor wanted Jack to be her first. Her choice on the matter could be about to be taken out of her hands, but that still didn't mean that she would surrender easily. She refused to give him the satisfaction. Slowly, deliberately, she looked down. Up until then she had been avoiding it, both because averting her eyes from his would be showing weakness, and because she knew what she would see and had no wish to lay her sights upon it. But now she needed to know what she would be dealing with. "Like what you see?" he asked, seeming genuinely interested. She kept a perfect poker face on for a few seconds before looking up again and rolling her eyes at him. "Or does it...how was it again? Not fit the bill?"She fought with her throat and won, managing not to gulp. Her intention had been to follow up with a demeaning comment about his size, because it was the obvious comment to make if your intent was to emasculate someone, but after taking a peek, she found out that was off the table. He would call her out on it immediately, for one. It hadn't...it hadn't seemed that large when she'd felt it against her ass. It didn't matter that much, she told herself. She had nothing to fear but a little pain and humiliation, and she wasn't worried about pain. Pain was unpleasant but familiar, known. Even if he tried to fit that inside her, even if he ripped her, whatever she felt would still be a far cry from the things that had already been done to her, that she had done to herself in other circumstances. As for the humiliation, that would fade once she got the drop on him. Tides changed and so did winds and people's positions in life, and tearing someone's eyes out and filling his entrails with living beetles had a way of erasing all torment and trauma that managed to nestle in one's mind. And yet, even after having carefully broken apart everything that could be rationalized about her predicament, she was still shaking and praying that he would just assume it was because of the cold. "And suddenly she has gone mute." Jack remarked, compelling her to glare at him. "What's troubling you, Val? Are you scared that it won't fit?" "Why Jack, I am. Would you appease my maidenly fears and cut half of it off? I won't be afraid then." "And suddenly I am missing the muteness." He heaved an exaggerated, theatrical sigh and reached for the shelf above her head with one of his tentacles. Valerie cursed herself for not having spotted it before, and cursed twice more when she saw what he was picking up. "I think it's time to take a page out of aunt Marabeth's handbook. Are you familiar with rule number one?" "Gagging me won't help. I can be acerbic with my nostrils if I try hard enough." "We will see about that." At least it wasn't a ball gag, she thought. Just a roll of thick grey duct tape. The downside was that he wouldn't have to force her to open her mouth to silence her with it. She tried to retreat, but his hand pressed her back against him, informing her that she wasn't going anywhere. He plastered the tape over her mouth and wrapped it around her head a couple of times more, so that she wouldn't be able to get rid of it with ease. True to her word, she rolled her eyes and glared at him the whole time. When he was done, he brought her face closer and stroked it for what felt like the millionth time. "It's not that I don't want to listen to you, but I know better than anyone that talking can be the best defense you can have in any given situation, and I need you helpless. That much she had gathered already. What was left was the question of what he was going to do now. Would he take her right there? He could have done it on the bed, but she had barfed sour water all over it, so perhaps not. She had her answer pretty much immediately. Without a word, he pulled her down so that they were both lying in the tub, he underneath her and she trapped on top of him, her head against his chest, her legs entangled with his. Getting up was impossible -- as soon as he had her where he wanted her, he locked his arms around her back and bound her legs to his with the two tentacles he still had out. It wasn't the most ideal of positions to be in, but she extracted some comfort from the fact that his cock was brushing against her belly instead of her mound, and that there was no way he could possibly penetrate her from that angle. Instead, he seemed content in draping her over himself and stroking her shoulders soothingly. His hand traveled to the nape of her neck and settled there, over the dampener. He flicked it thrice, his brow wrinkled in concentration, and she felt something -- a humming that started in her spine and slowly made its way up until it filled her head. It stopped then. She tried to breathe out in relief, but the duct tape trapped the air inside her mouth, increasing her dizziness. She felt something else, too, her healing factor, restarting itself, assessing damage and starting to work on fixing it. At the same time, Jack opened the tap. More water -- warm, this time, so she couldn't complain -- fell on his shoulder and ran towards her face. She resisted the temptation to soak it in, understanding at once what he was aiming for. He was allowing her to drive the pain and cold away now that they were lying pressed together, with the intended result of having her start associating his physical closeness to relief and not being cold, and other positive emotions. She sought to make eye contact. Jack could rob her of her voice all he wanted, but she still intended to let him know he would get nowhere with that. She remembered all too well how feeling safe with him, trusting him to please her and protect her, had felt. She had battled those cloying emotions once already, and won. This time around, she wouldn't even allow them to stick in the first place. Jack grabbed a sponge and squeezed a glob of liquid soap on it. He held her gaze while he pushed it against her back, rubbing soapy circles on her wet skin. A million billion 'I know you know I know's passed between them, looping around into infinity. Satisfied with that small acknowledgement of her not-being-about-to-surrender-ness, she allowed the warmth to seep into her body. She felt tired, brittle, as if she had been broken down and glued together a hundred times over. Now that the pain and cold were subsiding, those other feelings were pushing themselves forward, begging for attention. She was now at loss about what he intended to achieve. Her first thought had been rape not only because he had implied it, but because she believed that assuming the worst was an excellent way of never having to deal with unpleasant surprises. All evils were expected, and therefore, easier to deal with and prepare for. What he was doing now went against that hypothesis. He couldn't very well expect her body to come to associate him to positive things if he was planning to ram his cock into her after he was done washing her back. Unless he thought that she'd likethat, and personally, she wanted to believe that his connection to reality wasn't so shaky. She'd feel a lot more embarrassed about him capturing her if it turned out he was actually that crazy. Of course, her not knowing how she had been captured in the first place probably helped. She held on to that thought. It was something to mull over that would help her ignore what was being done to her. Unfortunately, she never got the chance to start on it. "Back is done. Turn over." Was he...honestly talking to her as if he fully expected her to obey? Apparently not, since he didn't wait long before grabbing her shoulders and flipping her over. Her first instinct was to twist to cover herself as well as her bound arms allowed, but she reasoned that it was too late to care about modesty at that point. Instead, she used the fact that the top of her head was now level with his chin to do what she did best. To her disappointment, it didn't even draw a groan from him, only an annoyed snort. "Don't fight it. Just allow yourself to calm down." She shook her head vehemently. If looks could kill, hers would be facing multiple charges of manslaughter. Stop fighting? He could just as well have asked her to stop breathing. "Do you have any guesses as to what I'm doing?" She rolled her eyes in answer. He had abandoned the sponge for the time being and was busying himself with spraying her thighs and belly with water. She would be lying if she said that getting those parts unfrozen wasn't a relief, but she refused to mistake the seemingly caring gesture for anything other than blatant manipulation. "No, you don't. Because right now...you are only thinking what I want you to think." Before she had time to puzzle out his meaning, his free hand dove between her thighs and squeezed the fleshy insides. The duct tape muffled her yelp, but she was sure he had heard it all the same. "Your problem, Valerie, is that you overthink things too often. Any other girl in your situation would have gone for the obvious. Male, female, no clothes...the math is really not that hard to do. You had to add other variables because you are so used to them being there, but sometimes..." She wouldn't flinch. She wouldn't flinch. And then his hand travelled up, settling between her legs and parting her folds, and she was true to her word, but inside her head, she was screaming. "Sometimes there are no layers, and the most obvious answer is the right one. I am not trying to play mind games with you this time. I just want you clean and relaxed so that I can fuck you. Is that clear?" Crystal. She had known that, hadn't she? Assumed it would happen sooner or later? It wasn't surprising. It wouldn't be impossible to deal with. She would endure it bravely and live on to conquer her freedom and have her revenge, which would involve many disgusting, agonizing and physically unlikely things, and she would set him on fire and laugh at his screams. That was the image she had to hold in her head, not the one she now presented to him: that of a helpless, frightened girl, bared to his roving eyes and futilely fighting a battle she knew she had lost already. However, it was difficult. Difficult to focus when she was being touched so intimately, when his thumb was exerting pressure on her sensitive nub and starting to move, intent on drawing a reaction, and his cock rock-hard against her ass. And then it occurred to her that if he wanted to do what he said, it would have been much easier in the position she had previously been in. Which meant that... Oh gods. No. "Now, I know you are smart, Valerie," he went on. His thumb was starting to work in circles, sometimes stopping so that he could add another finger and tweak her clit lightly. His scent -- her own scent, because her body was starting to respond to his slow teasing, and she wasn't bothering with trying to stop it from acting up because outwardly signs of arousal were meaningless, and perhaps it would hurt less if she were wet for him, except that it wouldn't, he wasn't planning to take her there -- filled her nostrils, making her heady. She refused to escape to some distant part of her dream world, though. That would be a display of weakness, of inability to deal, that she'd hate herself for until the end of her days. "So you know that this time, there is nowhere to run. This will happen. You will still fight it because you are stubborn as anything, and it would hurt your self-respect if you gave in without a peep." Yes. She didn't nod, but her answer was clear in her eyes. He smiled and ran his open palm over her stomach, sending goosebumps trailing all the way down. Shame and mortification were gnawing at her, and she had to force them to stop with some hasty, half-baked rationalizations. It wasn't her fault. He was forcing himself on her. She shouldn't feel ashamed. If spending a human lifetime freeing slaves had taught her anything, it was how dangerous shame could be. Some of the women she had encountered had never truly become free again, although she had broken their chains and returned them to what was left of their lives. Shame -- because sometimes their masters had managed to extract moans and passionate responses from them, which surely meant they liked it, that they were destined to submit and serve -- had kept them shackled. She had given each one of them an earful of her personal mantra and sent them on their way, unable to do much else. She had told them that pleasure was a fleeting, hollow thing, that meant nothing and revealed nothing about the soul whose body experienced it. Pleasure was pain's sickeningly sweet twin, and resisting the right stimuli for it was as feasible as not pulling your hand away when touching a hot stove. She didn't think any of them had bought it, even if they had tried to mimic smiles and thanked her for her words. Right now, she was having trouble buying it herself. "You know what else would hurt you, Miss Redmont?" If it weren't for that last mocking addition and for the fact that he had brought his mouth so close to her ear, she wouldn't have known he was still talking to her. Her attention was focused solely on what he was doing with his hands and on keeping a treacherous redness out of her cheeks. "Being taken dry -- trust me, the water won't help you any -- and being left to bleed out for as long as I want you to, before I heal you and start over. That's what will happen if you refuse to cooperate. Would you like it, I wonder?" If his intention was to distract her from his ministrations and have her double over with mad, half-hysterical laughter -- which she doubted it was, but still -- it worked perfectly. He had been doing so well, she thought, what with succeeding in extracting a few reluctant responses from her body and making her doubt her capacity to endure what was to come. Then he had to ruin everything by being thoughtless enough to threaten her with pain. It wasn't as if she had flat out told him she'd rather be tortured than forced to enjoy his attentions, or anything. She was having trouble in dealing with something that felt good in a physical sense because she was so unused to it, but agony was an aggravating neighbor she saw every day and had learned to tolerate. He had just lost any hope of gaining a hold on her and didn't even know it. At least she thought so, until she heard him chuckle. "On second thought, you probably would. I guess I'll just have to prevent you from fighting at all." Valerie twisted her face into a mighty scowl, though it went unseen and unappreciated on account of being covered by the tape. All shreds of frenzied mirth gone, she fought to prevent him from preventing her from fighting and lost miserably when he summoned three other tentacles. He encased her upper body within them and twisted her so that she was seated on his lap instead of lying on him. Bloodsong Ch. 07 Hi guys! Sorry for making you wait so long! The chapter's here though, and it's pretty long too, so hopefully you'll find it within your hearts to forgive me. As always, I have a big thank you for both my editors, everyone who commented (whether here or on the blog), faved, voted or just generally enjoys this story and keeps coming back for more. Mira --------------------- Bloodsong Ch. 07 "You have to be joking." He walked over and landed a vicious kick on Nick's stomach, causing him to groan and double over. "This is your second offense in less than a week. I may have let things slide the first time, but now? If you think you are getting away with this, you are sorely mistaken. Get up." "What are you going to do?" It was with some satisfaction that he noticed how genuinely anxious Nick sounded. Good, that was good. It was high time that the idiot learned that just because they were like brothers, that didn't mean he wouldn't be forced to pay his dues when push came to shove. Had he not arrived in time, Valeriana would have died. He could forgive his best friend about anything, but not that. Never that. "Seriously dude, you are creeping me out. What are you..." "Apologize." "Sorry, what?" "Properly." Nick stared at him, took in his unnatural calm and eerily frozen smile, and gulped. "Alright. I'm sorry that my willful negligence put the b...girl in danger. I'll make up for it, I swear." "Yes, you will," he promised darkly, turning around and starting to pace around the other man. The combination of silence and predatory circling made Nick nervous, so he kept it up for nearly a minute before stopping and staring back at him as if an idea had just struck him. "Start by cleaning up your mess. Kalidriapolos has made a run for it. I want you to track him down and deal with him." "Ehhh...I don't think he'll just let me drag him back by the hair, you know." "I never said anything about dragging him back. I said deal." The only reply he got was a confused stare. He wondered what it was - fate, taste or coincidence -- that had seen to it that the two people that mattered the most to him were unable to take a hint or understand simple, accessible concepts without having them spelled out. Whatever it was, it annoyed him. "Deal as in kill, Nick." "Kill?" Nick repeated, looking crestfallen. "Do you really...are you serious?" "Why wouldn't I be? He knew what he was doing when he did what he did, or else he wouldn't have run, and you just stated that you intended to make up for your mistake. This would be a fine start." "Yeah, true, but...I like the guy. Think he's alright, I mean." Of course he did. Fighting together had a way of forging bonds between people, and he knew for a fact that Nick and the others had fallen into the habit of hanging out after hours, which would only have solidified whatever camaraderie already existed. He had been counting on that, else it wouldn't be a fitting punishment. "I don't want to..." "Tough." Nick's lip trembled ever so slightly. Jack half expected him to pout, but he didn't. "Yeah. Okay. But what if he kills me?" "Well, then I'll know you put in an acceptable effort, won't I?" Bloodsong Ch. 07 "Sorry!" She yelped, let go, and flailed her arms. "Sorry, sorry, sorry!" "It's fine," Jack repeated, but she could see his hand fighting to not reach for the spot where she had hurt him and rub it. He lifted her arm and this time, encircled it with the grey appendage and did the same with the other. She stayed absolutely still until he spoke. "Try to move them again. Pretend it's like, I dunno, fishing for apples." It was nothing like that, she thought with a mixture of nervousness and exhilaration. Her tears had all but dried up. She looked around them, searching for something to lift. Her eyes fell on his jacket first, but then she happened to look up, and a smile transformed her features. Above their heads, hanging from the lowest branches of the tree -- the lowest, but still too high for any of them to reach even when standing -- she spotted three fat, ripe peaches. Maneuvering his tentacles so that they would go up and pluck them was difficult, but still easier than she had expected. She was well aware that he was doing most of the work and that she was a bad driver -- if he weren't subtly changing course on his own, she would have made him careen into the bark at least twice already -- but she didn't care. She was having too much fun. "There is nothing wrong with you," he said a few minutes later, his voice sounding muffled among the chewing. "I tell you that all the time, but you never believe me. Why?" There it was: her good mood, gone just like that. "Because it's not true," was her curt reply. "Look at me, I'm barely...I'm almost human. Yuck!" "Of course you are not," he scoffed. "They are stupid, filthy creatures. You aren't." "You are the only person who thinks that way." "Then you need to stop caring about what everyone else thinks." "Everyone but you?" "Everyone but me," Jack agreed, tickling her behind the ear. She all but purred. "Do you want to do this again sometime? The sharing, I mean?" Valeriana nodded, her tiny face soft with elation. "We just need to be careful and not do it where anyone can see us. I think your sisters wouldn't like it." "Tessalia would have the vapors," she said with a giggle. "I don't think the others would care." "Yes, but better safe than...hey, that's the last one! Don't eat it all by yourself!" She grinned, snatched the peach away before he could and held it up, looking very pleased with herself. Then she realized that Jack was taller than her and would be able to grab it all the same if he stretched. She scrambled to her feet and ran away. He tried to stop her but failed. "Wait! Come back here, you!" "Catch me if you can!" she singsonged. He took her at her word. They ran down the hill, him always a few paces behind her, but his legs were longer and he caught up with her before she reached the fields. They fell down in a pile of grass and limbs and appendages and fluffy skirts. He held her down and took the peach away from her, but didn't bite into it. Instead he laid it at his side and started tickling her, first only with his hands, then with his tentacles too. She half-squealed, half-giggled in protest and tried to bat him away. "No, nononono, stop, that's not nice!" "Thieving is also not nice, is it?" Valeriana shook her head, still wriggling madly. "No, sorry, sorry, just..." She was laughing so hard she was almost hiccupping. Seemingly satisfied with the amount of torment he had made her endure, he got off and helped her pull herself up. She smoothed down her dress and hair in an attempt to regain her composure. Then, she tackled him. It caught him so by surprise that he didn't put up a fight and just allowed himself to be knocked over. She crawled on top of him, presented him with a wide, victorious smile and poked him in the chest. "It wasn't thievery. The tree and the lands are my father's, so I can take stuff from them, so there!" "Alright, alright, if you say so," he huffed, reaching for the peach. He held both sides of it with a hand, pulled it apart and offered her the half without pit. "Truce?" She laughed again and closed her hand around his. "Yes." Bloodsong Ch. 08 Well hello to you all. Been a while, hasn't it? Yeah. I don't know what I can say about that either, except that I'm sorry and that - in case you never got to read any of my updates - I just had to put writing this story aside for a month or two, because I've been busy doing things that will - hopefully - ensure that I'll have a steady job by the time I reach, er, forty. Said things included wrangling - in some cases, hauling - a gaggle of grumpy old ladies (and the odd grumpy grandpa), learning a lot more about the smell, color and consistency of various bodily fluids than I - or any sane person - would ever have wanted to know, and writing reports about it. (Oh so many reports! And so help me god, I'm not even halfway done yet.) Time to write things I enjoy writing has been a scarce thing around here. But back to Bloodsong. Some time ago, I said that what I had already written was basically a chapter. I also said I would keep it until I had more, because I couldn't - still can't - shake the sensation that half of it was padding, because I had a lot of other scenes written, so why not stitch them together and give you a nice, über-long wall o'text to make the wait seem worthwhile, and because I wanted to wrap up a certain scene/part of the story in one go, and because a well-known author in the category I write in did basically the same split-chapter-to-throw-readers-a-bone thing not so long ago, and there was drama. And I don't like drama. And then Ellienora35 gave me back the first three parts that I had sent to her for edits, with a note of "You could probably publish it as it stands now", and I looked at the doc containing what was supposed to turn into Chapter 8, saw it was at 34k and went, "Yeah. Yeah, I probably could." So here we are. Chapter 9 is mostly written (still needs some bridging and fattening and tweaking + editing, though), and depending on how fast that last step takes, I may get it published before the end of the month. But I think I'll deal with that later, since right now I can barely keep my eyes open to type. Here's the thing. Enjoy. This text has been made readable by two wonderfully talented people. (I helped!) Don't forget to throw them cookies. CHAPTER VIII - Old Wounds (In which Valerie continues to be less than cooperative and Jack still hasn't bought a clue.) Some said that freedom was a gift one could only appreciate after it was taken away. Charlie Santos couldn't say how much truth there was to that. He would, however, concede that although he was looking at it through heavily tinted windows, the sky had never seemed bluer, the trees greener, or the sky brighter. The very air in his lungs felt different too. Purer. Crisper. Every breath he drew made him feel fizzy inside, as if he had been inhaling champagne. Not even the pungent smell of the driver's aftershave could spoil that, though it did seem to be trying. Santos could make no such complaints about the third and last occupier of the black SUV, who happened to be sitting right next to him. The government guy. If the fact that he was the government guy weren't superimposing itself over all his other traits, Santos would have said that the man looked like a vampire. He was tall and dark and sallow-faced, wore an equally dark suit that smelled like nothing but generic, sterile cleanliness, and there was something about his demeanor that gave the impression that he wouldn't hesitate to jump on the nearest throat if provoked. Santos had been careful to avoid doing anything in that vein, not out of fear but out of convenience. At first sight, nothing had changed. Westmont looked pretty much like it always had, with its confusion of twisting, meandering streets, century old buildings mixed with the occasional taller structure of steel and concrete and glass, and neat, walled-off gardens that people seemed to be able to fit anywhere regardless of necessity and space constraints. Then, he would look closer. He would notice, not for the first time, how hard it was to spot a soul on the once busy sidewalks, how there wasn't a single shop open at midday, and how many houses had their windows and blinds shut. The absence of things and people wasn't the only noteworthy change either. He couldn't see it from the road they were on, but the whole of the main street, and much of the town's northern side was barricaded and crawling with men who drove cars like the one he was in. Things had started happening fast after the fall of Centrarc. He would say they were out of control, only that would be the understatement of the millennium. They had gotten the government involved, for crying out loud! True, he was the first one to admit that at that point, such a thing had been unavoidable. It was also a fact that so far, the guys they had sent had been surprisingly...competent in their handling of things. (There was a part of him that mostly wanted to yell at the lot of them to go away, that dealing with that kind of stuff was the Front's job and that they were doing it wrong, but they weren't doing it wrong, and therein lay the problem.) Their strategy was still far from perfect, though. Every one of them who had bothered to tell him anything seemed to think that keeping the Situation (they were a Situation now, and that bothered him too) under wraps was the best thing to do. They looked relieved when he expressed his agreement. Privately, Santos thought that if they truly believed they could prevent the story from coming out, and if their whole plan hinged on the belief, they were in for a major disappointment. "We have arrived, Mr. Santos," Government Guy said. Santos thought he had introduced himself as Johnson or Jackson, but since he doubted that either of them was the man's actual surname, he kept calling him Government Guy in his head. "I'll accompany you inside." "No need for that, son. I can manage walking up a stairwell just fine. " Government Guy almost made a facial expression that wasn't bland, and Santos almost allowed himself to smile. He didn't think the other man liked him much, which was just a damn shame. He had put a lot of effort in ensuring that the Front had a cordial working relation with those up above, and in many ways, it had paid off, though he still couldn't grasp how 'We will work with you and share all the information we have available so that we can wrap up this mess as quickly as possible' had translated to 'I want to be babysat and followed around at all times'. "You and Mr. Naylor can wait in the car." "With all due respect, I was tasked with your protect..." "It's a goddamned hospital. Who do you think is gonna jump out of the woodwork and try to blow off my brains here?" Besides, he thought to himself, I'm not sure an underfed kid like you would do me much good. You ain't even hiding your supposedly hidden gun all that well. Tsk, tsk, spy school. "I was tasked with your protection, and am not allowed to leave your side under any circumstances," government guy said. He had a bit of a one track mind, poor boy. Santos shook his head and slumped his shoulders in defeat. They exited the car and walked towards the hospital that hadn't been a hospital the day before. It used to be a public school, but Howard General had been blown up and St. Edith's was filled to the brim with the gravely wounded, so they had had to figure out where to put everyone who wasn't at death's door but still required immediate help. The school had sounded like an acceptable option. It was spacious and empty - because nobody was thinking about sending his or her kids to class after everything that had happened - and it was easy enough to transport people and medicine to it. "You wait here," he told his unwelcome shadow. When the man made no motion to go and stand by the door as ordered and showed to have every intention of following him inside the room, he whirled around and faced him. "I'm going in to see my wife. Have some decency." "I was tasked with..." the man started, sighing with annoyance, but then the tone he had used sank in. Government guy twisted his features into an uncomfortable grimace and gave him and equally uncomfortable nod. "I will be right behind the door. If you need me." "Sure you will," Santos said under his breath. He pushed the door and stepped in. His eyes flew past the colored handprints that decorated the walls and that nobody had bothered to remove and the old-fashioned blackboard, and fixated on the line of curtain-surrounded beds. Sixth counting from the right, they had told him. He took a step forward and pulled the curtain aside. His stomach felt oddly heavy, though he hadn't eaten since before dawn. Oh, Maria... He tried to see past the cuts and bruises. The nurses said it looked worse than it was, but that didn't ease his apprehension in the slightest, because it looked pretty damned terrible. She had fought them, and fought them hard. Bits and pieces of him were bursting with pride because she had refused to let them cow her. Most of him wished that she hadn't done it. Most of him thought that perhaps... perhaps, if she had laid still and let them have it their way, they wouldn't have hurt her as much. Santos bent over and carefully kissed each of her closed eyelids. Then he heard the unmistakable rustle of someone teleporting into the room, straightened himself and studied the wall ahead of him. The rustling behind his back faded and turned