Night Moves: (Closed thread)

[The_gladiator]

Some were born and others made. Similar yet so very different. Never to be at peace, secretly they sought to destroy one another. The true born were the superior for thousands of years, set up their society’s structure, all of the rules their people followed. Yet, recently, in the last hundred years it was hard to say exactly when, one of the undead, those who only achieved their race’s powers through becoming the undead, literally dying for their powers, developed the silver bullet. The race that was once humans brought over their knowledge of weaponry and found the secret to leveling the playing field. Before when they woke to their new life, they knew very little about their powers, they needed to learn. This was not true for those born to this life, the ones who were not undead, but more a separate race for they learned their powers from birth. Though the undead were also at risk from the bullets they created, the modern technology proved to be the great equalizer.

An ancient race, the born vampires were not quick to adopt modern technology, at least weaponry. They preferred their psychic ability, their silver blades, and taking their time. The undead and their hirelings had no such compunctions.

When our story opens up, there is an awkward truce among the two factions of vampire kind. The Blackstone Council had fought long and hard working for a truce, or peace, for they knew that technology had advanced far enough that both varieties of vampire kind were in danger. Every day they grew more and more at risk of being exposed to humankind and their prying internet. This didn’t stop two groups from still doing what they felt was right. The first were the sentinels. This elite group of vigilantes worked to eliminate those of their race, either branch who got out of line. The most common reason was killing humans. Typically, too many humans, humans while feeding, or basically being evil or risking exposing vampire kind to the public’s prying eyes.

The second group were the night stalkers. These were a group that were ancient as well and trained much like the sentinels, but their creed spoke not of defense but of attack. While sentinels policed humans, the night stalkers had it out for the undead, these conversions they labeled abomination. They tried to maintain a moral code, tried to follow the code of the sentinel in fact, killing those that went too far, got out of line. In their case they started by policing conversion of children, or young adults. Over time this just morphed into stopping any that converted others. It didn’t take long before they wanted to eliminate all of that branch of vampire kind. A xenophobia at its best.

Yet, most held themselves to eliminating those that converted others, made their own undead army of servants. The Sentinels prided themselves on being rigid, and sticking to the rules. To the night stalkers, the rules were a little more like guidelines and some of them grew quite powerful killing for a living. Power seeks a vacuum, and sometimes they were there to sweep up the pieces as it were. There are many tales that can be told of the sentinels, this is not one of those tales. Our story is darker; one found in the night with its stalkers.

Malcolm bent his head respectfully over the wrist that the woman had offered him. He certainly could have taken the blood from a more intimate place, but in public he tried not to appear quite as crass as his host, who had his partner seated on the table in front of him, feeding from her inner thigh. Malcolm was sure that Zachariah, his host had done that to try to unnerve him. He’d seen worse, hell, done worse, but his little pomp and power games meant nothing to one like Malcolm. If Zachariah wanted to play with his dinner, he really didn’t care. He hadn’t done much more than walk up to the woman who was clearly meant to be for him, give her a quick glance from head to toe, lay a hand to her cheek to look into her eyes, his