into an uneasy silence. "There is a government agent behind that door," he said eventually. His voice was level, but his thoughts were volatile. He turned to face the newcomer and noted with some annoyance that she looked not only composed but fresh as a daisy. She had deserted them like a coward and the only thing dark on her face was her sunglasses, the only red the shade of her lipstick. She was untouched by violence while his wife, who had been so keen to stay behind and fight, who had been so very brave, lay there covered in scratches and bruises. He'd say it was unfair, had he not given up on expecting fairness long ago. "I put him to sleep before coming in," Judith said. "You did? Good." "How is she?" Deep breaths, deep breaths. "They didn't have problems with marking her because they thought she was too old to be sold for her looks," he told her. Judith made a strangled, presumably pitying noise. "I'm guessing they'd have killed her after they got tired of her, 'cause that's all they seem to want women for." "I'm sorry." "Yeah. You should be." He did his best to avoid glaring at the woman or raising his voice any more than he needed to, but it turned out to be one of the hardest things he had ever attempted. "I don't know if you got the memo when you joined us, but Jesus Christ, Harmon! You've been doing this long enough to know that you don't just up and poof away whenever things get too hard, no?" "I told you. I was going to get help, only the spell...as soon as I stepped outside the border, my mind went...I knew I had to do something, but for the life of me I couldn't remember what! I came back the second the network went down, though. Doesn't that count for something?" "You came running back after everything was as good as solved, yeah. What a hero." He was being irrationally biased. Worse yet, he knew he was but couldn't stop himself. All the anger he felt, all the fury that had been boiling underneath the surface for the past few days had finally found an outlet, and now it was gushing out in burning waves, with no regard for reason of logical arguments. "Wilder, Jones...they stayed. They were just as afraid as you were, if not more, and they could do exactly the same thing you did, but they stayed their ground and fought." "And where did that get them? Artemisia had a tentacle lobotomy and Nina got shot off a tower." Santos was surprised by the amount of emotion in her voice, and that surprise turned into shock when he noticed water trailing from under Harmon's sunglasses. Belatedly, he remembered that the three of them had been pretty tight before shit had gone down. He was about to stammer a half-hearted apology, but she cut him off. "You are right, chief. I'm no hero. I like the concept of running away to fight another day too much to ever be deserving of that title. You know what, though? I am here now. I did what you asked even though I think it's a mistake. Stop wasting time, and tell me what I am supposed to do next." Her passionate words came close to resonating with him until he heard her say 'mistake'. He took a step towards her, his eyes narrowed and furious. "A mistake, eh? You think it's wrong to try to rescue our own and give those fuckers what for?" "I didn't say that. I don't think it's wrong, just stupid. We worked so hard to not get labeled as terrorists and be on good terms with the powers of this world, and you want to blow that and probably cause an international incident, only to save two people who have repeatedly proven they can take care of themselves?" "Mrs. D got us all where we are today. Without her, there'd be no Front. As for Val, she's the reason why we aren't rotting in a cell anymore, so we damn well owe this to them. I don't care if we call attention to ourselves or if some politicians get pissed at each other. This is what we are, Harmon. This is what we do. We protect others,and we look after our own. Got it?" "Yes, yes, don't get all worked up about it. What's my next assignment?" "Shouldn't you and Rivers be taking care of transportation?" "They have enough magicians for that. I thought I might do something actually useful." "Then you should be taking care of transportation," he repeated, with as much patience as he could muster. "Do we already have confirmation that they're in Canada?" "Roarke says so, and he knows his stuff. I'm inclined to trust him." "Same. God bless trackers, that's all I have to say. How many of the other sections are coming?" She told him, and Santos smiled and smiled. ------------------------------------------------- When he was seven, and old and outspoken enough to notice such discrepancies and comment on them, Jack had asked his aunt why rule number one seemed to change according to the day, her mood, and the slave they were training. By then, he had been helping her out for nearly a year and committed to memory enough primary rules to write a book. Aunt Marabeth had given him a long speech about different schools and methods of training and the importance of tailoring the procedures to the subject. It had been so many years ago that he remembered little of it, but there was one thing she said that had stuck with him. He replayed the words to himself now, as he faced his most challenging subject yet. There are many rules that you should treat like they are the first, child. It helps you not forget them. However, the thing you must keep in the forefront of your mind at all times is this: your hand is the hand that holds the whip. You are in control. The moment you forget and let that control slide is the moment you give the ones beneath you the power to turn the tables. "Why?" His voice sounded strange even to his own ears; disconnected from his thoughts, as it were. Valeriana raised her chin and eyed him defiantly, as if she expected the answer to be clear enough without being spelled out. He still couldn't process it, though. Why? He had done all the right things this time, and the contrast with what he had put her through before should only have made it all the sweeter. She had to have seen it, felt it, so why was it that she refused to understand? "That's what I can't seem to wrap my mind around. I didn't hurt you this time. I showed you that sex doesn't need to be painful or humiliating. Right here, right now, you had a choice. You could have kept your mouth shut about the true reason why you gave in to me, and we would have been able to move forward. I would have taken care of you, guided you. You would have liked the results. At the very least, you wouldn't have hated them." "I could have allowed you to win, you mean?" she sneered. "Thank you, but I don't think so." "So stubborn," he murmured. Actually, calling it stubbornness was too kind. There was another word that began with an S and that would serve the situation much better, but he wouldn't say it yet. Not while they were hanging on that delicate limbo where he still stood a chance of changing her mind. "Is this how you want it to go? Do you like having me hurt you? Because that would make one of us." "Yes, I'm really asking for it, aren't I?" She shifted underneath him, trying to pull herself to his level so that she could look him straight in the eye. Jack instinctively pinned her down, and she didn't insist, preferring to transfer her efforts to filling her voice with as much venomous scorn as she was able. "It's appalling how girls will just refuse to roll over and trust themselves into the tender care of a guy who thought it would be acceptable to ass rape them. Honestly, what is this world coming to? It's preposterous, I say!" "Do you really need to use that kind of wording?" It was unclear to him why he felt that posed a problem, but it did. It wasn't as if he was unaware of what he had done to her. Forcing her the way he had had been a conscious, calculated decision that, yes, appeared to have backfired somewhat, since she was neither intimidated nor more accepting. However, being called out so directly bothered him more than he cared to admit. It wasn't that she had chosen to do it so crudely, it was just that...it was that she shouldn't have been able to do it at all. At first he had felt a measure of relief at the fact that she didn't appear to be gravely traumatized, but now that annoyed him. Her newfound normalcy had to indicate that she was recovered already, meaning that nothing of what had happened had meant a thing for her. He wanted it to mean something. He needed it to mean something, and now she was denying him even that. "Oh, you don't like it?" she asked, so innocently that it was impossible to not find it suspicious. "Fine, far from me to be difficult. Is 'that time you made love to my rectum' okay or do I need to sugarcoat it even more?" "Can't you just say sodomy and call it a day?" "As my master wishes." She bowed her head as much as her position would allow. The submission contained in her words and gestures contrasted vividly with the mockery in her tone. He knew at once what she was doing, and it amused him as much as it repelled him. She was trying to make the appellation lose its meaning before he began to demand it from her. He ached to tell her that she was worrying needlessly. He had no desire to take their relationship in that direction, but it was all too likely that his assurances would fall on deaf ears. "But you were asking me why, weren't you? Why I felt the need to lash out and kick your precious feelings when I could have just as well let it go? Well, here is why: you are a worthless, entitled waste of air, and you hurt me. Repeatedly and unapologetically, I must add. I don't make a habit of being nice to people who hurt me, and if you think that eating me out erases what you did, you are even more delusional that I thought. So, for what I hope to be the last time, let me repeat what our status is: I don't like you. I don't want you. I can't even respect you anymore. I want you to go away and die." "For now." "There you go again! You just don't learn, do you? There is no going back for you. Over the years, we have both done our damnedest to close every door that led to us ending up the way you wish us to. When you so brazenly decided to insert flowery euphemism for fucking my ass, you didn't just close the last door that remained open. You bombed the doorway into a pile of rubble, and no matter how hard you try, you will never, ever be able to rebuild it." Bloodsong Ch. 08 "And what else could I have done?" Everything about his voice and facial expression was calm and controlled. However, the enraged trembling of his hands was something he could neither avoid nor put a stop to. They had both been closing doors? Who was the delusional one now? "Name one occasion in the last decade when you gave me any hope that things could be done another way, one sentence you said to me that wasn't laced with venom, one alternative course of action that would have brought me closer to you than this one?" She smiled, if he could call it that. Smiles weren't supposed to have so many edges. "Hello, Valerie," she intoned, deepening her voice so that it sounded manlier. "I have done some soul-searching and decided that it was indeed shitty of me to go and kill people you cared about out of misplaced jealousy. Please accept my heartfelt apologies, and know that I will do my best to make amends. Is the Front accepting new recruits at the moment?" She cleared her throat and glared a glare that was smug enough to defy description. "That is what you could have said. That is what you would have said if you had any shred of decency left. Those are the words that, if followed up with corresponding actions, would have ensured that you had a shot at getting me to forgive you. After that, who knows? We would be working together. You would have uncountable years to woo me without having to incapacitate me first." That... ...could have...perhaps... No. "So your notion of giving me a chance is nothing but 'Admit that I am right and grovel, and I may possibly throw you a bone a few centuries from now.' Not exactly what I am aiming for, I'm afraid." "And was this what you were aiming for? This?" she immediately retorted, her voice hovering inches away from becoming a full-blown snarl. "You think that enslaving me and raping me until I either escape or kill myself out of sheer despair is the preferable option? That brainwashing me is an acceptable alternative to putting actual effort in getting me to like you again? Is that what your wants and hopes amount to?" "No." He grabbed her by the shoulders and forcefully smashed her against the headboard. She didn't wince, didn't even break eye contact, just kept staring at him with the same cold, disgusted expression. He regretted his loss of control at once. He had decided from the start that he wouldn't attempt to beat her into submission, and that was one of the few rules he had set to himself that he believed he stood a chance of following. Just because it appeared as if nowadays, violence was the only language she was able to understand, that didn't mean he needed to give into it. It was hard, though. Hard to separate the part of him that wanted to hold her and love her and wrap her up in cotton so that nothing would hurt her from the one that delighted in seeing her squirm in pain. Inhaling deeply in an attempt to ease his frustration, he framed her face with his hands and brought it closer to his. He remembered at the last possible moment that it wouldn't be smart to bring her too close, lest she try to chew his nose off. "That is not what I want." "Then, pray tell, what do you want? Just what the hell do you intend to do with me, when all is said and done?" "Have you," was his instant reply. It came easily because it was the truth, albeit a simplified version of it. It didn't seem to impress her - in fact, he could bet she was fighting not to roll her eyes - and for a fraction of a second he entertained the idea of telling her the whole truth. Then he entertained it for a while longer. Really, at this point, what would be the harm? Nothing else he did seemed to make a dent in her armor of disdain, and maybe, telling her would cause her to think about the situation in a new way. If he failed to make her see reason before the time came, there would be no better occasion to tell her than the present. Right now she was deep into that red-tinted zone where rage superimposed over fear, and despite the fact that her mouth was sneering and yelling abuse, her body was still warm and soft and trembling from the pleasure he had given it. He could speak freely. It wasn't as if it could make matters worse. "Years ago," he started, "I asked you something. You said you would consider it. When you came back, you gave me a silver bullet between the eyes. Hardly the most reasonable of responses, don't you think?" "You deserved it." "Still. If I were to ask you the same question now, would you consider changing your answer?" "Changing it? No. I would just use a grenade launcher instead." Jack nodded and forced down a remnant of tenacious disappointment. It was the answer he had expected. It was the only possible answer she could give him. Acting or feeling as if it were an unpleasant surprise would be irrational. And yet, it still stung. "Then I suppose," he said, releasing her and leaning away from her, so he wouldn't miss a single nuance of her soon-to-be-changing expression, "that it's a good thing that this time, I'm not asking." -------------------------------------------------------------------- When she was seventy seven, Valerie had had a choice trust upon her. Because it was such a difficult one to make, she had bit her lip, blushed profusely, tittered, examined her boots, and once the ground under her feet felt a bit more solid, replied with the age-old 'I think I'll need some time to think about it.' Most men would have, if not accepted such a response with a measure of grace, at least made sure that they didn't epically fuck up while she was busy mulling things over. Most men would be smart enough to realize that something like that would cause the dame in question to not only reply negatively, but be supremely pissed off to boot. Most men who knew her also knew that pissing her off came with a high probability of getting shot. When a man got shot by a female, he usually gave up any hope of getting it on with said female. Jack clearly wasn't most men. She ought to be feeling stupid, angry with herself for not thinking about it sooner, but she didn't. There was no way she could have seen that one coming, because she had been picturing his goals as farfetched yet feasible, not products of complete, balls-out lunacy. The logistics of it boggled her mind. What in the world was he thinking? Was he even thinking at all? By Barashi standards she was nothing but a ruthless assassin. If she were to set a foot on her home world as a free woman, she would only remain free for as long as she was able to fight off the Council, slavers, and a nation's worth of grudge-bearing relatives of her past kills. Scratch boggling, she doubted that Jack's plans were even legal. If he dragged her back as anything other than a captive or slave, he ran a risk of being labeled as her accomplice and likewise thrown in jail. However, as inconceivable as the whole thing was, a part of her couldn't help but be frantic with uncertainty. What if? What if he had engineered things in such a way that it wouldn't be that mad a plan? Her thoughts travelled back to her botched attempt to keep him prisoner in her hideout. He had thought that one out thoroughly. What if that wasn't the only part of her capture that he had been working on for a while? If there was a chance, as remote as it might seem, that he could... "You know, most women would have the decency to react upon being told they are to be mated," he pointed out. Not Valerie, though. She was being careful to react only in her head, especially given that any outward reaction would have to involve incessant screaming and swearing. Acting emotional around him, she decided then, would only give him things to aim at, especially if the emotion in question happened to be fear. Blankness and nastiness were much safer; they would get her through the ordeal, perhaps not unscarred, but hopefully unbroken. "I suppose my reaction will depend on whether we will be given separate cells when the Council catches wind of it and throws us in the dungeon for being a criminal andaiding and abetting a criminal. You can't make me your mate, darling." She saw him wince at the word and wondered if the reason was that he disliked pet names, or that he disliked the fact that she would only bestow them on him with biting sarcasm. "You won't find a priest who is willing to do it, and the Council and the gods will veto the ceremony if you kidnap one." "Wrong," he said. Valerie had read his intention in his eyes, so she wasn't surprised when he punctuated the statement with a deep, bruising kiss. She stopped herself from biting and kept her lips lifeless under his, goading him into going deeper still before attempting to chew off his tongue in one go, but he released her and retreated before she had a chance to do so. His smug grin told her that he had been aware of her intentions the whole time. "One way or another, I'm less interested in having our union officially recognized than I am in having a particular part of it take place. I am sure you can guess which." She made an effort to not gag at 'union'. Then she guessed and knew she was right, and paled. The bond. Of course. What little of her wasn't stiff with horror couldn't help but appreciate how well it would work, in the same way one looks at an erupting, lava-spewing volcano and can't help but marvel at the pretty colors. He wished to keep her, but keeping her was hard and dangerous work, even if she had five dampeners on. Therefore, he needed to find a way of making her more manageable. A mate bond would do that. If they were bonded, he would not only have complete control over her, he wouldn't need it. He wouldn't need it because, as soon as the damn thing was done, she wouldn't want to escape him anymore. Magic, divine blessings, and stupid, stupid biology would ensure she turned exactly into what he wanted her to be, with no breaking in required. She did feel furious with herself now. When she thought about things that way and took his unhealthy obsession with her in account, it really sounded like the kind of sick thing Jack would consider a perfect solution. Worse, she was starting to experience actual fear. She had laughed at his assurances that she would bend to his will, that she would grow to accept not only him but her situation. She had laughed because she believed he intended to employ more traditional methods, and those she knew inside out. If they were mated; however, it wouldn't matter who she was, how well she was able to bend rules to her favor, how strong and determined her mind could be. She would be his, and the accursed bond would paint a smile on her face to make it seem as if she was happy, and that would be it. Her true self would wither away, buried underneath layers and layers of fake, saccharine devotion to the fake love of her life. It would be hell, from the moment it happened until her death. Well. If that was to be the case, why not go ahead and ensure he'd be dragged down with her? "Do you remember Ralen?" she asked. Her voice didn't waver, and for that she felt grateful. "The man I was supposed to be mated to, all those years ago?" "Yes. What of him?" "I was thinking that I shouldn't have decapitated him. I should just have let him try me out and done my best to satisfy him. Then, we could have been mated, and I would surely have been happier than I will be now." "What?!" he roared, actually roared. She pondered whether to tell him how pathetic it was that although she was literally underneath him, naked and in no position to put up a fight, she could still manage her emotions better than him. He was so worked up that she thought he might even hit her. She decided to test that theory further. "Don't you dare say that he..." "He was likely a better man than you can hope to be. I mean, at least he was upfront about his intentions. He never pretended to respect me only to turn around and decide he valued sex more than my wishes. If nothing else, our relationship would be based on honesty and mutual understanding." "Stop it." "I wonder what our children would have looked like?" She saw it coming and kept her eyes open for it. His fist hit her square on the jaw, and her head was knocked back by the blow. She tasted a trickle of blood inside her mouth and ran her tongue over the wound as it closed, stopping only to give him yet another deceptively sweet smile while deadpanning: "Oh my, you were right after all. We will be such a great, healthy couple." "I'm..." he trailed of, looking from his hand to her face as if perturbed, and she asked herself just what he had planned to say next. I'm sorry? I'm in complete agreement? I'm sure I'll be able to twist things so that we will? Whatever it was, as soon as he shut up his face turned back to cold steel, and when he spoke again it was with his customary arrogance. "It doesn't matter what you think or wonder. I'm the only one you will have." "Not for long. If even the tiniest bit of my personality survives the bond's brainwashing, I'll either smother you in your sleep or kill myself as soon as I get a chance. How is that for a romance?" "There will be no brainwashing involved." He said it with such certainty that she was sure he had to be talking out of his ass. "Your personality won't be changed. The only thing that will is how you think about me." "You clearly don't understand how personalities work," she spat. Jack turned away, scoffing and refusing to acknowledge her statement. His attitude would have enraged her, but that particular cup had run over already, and she felt there was no sense in adding anything to it. It was also so very him. Tell him something he didn't agree with or that clashed with his narrow-minded worldview, and he would just stick his fingers in his ears and pretend he didn't hear it. "Still, I find it interesting that you want me to be mated to you but chose to remain oblivious to the knowledge that in doing so, you will be destroying the part of me you care about the most." "According to whom?" For the first time in a while, he smiled. Far from interpreting it as a good sign, the sight made her shrivel up inside. His hands travelled from her collarbone to her breasts and down to her belly, before sliding to her waist and slowly circling her curves. She kept her face and mind blank. It was easier now. After having both extremes of physical contact forced on her, anything that fell in the middle was incapable of extracting a huge, ostentatious reaction from her as long as she focused on her breathing and tried her best to not think about what was happening. "Maybe I just want you for your body." "Really? That's great news! I know at least fifty seven call-girls in the area who are way prettier than me. Give me a phone, and it'll take me less than a minute to hook you up with..." She stopped talking when she was startled by a sudden knock on the door. No, on second thought, it sounded less like knocking and more as if someone were trying to break it down with a battering ram. Jack shot her a warning look, grabbed her hand and traced a figure on the silver dampener. Then he got off her, unceremoniously throwing a blanket over her body, and went to open the door. She felt convinced that the blanket was more for his benefit than hers - protect his property from prying eyes and all that - and had her suspicions confirmed when Nicolai walked in. Jack tried to bar his entry at once, but the other man was already through the door when his arm blocked it. "Talking, we need to do it!" he said. His voice sounded strangled and oddly subdued, and his feet were trying to dance in every direction available. Valerie surmised that he had recently been reminded to put bro's before ho's and was making an honorable effort to control his basic need to leer. "Kind of now and not here, so would you mind chaining up the bitch and putting on a fucking shirt?" "Does it absolutely need to be now? In case you haven't noticed, I'm in the middle of something." "If you ain't got your pants down, you ain't in the middle of something," Nick said, in what he likely believed to be a serious, philosophical tone. "And yes, now!" "Five minutes," Jack retorted. Nick turned on his heels and stormed out, closing the door with a slam. Jack turned to give the door a withering glare and ended up with a blanket being pulled over his head. Not caring if it was a low shot, Valerie pulled the fabric tight around his neck and made use of his temporary disorientation to knee him in the groin. However, as soon as her knee connected, she felt a familiar dizziness assault her, and retreated with a gasp. She managed to pull the door open and take a single step out of the room before she collapsed in a spiraling vortex of dark shadows and nausea. -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Jack talked, and Valerie listened although most of what he said was hard to believe. She stood up to make more coffee as soon as there was a lull in the conversation, but changed her mind midway and grabbed the bottle of cider she had stashed in the cupboard instead. Then, she took two glasses out of the cabinet over the sink and poured a generous amount in both, thinking that the way Jack had been telling things so far, at least one of them would need it before the story was over. Jack raised an eyebrow when she handed him his. "Weren't you previously fanatical about being alcohol-free?" She shrugged in way of reply. He waited for her to elaborate. When she didn't, he sighed, took a sip, and picked up where they left off. She sat down and resumed listening intently. "Well, after the first wave was forced to retreat, we thought it was over and done with. Those things had caused a lot of damage, but for an attack of that magnitude, we got off lightly. We put sentries around the gate to the Circles while we figured out a way to close it and moved on to figuring out just how many of ours remained possessed by those creatures. As it turned out...too many." "How could they have gone unnoticed for so long, though? You said your father only survived when he was attacked because it was immediately obvious that something was wrong with Mr. Cicerny, and that put him on guard. Shouldn't everyone have been able to tell the possessed apart on sight?" He nodded, seemingly pleased that she had been paying that much attention, and she couldn't help but bristle. Of course she would be, she had been the one who had demanded that he tell her everything. His attitude wasn't dismissive enough to be called offensive, but it did bother her, and that was...odd. Odd because she couldn't recall him ever acting in another way, and she hadn't minded before, hadn't considered it rude or anything but the way it was between them. Things were different now. It hadn't been immediately obvious because having him so near her was like being swallowed by a giant bubble of normality. Once she stopped and shifted her attention to the small, seemingly insignificant details, it became impossible to ignore that she couldn't view him or them with the same eyes from before. Valerie swore to herself that she would try not to obsess over it. It stood to reason that she'd feel that way. It had been years since she'd last seen him, and so much had happened. And yet... "Not all of them were that easy to identify," he went on, oblivious to her perturbed musings. "Some just...blended in. We found out that one of the High Council's scribes had been possessed for roughly a year without anybody being the wiser. I don't know - nobody knows - what their infiltration was supposed to lead to, but as soon as they were uncovered, all bets were off. The thing about those creatures is that they multiply fast. Leave a couple of them alone in the water for a few months, and they grow into a full-fledged army. By the time things were found out, they numbered hundreds of thousands." Bloodsong Ch. 08 "You still won, though," Valerie said aloud, as if to reassure herself. She felt a prickle of guilt at her need to do it at all but told herself that she should have expected it. Living on Earth and having acquired a greater understanding of humanity didn't mean that she had stopped being what she was. Although she liked the world she was on well enough, Barashi was still home; not the most ideal of places to which to call home, as she had learned, but home nonetheless. "My family, are they well? My father was surely drafted too, and I know for a fact that he has never wielded anything sharper than a fork. Did...did he survive?" "He had someone to stand for him and fight in his place, so yes, he is alive and well." Valerie felt too relieved to bother asking who that person had been or wonder how her father, who wasn't known for being pleasant of well-liked, had managed to find such a generous friend. She nodded at him to go on, and so he did, gritting his teeth all the while. "As I was saying, the Inocore were a menace once again. Berthold and I were only doing cleanup missions, on our way to being given leave, but we were both called to the front line when too many started to die or be taken over." She knew by the way he was fiddling with his empty glass that they had arrived at the part of the story he least desired to tell and was quick to give him another fill of cider. Jack downed it gratefully. "He never made it there. When we were halfway between Alkarosh and Lintre, they swarmed our ship. We managed to fend them off, somehow, but not without casualties. Berthold was downed and dragged into the water. He did come up a few seconds later but...not as himself." He stared at her, his eyes pleasing for understanding. "The battle was underway; there was nobody else nearby to whom I could have asked to finish him off. I didn't have a choice in the matter." "I know," came her soft reply. She didn't because she hadn't been there, but she believed him, and it seemed that her assurance succeeded in making him feel better, because he managed to bark out a cracked, humorless laugh. "The funniest thing is, the creature inside of him tried to play it off at first. Tried to pretend he had escaped them unpossessed. Maybe I would even have bought it, but then he called me brother." This time around, she couldn't take the fact that he was chuckling to himself as a good sign. It was both the saddest and creepiest sound she had ever heard from him, and that was saying something. "He had never done that before." "I'm so, so sorry." "It's nothing. It's not as if we were close," he said, but his attempt to show himself unaffected was ruined by the way his hands shook when he lifted his glass again. "The long and short of it is, after we made it to shore, the captain pulled me aside and told me that what I had done shouldn't be ruled as a blood crime. Rules were different when Inocore were involved, he said, and suggested that the men would keep silent about it if I wished them to. One of them would claim to be the one who had killed him, and that would be it." "You didn't take him up on it? Why?" "I couldn't, because I didn't agree with him. Even if something else inhabited his body, it felt like murder." He smiled and patted her hand, as if she were the one who ought to be upset with what he was saying. "Luckily, the Council shared the captain's meaning. They gave me a light sentence with right to bail. Of course, my father took his sweet time buying back my freedom, but that's another story altogether, and I think I've told you enough depressing things for one night. Now, how are things with you?" She gave him a weak smile, more thankful for the change of subject than she cared to admit, and set about to tell him of all the nice and exciting things that she had done since she'd last seen him. ---------------------------------------------------------------------------- When she came to, the first thing Valerie became aware of was the cold under her right side and legs, and the pressure of solid metal cuffs over the smoother, bendable silver of the dampeners. Since she was growing increasingly tired of the whole wake-up-post-pass-out song and dance, she forcefully pried her eyes open and tried to punch the warm, breathing thing that she could sense to be inches away from her. Her attempt was ever so slightly hindered by the fact that she didn't seem to be able to lift her wrist. Wonderful, she thought sourly. Not only had he put the blackout device back on, but he had also changed the dratted things to the highest setting possible. Moving would be impossible for the time being, so she contented herself with glaring at him. Jack didn't seem to mind. He hadn't even looked up when she attempted to punch him. His attention was focused entirely on the leather briefcase he was rummaging inside. She couldn't lift her head to see what was in it that could hold his interest in such a way, but what she suspected was enough to cause her to gulp. "I'm going to have to go in a while," Jack said. She liked that idea. On the other hand, he was smiling down at the open briefcase and looking at her like a wolf regarding its prey. That she didn't like one bit. When she had told him that he didn't strike fear in her heart and never would, she hadn't lied, and that truth had yet to change. At the moment, she hated him far too much to consider feeling anything else about him. The same couldn't be said of the things he could do to her, though. Those made her afraid. "However, I'd be remiss to leave you without anything to entertain yourself. I can't be always putting you to sleep, or I'll end up running out of drugs, but keeping you conscious means that you get time to think. Since we both know how thatusually ends, I'll have to ensure that your mind will remain fixed on the things I want it to focus on." "Don't worry." Valerie swallowed, hating the way she had to strain her voice to make herself heard. She couldn't be adequately snide when her vocal cords only delivered whispers. "I will be thinking about uses for your dick a lot, promise. If only I could remember that recipe for Bolognese that Jo gave me..." Her furious muttering died down when he lifted a thing out of the briefcase. She dearly wanted her thoughts to produce a jaded 'Go figure!', because that was what they ought to be saying, but she didn't seem to be able to manage much behind a disconsolate 'Oh no.' Belatedly and without much confidence, she started scanning her surroundings for possible ways out or weaponry. In the process, she took notice of where she had been brought to. A spike of irrational terror raced up her spine and slammed in her brain like a fallen meteor. They were in a bathroom, and there was a tub, and the walls were covered with white and blue mosaics depicting shells and fishes and starfishes. She squashed her first instinct because there was no way that screaming her head off would improve the situation and chanted to herself that it was fine. She had an obligation to be fine because not being fine would be stupid. If the sight of the person who had raped her didn't cause her to explode in fitful shivers, there was no reason for the place where it had happened to draw such a response. "As I was saying, I need to have you suitably distracted while I attend to whatever the hell Nick wants now," Jack went on. She knew by the faint upward curl of his mouth that her reaction hadn't been subdued enough to go unnoticed and made space in her head so that she could fill it with more curses. "I understand that you are still angry about the last time I dragged you in here. I am about to fix it." "I'd rather you just cut the crap and skip to the part where you gloat about which of my holes you plan to stuff this time," she said, managing a reasonably steady voice. His eyes narrowed a fraction of an inch, betraying his displeasure at the crudeness of her words. Valerie made a mental note to be as crass as possible from then on, if only because it annoyed him so much. She was considerate like that. "So? I'm waiting." "Don't push me, Valerie. You have about exhausted my niceness for today, and I'm not in the mood for this." He dropped the implement he had been holding back in the briefcase. She had no time to feel relieved about that, because instants later, he was holding up a ball gag. "No, don't look so scared. It will be more comfortable to remove than the tape." "You don't have to do this." "Oh, I do. Although...if you are going to beg and try to bargain, I'll be happy to delay it until you are done." "I'm not begging, jerkface, I'm stating a fact. You really don't have to do this. There is no logical reason why you should. You said that your goal was to turn me into an obedient vegetable, and if you do plan to go ahead with making me your mate, you will get that automatically. Ergo, you don't need to do this at all. Ergo, the only reason why you are doing this is that you are a psychotic ball of lunacy that gets off on senseless torture." She finished in a rush and closed her mouth in time to avoid having the gag shoved past her lips. Turning her head to the side - or rather, letting it fall to the side, because she didn't have energy for more - she caught one of the straps between her teeth and pulled at it, defiance burning in her eyes. It didn't last, because he had only to reach down and pry her mouth open so that he could put in in place, but she was able to fit a remarkable amount of muffled verbal abuse in those few seconds. "There is a reason," he said, as soon as he had secured the straps. "Do you remember how we used to talk about our futures and how they would be someday? You know, back when you still had dreams that didn't involve murder and mayhem? Well, I do. I remember that time you told me how you imagined it would be when you came of age and got mated. I remember you describing everything in excruciating detail, except for the most important part. You had so many words for the small things, - dresses, flowers, the beautiful house you would live in - but not once did I hear a peep about what type of man you hoped your mate would be." Valerie closed her eyes and held back a disgusted shiver. It annoyed her to the bottom of her soul that although so many years had come and gone by since then, the memory of the girl she had been still clung to her like an unshakable tick. She had told him all those things, that was true. Little Valeriana would tell her best friend almost everything that crossed her mind because she had been ridiculously trusting, and so naïve it hurt. She wondered if things would have gone the same way if she had known in advance that the person listening was carefully harvesting the information in order to use it against her at some point. Probably. Little Valeriana hadn't been all that smart either. However, none of her thoughts told her what point Jack was trying to make, if he had one at all. She resigned herself to listening to the rest of what he was saying. "I can only guess that it didn't matter to you. In your mind, mating wasn't about finding love, about having someone who would fill a void within yourself. It was all about finding a door to a better life." Yes, yes, she thought, eying him with as much contempt as she could muster. Call me a gold digger, why won't you. As if the same can't be said about anyone when they live in a society that dictates everyone should marry up. "It was about creating a family that would love you and cherish you instead of treating you as if you were dirt." She took a deep breath and sighed against the gag. All that would certainly hit a chord within her if she didn't happen to have one of the most well-paid therapists in the country, with whom she had discussed her lingering familial issues often and at length. The poor man had been limited when it came to offering solutions, but speaking to him had at least helped her get most of it off her chest. Hearing Jack talk about the same things did nothing but irritate her. "You may look back and tell yourself that those ambitions were foolish, childish. I don't think they were. I want to give you the door you were looking for, Valerie. I want you to step through it with me, smiling and happy. Trouble is, you have lost your way so much that that the only way to get you there is by dragging you." Valerie had a few choice arguments that she would like to throw at him with great force, but the gag swallowed them. "I'm not doing this because I enjoy tormenting you. I just want you to accept the bond because you love me, rather than having you love me because of the bond. It's that simple." Hearing the word 'love' from his lips made her feel an unbearable urge to spank him with a dictionary, but her eyes widened almost imperceptibly at that statement. Interesting. He did realize then, at some level, that forcing her to become his mate would erase a large chunk of the personality traits that made her who she was, the things he so often professed to care about. She found his chosen alternative - hacking those chunks off himself - truly mindboggling, not to mention sick, but it was a start. She was starting to doubt that there was a sliver of sanity left in his brain, but if something remained, and if that something could be reasoned with... "I know I wasn't very good for you the last time we were in here," he went on. She wished he would stop touching her. It didn't fill her with dread or a deep urge to vomit anymore. Her little game had been a learning experience when it came to withstanding and trivializing physical contact. However, she couldn't deny that the gentleness of his fingers distressed her. She wished he would just grab her by the hair and smash her head against the wall, hit her, punch her, do something normal,something she would know how to handle. "Although I think we can agree that we are both equally to blame for that. Yes, I could have gone easier on you, but you could have chosen to let go and like it." One day, Valerie thought longingly. One day she would crack his head open and slice his brain in itty bitty pieces to see if she could find and identify whatever it was that spawned delusions of such a magnitude. "It's fine, though. I won't hurt you this time, no matter how difficult you prove yourself to be." She waited while he went through the contents of the briefcase for the millionth time. Her breath was caught so deep in her throat that it was starting to hurt her ribcage. When she finally saw what he had selected, Valerie told herself that if she dared to cry, she would deserve whatever happened to her. Therefore, she forced her tears back and kept quiet, though she did make a strangled noise through the gag when he picked her up. "Don't start. You will enjoy this well enough if you quit being stubborn, your little game made that abundantly clear. I won't take responsibility if you decide to be difficult." No news there. When had he ever accepted responsibility for anything? She considered whether she should regret playing him, given that it seemed like her reactions would only feed his madness in the long run. Ultimately, she decided that her manipulation had served her well enough. It had helped her wrestle back a measure of control, which in turn helped her feel better about things. It was irrelevant whether it had led him to believe that he was justified in what he did to her afterwards. Jack would rape her no matter how she reacted, no matter what she did or said. Resisting, relenting, pleading, weeping or trying to ignore him...all those actions would bring her the same result. Since it was of no consequence to her if he believed she had it coming or not, she could pick whatever option she wished without fearing that said choice would worsen her fate. Therefore, she resisted, for all the good it did her. Jack pushed her towards the bathtub with no visible effort and forced her to sit on the edge. She had barely begun her attempt to get up and flee when he sat down too, grabbed her bound hands and pulled her over his lap, bending her over so that her head and feet were almost touching the floor and her exposed bottom was stuck up in the air. She would feel better about the fact that he hadn't immediately dumped her in the tub if she weren't picturing all the disturbing possibilities that her new position opened. A sudden rattle made her whip her head to the side, in time to see that her captor had shifted partially and that one of his tentacles was pushing the open briefcase closer to them. Now she had a perfect view of its content, a fact that also didn't help cheer her up. The implements were aligned on a velvety surface in a way that, incongruently, made her think of an expensive cutlery set. It was such a small case, and yet it appeared to contain at least one example of every sex toy available on the market and some she had never heard about in her life. She tried to console herself with the thought that Jack wouldn't be able to use all of them in what was meant to be a brief session. However, that meant that he'd still be using some of them, and she was left staring obsessively at the array of dildos and plugs and clamps and fuck knows what those were for, wondering which he would end up picking. She stole a look at his face, hoping to see something that would clue her in, and was confronted with his knowing smile. "You look troubled, love. What's the matter, are you afraid that I'll choose a toy that you won't like?" She avoided nodding or giving him signs that she had heard him, but when the grey tentacle started circling over the case, she found herself watching its movements more anxiously than she would like to let on. "How about this: I'll let you tell me which ones you want me to put inside of you. If I approve of your choices, I may consider..." He stopped talking and frowned. She was already busy shaking her head. There was no way in the world that she would stoop so low for a mere 'may'. The word gave her no assurances, and she would already have felt suspicious of his offer even if it hadn't been there. "No?" he asked, his voice teasing. "Well, then I suppose I'll go with this one." Valerie suppressed a livid shriek. The thing he was going for had spikes on it. Intellectually, she knew that she could survive having her insides ripped apart, just as she knew that he didn't really want to do that to her. However, the knowledge that she would survive didn't mean that she wanted it to happen, and the fact that he was saying it to convince her to dig her own grave didn't mean that he was bluffing about actually doing it. True, he had assured her that he wouldn't be hurting her, but it was Jack. He lied. It was what he did. She had to assume that he was serious, because the alternative was - perish the thought - trusting him. "Or this one," he pondered aloud, tapping another, equally frightening-looking toy with the tip of the tentacle. That one he lifted and brought towards her face, so that she could examine it up close. It was a smooth, metal tube - so far, not too bad - with a point that was shaped like a grapnel anchor. Valerie swallowed. It was fine. She had had sharper things shoved in her gut. At least this time the hole was already there, and putting it in shouldn't hurt too much. Taking it out, however...that would be another story entirely. "Admit it. Wouldn't you prefer it if I used, say...this?" She forcefully tore her eyes away from the torture instrument - calling it a sex toy would be too generous, not to mention woefully inaccurate - and transferred her gaze to his proposed substitute. She frowned, and he smiled. For someone who claimed to love her and take no pleasure in hurting her, he was enjoying himself far too much. "All you have to do is nod. Just nod, and I'll use this one instead." Bloodsong Ch. 09 CHAPTER 9 - (In)Decisions Although Valerie had moved to her new apartment six months ago, her busy schedule ensured that she hadn't found a chance to make herself at home in it. It mostly served as a place where she would sleep in between missions. Therefore, it came as no surprise to her that the fridge was as empty as it had been on the day she had bought it, and that she didn't have much to offer by way of a meal besides a pack of old crackers, some suspicious-looking green beans and half a can of tuna. She was about to throw up her hands, dump her meager findings in a pan and let them stew, when Jack came back from the bathroom and put a stop to the culinary atrocity in progress. "I don't know who convinced you that you can cook," he said, gently prying her hands away from the stove, "but whoever it was needs to be institutionalized posthaste. Let go of that before you set the building on fire." "I thought you said you were hungry," she murmured, making an effort not to pout. Pouting was, as Mrs. Drakma put it, detrimental to one's capabilities of intimidation. Not that she was trying to intimidate him in any way, but still. It wasn't her fault that her skills in the kitchen were lacking. Slaves had cooked her meals her entire life, and now that said life revolved around liberating slaves, she couldn't seem to find the time to learn to do it herself. "We can always go out. Only I heard that it's going to snow again tonight, and you've just arrived, and I remember that when I first came here I found the cold the most horrible thing, so-" "That would be ideal, and likely safer. Give me a minute to grab my coat and we can go." She nodded happily. Five minutes later they were out on the street. It wasn't snowing yet, but the sidewalks were still covered with snow that had fallen earlier that day and been trampled so many times since then that it was starting to look like frozen mud. Since Valerie didn't know the neighborhood that well, they spent another fifteen minutes wandering around looking for a place that was still open. While they walked, Valerie took care to not say anything that would remind Jack of their previous conversation. Instead, she guided the subject towards how long he intended to remain on Earth and whether he had already found a place to stay. Upon learning that he didn't know and didn't have one, she clapped her hands and determined that there was no reason why he shouldn't stay with her until he found a hotel that was to his liking. Jack smiled as if she had just done him a huge favor. "I wouldn't mind borrowing your couch for however long my stay lasts. Although I understand that this is their world, I'm not eager to spend more time in the company of humans than strictly necessary." "Oh," Valerie said, her voice suddenly tiny. It hadn't occurred to her until that very moment that she was the only one of them who had undergone a major, misconception-shattering change. Of course his views would remain the same as they had been. There was no reason why they shouldn't. She couldn't hold it against him too much, especially given that until recently she herself had shared his idea of species that weren't her own, but hearing him talk like that was upsetting all the same. "They aren't that bad, you know? Once you get to know them-" "Not interested." "Why?" Jack turned towards her, looking surprised that his flippant response hadn't deterred her questioning, and she took advantage of the fact that she was holding his gaze to press on. "No, I'm serious, why? You spent your first years on this world, did you not? You lived among free humans. Shouldn't you be more predisposed than anyone to believe that being free is their natural state?" "I think I smell food," he remarked, and this time it was painfully clear that he was trying to escape the conversation. She followed him closely and didn't say anything else out of fear of upsetting him or worse, giving him an opening to upset her. He had been right about the smell. She started noticing it as they turned the corner and entered one of the back streets. More than that, she noticed the way Jack's gaze swept over the line of shabby condos as they passed them by. It was impossible to deny that the neighborhood she lived in wasn't what anyone would call upscale, but she didn't think it was that bad. She had met the family that lived next-door, and they had assured her that people only got mugged two times a month on average. "See?" Jack said, stopping to gesture at their surroundings. "This is what humans amount to when you leave them unleashed: filth and diseases and greed. What sane person could believe that that's what's better for them?" "As if there isn't poverty in our world, among our kind," Valerie scoffed. Now it was she who was reluctant to further the discussion, although it was starting to appear she would have to. "Besides, this world just came out of a war, and I don't know where you are getting greed and diseases from." "Have it your way, then" he muttered, shoving his hands in his pockets and walking faster. She stared at the back of his head, feeling irrationally dejected. A slow awareness was starting to creep up on her, whispering things that sounded so familiar that she knew she had pondered them before, albeit subconsciously. Before she had given up on her hope of seeing him again, back when she was still waiting, she had some expectations brewing in the back of her mind about how their reunion would go. She had thought that he would swoop in and take her far away from her troubles, and that everything between them would be as good as or better than the way it always had been. So far, things weren't playing out the way she had imagined they would. It was also staggering to realize that she couldn't hold him accountable for that. The reason they couldn't have the same kind of relationship as before was that over the past five years, she had started drifting further and further away from the person she had been. The reason she couldn't depend on him anymore was that in truth ... In truth, she didn't feel like she needed to. "I wrote to you, you know?" he said. She had been so lost in her thoughts that being called back to reality would have been startling even if he hadn't made her halt her step and spoken so intensely. "Once a month when I was busy soldiering, and once a week after ... well, after they locked me up. You weren't the only one who was left wondering what had happened to us. I'm guessing you never received anything?" "No," she murmured, feeling puzzled at first. Then a possibility occurred to her, and started seeming more likely even before she blurted out: "Did you send the letters to Marabeth's address?" "Of course. It seemed like the obvious choice." That explained it, then. Moreover, there was a certain weariness in his tone that made her suspect that he hadn't been completely unaware that his aunt was the one to blame. "You know that she probably burned them, don't you?" she asked, just to be sure. "I fear so, yes," he shrugged and she sighed, because what else was there to do? "They were great letters." "I'm sure they were." She hugged him. She had intended for it to be a quick thing, only meant to reassure him that she understood and was sorry, but then she realized that she hadn't thought to hug him once since seeing him again, and decided to leave her arms where they were. It wasn't as if he seemed to mind, and it also felt so very ... right. "I really, really missed you. I can't even tell you how much." "I missed you, too." His voice sounded oddly strained, but he had started hugging her back, so she didn't mind. There and then, she made a decision. Things had changed, and that was a truth that she could do nothing about, but she wouldn't allow - couldn't allow their friendship to be harmed by that fact. The universe was a crazy place that each of them saw differently, and although she felt like she couldn't accept Jack's vision of it ever again, that didn't mean that she couldn't accept him. He had always closed his eyes to her many flaws and shortcomings, and she had always managed to look the other way whenever he said or did something that she personally found insensitive. If she could somehow convince herself that this new situation wasn't all that different from the way things had always been, everything would be fine. And perhaps - and that was a hope that she wasn't yet willing to lay aside - perhaps it wasn't too late to change his views, too. ---- Oh for fuck's sake, what now? Valerie had been bracing herself. She had managed to stop the barrage of angry, frustrated tears that she had failed to hold back, and was beginning to forgive herself for crying at all. She had rationalized, if not accepted, that she was about to endure pain and perverted pleasure and degradation and everything she did not want, and that there was nothing she could do to change it. She had repeated 'I will survive and rise stronger' so many times that her stream of thought now sounded like a broken record. She had gone through her memories, selected the most gruesome and graphic deaths imaginable, and pictured Jack going through all of them. She had even started to nurse the halfhearted belief that yes, this time, she was prepared for anything. And then he had shot that to hell, because what he was doing didn't fit the scenarios that she had considered. "What are you doing." She didn't bother to make it a question. She had said it more like an expression of disbelief than because she wanted or needed an answer, and he didn't give her one anyway. The only thing that mattered was that he had just thrown the plug on the floor and shoved her off his lap, and the jury was still out on whether she should feel glad about that or not. She entertained the notion of making a dash for the door now that he was distracted, but decided that it would be pointless. The distance was too great, and she didn't have enough energy to waste. As nerve-wracking as it was, waiting was the only option available. Part of her was even annoyed with his sudden change. She almost wished that he would just get on with it; settle on one single strand of crazy, instead of going through a mood swing every five minutes and forcing her to find her footing all over again. "I won't do it," he said, so quietly that for a moment she doubted that he had spoken at all. Then she had to double-check if she had heard it correctly, because it was too unbelievable to be true. When she felt reasonably certain that her ears hadn't fooled her, she settled down and waited for the other shoe to drop. "If you'd be so kind as to answer two simple questions." There it was. It never took long with him. "Shoot," she replied. Not because she believed that he would go through with his proposal, but because that was one of the few requests that she was allowed to react to with a 'Sure, why not.' Answers could come in many forms and with various degrees of bite, and offering to give them wasn't necessarily a form of surrender. Jack got up, and she had to fight to stay down. Losing her strength and falling flat on her face - or worse, having him catch her - would be more humiliating than sitting and hitting him with her best contemptuous glare. Still, she hated that she had to look up at him, and the fact that he seemed too troubled to be able to appreciate his position wasn't enough to make her feel better. A stray memory hit her out of the blue. When she was ten going on eleven, she had gone through a sudden growth spurt, and ended up being the taller of the two of them for about a year, until he finally caught up. He had hated that, absolutely hated that, and grumbled about it every time they were together. She loathed that she was starting to understand the feeling. "Valeriana Acantha Lazur ..." Valerie gave him an irritated hiss, because that wasn't her name - that had ceased to be her name a long time ago. But then he was kneeling before her - kneeling! - and she had to drop her irritation in favor of bewilderment. "Will you grant me the honor and the pleasure of becoming your mate?" She wished that she had her hands unbound. It was hard to stifle mad laughter when there was nothing to stifle it with, and she couldn't very well stop. The whole thing would have been hilarious even if he had made an effort to not sound as if he was reading from a cue card. So she laughed, and laughed, and laughed, and when she was out of breath and not so much laughing as hiccupping on dry air, she shook her head and smiled. "No. NO! NNNNNnnnn-O! Go Wildcats!" She lifted her hands in an awkward attempt at cheering and rolled her eyes at his frozen face. By the look of it he had been counting on a refusal, so why not make it one that was as ridiculous as the request? "While we are at it, do you also want to ask me if I think the sun shines at night and bunnies shit rainbows?" "I'd rather have you tell me if I ever stood a chance of hearing a yes." "Oh, that? No. You never did." "And that's a lie." He moved closer, catching her chin and putting an arm around her waist so that she couldn't scoot away from him. Valerie was more worried about what his tentacles were doing, though. They seemed to be searching for something, and his insistence on having her full attention on him felt more like a means of distracting her from the true danger. He must have realized that she had caught on, because he stopped trying to conceal his movements and simply went for the object he was trying to reach. It was a black plastic square. She couldn't immediately tell what it was for, but then he turned it around and she saw a row of buttons on the other side of the surface. "Let's see if I can persuade you to be more honest." "Don't!" she yelled, because the first possibility that presented itself to her was that he was trying to mess with the dampener around her neck, which was supposed to have a laser-heat-ray-guillotine underneath it, and despite her earlier bravado, she didn't fancy having her throat cut. The realization that the only certainty she had at the moment was that he wouldn't kill her reached her too late. She closed her mouth and grimaced, doing her best to hide her embarrassment and waiting for whatever he was doing to become clear. "Being aroused makes you uncomfortable," Jack said, and the funniest thing wasn't that he sounded as if he expected that observation to be a novelty to her, but how much it seemed to confuse him. Sometimes she forgot just how alien his thinking could be, and how hard it was for him to grasp things that anyone else would think to be common sense. Yes, being aroused made her uncomfortable. The entire situation she was in made her uncomfortable. "I'm not going to pretend that I understand. I can certainly use it, though." There we go, she thought sourly, watching him with narrowed eyes as he pressed one of the buttons. It had taken him long enough, but he had finally figured out that a double-edged sword could be used for cutting. In a way, it was actually a step forward. If he was aware that what he was doing to her wasn't right or done in good faith or anything but torture, maybe he would quit looking at her as if she were betraying him every time she flinched at his touch. She heard a soft click and looked down, not that there was much to see. It sounded absurd, but she had almost forgotten about the accursed vibrator. As much as she hated to concede that he had the ability to be right about anything, Jack hadn't been entirely wrong in saying that she wouldn't mind it. After the humiliating insertion, the thing had just sat there, and because it was barely bigger than a tampon, Valerie hadn't found it hard to willfully block its presence from her mind. Now it was coming to life, though, and ignoring it was becoming harder. The click was replaced with a soft, constant whirring noise, and the small plastic bullet became an itch on her insides that she just couldn't scratch. Without taking his eyes off her increasingly restless face, Jack pressed another button. This time she not only felt the effects, but felt them with painful clarity. Something wild and cracking and electric bit into her inner walls, awakening sensations that she wished would remain dormant. She pressed her thighs together, hoping to alleviate the sparks that were being ignited, but it didn't do her much good. I am on a bridge. I have a gun in my ... "Nice, isn't it?" His mocking remark dragged her back to reality. The only reason why she refrained from biting when he tried to touch her lips was that she didn't want to be gagged again for something like that. There were better things that she could do with her mouth to achieve the same result. "I just thought up a poem, Jack. Wanna hear it? Roses are red, violets are blue, you are an evil rapist and I'll kill you." "Yes, yes. Now shut up." His index finger tapped the remote. "In case you haven't noticed, I am trying to have a reasonable, honest conversation here. Don't ruin that, just answer my question without lying and we'll be good." And that ... that was pretty much the last straw as far as she was concerned. "Why should I?" she winced, because he took her angry explosion as an incentive to press the button. It shouldn't be possible for a thing so small to affect her like it did, and yet her pussy was flooding, and she was doing her best to keep her gasping to a minimum. She was determined to not let that stop her from speaking - screaming - her mind, though. Silencing herself to avoid punishment would be the final proof of her defeat. "No, really, give me one good reason why I should be honest with someone who lied to me every day for more than fifty years and broke every promise he ever made." He ignored her remark, but that almost went without saying. "I just need to know. We can't move on if you don't tell me." "And what if I don't want to ..." Valerie fell silent, a thought catching up with her. When she stopped to ponder it at length, was there a real, sound reason why she shouldn't give him the answer he so yearned for? After all, it wasn't as if ... It wasn't as if anything she could say would hurt him more than the truth. - "Fine," she said. Jack noted that she didn't sound defeated, and kept his ears open for more deceit. Was there anything else he should expect at this point? "You want to know whether you had a chance with me or not? Well, the answer is still no. You didn't have a chance. You had all the chances in the world. If you have been in love with me for as long as you claim you have, why didn't you ask to be my mate as soon as I came of age? Do you think anyone would have denied you? My family would have been over the moon. I wouldn't even have considered saying no. You were my best friend. I loved you, I trusted you, I would have welcomed the prospect of us spending the rest of our lives together. All you needed to do was ask, but you never, ever did." The last part was said in a rush, as if something had unwound and compelled her to get it out as fast as she was able. She slumped forward as soon as she was done, too exhausted, he guessed, to keep herself upright. His own thoughts were running wild in their attempt to digest the new information. All he had needed to do was ask, she said. She had loved him, she said. Maybe not the way he would have wanted her to love him - she hadn't spoken of passion or desire - but still enough to make her want to belong to him. Did she resent him for not asking? She sounded angry, but up until that instant, she had hardly sounded any other way, so it was difficult to tell. Bloodsong Ch. 09 "It wasn't as simple as you are implying." She scoffed, and he raked his hands through his hair to keep himself from doing something he would regret. Was she crazy enough to think that he wouldn't have asked if it were that easy? No, scratch that, she was clearly crazy aplenty. However, he felt hard pressed to believe that she could be that naïve. "My family threatened to cut me off if I tried to make a proposal." He wasn't eager to explain what their reasoning had been, and was relieved when it turned out to not be necessary. Valeriana made a face as if she had bitten into something sour and nodded her head. Even if she didn't appear sympathetic, at least he got the impression that she understood. Mating was a complicated thing, especially among those of higher standing. Since it was a permanent arrangement until one half of the pair died, there was a lot of care put into choosing the ideal partner. She ... had never been ideal in anyone's eyes but his. Things would have been so different if that had been the case. "So, you deemed that not losing your inheritance was more important than having me," she said. This time he came close to laughing out loud, because for gods' sake. Would it kill her to abstain from giving his words the worst possible meaning once, just this once? "You know, that does explain everything." "Because your father would, of course, be more than eager to give any of his daughters to a man without a title or a penny to his name." Since no scathing remarks followed, he thought it was safe to assume that she had seen his point. "I wouldn't have given up, you know? I wasn't going to sit on my hands and wait until they changed their minds. I was going to go off and make my own fortune, so that I could propose without needing my family's support. But then that one party happened, and ..." "... and everything changed," she murmured happily. Happily, as if that change had been a good thing, instead of the beginning of the end. Happily, as if it was alright that all his plans for them had fallen apart. When she resumed her questioning - somehow it was she who was doing the questioning now - her mad cheer was replaced with the usual coldness, and that was almost a relief. "And afterward? Your chances of getting your wish didn't end then. When we met again here on Earth, my family had lost its right to have a say about my life. You could have opened your mouth without consequences." "Yes. And do you want to know why I never did?" He immediately wanted to take back what he was saying - wrong question, wrong tone - but it was too late. The only way to go was forward. "I was trying to be mindful of your wishes. You claimed that what you were doing made you happy, and I didn't want to spoil that, so I tried to be patient. I waited years, decades, so that you would come to your senses, but you never did. You just got buried deeper and deeper in Aunt Briseis' schemes, and when I finally did ask-" "See?" she interrupted, her eyes shiny with rage and unshed tears. "That, right there, is why we can't have an 'honest, reasonable' conversation. What you are saying is a lie. You weren't patient, at all. You didn't wait. What happened was that you didn't have the balls to spit it out, and then decided to act like a possessive, murderous man-child towards literally every other being of the male persuasion that entered my life, all because you couldn't stand the thought of someone else touching a toy that you never even bothered to lay claim to. What is your excuse for that?" "You are not a toy, and I don't have one." And she should fucking know that by now, although he did like that his reply seemed to throw her off. How often had she trotted out that old, tired horse? It didn't seem to matter that he had apologized to her a thousand times, she just kept fixating on it. What was her excuse for not letting go? It wasn't as if her feelings for any of those men had gone beyond silly infatuation. He had been careful about striking before they could properly infect her heart, if only so that she wouldn't be as affected by their deaths. If he had known that she would take it so personally, he would perhaps have chosen a less radical approach, but what was done was done. "I regret what I did. We have been over this before." "We have. I just thought that it would be nice to remind you of Reason Why This Isn't Going To Work #6391. What you are demanding from me is something that I don't have the ability to give. I can't love you. You trained me out of it by killing anyone I came close to liking romantically, and that's that." "I can teach you to ..." "No you can't!" she shrieked. She didn't sound enraged anymore, just desperate. He recognized that despair. It was the same kind he experienced, and did his best to hide, every time that he tried and failed to get through to her. "I'm not a mirror, Jack. You can't just ... confront me with your love and expect me to reflect it, that's not how it works, that's not how people work!" Jack moved forward and regarded her trembling form. It was strange, he thought, that he could empathize with her feelings on such a visceral level and still be able to disregard them like they were nothing. He could see how things were, from her perspective; she was standing behind a wall of thick glass, and he on the other side of it, and no matter how hard she yelled or tried to punch the barrier between them, she didn't manage to get her point across. The thing was, he could hear her just fine. He just didn't think that she was right. "I can teach you," he repeated, more firmly this time around. She flashed him a resigned, joyless smile. "Everything I say is just noise to you, isn't it?" "Beautiful noise." It only hit him afterward that in her current state of mind, she wouldn't detect the attempt at playful irony, and was bound to take his words literally instead. Her aghast look only confirmed his suspicions. The only way to go is forward, he told himself again. "It's not that I don't understand what you are trying to tell me. It's that I didn't come this far only to give up because you claim that I will fail. I know that what I am doing seems cruel and unfair-" "Oh, there is no seeming about it. It is cruel and unfair." "-but I can't stop. If there was another, easier way, do you think I wouldn't have picked it?" "I assure you, there are a hundred thousand ways to seduce a woman that do not involve ... this. Maybe you would be more aware of that if you had tried to get yourself some poon throughout the years, instead of spending that time turning girls into meat-puppets and obsessing over a single, unavailable target." "Enough." It wasn't, he assured himself, as he clutched the remote just a bit tighter, that he didn't have a suitable reply for that, because he did. Trouble was, mentioning any of his past relationships was a good way of never getting her to calm down, because then she would start grumbling about hypocrisy and how he was mysteriously allowed to date other women while she had been forced to keep herself chaste and untouched, and that was a can of worms that he wasn't particularly eager to open. Gagging her wouldn't help either. He was starting to become so tuned in to her changes of expression that he would be able to guess which complaint she wasn't voicing just by looking at her. Just like now. "Enough? Correct me if I'm wrong, but you were the one who started this conversation, no? Why did you ask if you had ever had a chance if you didn't want to discuss the subject at length?" He wasn't really listening. He had known what she was about to say before she said it. Why had he asked, indeed. It wasn't as if her reply changed anything. He could have had her ages ago, but if he were to be completely honest with himself, that wouldn't have been much of a victory. It wasn't as if she had any standards when it came to men back in the day. Sure, she would have been more excited about being mated to him than to a stranger, but she would be doing it because it was expected of her, not because - to use her own analogy - her feelings mirrored his. Trouble was, what was happening now didn't feel like victory either. "We are done," he repeated. She shot him a reproachful look that would be almost cute if he didn't know it was meant to mask her fright. Her legs were trembling with effort - not to keep herself up, but to keep from cracking at the stimulation. It occurred to him that her attempt to derail the talking could have been a way to distract herself as much as a means to insult him. As it was, he doubted that she would last long. One more adjustment of the speed setting, and she would be flying over the edge faster than she could curse him for it. He picked her up, ignoring her immediate protest, and carried her over to the tub. Her tangled hair tumbled over her shoulder, exposing the swirly mark that he had carved on her shoulder earlier. He glanced at it, noting that it was healing alright. Since she hadn't said anything about it hurting - in fact, it was doubtful whether she had noticed it to begin with - he surmised that it was best to leave it alone for now. The rest of the wounds were gone already. All she needed now was a bath and, as much as he hated to admit it, an hour of not him. Sighing, he pulled the curtain completely aside. She froze at once, her eyes darting to the chains on the wall. Oh, right. Those. He had almost forgotten that he'd told Kuris to put them there, more like an in-joke than an attempt to mess with her head, although he wouldn't resent it if it ended up doubling as both. They did have a more practical purpose, though, and he was about to show her which one. --- "What." Valerie didn't sound as deadpan as she had wanted to, because he was carrying her back to something she had the worst possible memories of, and a note of panic kept trying to creep into her voice against her best efforts. Then there was the fact that despite everything else, she was also trying not to laugh. She stared at the chains that had until then been hidden by the curtain. They were shiny and new, probably - clearly, obviously - just installed, and although she hated what they meant, the irony of it was still somehow funny to her. She shifted her weight in his arms. Them being a nicely executed callback didn't mean that they didn't represent danger, and she wasn't looking forward to having them anywhere near her, especially with Jack being the way he was right now. She had long since held the belief that the bastard didn't actually own a personality. Instead his head contained a set of mood levers with labels ranging between Cordial Scumbag and Raving Beastly Spawn of Satan, and a drunken imp who was in charge of pushing them at will. She was usually good - great, even - at predicting when the next was about to come down and play him accordingly, but this time she was failing. Whether it was because her own uncontrollable emotions were getting in the way, or because the shifts were occurring about five times as fast as they usually did, she couldn't say. Jack didn't say anything about her reaction to the chains, although it was plain as day that he was biting his tongue to refrain from doing just that. He probably didn't want to engage her in conversation and be verbally trounced again, she thought with something that faintly resembled vindication. Her satisfaction was short-lived, though. Not a second later she was unceremoniously dumped in the tub. A scream broke through her throat but died before it reached her lips. Suddenly she understood why people in her situation cowered and begged, even though it was irrational to expect anything like mercy from someone lacking in empathy. It wasn't so much about believing that the pleas would get through as it was about turning the terror into words and getting it out before she choked on it. Still, she had her pride, and that part of her hadn't been beaten so hard that she was willing to throw it away in order to feel better, so she kept silent. "Don't worry, I'm not going to touch you," Jack said. While touching her. In all fairness, he was only lifting her hands to chain them above her head, a gesture that she found to be about as sexually charged as porridge, but that didn't undermine her point. To her chagrin, the pull of the chains forced her into an awkward half-sitting position, increasing the pressure on her lower body until it was almost unbearable. She only realized that she was pressing her thighs together as if she meant to fuse them when he bent over to adjust her position and pull them apart. His expression was closed, pensive. Her feelings of dèja vu were growing stronger by the minute. "Valerie, I'm really not going to touch you." Since he was still busy trying to get her legs to cooperate, and seemed to be fully aware of that fact, she had to guess that 'touching' was his newest bleached euphemism for rape. She wished that he would just come out and call the thing what it was, but then again, doing that would mean that he'd have to confront the fact that he was doing something wrong. It was probably easier to hold on to the belief that he was just having sex with her, and that she was being ungrateful about it for some undisclosed reason. His assurance didn't diminish her anxiety either. Hell would open an ice-skating rink before she believed him without hard, concrete evidence. He was straightening himself and taking a step back, but that didn't mean anything either. His hand still held the remote. She kept having mild panic attacks each time she looked at it, and they only worsened when it occurred to her that he was in a position where he could keep his promise and still eat his cake. He didn't need to touch her to make things escalate. How many buttons had there been on that thing? He had it turned towards him, and she couldn't remember. Six? Eight? Did it have settings that allowed the tiny bullet to do more than vibrate? Was he planning to go away and leave it in? She breathed out softly, relieved beyond anything she had thought possible, when he put the remote in his front pocket and turned on the water instead. It was blessedly cold, though not nearly enough to cool her feverish skin, but that only lasted for a few seconds before it started warming up. Jack washed her face first. She saw the water turn pink as it slid over her cheeks and chin, and grimaced when she saw him stare at her, his eyes tracking the colored line's progress between her breasts. Then he started on her hair. She waited patiently while he doused it with the shower head, and then, when it was thoroughly drenched, she shook her head a few times in quick succession, splattering him with the excess of water. It was petty, sure, but she needed to take her victories where she could get them, however small they were. Unfortunately, it didn't look like he minded. He just sighed and went right back to work. She was at the point where she had to question his motives for what he was doing. It was the third time he bathed her since her capture - fourth if she were to count the bucket-over-the-head thing - and it wasn't as if he needed an excuse to get his hands on her, which meant that he had to be doing it because he got a kick out of it. She supposed that she should be relieved that his kinks didn't bend in stranger ways, but knowing that he was likely extracting pleasure from something that should be a mundane task only fueled her unease. "You can fight if you want," he said, letting go of her head and moving his hands lower. She kicked him. "If you are going to use that old trick, be less blindingly obvious about it." He rolled his eyes, grabbed her knees, pulled back until her heels were almost touching her ass, and bound them in that position with two tentacles. The last one he used on her legs, keeping them parted and her pussy helpless and exposed. Somehow, she didn't think that he was doing it so that he could remove the vibrator. "You can fight if you want, but it won't change a thing." The jet of hot water hit her square between her legs, and she drew a short, huffy breath. It wasn't so warm that it hurt - quite the contrary - but she still considered it a low shot. "If it helps, this is the last thing that I will demand from you today. I'll be too busy getting things prepared for our trip home to give you the attention you need, and you-" "What will be the last thing?" Valerie interrupted. The only reply she got was the widest, evilest smile that had ever been smiled in her direction. Jack dropped the shower head into the rising water, dried his hands on the hem of his shirt, and tapped his front pocket a few times, a few more than was needed for her to get the hint. He kneeled at the side of the tub and rested his chin on his left hand. With the other, he retrieved the remote. For a while, all he did was watch her and play with the plastic square. She didn't sigh, because this was one of the rare occasions where she thought it best to not let her contempt show, but she did give him a mental eye-roll. That game again? It wasn't even good for putting her on edge anymore, all it did was annoy. Then he started whistling, and she had to ask herself if annoying her wasn't his actual goal. As for why he wanted to do that, her guess was as good as anyone's. If him getting on her nerves were the kind of thing that got her all hot and bothered, they would have started doing it like rabbits ages ago. "Shit!" It was so sudden that Valerie could barely process what was happening, let alone fight it. It was like being struck by lightning, like a less painful version of that time he had shot her with his stupid magical gun. When had that been, anyway? Days ago? Weeks? A month? It hardly seemed to matter, although the pain was still vivid enough in her mind to allow her to compare it with what she was experiencing and draw the conclusion of 'Not that bad.' Jack stopped whistling and laughed at her startled expression, and she hated him. Hated him until she thought that she couldn't possibly hate him more, because in doing so she would start using up even the spark of energy that allowed her to remain alive. She bit down on her lip, determined to keep the rest of her curses as silent as she could. Had he pressed a button? She hadn't seen him do it, but then again, her attention had been on his face and mouth. It was not only possible, but likely, that she had missed it, although she was at a point where she was prepared to believe that he could make her life a living hell with nothing but his mind. "I think we need a lower setting," he said, and it was only now that his voice had returned to its usual detachment-with-a-hint-of-smugness that she noticed just how altered it had been until then. The thought that she had succeeded in getting to him made her feel better for half a second. She didn't dare to get her hopes up about her little speeches affecting him in any meaningful way - or at least, not in a way that would benefit her - but it was nice to confirm that she hadn't lost her knack for pulling the rug from under him. "You'll need to warn me if it starts hurting, because it's not meant to. I've never used this on anyone before. It'll be a learning experience for both of us." Valerie swallowed an angry snarl. She couldn't even say what infuriated her the most: the false care, or ... "Quit saying 'we'. There is no we. This is something that you are doing to me, and you and I are not in this together." "Yes, we are." Everything about him was impeccably calm now. She wished she knew how he had reconstructed his mask so quickly, because it was a useful skill to have. "As soon as you realize how true that is, all your problems will be solved." Bloodsong Ch. 09 "You are priceless, you know? You really are." "Thank you." His hand, it was going for the remote again. "It wasn't a compliment," she whispered, uselessly since he was neither listening nor ignorant of that fact. The second stroke of lightning was dimmed in comparison to the first, but nevertheless painful. Valerie did her best to stop it from showing. Somehow, she knew that the moment when it stopped hurting would be the moment her real troubles started. She even indulged into some nasty snickering when she remembered how eager he had been to have her pick the vibrator. Small and easy to handle, wasn't that what he had said? What she had thought? She was glad that she had bitten the prongs instead of allowing herself to be played. Tearing her mouth a bit was a million times preferable to hearing him go 'Hah, got you!' as soon as it dawned on her that she hadn't picked the easiest option. "Still not low enough." He sounded like he was talking to himself, but she knew he meant for her to hear. She could have told him that he likely did have the thing set low enough, but that she was lying in water, and that water and electricity weren't known for liking each other, but she wasn't supposed to be helping him. Any time he lost trying to figure things out was more time that she could use to think her way out of ... Oh, what was she thinking? There was no way out, at least not right now. All that was left was damage control. Worst case scenario. What was the worst possible thing that could happen when he got his stupid taser of ravishment to work like he wanted it to? Not meant to hurt, those had been his words. Ordinarily, she wouldn't dare to start believing them, but seeing as he actually seemed to be concentrating his efforts into making the ordeal get less painful with each new blast, it became less of a stretch to accept that there had been a nugget of truth there. He had also looked shocked, if not downright disturbed, when she had started coughing blood all over herself, and she didn't think that being grossed out had had anything to do with it. She did a quick review of everything else that he had done to her so far, and slowly but surely, her brain started to stitch together a pattern. "I have a theory," she said aloud. Jack looked up from where he was still fiddling with the remote. He didn't say anything back, but she took the light twitch of his mouth as an invitation to continue. "You are not planning to torture me in the traditional way, no matter how often it may seem like you are going back and forth on the subject. Every threat to do so that you made was a bluff. In the end, you just really, really want to have sex with me and have me like it." "Well," he said, clearing his throat and placing the remote on the side of the tub only for an instant, probably because it occurred to him that she could try to go for it - how, not even she knew - and throw it in the water. "Well, it's nice to see you finally get it. I was starting to think that I should just give up on talking and draw you a picture." "Do you really think that managing that will change anything?" she asked. She wasn't even trying to rile him up this time, just genuinely curious. "I already gave you a preview of how little sway the pleasures you can offer me have over me. I am not going to forget what you are, everything you did, even if you are a devil between the sheets. We have been over this before." She had hoped that he would notice his own words being thrown back in his face, and he didn't disappoint. His features became still, wooden, and his eyes narrowed. She half expected him to lash out. Punching and slapping had been par for the course in their relationship for a while now. It wouldn't surprise her to see him resort to either. Instead, he touched her face with a tenderness that was both surprising and entirely predictable. "Why is it," he murmured, his tone pensive, "that you always flat out refuse to let yourself be happy?" "Refuse?" she laughed, because it was funny. There he went, trying to pin the blame on her and wash his hands of all his errors, and that was the sort of thing that she wouldn't have swallowed even if he had at least tried to be subtle about it. "I suppose it's clear as day that I'm not happy right now, but I fail to understand how that's my fault." "It is, though. It's not the first time you've done it either. Ever since you got the impression that you are somehow personally responsible for all of our kind's mistakes, you decided that happiness was something to be shunned. I could see that even before all this," he gestured vaguely at her and the chains, presumably in an attempt to encompass their relationship in all of its twisted glory, "and it's only gotten worse since. I watched you, Val. I've been in your home. I know so many things about your life - things that you yourself probably aren't even aware you do - and yet I find my knowledge lacking when it comes to some subjects. What do you do when you are not hopping around the globe, fighting the good fight? What happened to all the things that you used to enjoy? Who are your friends? When was the last time you sat down to read a book or listen to a song? Do you still dream about anything beyond collecting enough rescues to feel good about yourself before you end up buried in a shallow grave?" "Fuck. Off." He had some gall, that she had to admit. Asking her who her friends were, as if he had left her in a position where she was allowed to keep any without exposing them to the danger of being massacred for mattering too much. Asking her what she liked to do, as if he wasn't aware that everything she had ever enjoyed was tainted by the fact that she had once done it with him. Asking her if she had 'collected' enough people to feel good when she could only think about the ones that she had failed to save. "I don't owe you satisfactions about the life I - and take note of this word - chose, and you don't get to play at being my savior just because you figure that it's the best way of making it look as if you are not being a dick. The fact that you are even trying to do so tells me enough about the kind of help you need." "I need help? Who is trying to play at being whose savior now?" Valerie managed a minimal shrug. "I have an actual track record of being that, but that's beside the point. I'm not trying to save you. It took me long enough to realize that you aren't deserving of that much effort, and I'm not going back on that decision. I'm just having fun pointing out your craziness, because frankly, it's not as if I have anything better to do." "Really?" "Really." She made a point of glancing at the remote, telling herself that it was fine all the while. It wasn't something that came easily, since it was impossible to ignore that she was lying to herself. After a while, it became downright impossible, and she settled on convincing herself that it would be bearable. She wouldn't hate him any less after he was done, and that was what he wanted, the only long-term goal that he cared about. His enterprise was doomed from the get go, and that meant that in a way, it didn't matter what he did or tried. She had won already, even if said victory was bound to be unpleasant. "Anyway, I thought that we were done talking. Or that you had somewhere else you needed to be." "Are you that eager to see me wrap this up?" he asked, twisting his lips in a mocking sneer. She smirked back and nodded, knowing that it would royally mess with his head, on top of leaving him without a suitable reply. "Well, since I am a gentleman, I can't but oblige." Jack went back to the remote, while Valerie laughed so hard that she almost ended up choking on her own spit. She wished she had more time to be amused by his nonsense, but he was done with the last adjustments almost immediately and got up, pointing the remote at her as if it were a gun. Which, in a way, she supposed it was. She braced herself for the expected surge of electricity, but all that happened was that the vibrations that were still going on ceased abruptly. Valerie stopped scrunching her face and looked up. "I think the battery died." Holy Goddess on a cracker, had he thought anything through beforehand? She was starting to think that the most embarrassing thing about her situation wasn't that she was naked and chained up and stuffed and about to undergo sexual training against her will. It was the fact that who was doing said training was that incompetent. "I can assure you it didn't." "Nah, I think it really did -" she shut up mid-sentence, realizing that she had indeed been wrong. She felt something she was at a loss about how to describe, although the feeling was definitely there, calling attention to itself and making sure she couldn't ignore it. There was nothing springing to her mind that she could compare the feeling to. It wasn't like burning, it wasn't like receiving a shock, it didn't tingle, and it didn't even feel like much was happening. It was pleasant, though, once again, it was hard to find the right words to say how it was pleasant. It was also spreading away from her midsection, down to her toes, and to her breasts and neck and further up, leaving no part of her untouched. Still, it was no worse than anything she had felt before. She gave up on trying to put a name to it and turned her head towards Jack. As was expected, he was staring at her with an expression that bordered on enraptured. "How does it feel?" "Weird," she replied with the truth, since she didn't see why she should lie in this case. "Sort of anti-climactic, actually." "Oh," he said, his smile so big it stretched over his voice and drowned it, "I don't think you'll have to wait long to figure out how inappropriate that description is. And before you ask, no, you can't fight it. Though I'd love to see you try." "Oh, but I'm not planning to fight. And, before you ask, no, the past few minutes haven't improved your skills at reverse psychology in the slightest." Valerie leaned back as far as the chains allowed and closed her eyes. She didn't need to see him to know that he was hitting her with the full intensity of his scrutiny, and doing it ensured that one of his favorite means to read her was out of commission. Although she hated not seeing - seeing was awareness, and awareness was safety, although not so much at the moment - anything that hindered his attempts to figure out what kind of game she was playing was something that couldn't go without being done. There was another downside to her willing blindness, though. It made her focus all the more on what the four senses she had left were telling her. Smell and taste didn't leave her too overwhelmed, as both registered nothing but blood, and hearing wasn't giving her much to go by either, since she and Jack seemed to have reached the simultaneous conclusion of shutting up being the best thing to do for the time being. The even sound of his breathing was enough for her to know that he hadn't moved an inch from where she had seen him last, and that was about it. Touch, though ... Once she settled down and focused, physicality became everything. The world shifted, sinking into itself and being reduced to nothing but the pinpricks of sensation that traveled over and under her skin. She didn't mind, and that wasn't strange, since she was putting a great deal of effort into not minding. Not minding was a victory. Not minding meant that she could relax and let herself be taken over by the rhythmic pulses that were being set off and spreading inside her, stronger and stronger each time. The sensation had grown from being odd to almost recognizable. There was something it felt like that she had gone through before, though she couldn't immediately put her finger on what exactly it was, or when it had happened. The sensation was also growing more intense. Nowhere near as intense as the first shocks, but there was something to be said about how they were building up. With a start, she remembered what the sensation reminded her of. She remembered Jack's hand, her own hand, both of them warm and slick with her juices after he had forced her to know herself. She remembered what she had felt like as she collapsed and laid her head on his knee. She remembered the horrible, frightening clarity of knowing that what she had gone through shouldn't have felt that good, wouldn't have felt that good if she were better and stronger and more in control. She knew that she would soon - one way or another, with or without her cooperation - be feeling the same things again. If I get out of this somehow, she promised herself, I swear I'll never go further than hand-holding with anyone, ever. It was a resolution born of impulse - she hadn't considered the subject of what would come after her captivity until that very instant, but upon reviewing, decided that she found the decision to be sensible. As much as she hated the notion of Jack being the only man to ever get close to her in the way he had, she didn't think she could conceive a world in which intercourse was a good and desirable thing. From then on, every touch, no matter how kind and otherwise wanted, would feel like him. Words of love and encouragement would be distorted by echoes of his voice. Allowing someone else inside of her would be simply unthinkable. It was just so him, wasn't it? She should have known, should have seen it coming. He would never have been content with cutting off her ability to trust, to dare to love. He needed to take everything else too. It's fine. It's not as if I ever cared about this stuff anyway, or else I wouldn't have stayed a virgin until my nineties. I won't be missing out on anything, I don't even know what wanting to fuck feels like ... it's fine. Was it? She shook her head, momentarily unsettled. It was ironic that her own thoughts were spontaneously distracting her now, when she was supposed to be paying attention to what was happening to her body, but she had more or less given up on hoping that things would go her way. Was it fine, though? She hadn't cared about sex before, hadn't sought to have it, that much was true. Still, she had also never written down in stone that she didn't want to have anything to do with it. It was an option that had been open to her, and that one day she'd perhaps have taken, provided she stumbled on someone she liked enough. Having that option had been ... nice. Or would have been, if she had thought to appreciate it while she still had it. The sad thing was, ending up as a shell-shocked abstinent hermit was still a thousand times preferable to being with him forever and getting all the sex she had never asked for. It'll be fine. Would Jack care if she stated that what he was doing only made things worse? She doubted it. He would never see the fact that he had ruined her ability to give herself to anyone, that there was no amount of therapy that would make her capable of looking at other men and not think about what he had done, as something negative. Something broke through her wall of fretfulness and found her face. She fought to stop herself from blinking. Pressure, warmth; a thumb caressing her cheek. Valerie sighed. She had hoped that Jack would refrain from touching her and just let his toys do all the work, but in hindsight, she couldn't say why she had even considered that possibility. He also seemed to have finally gotten fed up with her refusal to look at him. "Open your eyes." "Not in the mood, sorry." "Open. Your. EYES!" "Grab a crowbar and make me." She pressed her thighs together and willed herself to believe that the wet noise she was hearing was only the water. Being able to cover her ears altogether would also have been pleasant, but beggars couldn't be choosers. Since he didn't actually try to follow her suggestion, she decided she had to be safe on that front. She also figured that it was as good a time to start the show as any. "You know, this is actually starting to feel kind of nice. Where did you buy this thing? I may have to get myself one once I'm out of here." "I'm glad that you are starting to like it." There was a heavy amount of intentional emphasis on that like, so much that it bordered on sarcasm. His way of telling her that he wasn't buying what she was trying to sell, maybe. Or perhaps just his way of indicating how much he hated the fact that she was more receptive to a piece of plastic and cogs and wiring than to his precious dick. "Just how stupid do you think I am, Valerie?" "Hmm, tricky. On a scale of one to ten, with ten being reasonably smart, I'd give you a four. Five or six on your brightest days." "I'm not falling for the same trick twice in a day." He sounded very self-satisfied. Not that he ever did not, but there was a whole new layer of yes-I-have-you-figured-out lathered over the one that was always there. "Good for you." It wasn't as if she hadn't seen that one coming. He was forewarned. Getting to him again would require effort, and the next step was bound to present enough difficulties as it was. Valerie wasn't very big on the 'accept and own your sexuality' front, let alone on expressing it loudly and exuberantly. It had been - she almost gagged on the word - easier before, when her whole move rested on not making her reactions too unnatural. Now she wanted to make a spectacle of it, and although she was more or less succeeding in going with the flow and letting sensation wash over her, she didn't know how to react in a way that wouldn't make her look and sound like the most overblown and least convincing porn star alive. Still, she needed to do something. She started moaning, because it was easy to do naturally as long as she made it sound tortured enough, and started shouting tired curses in five different languages, because that was the sort of thing that she should have been doing all along anyway. Jack didn't tell her to shut up, or to calm down, which meant that he was either busy rolling his eyes at her theatrics or enjoying them. She knew it was the latter when he grabbed her shoulders, pushing her chest forward, and started rubbing them. The action itself felt ... fine, actually. Her reaction to it felt scarily unrehearsed. "Yes ..." she started, trailed off, blushed scarlet, and turned her face to the wall with a small choked sound. He tsked her. "Those are some really sweet noises that you are making. Are any of them not on purpose?" "Fuck you with a rusty spork." "It's not like it matters, mind you. Giving in ironically is still giving in." "I'm going to kill you. As soon as I get out of here I ... I'll ... oh no." Shit. That last part hadn't been on purpose. Her eyelids, which had been glued closed for most of the ordeal, fluttered and jumped up fast when she was hit by the next shock. That one had been just as strong as the first few, but it wasn't the same. It didn't hurt anymore. It didn't ... "Now that," Jack was talking to her, but he sounded so far away, "that there almost looked real." ... it didn't feel bad or unwanted. In fact, she was becoming sure that her body did want it, that her nerves weren't steeling themselves for the next round as much as they were twitching with anticipation. That was fine, right? Enjoying herself was a major part of her designs, not an unintended side-effect. Anything done for the sake of a goal - especially if said goal was pissing Jack off - was fair and valid and not something she should be afraid of doing. Allowing him to call the shots had paid off before, hadn't it? Revealing her deception had hurt him, and his pain had washed away her shame. This wouldn't be, shouldn't be, any different, and yet it was, because she wasn't shutting down her brain, or hadn't gotten around to doing so yet. She was wide awake, her thoughts were sparkling clear, and she was liking what she felt. Bloodsong Ch. 10 Bloodsong Ch. 10 "You are not helping yourself with that argument," she noted, although she felt like laughing at the implication that she would be able to do anything of the sort. Worn and weary as she was, she'd kill herself trying to get on the table. Luckily, there were other, less exhausting options available. He was about to retort, but the door burst open before he had a chance. A cranky-looking guard strode in, shot her a foul look, nodded at Jack, and deposited a covered tray at the center of the table. Her nostrils flared. She tried to make a snarky comment about how his men's inability to treat him with the barest semblance of respect or knock on doors before entering didn't speak favorably of his leadership abilities, but couldn't get it out. Not when that scent was butting against her brain like a delicious, mouthwatering, food-flavored battering ram. "Let's see," Jack said. Cheerily, which was worrying. He lifted the cover from the tray, presenting her with her worst nightmare come to life. Her stomach made a noise like a strangled kitten. "Spicy rice with lamprey, mussels, limpets and ... well, I don't know what the smaller bits are, but they are edible and have lived underwater, so I'm sure you'll like them too. What do you think?" Valerie gritted her teeth and gave the lamprey an accusing look, as if the animal had decided to fry itself and curl up on a mountain of rice and seafood just to personally slight her. She had forgotten. She'd been stupid enough to forget that, although he was woefully clueless when it came to understanding the bigger blocks that made her who she was, Jack did possess an enviable mastery of all the tiny quirks that pervaded the bottom of her psyche. Like what her favorite foods were. Granted, that one wasn't that hard to figure, as she was hardly picky — he'd been right on the money with "edible and lived underwater" — but still. It was an unfair and troubling advantage. She crossed her arms over her belly and pressed her fist against it. "I'm still not sitting down." Especially now that she was starting to suspect what his game was. He couldn't have been starving her for nothing, after all. There were too many ways he could use her body against her in the present circumstances. In a way, it was even more dangerous than his attempts to break her through pleasure. He gave her a hard, almost sullen look and advanced towards her. She stared back, unblinking. There was a flurry of movement, and then a scream. ----------------------------------------------- Valerie approached the closet, pulled the door open and was greeted with a blinding wave of dust. She coughed, rubbed her eyes so they'd stop watering and went forward to brave the moldy depths. It was her least-used closet. When she'd moved into the apartment, she had dumped everything she owned and couldn't fit anywhere else on the bottom, stacked some boxes on top of it and filled the leftover space with blankets and clothes that she wasn't planning on wearing. In the months since then, the inside had coalesced into a solid but precarious tower of junk, most of which she couldn't for the life of her remember buying or stashing in there. She stood in front of it, wondering how in the name of the gods she was supposed to grab the blanket and pillows she needed without causing the entire pile to fall down, when Jack appeared behind her. She couldn't avoid a surprised squeak, but did stop herself from whirling around and instinctively clobbering him on the nose. "Sorry. I'm a bit jumpy, I guess. Have been for a while." She smiled a tired smile and didn't add that "a while" was roughly three years. "Do you need anything?" "You have mice." "Uhm?" She turned sideways, having given up on fighting the blanket, at least for the moment. "What do you mean?" "I mean, literally, you have mice. I just went to get more coffee and saw one jump out of the cupboard. It ran over my hand." He looked so outraged by the fact that she had to stifle a giggle. "Oh. I've been away for the past few weeks, so I hadn't noticed. I'll buy some traps tomorrow." She went back to the closet, squinted intently, and gave the blanket a pull while pushing the boxes on top back with her knee. It came loose. The pile wobbled but stood its ground. She turned to hand Jack the blanket so that she could get on with extracting the pillows, and found him staring at her in a way that could only be described as troubled. She frowned. Surely he wasn't that upset about one single mouse? "Is everything all right?" "Funny, I was about to ask the same. Are you all right?" "I am?" She blinked, confused by his attitude. Had she done anything to imply that she wasn't? "I mean, I've been a bit overworked as of late, but things should be calming down now that the war is over. Also, Mrs. Drakma — your aunt Briseis, that is, says that I have a lot of accrued vacation time. I should be able to get a few weeks off to show you around. If you want me to, of course." "Yes, that is all very ... nice," he replied, in a tone that implied the exact opposite. Valerie decided that perhaps it would be best to leave the pillows be for a while and try to understand what was going on. Whatever it was, it appeared to bother him so much that he had stopped meeting her eyes, so it was bound to be neither insignificant nor good. "I'm worried about you." "Oh," she said. Then, because his confession was both confusing and far from being answer enough, she added: "Why would you be worried?" "Why would I ... why wouldn't I be worried? You are living on an ass-backwards world, in a place you can barely call a house that also happens to be infested with vermin. You are in cahoots with my crazy aunt, and I think her philosophies are starting to rub off on you, because it's the only explanation I can find for half of the things that you've been saying. Worst of all, none of that seems to bother you. If you go on like this, it won't be long before you join that cult of hers and—" "Cult?" she interjected, frowning, and then she got what he meant and it became a trial to keep talking in a calm, conciliating tone. "If you meant the Liberation Front, it's not a cult. We are just a group of people who care about freedom and think it should be available to everyone." "We?!" "Yes, we," she stated, much more assuredly that she felt. "I mean, what did you think I was talking about when I said that I was working for your aunt and travelling the world with her?" "I thought she had hired you as her secretary, or some-such. I never imagined ..." He stopped talking and gave her an intense look. "Have you been ... you haven't let her put you in danger, have you?" "No." It wasn't really a lie, she told herself. Mrs. Drakma had never put her in danger. She had just done things like gently asking her if she felt like rescuing this very important person from these very evil people. She had always complied, but only because saving others sounded like the right thing to do, and she was determined to do the right thing at all costs. "Look, it's nowhere near as bad as you are thinking. I don't go on missions without backup, and the backup is always great, and even if it weren't, I can hold my own now. I've even learnt to shoot guns without yelling a lot!" "You have you been fighting?!" "Yes, I have." She beamed, hoping that it would make him stop acting as if the world were in the process of being sucked down a massive drain. It didn't seem to help. "It's not really avoidable, you know. It would be incredibly helpful if slavers could be stopped by talking to them and handing out pamphlets, but that's not how it works in reality, so often the only way to get them to quit is if you help them throw a seven." "What." "Throw a seven. It's something your aunt says. I don't know what it means, either, but she usually says it right before she commands us to execute someone, so I'm guessing — could you please stop looking at me like that?" He did stop looking at her like that, but the hard, determined stare that replaced it was not a marked improvement. Valerie ran a hand through her hair and chewed the inside of her cheek with fretful thoughtfulness. She'd expected that they were done arguing for the night, if not for his whole stay, but was beginning to understand how foolish that assumption had been. Luckily, this new gripe of his was one she felt was fair; she could effortlessly separate it from his rampant prejudice. He was worried about her, and what else were friends for if not for that? He had never seen her fight and survive, over and over. He remembered her as a girl who had cried and panicked over her first murder, a girl whose fate had depended on him stepping in and helping. Expecting him to simply accept her assurances that she could handle her new life would be unreasonable. She needed to convince him, only she didn't quite know how. "Would it help if—" "I know what we will do," Jack cut in. "I realize that you were in a difficult position when you went with aunt Briseis. I'm still not sure about what went down between you and aunt Marabeth that caused her to cast you out, but I'll be the first to admit that she can be ... difficult, at times. Now that I'm here, however, there is no reason why you should stay in a place like this. I'll see if I can get hold of my—" "I'm not going back to that ... that awful, awful woman, if that's what you are suggesting!" "—my grandparents. I haven't spoken to them in years, but I believe they'll be willing to take you in if I ask the right way." "Your grandparents?" "From my mother's side, yes. They live in Bourges, or at least they used to. If you give me a few days, I will arrange things so that you can move there as soon as possible." "Bourges," she said, chewing on the word and finding it tasted familiar. "That's in France?" "That's right." Her memory vomited up a load of scattered, red-tinted images. Bombs going off. Limbs and heads lying dozens of feet apart. Machine-guns rattling like death with a rhythm, drowning out screams in languages she didn't understand and screams that didn't have any language to speak of. Piles of smoke and piles of bodies, both of them climbing sky-high. "I don't like France very much," she said, her voice tiny. "It's for the best, though. You need people to take care of you. People who aren't eager to wrap you up in their own agendas." He took a step towards her. She didn't want to be so cynical as to assume he had spotted a waver in her stance and decided to take advantage of it. Unfortunately, it did look like that was what he was doing. Nevertheless, she allowed the warm circle of his arms to envelop her and pull her close. It felt less like a solid, protective wall than she remembered, and that was a disturbing thought to have. "I imagine that it's hard, to live with the knowledge that you can never go back home, but you are not obliged to dive face-first into earthen culture just to compensate. There are others up here. Entire communities of our kind who would, if not welcome you with open arms, at least give you the opportunity to keep being yourself. When you tire of my grandparents, you can always ask to be introduced into one of them." "You are just taking it as a given that I'll want to go to your grandparents!" "Well, I am. Why wouldn't you accept? They won't look down on you because of your problem, if that's what you are worried about. They are good, decent folk." "I'm sure they are. I just ..." she waved her arms around, grasping for arguments that he would be able to understand, to find reasonable. The blankets and pillows fell on the floor with a soft foof. "Is it so very inconceivable to you that I am happy with the way things are?" "The way things are? You mean fighting, indoctrination and mice? Yes, I do find that inconceivable. Any second you spend in this dumpster is one second too long, and if you aren't capable of looking out for your best interests, I'm more than prepared to step in and do it for you." Valerie broke away from him and bent over, ostensibly to pick up the blankets but actually so that she could blink back a few tears that were threatening to sneak out. She marched towards the living room. A beat later, Jack turned on his heels and followed her, the grimness on his face giving way to concern. She sat down on the couch, reeling from feelings she wasn't sure how to sort out. He waited, assessing if she would take issue with him joining her, and then did it anyway. "I'm trying to help you," he told her, and she believed him. It was just that him helping often took the shape of steamrolling over her wants, being deaf to anything she said, and micromanaging the situation to a degree that would make the most staunch control-freak weep. She hadn't minded before, or thought it necessary to complain about it, but leaving everything up to him because he knew better was turning out to be another facet of her old life that, although pleasant back then, didn't quite mesh with the new version. Although it had been liberating, in a way, to have someone who was naturally predisposed to solve her conflicts and make choices for her, it wouldn't do anymore. She needed to put a stop to it, the sooner the better. "I'm twenty-six," she said. It was an effort to do so without sounding petulant. "I appreciate your interest, I do, but I think I'm enough of a grown-up to decide for myself what I want to do, where I want to live and who I want to spend time with." "Like hell you are," Jack said bluntly. He grasped her hands tightly, so tightly they went white and bloodless. She had to mutter a weak protest to get him to stop, and even then he didn't let go altogether. Jack swallowed and did his ineffectual best to soften the blow. "Your intentions are good, I'm sure. I remember when I left home to go to Charuin. Suddenly I had all the freedom, and for a while it felt like an addiction; you wouldn't have dragged me back for all the money in the world. Then that thing that happened happened, and I realized that I was nowhere near as in control of my fate as I—" "You poisoned a girl because she said a mean thing. That's not lack of control about your fate, that's ..." There had to be a way of putting it that would prevent her from sounding mean herself, but she didn't find it. "That was just you flying off the handle and cementing the definition of 'overkill.'" "Yes, speaking of kill," he interrupted, and she rolled her eyes to the ceiling, stifling a groan. There weren't many things that she flat-out detested about her best friend, but his selective hearing was too much for anyone to put up with. "Aunt Briseis will make you kill people, sooner or later. I'll bet you anything that she only took you in because she heard that you had murdered one of ours already. Finding ways to exploit others while making a show of goodness is what she specializes in. Say what you will about aunt Marabeth, but at least she is honest about what she is." "There are other words that could be used to describe her better," Valerie replied in a clipped tone. The uneasy feeling that she was dipping her toe into half-buried family issues that she had little to nothing to do with curled around her spine like tendrils of smoke. Still, she soldiered on. "For what it's worth, I quite like Mrs. Drakma and I don't think that she's out to exploit me. She never told me to kill anyone either. It just ... became necessary, after a fashion." He almost knocked her off the couch in his haste to get up and glower at her from above. "What, or who," he spat, "did you kill?" "I'm sad to say that it was mostly humans so far. You wouldn't believe it, but some of them are horrible enough to sell their own people to us. I had never heard of such a thing." "The Cynihese do the same, but never mind. You never went up against one of us, then?" "No, unless you count training sessions with your aunt and ... well, you know." "I'm not counting that." "Well then." Valerie looked up, found his eyes and quickly looked down again. Not only was he wearing a face that said that nothing was good in the world and likely wouldn't be for a while, he was also spearing her with a look that was eerily reminiscent of the glances Marabeth had shot her on the day Rachel had died. The look of someone who had been bitten by a bug he had pegged as harmless, and was now considering whether he should catch it and keep it in a jar or trample it underfoot. Maybe it was something he had caught from his aunt through years of close interaction. She willed herself to believe that that was exactly it. "I think we should stop arguing about this. It's unlikely to do us any good. Why don't you sit down, and I'll go make you some rodent-free coffee and see if I have clean sheets somewhere?" Jack took a deep, labored breath and pressed a hand against his forehead. "You are right," he said. "Arguing won't get us any further if you are being this pig-headed. I have a better idea." ----------------------------------------------- Things were, once again, going in any way but the way Jack wished them to. He shouldn't be surprised, and he wasn't. He was only a touch resentful that he had allowed her to surprise him. He had watched Valeriana's movements with exhausting meticulousness from the moment he placed her on her own two feet, noticing everything she noticed and making as many gruesome, violent and possibly fatal associations as she was sure to be stitching together in that deathtrap she used as a brain. It was the only way he could hope to stay two steps ahead of her, and even that had backfired. He'd expected her to go to the fork, and caught hold of the arm most likely to reach for it as soon as her body language told him she was about to make a move. He hadn't expected her to go for the spoon. Not that fast, at least. It should have been nigh impossible, unless she had been aiming for it the entire time, which come to think about it, was likely to be the case. He hadn't expected her to stick the back of the spoon where she did either, although he later recognized that it had been the obvious choice, provided you were the sort of person who routinely thought about which body parts could be damaged the most with the smallest amount of strength or exertion. He looked at her, through the eye that wasn't hidden by a blood-soaked napkin and was busily knitting itself together. She leaned back in the chair she was currently — and thoroughly — bound to with the air of an artisan who, after spending days and nights working feverishly on a masterpiece, finally sees it finished and ready to be appraised critically. If he focused, which wasn't as easy as that, since most of what he could focus on at the present was the lingering stabs that filled his right eye socket, he could navigate and interpret her thoughts through the busy river of emotions that washed over her face. The soft clicking of her tongue was a "Should have dug in deeper and twisted a few more times!" if he had ever heard one, the gentle dimple in her forehead a resigned "Ah well, I suppose I could have done a lot worse." "You know," she said, in a suspiciously pleasant tone, "If being mated to you ends up being in any way similar to five minutes ago, I think I just might be able to stomach it after all. How's your eye?" Her mouth was smiling. Horribly, because that was the only way she could smile nowadays unless she happened to try otherwise, and the reason it was horrible was that the smile went to her eyes, stopped dead, and backtracked at full speed. "Healing," Jack replied. Not growling out the word took effort, but he managed. "Are you comfortable?" She made a show of examining the chains around her legs, midsection, neck and arms. He couldn't help but feel proud of his work. After making do with the chains he had hidden behind the tablecloth just in case they were needed, he'd asked for more. She had been firmly tied at that point, but he figured that adding a few more layers of metal couldn't hurt. Besides, weaving the shining strands around her in ways that were as constricting as they were pleasing to the eye had been relaxing. Bloodsong Ch. 10 "I'm good, thanks," she said, and stared at the napkin in front of his face as if she was in love with it. He wondered why he was still bothering to be civil. It wasn't simply failing to impress her, it was making her even grouchier than usual, which was puzzling in itself. He knew enough about the way human society worked to realize that most of them weren't completely lacking in manners, so it was unlikely they had conditioned her to see politeness as something undesirable. Perhaps it was just because it was him? There didn't seem to be an end to the number of things she was willing to refuse on the grounds that he was the one offering them. He was determined to see it through to the bitter end, though. Therefore, he picked up a clean spoon, piled up some rice and assorted seafood on a plate, shoved it towards her and hoped for the best. Valeriana gave him a look that could only be described as contemptuous. "Am I supposed to pick up a fork with my hands tied?" She didn't add a "you idiot!", but only, he presumed, because she felt it would be redundant. "Or are you planning to hand-feed me?" They exchanged a glance. She slammed her mouth shut, horrorstruck. "It's an idea," he said. A good one, too. There was nothing about the picture of her literally eating from his hand that didn't appeal to him. It wasn't, however, very in line with the scenario he was still determined to lay out. "You know, we could have a pretty fun and lively relationship if you ever made those suggestions seriously." The only response he got was a snort. There was something odd about her posture, though. He only started noticing after a few instants of ponderous silence, but she was strangely twitchy for somebody who wasn't being threatened. In fact, she looked more out of sorts than when she was being threatened, and her attempts to hide it did nothing but highlight her discomfort. She was also, and this he picked up quicker, not looking at the plate in front of her with the same deliberation that she hadn't been looking at the fork some minutes ago. It could be another misdirect, of course, but it was good to cover all his bases. "If you are worried I poisoned the food, I can taste it for you. After I figure out how I get you to eat it without trying to murder me with it." He said it in a tone that was far kinder than he felt like using, considering that his right eye was still throbbing like an exposed heart. Her reaction caught him by surprise. Annoyance or scorn would have been expected. To have her curl her lip and snarl at him with raw possessiveness was all but. He blinked, only a bit painfully, and looked from her haggard face to the plate in front of her. Somewhere in the cellars of his mind, a penny started a long but swift journey towards the ground. ----------------------------------------------- "Val, when was the last time someone fed you?" Valerie sat still for a second that encompassed eternities in psychological time. Then she screamed. She started by screaming at the giant blob of cluelessness sitting in front of her, and kept it going for so long that it became unfocused. By the time it turned into an enraged, spitting gurgle, she was directing it at nothing in particular, but she didn't care. Considering the way it had been working lately, the world in general deserved to put up with it. Once her voice broke and she was reduced to silence, she smoothed her features into a calm-if-reddened mask and surreptitiously checked if the crystal glasses on the table were still intact. Then she asked, a tad hoarsely: "I blew up my kitchen on July fifth, right?" "Right." "And what day was it when I escaped from the Mayfly?" "July seventh." "And what day is it today?" "The twentieth." His reply was prompt and she didn't see why he would lie about something that minor, but she was still taken aback. That was a lot more days than she had expected. More than enough time for the Front to locate her if they were still trying. Were they still trying? It occurred to her that they could not be. After all, she knew little to nothing about how things had gone down in Westmont. Jack hadn't gloated about killing or capturing Mrs. Drakma, and therefore she assumed that she was free, but maybe he just hadn't gotten around to it yet. Gods knew he had a veritable toilet roll of gloating that he was carefully hoarding. "I have murdered your mentor!" couldn't figure too high on the list. If Mrs. Drakma was dead, would the others think to search for her? Johanna would, and Santos probably would, and old lady Makkena had always been fond of her, but would anybody else rally behind them when there were doubtlessly so many other, more important things that needed to be taken care of? It wasn't as if most of them never spent time teasing her about her "boyfriend" as Jack had never made his obsession with her anything but obvious. For any man or woman that would worry, there'd be another going, "Well, we all know he's smitten with her, so she can't be having it too bad, and anyway, who's to say that's not how all aliens woo each other?" There was also a niggling, dreadful voice in her head that suggested that maybe they wouldn't care at all. Maybe they would decide they'd had enough of her kind and just write her off as a loss. She had nothing that supported the possibility besides her own biting insecurity, but still. Still. "Your asshole friend gave me a bit of bread on the seventh. Apart from that, nothing until now," she should have screamed it, or failing that, growled it at him, but her voice was spent and she didn't have the energy anymore. "Are you trying to tell me that you weren't starving me intentionally?" "No!" he shouted, and then, thinking it required clarification, added, "No, I was not aware that you hadn't been given any food." "You kept me unconscious a lot, didn't you? And you were more interested in other things the few times I was awake, so unless you haven't thought about it at all, you should have known that ..." Valerie trailed off. Dead silence blew from the other end of the table. Silence, with a hint of horror and the bitter aftertaste of embarrassment. "You remember asking me," she said, not without glee, "to rate how stupid I thought you were? Well, the pointer just hit zero so hard I think it broke. How dense do you have to be to not realize that living things need sustenance? I thought you had learned that lesson after that time you forgot to feed your parakeet and starved it to death! For someone who claims to care so much about my well-being, you—" "You never said a word about being hungry! You never complained!" "Of course I didn't. It's not like you listen to my complaints. Besides, I thought you would use it as a tool to bargain or manipulate me. And now that I mentioned it, you probably will!" The chair he was sitting on scraped the floor with a strident noise as he threw it back and stood up. She watched him warily, because damned if she could tell what he was thinking right now. Strangely enough, he watched her in the exact same way. His steps were measured to carry him towards her with the speed and steadiness of a floating iceberg, as if he himself were less than eager to reach his destination. He stopped half a foot away and looked down at the plate in front of her. Had the chains allowed it, she would have kicked herself. Of course. Why had she been giving him ideas again? Valerie bit her tongue, conscious that snarling at him again would be unhelpful, and kept tracking his hand. It was difficult to keep a measure of shock off her face when, instead of lifting the plate and taking it away, he pushed it towards her. She gritted her teeth, refusing to let her astonishment show. It could still be a trick. She was chained, he could snatch it away in an instant... "Go ahead, eat," he said, and nodded encouragingly. "Hands. Still. Tied." "Ah, right." He bent over, key in hand, thought better about it and straightened, giving her a careful, thoughtful look. She noticed a slight tremor in the corner of his mouth. He noticed her noticing and pulled his face straight, but not in time. Cogs turned inside her head. Suspicion rose. Understanding dawned once more. "Are you nervous?" "No," he said, too fast and too unconvincingly. "Yes, you are. You are sweating, failing to concentrate, and one inconvenience away from flipping, and you are disguising all of that badly. Why are you nervous?" She tilted her head, waiting for an answer and praying that the underlying And how may I ensure that you become even more nervous, and therefore give myself a chance to use it against you? was subtle enough. Jack didn't grace her with an answer. He ran a hand through his hair, digging his nails so deeply that she could swear she'd heard bits of his scalp being sliced off. No, of course he wasn't nervous. It wasn't as if he looked the part so very well. He was nervous for no good reason, too. He had her tied up, had as much control over her as he could wish for. All that she had was resolve and enough insults to fill every letter of the alphabet, and those were good for looking plucky, but wouldn't help her escape anytime soon. Nervousness was misplaced on him. He looked from her to the plate again, quite restlessly for someone who claimed to be calm. Then he glanced around, at the many angrily glowing candles, nice antique furniture, tablecloth that had been embroidered by hand by someone who was clearly very good at it, and all the fat roses you could want — or not, as the case might be. Once he had made a show of checking out every object in the room, he turned to her again. The look on his face was puzzling. It was tired and exasperated and, against all probability, hopeful. Not even Valerie could guess what was about to happen, but she leaned back in her chair, putting as many inches of extra distance between them as the chains allowed. Just in case. "You see," he swallowed a few times, took a few deep breaths and restarted. "You keep acting like I'm about to pull out a knife and torture you and ... you do know that this is a date, right?" "Like hell it is!" "Flowers. Candles. Food. You. Me," he insisted, gesturing to the corresponding articles. Valerie's eyes glazed over and turned towards whatever god made a habit of living in ceilings to pray for help. It didn't come. Jack went on, sounding increasingly more secure. "It's a date." Valerie was starting to convince herself that he had flipped — truly flipped this time, gone round the bend and back, happily traipsed off the edge of sanity — because nothing else was as satisfying an explanation for whatever the hell he was trying. If it wasn't that, and he had simply graduated from fucking her body to fucking with her mind by being weird beyond belief, then she had to give him full marks, because she didn't know what to make of anything that was happening. "I just gored your eye out with a spoon!" "A date with some room for improvement, then." "This is a trap." "Not everything is a trap, Valerie." "Everything related to you sure is!" Jack sighed and shifted one of his arms to reach for the chair he had abandoned. He broke it off the floor and lifted it over the table, nearly hitting a glass with one of its feet, and placed it on the floor in front of her. He sat down, shifted his arm back to normal, fished the lamprey from its tray and waved it in front of her face. Valerie was about to mouth a weary "What the hell" when he pushed it, head-first, towards her lips. She jerked her own head back and shook it. Whoever had prepared the delicacy hadn't considered that most people wouldn't think it very appetizing to have it staring at them. She was half-starved, sure, but that starvation was now being introduced to something that in addition to being shaped like a dick, had round, dead eyes and a mouth like a toothed anus. She was, quite understandably, starting to think something along the lines of "No, I believe I'm good after all." She had never found anything sea-based that she wouldn't devour and enjoy, but she suspected that resolution was about to be put to the test. "Eat," Jack said, pressing it forward again and staring at her confusedly when she refused to open her mouth. "Come on, you'll be less cranky and confrontational once you have your stomach full." "Are you willing to bet money on mmff." Valerie instinctively clamped her mouth — and teeth — shut, snapping the head off in one messy, crunchy bite. It was undercooked and could do with more salt, but the roaring hunger in her gut hardly minded. She swallowed. The chunk of fish sailed down her throat like a warm lava stone, hit her stomach, and was instantly and gratefully engulfed. She glared at Jack, who had gone pale. When she realized why, she almost choked on her effort not to laugh. "Ah, yes. That is what I'll do to anything that you try to put into my mouth. Something you should keep in mind, I think." "I'll try." He still fed her the rest of the fish, though, and she had chewed her way through half of it, bones and all, before it occurred to her that she should have a problem with that. It was obedience, even if it was also satisfying a need of her own that, she was sure, surpassed his need to see her do something without complaint. Valerie decided to try something different. She was willing to be charitable and believe that he hadn't chosen to feed her a phallic-shaped fish on purpose. The look he'd given her when she'd started milling the white flesh between her teeth had possessed the startled, understanding-dawning quality of someone whose mind had just unexpectedly face-planted in a gutter. That was no reason not to take advantage of it, though. If anything, it served as an incentive. If the worst came to pass and she didn't escape him, it would only do her good to discourage him from demanding anything that started and ended with B. She swallowed the bit she'd been chewing and edged her head forward, until her mouth was inches away from what was left of the lamprey. She licked her lips with slow deliberation, running her tongue from one corner to another enough times for him to get caught up in the movement, and more than enough to get them properly wetted. Then she parted them, and gracefully bent her neck forward. It was a pity that she'd politely excused herself that time Maria had tried to inflict a pile of Cosmos on her. She was sure that almost half of the covers had purported tips on how to improve one's sex life, and that many of them related to turning a regular, strictly-for-eating mouth into a "'smoking-hot pouch of luvin'." Although Valerie couldn't care less about making the act pleasurable for whatever was on the receiving end, it would be nice if she remembered anything about how to make it look enticing. The few times she'd witnessed someone blowing someone, it had been a sickening but mercifully short sight. One usually followed up with "Unhand that woman/man/child/sentient being that I can't identify at the moment!" and gunshots if the blowee failed to comply — or, in that one case where she'd had to use the third option, even if he did. Well, to hell with it. Judging by the faint redness that crept down his face, Jack was already thinking in the direction she needed him to. Besides, he liked inexperience, didn't he? Most of his insistence on exterminating anything male that crossed her path had been born of jealousy, but she refused to believe that his behavior didn't have a component of wanting to ensure he was the one to give her all her firsts. Because girls who went wide-eyed and whispered trembling, mewling "Will it fit?" despite having millenniums of evolution and presumably some years of sex-ed assuring them that it would, were just so endearing. Valerie deliberately shoveled away the bitter reminder that for a while, while he forced her open the first time, her thoughts had danced dangerously close to the irrational, panicky drivel she was sneering at. Her mouth closed around a dangling bit of fish and plucked it off the rest with a light sucking noise. She looked up, batting her eyelashes in an appropriately innocent manner, and saw that Jack was giving her the mother of all side-eyes. He'd gone past slightly reddened and all the way to flushed, but was still not saying anything. Smiling to herself, she swallowed and tilted her head to give what was left of the lamprey's back a tentative lick. Her tongue traveled up, sliding over the dark, crispy skin until it reached the part Jack was holding. It came as no surprise that he immediately thrust his hand forward, giving her better access. She rewarded him with a quick, almost shy touch of lips against his thumb. Then she retreated until her mouth was level with the end she'd started with and, without taking her eyes off his face, started again. Jack smiled. It was a guarded smile, one that hadn't quite decided yet whether it wanted to be happy, sly, amused, self-satisfied, grim, threatening, or just a smile for politeness' sake. He lifted his left hand, holding it where she could see it — and, more importantly, see where it was headed — and laid it on top of her head. Valerie awarded herself a cautious pat on the back for not flinching. He ran his thumb over her right temple, scratching it with soft, cautious motions, as if he was trying to pet a strange cat. She stilled, briefly wondered if purring would be overdoing it, and decided it was worth a try. In response, his hand slid down to the nape of her neck and nudged her forward. She obliged. Then she bit down, as forcefully and as loudly as possible, tearing the lamprey in half in one go. She let out a hoarse, content moan as her throat worked the huge chunk of fish down. Jack's hand tightened on her neck, fully by instinct, and then relaxed and resumed the petting. She heard him sigh the frustrated sigh of someone whose libido had just been turned on and off like a malfunctioning traffic light. "I shouldn't say anything and let you continue," he mused aloud, "but this is really unnecessary." "Oh, I think it's necessary." "It's not. I don't intend to force you to suck me off." He rolled his eyes at her disbelieving expression. "Don't get me wrong; it's not like I wouldn't love it. You wouldn't, though. In my experience, getting a cock down their throat is something that women only enjoy if they are up for it to begin with, or after much coaching. Otherwise, all you get is some unpleasant spluttering, and in your case, blood and minced meat. I don't want to do anything to you that you won't have a chance of liking, so we'll wait." "Sure. It's just no fun unless you get to tell me that it's my own fault that your raping ways made me cry, right?" "You can take it like that." He shrugged and brought what was left of the lamprey to her mouth. "Eat. You can also keep tonguing it if you want, but keep in mind that the fish didn't donate its body to be used in anything involving sexual conditioning slash manipulation slash ham-fisted seduction." Valerie almost choked for real. "So, a fucking dead fish's consent is more important to you than mine. Good to know." He rolled his eyes again, which seemed like the only reply she would get. Fuming, she went back to eating normally. Not because she believed him, but because, despite her best efforts, he'd been left mostly unfazed by what she'd done. If she kept it up, he'd just shake his head and, possibly, laugh. She tore the flesh resentfully until the last sliver had gone down her throat and only a bit of dark tail remained. She leaned in and, instead of clamping her teeth around it, did so with the fingers that held it. To her consternation, Jack didn't blink or act surprised. He took hold of her nose, and pressed it closed until she was forced to open her mouth to gasp for air. She tried to suck in as much as she could without letting go of his thumb, but eventually her jaw gave up and slackened. Bloodsong Ch. 11 Hello again, guys! Since it's been a long, long time since the last chapter, I thought you might need some sort of 'previously on' to catch you all up, in case you've forgotten who the characters are and what this story is about while I was busy . . . not writing. So here's what happened many moons ago on Bloodsong: Valerie, who is a tentacle alien with no tentacles, was captured by her ex-BFF Jack, who is a tentacle alien with tentacles and also kind of a colossal dick. After spending however many chapters raping her, almost freezing her to death and generally being enough of a shithead to earn himself five death sentences in a row, Jack decides that he might get more results out of her if he plays nice. While he forces her on a pseudo-romantic dinner and is busy feeding her penis fish, Valerie's coworkers show up to rescue her. Once he fucks off to go fight them, she frees herself with some help from Barrington, a sneaky inventor who is sneaky, and heads downstairs to wait for a chance to make Jack swallow his own balls. Also, Jack's evil aunt is secretly alive, and Jack's slightly less evil aunt is unexpectedly MIA. And that's where we left of. - Mira Bloodsong Ch. 11 "I'm sure she did," he replied, folding his arms and resuming the tapping. "That's what has me worried." Bloodsong Ch. 11 At the same time, he realized something else. They were stalling him. Bloodsong Ch. 12 A.N. – It's here. Took me long enough, but it's here. Thank fuck. Bloodsong Ch. 12 "It only works if there's a magician with another mirror on the other end," she warned. Angelica nodded. Tess could do some simple magics, which although far from powerful or impressive, should do to accept a call. There was always a chance that she wouldn't have a mirror in her vicinity, but she had a great deal of faith in her sister's narcissism. "Well, if that's all, I'll be off." "Yes. Thank you!" Angelica waved a disinterested goodbye, her attention all on the mirror. It had been a while since the last time she'd used one. They'd been popular decades ago, until the widespread implementation of communication methods that weren't so dependent on magic had made them fall into disuse. However, those new methods would not reach Tess, who was on some ship thousands of miles off the coast, as quickly or as effectively. She closed her eyes. She pictured her sister in all of her blonde, perfectly groomed, so-above-it-all glory, and waited until the mirror found her. It didn't take long for the kaleidoscope of shapes and colors dancing in the glass to settle into sharper images. Once they did, Angelica bit her lip. The mirror showed two women, one dark, one fair, and it showed them from above. Trust Tess to have a mirror hanging right above her bed. If that didn't reveal enough about her sister's character, the fact that she and the darker girl lay side by side, with their limbs so tightly entwined that they could be mistaken for a single creature, would tell the rest. It took another while, and her clearing her throat, for the pair to notice her. "Belladonna!" Tessalia exclaimed, perking up. How she managed to always sound and act so upbeat despite having a job that involved non stop slaughter and the planning thereof was a mystery that Angelica had given up on trying to understand. Tess sat up and discarded the blanket that covered her, shamelessly displaying her bosom. Modesty was not a trait that her sister had made an effort to retain after she had run off to join the navy. "I did not expect to hear from you. Did you get your invitation? Mine came in the mail today. It's a little damp, but considering the way they're handling the deliveries nowadays I should be glad I can still—" "Don't be a brat. It's Angelica!" She suspected that Tess was riling her up on purpose. There were few things that irritated her more than being mistaken for her twin. Unfortunately it was something that happened often enough, since they shared the same body and the same face and the same voice. It had been funny when they were children and could use it to play tricks on people. It had become less amusing when it had started to mean that half of Lenosh had seen her naked by proxy. "You need to come here right now. Inocore are attacking Tremara, and I suspect that our Master of Port is planning on handing slaves to them. They won't listen to me if I tell them it's an asinine idea, but they will listen to you!" "I'm not sure what I'll be wearing yet. Ryker — you know, that self-important little bitch I told you about — and old Just-in-Case will be there, so I might wear a dress just to see how they react." Tess smiled vaguely to herself and turned to the side, nudging the other girl, who yawned and stretched lazily. "What do you think, pet? Should I dress up as a lady for a night and give them all a stroke, or stick to being my usual charming self?" Angelica blinked. ". . . Tess? Did you hear what I just said?" "Yes, fine, the uniform then. I suppose it would be a bit tasteless to steal attention away from the mates-to-be." "Tess!" There was no reining in her scream of frustration. "Inocore! Here, where I am! Focus!" "Yes, I know. Who would have guessed that little Val would be the first out of the three of us to settle down?" Angelica was momentarily derailed by the grossness of that inaccuracy. The first? Who by all the gods was she, then? "Mind you, I'll never like the man. Even as a kid he was balls out creepy. Always sneaking around our backyard and running off with her to do who knows what. I'm glad I cracked down on that, even if it all seems to have turned out fine." "Tess, Inocore!" Angelica turned the mirror upside down and shook it, beyond anxious now. None of this seemed like regular Tess behavior. Her sister was terminally unserious about too many things, but when it came to her work, she didn't play. She should be asking her what the status was, how many Inocore there were, where they were assembled, those kinds of things. Instead she rambled about dresses and the upcoming mating as if this were a social call. "Can you even hear me?" "I'm still surprised it did, to be honest. I'd heard that things were a mess between them. They must have worked it all out, though, if they're coming back. Which our father still isn't very pleased with. Did I tell you he threw a fit and is refusing to attend the ceremony? I've tried to persuade him to be sensible about this and at least show his face over there for a few minutes, but . . ." For the first time, the dreaminess in her sister's eyes waned. Her voice went low and soft. "But I suppose you'd rather that he didn't set foot there at all, wouldn't you? It really is a shame that—" "Tess, it's Angelica! Not Belladonna! Angelica!" And, she was proud to say — although she wouldn't do so aloud — she was on very pleasant terms with her father. And why wouldn't she be? She'd done everything right. Every expectation laid out for her she had scrambled to fulfil. Of course, her father still loved Tess the best, but that was because although Tess had seemed to go the same way as Valeriana and Belladonna, she'd somehow managed to come out of it all more respected and admired than ever. Her sister might not believe in the gods, but Angelica was convinced that somewhere in the pantheon there had to be a god who believed in Tess Lazur. Nothing else would explain her disgustingly good fortune. She bit her lip and waved a desperate hand. "How many fingers am I holding up?!" "You know, I'm still convinced that this rift between the two of you could be mended if you started to, say, wear more clothes in public. It needn't be all the time, either. About seventy percent of it would do the trick." If Angelica weren't too well-bred to curse, she would have. "Oh, you . . . forget about it!" She dropped the mirror, trembling with anger. The shopkeeper had botched the magic. Whatever Tess was hearing wasn't close to anything she was trying to say. She pondered what else she could do. However, she wasn't able to reach a conclusion, because a moment later the door was brought down. Angelica whirled around, blood draining from her face. She'd been so wrapped up in her one-sided arguing that it had escaped her notice that outside, people screamed in terror and fled down the street with more urgency than they'd been displaying before. The urge to follow them hit her, all encompassing, in the second it took her to register the shape that filled the doorway. Then recognition dawned, and a new feeling superimposed itself: joy. Incredulous, giddy, overwhelming joy. "Oh gods, Tam!" She didn't think twice about launching herself at him. His skin felt cold and clammy, and he dripped water all over her clothes, but he was upright and alive and staring at her, and just like that, her worries vanished. She hugged him, her throat tight with relief. He was there, and she was with him. Her mate. She should have known that he couldn't be gone. No matter what had happened to their bond, he was there, hers, and all would be fine. Happy tears filled her eyes, making her relieved babble almost incomprehensible. "I stopped feeling you, and they said, they said you were lost! Where have you been? Why are you all wet?" "Silence your yapping, female." Angelica's lips parted, preparing to question. Then she let out a cry that was almost a whine, because Tam was prying her off of him and grabbing a handful of her hair, holding her tightly but at arm's length. She didn't fight, didn't even think to. He was her mate; mates weren't supposed to raise their hand to you, but you weren't supposed to resist them if they did. However, when he threw her on the ground and got on top of her, she couldn't suppress a whimper of protest. Such roughness was uncharacteristic of him. Besides, the floor of a deserted shop was hardly the best place to indulge in carnal activities, even if they were both relieved to see each other alive. Who was to say when it had last been cleaned? Undressing her and having his way with her didn't seem to be on her mate's mind, though. He kept staring, his mouth forming a ghastly pantomime of a smile. And he didn't blink, not once. Despite herself, Angelica grew . . . concerned. "Tam, love, what is going on? Why are you acting like this?" She lifted her hands to his chest, trying to get across that she needed him off. Once there, however, her fingers froze. She felt no heartbeat. Not a hint of one. The creature on top of her curled back its lips to show teeth, its smile going from eerie to feral. "It is good that you are so unresisting. It makes it all much easier." Hands grabbed hers and held them behind her back. Fear speared through her as the words were intoned, and that was wrong. A good woman ought to never be afraid of her mate. A good woman ought to never be afraid of her mate, even when that mate was staring at her as if she were a thing. But — and as the realization dawned she did curse, cursed herself for what a fool she had been — she wasn't being touched and stared at by her mate. This was a parasite wearing his skin. And now it spoke to her again, in broken hisses that scarcely resembled Barashnik. "You love this form. Therefore, you bow unasked. I shall reward your willingness. There is a female of my kind who I find pleasing. I find your form pleasing. I shall put her in it, so that my pleasure may be greater." Angelica stared up, eyes wide with fear. She tried to talk, but the creature wouldn't allow it. It leaned over and covered her mouth with its own, filling it with the revolting taste of rotten algae. The act couldn't even be called a kiss; more like an attempt to suck out her stomach through her mouth. It robbed her of breath until she began to feel fainter and fainter. Remembering that her tentacles had been left unrestrained, she flung them at the creature, beating inefficiently on its back in an attempt to shove it off. Little came of it, however. She was so much weaker. She'd heard — from Tess, who ought to know — that a possessed body was thrice as strong as it had been originally, and Tam had always been stronger than her to start with. Whatever struggling she initiated she lost with little fuss. The creature's lips finally left hers as it straightened, its features twisting into a grin at once familiar and alien. Angelica didn't dare speak. In the background she could still hear Tess's muffled chatter coming through the mirror, as if their conversation had never been interrupted. This is wrong, she thought, as fresh tears sprung into her eyes. All so wrong. Then the creature brought its fist down hard on her head, and the lights went out. Bloodsong Ch. 12 They left, his aunt striding ahead, he ambling like a sleepwalker. Outside the room it was dead quiet; not a soul in sight, no whisper of a sound. The corridor didn't look like it had the last time he'd gone through it. It was narrower, darker and rounder, like the inside of a molehill. When he brushed his foot against the leather-like surface he'd taken for a wall, it bit him the same way an exposed wire would. He recoiled and stared, recollections flaring up in his muddled mind like errant fog lights, the realization of what he was inside of dawning. A gate. Not one like those he was used to, the ones he took whenever he went from home to Earth and back. This one was to those like a brand new skyscraper to the greatest and most ancient of temples. He didn't need to focus to feel the magic that had woven it — instead of being a faint hum, it screamed at him from every direction, and became louder the closer to his aunt he walked. Torn between keeping a safe distance and dreading that he'd be left behind if he didn't keep up, he began to watch her. The gate, he saw, formed with her. Past where she stepped there would be nothing but swirling darkness, but the moment she lifted her feet a new piece of gate would appear. She was weaving it as they went. That she knew how to do so was a fact that raised even more questions. It was also unsettling. "Gatemanship has many uses," she told him with a crooked, humorless smile, as he stumbled out of the dark. She gestured around. "Make yourself comfortable. Transportation should be arriving any minute; I saw your friend driving here on my way." Jack ignored her and stared at the patch of air, now empty, that he'd come through. Then he cast a glance around. They were on a sidewalk, a busy one at that. The sun was all but gone from the sky, and worried-looking humans hurried past them in thick streams. That they had appeared out of thin air was a fact that seemed to have gone unnoticed. Just a handful of those that passed them by gave them a second look, and their attention was cursory. Possibly they thought they were a circus act. He didn't doubt that they looked the part, what with him wearing a bloodstained lab coat, Valeriana in a dress both old fashioned and torn up, and his aunt styled as per usual – like an elderly, poorly medicated clown. He recognized some of the businesses, and many of the houses. They weren't far from where they'd just left. Blocks away, if that. His aunt could have transported them there in a third of the time it had taken her to make a gate and walk them through. Not minding much that he was ignoring her, the woman sank to the ground and crossed her legs, halting the flow of humans and forcing them to sidestep her. If she'd begun chanting and levitating right after, it wouldn't have fazed him one bit. "Are you going to tell me what's happening here?" he asked, after a while had gone by. "Not now. Later. We're on a tight schedule, and if I start explaining everything in detail, you'll never let me stop." The woman shook her head and looked up at him. Her eyes passed, with unmistakable deliberation, over the girl he held to his chest, but whatever her look spelled out was something he didn't know how to read. "Suffice to say, you owe me your life. That you were in a position where I was forced to save you is something you owe to no one but yourself. You'd do well to keep both those things in mind. Oh, and be a dear and don't try to run, will you?" "I have no intention of running." There would be no point. Even if he were at peak strength, which he was not, no set of limbs was strong enough to fight against her kind of power. That was one of the first things one learned when growing up with a magician as their guardian. Besides, he couldn't very well leave Valeriana with her, and it wasn't even possessiveness that made him loathe the idea. It was protectiveness. From what he'd seen in the past minute, Aunt Briseis was unpredictable and quite likely mad, and she had dropped her protégé like a stone with nary a blink. There was no telling what else she could do. "You mentioned transportation?" "I did." She looked past him. Her expression became a little less pinched. "And there it is, right on time. I suppose something had to go according to plan today, after all the setbacks the two of you — well, especially you — caused." Jack whirled around to see what she was staring at and spotted it at once. The white truck came lurching down the street in a zigzag pattern, as if whoever was behind the wheel had had not one, but twenty drinks too many. And it was coming at them fast. At first it seemed it would zoom ahead, but at the last possible second the driver hit the brakes, bringing the vehicle to a noisy halt right in front of them. Jack was left face to face with a circular logo depicting a mustachioed man in a chef's hat, holding a loaf of bread. Unable to bring himself to shake his head, he looked to the driver side, where the window was in the process of being rolled down. A haggard face, reeking of tequila, leaned out and gawked at him, taking in the lab coat, his disheveled state, the girl in his arms and all of the blood. "Let me guess," Nick said, sounding more shell shocked than anything. "Medical play gone wrong?" Jack opened his mouth. When words failed to come to him, he shut it again. However, Aunt Briseis wasn't similarly inconvenienced. She rose from the ground with a grace a human woman her size would never have matched and walked around the truck. Nick was still staring at him as if he were trying to puzzle things out — or trying to decide whether what he had in front of him was worth puzzling out — when he caught wind of the woman's actions. With reptile-like speed, he leaned over the other seat and locked the door before she could pull it open. She gave him a nonplussed look through the glass. "Sorry, boys only!" he snapped. He leaned further out of the window so that his upper body was half hanging out and brought his face closer to Jack's. "I swear, I can't leave you fucking people alone for fifteen fucking minutes without everything going to— hey, the fuck! Get out!" The latter was directed at Aunt Briseis, who had just bypassed the lock and installed herself on the seat beside him. Nick gave her an aghast look and made shooing hand motions. All he got for his efforts was a contemptuous frown. "Now that's no way to speak to people," Aunt Briseis declared. Jack knew what would happen before he saw it unfold, but even then it was too late to shout a warning. Nick's jaw went slack and his eyes gained an absent, faraway look. His aunt nodded, grim satisfaction shining on her full moon face, and turned away from her stunned victim to point over her shoulder. "You can take her and ride in the back. There ought to be enough space." Jack found himself walking around the truck and awkwardly juggling Valeriana's prone form so that he could pull open the double doors at the back. He looked inside, ascertaining that there was just enough space. The vehicle was packed with loaves, croissants, and other assorted bread-based items, all sorted into bulky crates. He cleared a spot where he could lay Valeriana down and sat next to her. Then he spied through the grating that separated the back from the front. His aunt was seated facing the windshield, making it impossible to guess what thoughts played out on her face. Nick, on the other hand, kept glancing over his shoulder, and his face made it clear that what was going through his head would have filled a swear jar in thirty seconds flat. Jack met his stare and shrugged at all the unasked questions it screamed. He had no answers to give. "Drive," his aunt said. "Gatewards." Nick obeyed, and drove. Whether he did it out of self-preservation or because magic forced him to was unclear and didn't matter. Aunt Briseis folded her arms over her chest and stared ahead, her expression unreadable. A while went by in perfect silence, which afforded Jack some room to breathe and take stock of himself. Until then he hadn't dared try, out of irrational fear of what he might find, but enough time had gone by that the worst of the damage should have taken care of itself. Besides, he might not find another chance anytime soon. He looked down. The lab coat was by this point well stained with gore that had taken too long to dry, and so it wasn't a pretty sight by any means, but he had to admit that he didn't look as bad as he felt, and that he didn't feel — at least on a purely physical level — as bad as was expectable. Most of the damage Valeriana had inflicted had been internal, and therefore out of sight, or to softer, fleshier bits, which tended to regenerate fast. He was certain that his ribs were still broken, or that some at least lingered in those tender, brittle first stages of the healing process, but that he could live with. His weakness bothered him more. Now that his body wasn't being forced to dance to the tune of his aunt's magic, he barely had enough energy to keep himself upright. It was one thing to know that he couldn't fight Aunt Briseis and hope to win. She had magic, the trump card to end them all. He'd have to be delusional to believe he stood a chance, and he could make peace with that. But it was another thing altogether to know he couldn't influence the course of things in any way. "How is she?" Aunt Briseis asked, still staring ahead but tilting her head towards Valeriana. It dawned on Jack that it was the first time she had acknowledged her charge — truly acknowledged her, as a person worth expressing concern over rather than a prop that she needed brought along — and it felt so calculated a move that unease crept over him unbidden. Furthermore, the question itself was bizarre. The woman ought to know the answer better than he did, considering that she had been the one to put Valeriana in her current state. But he still checked, taking stock of the unconscious girl in much the same way he'd done with himself. Appearance wise, they were perfectly matched messes. His blood was still on her lips, chin, hands, everywhere, and contrasted with her livid cheeks, having had no time to go from red to brown. The smallest hint of a frown split her brow, perturbing her otherwise serene countenance. He shuddered, remembering how that sweet face had twisted as she bent over him with no intent other than to hurt, as she splayed open his cock and cut it up like something meant to go in soup, as she reached for the glass rod. Looking at her now elicited a mixture of feelings that he wasn't sure how to qualify or quantify. "Fine," was his reply, short and clipped and hopefully accurate, and to his relief, his aunt dropped the matter. He shook his head, attempting to sort out the chaos going on inside. Valeriana had tried to murder him and worse, and it seemed to him that every thought and emotion that came to him was out of synch with that fact. He ought to be enraged. He ought to be thinking about getting back at her as soon as he was given an opening — not something he saw himself getting anytime soon, what with Aunt Briseis sitting in the front and her thoughts, intentions and goals unclear, but it always behooved to be prepared. He ought to be planning punishment, revenge. However, those oughts weren't even close to achieving dominance. Instead, he found himself ruled by an irresistible impulse to reach for her, hold her, and allow himself no emotion other than relief. The impulse won over. His hands moved without him telling them to, for once maneuvered not by magic but by his own need. They closed around Valeriana's shoulders, pulling her from the spot by the crates where he'd positioned her and laying her head on his lap. Knowing that he was playing with fire but unable to help himself, he touched his hand to her lips. A small cloud of warmth formed against his fingers as she breathed. This too made it difficult to ponder revenge, at least the sort of revenge that would involve paying her back in kind. She was just so lovely when asleep that any thoughts of harming her deserted him. "So is someone gonna tell me what the flying fuck is going on?" Nick demanded, breaking the spell. He had his voice back, or he'd been given his voice back, and sounded none too happy. He was also glaring at Aunt Briseis, which Jack couldn't help but think wasn't the best move, even if he did pause the glare long enough to swerve around a petrified human female that the truck had been about to flatten. Fortunately, the woman seemed too preoccupied with the beads of her necklace to acknowledge or be bothered by his hostility. "The Front attacked the place we were staying at. I had to take them both out of there. Now I'm taking us to the gate." "Er. Why? They work for you! Don't they work for her?" Nick craned his head towards the back, looking at him almost pleadingly. When Jack was once again unable to reply with anything but noncommittal shrugs, he turned around again and groaned. "I don't get any of this anymore. She's our prisoner, right? So how come it looks like she's the one running the shitshow this has turned in to? And she's got magic! Did you notice she's got magic?" Aunt Briseis glanced up from her necklace, amused. "I'm sure he did notice. And I think I can safely say that I am not, nor have I ever been, kept against my will by either of you numbskulls." Nick didn't seem to register the insult enough to take offense, but Jack did so for both of them. "You let us capture you," he stated, grabbing that dangling thread in the hopes that something comprehensible would fall down if he pulled hard enough. It was just now occurring to him, now that the rush of pain and drugs and fear for his life had all but faded, that if his aunt was a magician, and one who knew gatemanship, she could have walked out on them at any time if she'd wished and taken Valeriana with her. Yet she hadn't. "I did. Twice, as a matter of fact. For someone in your line of work, you are terrible at keeping prisoners." The woman spoke with a wryness that made him suspect that a joke was being enjoyed at his expense. Then she went matter of fact again, and that was somehow worse. "Though I suspect what you actually want is to know why I allowed you to capture me. Why I allowed you to capture her. Why all of this." "Yes." He doubted that he'd be able to trust her explanation, but the point had been reached where any explanation would be welcome. When he tried to piece it all together on his own, the resulting picture was not only incomplete but absurd. As Nick had pointed out with uncharacteristic insightfulness, the Front were his aunt's people. It made no sense that she would take him away from them, even if for some reason she didn't wish to have him dead. It made no sense that she would incapacitate her most loyal follower and take them both to the gate. It made no sense that she would want to go to Barashi. It made even less sense that she'd insist on being tried, unless she had a death wish, which wasn't an option he would discard just yet. It might turn out that she was mad. It'd be the most conservative explanation that he could come up with. "And I will explain. However, before we get into all of that, I need to take care of something that is long, long overdue." The glint in his aunt's eye as she whirled around in her seat should have served as a warning. In fact, he shouldn't have even required a warning. Jack had had some idea that something of the sort had been coming his way from the moment she had removed his chains. However, she had taken so long to act that he'd become complacent, and when the blow did hit, it came by surprise. The grating that separated them broke as if it were made of thin plastic instead of metal, and the incoming fist went on undeterred, meeting his cheek with the force of a wrecking ball. For all that she was small, his aunt packed a powerful punch. His head hit the side of the truck, leaving behind a dent shaped just like it. He righted himself. Everything inside of him didn't, and he was forced to double over and dry heave while his mouth overflowed with blood and dislocated teeth. Aunt Briseis sat back down, looking not much happier than before. Her next words came in a hiss: "I told you to think things through. I told you to be kind. I told you it would all end badly if you didn't follow my advice." She pressed a hand over her eyes as if he were too appalling to behold. "And now look at what you did, and look at what you made her do to you, and see where not listening brought you. Nicely done on all accounts, you complete cretin. If I didn't need you to stay alive a while longer, I'd have stood there and let her gut you like the pig you've been acting as!" Jack pressed his knuckles against his tender jaw and said nothing while she railed. Angering a magician, let alone a prickly and powerful one, was either hazardous or suicidal depending on where you stood with them, and he didn't have the faintest idea of where he stood with Aunt Briseis. Attempts to justify himself would be about as safe as tap dancing on a minefield, and so for now, much as he loathed it, it was best not to contradict her. It had always worked on Aunt Marabeth and his aunts, it was dawning on him, weren't all that different at heart. Nick, on the other hand, had no sense of self-preservation or qualms about cutting the woman short. "Wait a sec," he declared, taking his hand off the wheel and waving it to interrupt her rant. His eyebrows knitted together, hinting that he had been working some things out. "I'm not sure I get all this handwringing. You said, just now, that you let him capture her. So, and I know I'm not the smartest guy around, so apologies if there's a point here that's flying over my head, but I don't know why the fuck you are acting all pissy about what he did. If you knew where this fuckery was headed and didn't like it, why didn't you just move your ass and shut it all down?" "Because I didn't know!" Aunt Briseis replied frostily. She gestured at Jack, in about the same way she'd indicate a turd on the sidewalk. "I'm afraid I overestimated both his affections for her and his intelligence. How was I to guess that he would go with the one option that was guaranteed to make his position a thousand times worse?" At this, Jack had to interject. "There were—" It was hard, very hard, to keep from gritting his teeth and growling. "— no other options." "Sure there were," Nick shot back, to general amazement. Even Aunt Briseis seemed disconcerted with the display of support. But then he continued, making it clear that far from being about to step over to her side, he was being true to his personal convictions. Which were as one would expect. "You could have listened to me and killed the fucking bitch while you had the—" A loud, pained gasp echoed from the front of the truck. Jack covered his forehead with his hand. "Or you could have listened to common sense," the woman remarked, once Nick's wheezing subsided. She took a deep breath and tilted her head, her gray eyes falling on her nephew. "You had every chance to make this turn out differently. I know, because I was the one who gave them to you. It was me who made sure that Valerie returned to Westmont when the fate of the town lay in your hands. It was me who made her able to return — how do you think she was able to remember about the town in the first place, when the spell my sister cast made everyone else forget?" Jack couldn't say it was a topic he'd given much thought to, and now that he did, the magnitude of the oversight was plain and staggering. "How?" He managed, with some difficulty, to make it sound like a question instead of the demand it wanted to be. The more he listened to Aunt Briseis, the harder he was hit by the awareness that the person he'd taken her for in all the years he'd known her had been only surface. Worse, it became clearer and clearer that what waited underneath that surface was dark and possessing of far too many teeth. "You couldn't have changed the spell after it was in effect. Aunt Marabeth told me she'd made sure it was inviolable." The moment he finished, he caught himself doubting his own statement. Aunt Marabeth also told him it was indestructible, and he knew how that one had turned out. There was, it appeared, much that his likely-late aunt had misjudged or been just plain wrong about. Bloodsong Ch. 12 "Oh," Aunt Briseis said, making a noise halfway between a snort and a laugh. "What did she know? It wasn't her spell. She got the instructions to enact it delivered to her doorstep, and it still took her a full month to do the thing. My sister was a competent magician, I'll give her that, but dreadfully formulaic in every aspect. She only cared to make sure that what she did would work, without bothering to figure out how it would work. I could have snuck any number of backdoors into the spell's makeup, which, make no mistake, I did. And she never found out about them because she didn't bother to look. It was the same with the gate: thoughtless, by the book casting, no art, no understanding. Didn't her first attempt get run over by some random car?" "She did review the instructions." It wasn't in his best interests, but Jack felt compelled to defend Aunt Marabeth's good name regardless. "It was the reason why she stalled for a month before beginning it all, and the most sensible thing to do, considering their questionable provenance. Am I wrong in assuming that provenance was you?" A different emotion passed across his aunt's face. It looked almost like embarrassment. "Well, to tell the truth, I didn't make Centrarc workable alone, and gatemanship wasn't my discovery — or rediscovery, as the case may be — either. I found a bright young lady who was willing to help me in this enterprise. You'd recall her if I told you her name, I'm certain, as she holds a bit of a grudge against you. And do stop pulling that face. I sent Maz the instructions. What she did with them after was predictable, but also entirely her own doing. Which brings us back to you. Would you like me to tell you how you'd have done things, if you weren't both disgraceful and too dumb to live?" Jack kept silent, hoping his silence would be taken as agreement and spare him the dangers of talking. It was clear that his aunt was a woman with a plan — the most dangerous, unreliable kind of woman there was. A plan that involved him, and involved the girl on his lap, and the depths of which he had trouble gleaning, but which he was sure she'd end up telling him all about, provided that he didn't misspeak or give her reason to derail herself. "Sure he does," Nick said, and it seemed that was all the prompting his aunt required. "First," she said, lifting a finger, "when Valerie arrived, you should have gone to her not with intent to fight, but to parlay. You would have said, here's how many humans I have captured, and here's how many I won't kill if you agree to try and work out our issues. Which she would have agreed to. She's built to be self-sacrificing like that. Then, because I am sure that she is more precious to you than a few thousand humans, you would think to release the whole town, as proof of your willingness to solve a few of those issues. Which would have impressed her, and given you if not an opening, then at least something positive to build on. But no, you had to cock it all up instead!" The latter was punctuated with an annoyed, open palmed jab at what was left of the grating, which succumbed. Jack was left staring at the remains. Somehow, his aunt had managed to shock him once again. Her words sunk in his mind like cannonballs in a river, entering it warm and sizzling and cooling as they descended. Scenes unrolled before him, brilliant, so brilliant it hardly seemed possible they had been thought up by his looniest, most sanctimonious aunt. He could see how what she said would have worked, if it had occurred to him to try it — and it was shameful that it hadn't. Westmont had only meant anything to him insofar as having it had meant something to Aunt Marabeth. He would have forsaken it in a heartbeat if it meant he'd stand a chance to make it into Valeriana's good books again. Which might have happened. She would have been so relieved, so very pleased, if he'd made the show of willing his aunt had described. All she had ever wanted was for him to be good. However, where would her relief and her being pleased with him have gotten him in the end? He looked down again, at her filthy but — for now — eminently peaceful face. Unable to help himself, he touched a finger to her bottom lip to pull it down, and then pressed the pad of his thumb against her teeth, gently, one after another, as if feeling the fangs of a sleeping lion. Very much like that, in fact; if he were to do what he was doing with her awake, he'd stand about the same chance of getting his fingers bitten off as he would if he were handling a wild animal. But she was out of it, and would remain so for who knew how long, and so he could touch her and pet her hair and try to pretend for a moment that if that single thing had been done differently, they'd be living in a world in which she might wake and look up at him with, for once, love. The pretense was flimsy, though. Even when she still called him her friend, she had never given him more than her guileless, benevolent affection, and he suspected that in the end, he wouldn't have gotten much further if he'd followed his aunt's script. Perhaps she would have forgiven him; given him a pat on the head and told him good job, allowed some bygones to be bygones. But it would have taken him millennia to have her see him as a friend again, and longer to even begin to entertain anything resembling love. He couldn't wait millennia. Waiting a century had been torture enough. "It would have been clever, to do it like that," he admitted. "It might have mended her opinion of me. But only that." His aunt turned, incredulous. "And you thought sticking your cock inside her would be a more efficient alternative?" "It was the one thing I hadn't tried already." Quietness, during which the only sound was the steady purring of the engine. They'd long ago left the city center behind. In the absence of the multitude of jaywalkers and traffic lights that had slowed their progress while within its bounds, the truck had started going faster. Long stretches of asphalt vanished under the wheels and scenery whooshed by. There was water on their left; then there was a row of charcoal houses, then a construction site, then more water followed by a smattering of trees. Ahead, a bridge. They crossed it. Only then did his aunt speak again, this time in a tone that although still brusque, aimed for less than hostile. Compared to how she'd been talking to him up until that point, she sounded downright amiable. The content of her speech, though, was anything but. "I never did like you, you know?" "I'm aware." "I could smell the rot in your soul from day one. My sister may have encouraged it to fester, but make no mistake: it was yours to begin with." A pause followed, although it was a smaller one this time. "Still, I also believe that everyone, even you, is made out of traits both good and bad. Surely what you are packing between your legs can't be the only thing you have in your favor." He raised an eyebrow. "Name another. Any other." "Well, I wouldn't know. I think you aren't worth the air you breathe. But Valerie? She loved you. Perhaps not in the way you'd have liked, but you meant the world to her, until you went and ruined it. If sex is all that you can offer her, the sole reason why she'd love you or want to stay with you. . ." "Omelets." Two heads turned. "What?" Aunt Briseis managed, after staring at Nick with an aghast expression for as long as the non sequitur warranted. "Young man, are you feeling alright?" "You asked for things he's got going for him," Nick retorted, shrugging. "That was what I could think of off the top of my head: he can make some pretty fucking great omelets. Just omelets, though. Don't let them trick you into thinking he can cook anything else worth shit. I made that mistake once back in the seventies, and let me tell you, my bowels just couldn't heal fast en—" At a wave of the woman's hand, Nick's mouth shut itself, so hard his jaw must have dislocated. "I'm starting to regret bringing him," Aunt Briseis declared. Her eyes went to Valeriana and narrowed a fraction as she noticed him touching her, and how he was touching her. Jack let his hand drop from the girl's mouth, feeling like nothing as much as a misbehaving child who had been caught out. A dark cloud took over the woman's face, but she made no comment, about his actions at least. She did sigh, in a long suffering fashion. "See, here is how it is: at this point I don't know whether you can still salvage the situation. Baking her things won't make her love you any more than fucking her will. However, I have invested far too much time in all of this to pull the breaks now, and too much hinges on us returning to Barashi in a timely manner, which won't be possible if you keep delaying the departure to run after her. With that in mind, I'm giving you one last chance. One month." "One month for what, exactly?" She smacked him, not as hard as she had earlier but hard enough to add another dent to the metal carcass of the truck. It didn't take Jack as long to recover from the blow as from that first one, but it came as more of a shock, if only because it had, in his opinion, been unwarranted. "To fix this mess you made! Gods above, at least try to pay attention!" She straightened her back and looked ahead again, but her eyes were visible in the rearview mirror, and they burned with sinister, terrifying purpose. "Take her with you, to Lenosh or Alkarosh or wherever, and do with her as you wish. But within one month we'll meet again at my trial, and if it turns out that you used that time for anything but ensuring her happiness and earning her forgiveness? Then, my boy, I will be very, extremely put upon. Understood?" From her whole speech, Jack took away one thing: "You are letting me keep her?" "This isn't a gift." He avoided the smack this time, although his aunt looked so galled that allowing her hand to land might have been more prudent. "This is a duty that I'm entrusting you with. You broke her heart once, and you spent the last few decades trampling it into dust. I've waited ages for someone to come along and remake it, but in the end, was forced to conclude that the responsibility can be no one's but yours. If it turns out that you aren't up to the task or have no hope left of being successful, you will be of no further use to me once your time is up. I don't think I need to spell out what'll become of you then." Indeed she did not. "You'll kill me." "Yes." His aunt's lips curved. She'd been watching his face, waiting for the moment realization would dawn. "Or let Valerie kill you, if she can do it without flaking out again. You will, at any rate, die on her whim whether she carries out the deed herself or not. So I suggest you try, try hard, to make sure that she'll want to keep you alive. Is that clear?" "Yes. All very plain." Taking advantage of the woman turning to the window, he traced Valeriana's jaw with his thumb, staring at her but not quite seeing her. Two hours ago a month would have seemed like nothing; back then he had been convinced that he would have forever, no buts or ifs, no time constraints to the task of making her enjoy being his. Two seconds ago he had been convinced of . . . nothing, not even that he would survive the hour. Now a full month didn't seem quite like forever — it was still a short time in which to fix everything he had to fix. In fact, the longer he looked at the change he needed to operate in Valeriana, at the distance between point A (her drugging him, torturing him, trying to arrange his murder by proxy) and point B (her being content, in love, willing to put in a good word to prevent his aunt from murdering him) the more that time appeared to shrink. But regardless, it was time. "Wait, wait, wait!" Nick exclaimed, proving his inability to appraise when a situation was past the critical point and rolling merrily down the other side of the hill. "He's your nephew. You can't kill him, that's a blood crime!" By rights, the force with which the woman side eyed him ought to have knocked him over like a feather. "You do recall what I'm going to trial for, do you not?" Both Jack and Nick made a point of avoiding each other's eyes. The latter, however, pressed on. "Well, what about me?" It was almost fascinating to watch how much the continued hints that keeping quiet would help his survival chances kept missing Nick. "Do I also get a month to seduce a bitch, or else?" A pearl of laughter escaped his aunt's mouth. "Oh, no. No." Jack allowed himself to breathe again. Nick had just a handful of useful talents, but chief among them was the gift to make himself amusing to those more powerful than him. He'd live. Aunt Briseis went on, shaking her head at the other man. "You are here because you are pretty, and because taking you with us is another loose end tied up. And because you have a car." Her eyes cruised through the cabin in an unimpressed way before she added: "Although I will say, as escape vehicles go, I feel that you could have done a lot better." "Yeah, let's get hung up on that, why not. Next time his girlfriend starts texting me pictures where she's using him as a pincushion, I'll make sure to steal a fucking Cadillac when I come bail his ass out." Nick looked over his shoulder, shook his head towards the back of the truck and gave Jack a pointed look. "You're welcome, by the way. And speaking of that . . . whatever the fuck happened to everyone else? Did they get out?" "Dead," Aunt Briseis said, before Jack could as much as open his mouth. "Every last one of them." "What?! How?" Jack had no trouble guessing the how. The woman's face, as she turned to him, said it plain. "It had to be done. Leaving them alive would have posed too much of a risk, raised too many questions if they were to return to Barashi and talk. And," she added, "don't the two of you dare judge me. You have both done things thrice as heinous as murder, and the same held true for them. They got what they deserved." "You killed them?" "I see neither of you are quick on the uptake. Yes, young man. Kill them I did." Nick closed his mouth. His face had gone ashen, and his knuckles gripped the wheel so hard that they went white. It was clear that he wasn't in want of things he'd like to add, and the nature of those things wasn't left to the imagination, but for once he kept his silence. Jack understood, somewhat in disbelief, that the other man was too shaken to speak. Which meant that he'd have to be the one to ask the question that screeched to be posed: "How would they have presented a risk? They knew nothing." He and Nick weren't faring much better on that front, truth be told. He knew what she intended for him and Valeriana. Beyond that he didn't have a clue — only an ironclad conviction that getting them together was a small part of Aunt Briseis' plan, or at worst, a detail. Whatever else she might claim, she hadn't killed his men because she feared they'd get in the way of her playing matchmaker. "And on that note, I'm curious as to how you intend to prevent us from talking. You seem to assume that we'll play along with your designs once we reach Barashi, when we could just expose you to the Council." Nick turned, his face wearing an expression of bleak panic, and made frantic motions with his hands, alternating between pointing at the woman, Jack and himself and mimicking a throat being slit. The meaning was impossible to miss, but Jack didn't regret saying what he'd said. He could tell from his aunt's smug countenance that he wasn't telling her anything she didn't already know, and that the issue he was laying out was one which she'd considered and found a solution for. He was curious about what that solution entailed. If he had understood her next step, she would spend the next month buried deep in the dungeons of Alkarosh while she awaited her trial. Whereas he would be on the outside, with Valeriana and with his agency back. In theory, at least. "You seem to assume that you'll remember this," was her calm reply. "I'll wipe from your minds every recollection of everything I've just told you right before we cross. It's not a problem. Simple, even." "Ah." Jack hadn't been aware that tampering with his memory was a possibility. Most of his understanding of magic, exempting the occasional tidbit that was common knowledge, he had syphoned from Aunt Marabeth, who hadn't known that tampering with memory was a thing that could be done. She . . . had been a great woman, brilliant in many ways no matter what Aunt Briseis said, but also slothful to a fault. She wouldn't have invested as much time as she had in bending minds and pruning the pieces of them she didn't like if a snap of her fingers would get the job done. Still, as elegant a solution as it was, he thought he had spotted a flaw in the plan. "Only, I fail to see how you expect me to do what you want if you won't have me remember that I'm meant to do it." Aunt Briseis looked back, canting her neck so that he could behold her sphinxlike smile in all its glory. "Why would that be an issue? What I want is for you to patch things up with her, the sooner the better. And isn't that what you want too?" He nodded, but cautiously, sensing that another minefield lay waiting just ahead. The woman stopped smiling and started grinning, which was somehow worse. "Well, then I trust it will all sort itself out whether you remember or not. Besides, it's an excellent way to ensure that any efforts you make towards our shared goal are genuine. After all, we wouldn't want to run the risk of you trying to get on Valerie's good side to save your own skin. Would we?" "I assure you, the possibility hadn't even occurred to me." It was unclear whether she believed him. It was unclear whether she cared. "All for the best, then." She turned to Nick, who flinched as if he'd been shot and kept his eyes trained on the road, doing his utter best to avoid her until she addressed him. Which she did, after a pause. "How far are we from the gate? It's been so long since I last went through." "About five minutes," he replied, still without taking his eyes off the road. He appeared to be moping. Jack had never thought him the type for that, but if there was a better word for what was going on with the other man, he couldn't come up with it right at the moment. His aunt, by contrast, clapped her hands, as close to cheerful as he had ever seen her be. "Good. I think we may have the time for a short stop, then." Bloodsong Ch. 12 "Oh, hush!" Mrs. Drakma scolded. To Ellen, at whom she turned her attention next, she said: "This should take about half an hour, give or take. Giorgio's is still open, so wait there and treat yourself to a muffin until we return. We'll only require your assistance again after this matter is settled." "Of course," Ellen said, her voice as passionless as her face. The magician presented the rest of them with a minimalistic headshake and walked past, heading to Giorgio's. Valerie watched her slight, angular figure march down the line of street lamps until she turned the corner and disappeared. Just then did it occur to her to examine their surroundings. Rows of old buildings loomed on both sides of the street. Behind them stood the skeletons of newer, taller constructions, all still works in progress. Behind them hung a fat full moon. The setting was not in any way remarkable, but the longer she looked at it, the more she convinced herself that it felt familiar. Yet it was only when Jack spoke again, in an even harsher manner than before, that the ugly truth revealed itself. "Don't ignore me. We are near the Mayfly. Why?" "Your test, of course." Mrs. Drakma set a glare on him, and didn't flinch when it was returned with interest. "I've given it some thought this evening, and it seems to me that the best way for you to prove that your questionable loyalties won't endanger my people is to strain them early on. With that in mind, this is what I want you to do: you will enter my sister's fortress of corruption, and you will, without alerting anyone, take out one of the poor souls that she has trapped there. A simple thing, wouldn't you agree?" Valerie's stare wavered between the two of them. Apprehension nipped at the fringes of her mind. With Jack's reply going undelivered, a semblance of silence had installed itself, and now he and his aunt were locked in a passive-aggressive war of steady eye contact and unbearable tension. She couldn't say anything, as she was certain that opening her mouth would worsen matters rather than improve them, but it was exasperating to witness. There was a lot going on between the two of them, much more than she was partial to, and she didn't even know whom to support, because they were both being antagonistic and unreasonable. Furthermore, Jack hadn't released her hand as of yet, and it was beginning to hurt. "Does it have to be a specific slave?" Jack asked, his scowl waning. Valerie wasn't sure she liked the expression that replaced it, though. It seemed far too calculating to mean that he was up to anything good. "Is there a set of traits that you want me to be on the lookout for? Age, sex, race, hair color, stage of their training?" "A person is a person is a person. Pick whomever. I'd tell you to bring the first one who awakens in you feelings of kinship and compassion, but unfortunately we can't be at this all night." Valerie cringed at the unsubtle dig, but Jack himself appeared to think nothing of it. "Well then," he said. Valerie wished she knew what was going through his head, but his face had gone unreadable. After a while he sunk his hands in his pockets, at last releasing hers, and cast his gaze towards the taller buildings. His lips curled. "I'm game. Would you like me to go now?" "You may as well. You know your way, I'm sure." The woman waved him off and clamped a hand down on Valerie's shoulder when she moved to follow. "No, no, we will wait here. This is something he has to do alone." "But . . ." "I don't mind," Jack interjected. Because she knew him, Valerie was sure he was lying. Because she knew him, she was sure he'd resent it if she were to call him out. As such, there was nothing she could do other than give his arm a reassuring squeeze and beg him with her eyes to . . . in truth, it was hard to say what she was begging for. For him to be fine, first and foremost, but she hadn't gotten much further than that, in part because she was still trying to wrap her mind around a situation that lay so far beyond her control. The nature of this test that her mentor had devised didn't sit well with her. And after Jack strode away without another look back, cut across the road and vanished in an alleyway, she was quick to call the woman out. "What do you think you are doing?" Keeping herself from sounding cross was a chore. Keeping herself from sounding impatient was downright impossible. She hadn't wanted to say anything critical while Jack was around, because it would feel too much like picking his side when the truth was that she'd rather not pick one at all. But now they were alone, and she found herself in dire need of venting. "You just told him to take someone out of the Mayfly! That isn't a test, that's just . . . I don't even know what to call it, and I don't understand why you are acting like this, I don't. Everyone else gets a fair chance to prove themselves when they join us. Why can't he?" Mrs. Drakma raised an eyebrow. "I thought I'd made my reasons clear." The exasperation Valerie had worked herself up to refused to subside, and once she noted it, the woman patted her arm, the touch kind but firm. "You need to realize that the Liberation Front isn't a rehabilitation center for the ethically deficient. It won't do him any good to join us unless he endures the same kind of watershed moment we have had. Five years ago, you had yours at the very same place he's headed to. Who knows, it may be that he'll meet his Rachel tonight." Valerie hesitated. The indignation that had powered her through the previous rant slipped away as Mrs. Drakma's words sunk in. She wasn't wrong — that was the most vexing part, that although the shape of what she said felt wrong, the content itself seemed so reasonable and logical once it was unraveled. Jack had, it was true, an excess of views that needed changing. Views that wouldn't change on their own, and were likely to be hard to change with talking alone. So it could be that Mrs. Drakma had had the right idea about him needing a catalyst for those changes to take place, and had been acting in good faith as she pushed him towards finding one. However, there was one small detail preventing Valerie from being on board with the plan: for her and Mrs. Drakma to have their watershed, two people had needed to die. "I can't help but think," she said, "that there should be a less dangerous way of achieving that." "Dangerous?" Mrs. Drakma echoed, scoffing. "What danger does he face? My sister won't harm a hair on his head if she catches him. At worst he'll get a dressing down. Besides, we aren't going to let him go in on his own. We'll be able to aid him, should it become necessary to do so." "Uhm?" Valerie uttered. The thread of the conversation, which she had been trying to hold on to despite feeling like she was trying to grasp a wet bar of soap, had been snatched from between her fingers. That was one of the difficulties of talking with Mrs. Drakma: every time she geared herself up to make a meaningful or intelligent contribution to the discussion, the woman would veer off course, forcing her brain to run to catch up. "Wait. You said, you just told us, that this was something he had to do on his own!" "Yes, it's vital that we let him think that. I, however, need to see how he does with my own eyes. After all, if we leave him to his own devices, there will be nothing preventing him from going to my sister and asking her to lend him a slave, so that he can win our trust and spy on us on her behalf." Valerie's eyes went wide. "He wouldn't do anything like that," she protested, steadying herself for the dubious expression she knew was incoming. Still, she breathed in deep and went on. "Look, the fact of the matter is this: you don't know him half as well as I do. In all the time we've spent together, from childhood and onwards into adulthood, he's been nasty sometimes, it's true. But he has never been evil and he has never deceived me, and more often than not he's gone above and beyond to protect me and—" Mrs. Drakma cut her off. "That would be because he wants to fuck you. I am not, therefore, convinced that we should count those things as proof of his good character." It took Valerie a minute to collect her jaw from the floor and give up trying to pretend that her ears hadn't heard what had just passed through them. Her face was the color of a prize-winning tomato at a state fair. The woman stood watching her with a look of bemusement, as if her remark had been something witty or, perish the thought, acceptable. And because it had come so out of the blue, Valerie didn't have a response at the ready, although she was convinced she might manage a proper one if given time. The room with one bed had been one thing, but this . . . "It's not like that." Mrs. Drakma smiled knowingly. "Oh, I am sure." "No, it's not like that. He is important to me, and I love him dearly, but . . ." she waved her hands, trying to get across the ineffable. Mrs. Drakma ought to understand. There were rules about whom it was adequate to pursue romantic relationships with, and those weren't as easy to discard as most other things she'd been brought up knowing and that had turned out not to be worth living by. In her heart she knew, with unwavering certainty, that Jack and she didn't suit each other. The girl in his future, a girl Valerie had pictured often enough that she felt as if she knew her already, would be his match. Clever and gorgeous and whole and not too nice, but that was fine — Jack had always struck her as the type who tired of nice girls sooner rather than later. Someone nothing like her, in any case, and that was fine too. What wasn't fine was how often people were led to think anything else. "But there has never been any of that. Gods, no. He's my friend. That's it, that's enough, that has always been more than I could hope for." "You poor innocent butterfly," the woman said, harrumphing and shaking her head. When Valerie didn't stop fuming, she tried for a wide, appeasing smile. "So be it. I suppose this, like so many things, isn't something worth discussing if you aren't willing to open your eyes. Shall we go then?" They went. The streets were narrow, their steps silent. Valerie's thoughts, however, were at odds with themselves. As she hobbled behind Mrs. Drakma, she was plagued by question marks. She couldn't shake the feeling that there was something she wasn't being told, and having thought of that, she couldn't help but be stuck on the things she knew she hadn't been told. Things she had thought it best not to bring up while Jack was around because of how smug he would have looked. Things that she was having a hard time bringing up even now. Valerie couldn't remember questioning anything the woman had said in all the years they'd worked together. She had learned to take it as fact that Mrs. Drakma's judgment was never anything but sound. It was only now that Jack had arrived, sneering at everything and sowing doubt where there used to be none, that she was finding herself looking at the woman's decisions and finding . . . holes. "You never discussed the war with me." Mrs. Drakma stopped walking. "Didn't I? We were both there, smack dab in the middle of it, fighting our way through it all. I should think it unlikely that we didn't stop at least once to discuss the matter at hand. In fact, I made a point of mentioning that Europe was going belly up when I suggested that you accompany me to London, and if memory serves, I did explain in detail why that was. Though I don't believe you understood half of it, if that." Valerie's frosty silence decried the answer as unsatisfactory, which made the woman's eyebrows knit together as she attempted to make heads or tails of the why. Then she splatted a hand against her forehead. "Oh, pardon me, you mean the one in Barashi! Yes, I never brought that one up, right enough." "Well, why?" "What good would it have done you to know?" Mrs. Drakma demanded, in a dismissive way that Valerie couldn't help but pick up on and resent. "You'd just arrived here when it started, and were still getting yourself settled in. I didn't want the news to distract you or, gods help us, disrupt the astonishing progress that you were making. Had you known, what would you have done other than worry about those you had left behind and were in no position to help?" "Right. I see." It was a half-truth at best. Valerie did see, but she could not convince herself that it was right. Probably there was sense in what Mrs. Drakma said, and probably it was true that it wouldn't have done her much good to know and worry, but that was not the point. The point was that her world had spent years embroiled in a conflict that had nearly caused its end, and that the woman had kept the information from her. It was, if nothing else, a breach of the trust Valerie had placed in her. Granted, there was still plenty left to go around, but even that had been shaken. They resumed their walking, down the same streets and blocks Valerie remembered being led through five years ago. There around the corner was the café where Mrs. Drakma had proposed that she join the Front, and hidden behind the cluster of construction towers they were headed towards would be the Mayfly. The way that divided the short buildings from the tall ones was dark, the street lamps too spaced out to cover it all. As they advanced, she stayed on the lookout for Jack, but he was nowhere to be seen. It could be that he had already reached his destination and made it inside, meaning that they'd have to follow. The notion upset her, although she would have had trouble articulating why it was upsetting. She had just been in a war, and throughout it she had found herself in places that made what she'd seen of the Mayfly look downright humane, but the building still retained a special place in her inner hall of horrors. Returning to it wasn't what she would have asked for. Then again, she hadn't been asked, had she? "Is there something on your mind?" Mrs. Drakma's question placed a boulder in front of her train of thought. Valerie shook her head. "Come now, girl, we've known each other longer than tonight. Long enough for it to be obvious when you are brooding, at the least." "It's nothing. And I'm not brooding." "It isn't nothing, and you are. However, if it's not something you feel like sharing, I shan't pry." The woman gave her a long, measuring look, and when Valerie kept mute, sighed and hastened her step. As they entered the next block and went from unfinished buildings and construction sites to proper streets, Valerie's mood went from bad to worse. She knew the way from here on out. The Mayfly would be just around the corner now, located in one of those all-important town arteries where no one lived but many worked. Once they made the next turn, the wooden board that signaled its entrance became visible. A winged insect had been painted on it with dark dashes, and underneath it, an M. No other detail remained as Valerie remembered it. At some point Marabeth had redecorated. The portion of the Mayfly that jutted out above ground, like the tip of the most ominous of icebergs, hadn't reflected the horrors that went on underneath the first time she'd laid eyes on it, and the updates had increased its deceiving harmlessness. It was still a brothel, but now a less astute observer might, for about two seconds, take it for a fancy tea house. Large windows fronted the building's façade, showing scenes of men and women holding cups and cupcakes and having a jolly old time, but they were painted on the inside of the glass panes; what went on behind those windows was bound to be far less inoffensive or agreeable. Valerie swallowed and felt as if she'd been poisoned. Her eyes stayed trained on the closed door, which opened to let two men, human men, stumble out. A human girl in a see-through dress waved the pair off and pulled the door shut, leaving them to stagger away down the street. Valerie wondered if the two had at any point noticed that the girl's eyes were about as expressive as foggy mirror. And if they had, had they cared? They stopped some distance away from the door. After they hadn't moved for a while, she risked a sideways glance at Mrs. Drakma. The woman appeared to be waiting. Eventually she spoke. "Hello again, Ellen." Valerie couldn't help but jump a little, startled. It wasn't right to say that the magician came out of the shadows. Rather, the shadows were there, and then a second later Ellen was there too, as real and solid as anything and as inexpressive and unruffled as she'd been since the start of the night. She greeted Mrs. Drakma with a short nod and no words, which she seldom seemed to use to begin with, and made no attempt to explain her return. Mrs. Drakma didn't look surprised by it, though. She looked as if she had expected it. Valerie was left staring from one to the other, struggling to understand what was going on now. She realized that she'd have to ask. "Wasn't she meant to stay . . ." The look exchanged by the two other women didn't go unnoticed by her, and the conspiring nature of it was what, more than anything else, sent her over the edge. Her understanding of the plan had become a bottomless batch of quicksand, and everyone else seemed content to watch her sink. "Could someone — anyone — please tell me what's happening? All that's happening, not just whatever you feel is convenient to tell me." "Well," Mrs. Drakma began, and the careful tone she used was, at least, a sign that her outburst was being taken seriously. "One thing you need to know about me is that I seldom do things for one reason only. We are here to test my nephew and check on him, yes, but while we are here and he keeps my sister distracted . . . Ellen doesn't know what the Mayfly looks like on the inside, and I think it would be convenient if she did. That way she can pop in later and maybe open a few doors. That's alright with you, I expect." It took a second for the woman's meaning to sink in. Valerie's heart skipped a beat before picking up twice as fast. Seeing the inside of the Mayfly would allow Ellen to teleport in at will, and then she'd be able to come back at any time to take out whomever. Which meant that they could save more than one person that night. Perhaps, if Valerie dared dream that big, everyone. Then she thought about Jack. Whom Mrs. Drakma was using as a distraction, and who would be beyond appalled and sick with rage once he'd found out how he'd been used. Valerie knew, with visceral certainty, that there'd be no spinning his aunt's actions into anything he'd take well. He'd yell at her too, and she wouldn't be able to say that he was wrong, as going along with Mrs. Drakma and Ellen meant that she'd be betraying him just as hard. However, not going would be worse. If they were successful, those who screamed and suffered underground would see their torment come to an end, and wasn't that so much more important than not being yelled at? Until that moment, Valerie had thought of loyalty as just another component of the giant grab bag that was Doing The Right Thing. It was disgruntling and somewhat distressing to find out that at the present, acting according to one meant doing the exact opposite of what the other demanded. She could have Jack justifiably furious with her for being complicit in Mrs. Drakma's machinations, or she could refuse to lift a finger to help save those kept in that horror show of a building, and feel like the worst person in the universe as a result. She could be either good or a good friend. And to be honest, when she thought about it like that . . . was the choice that hard?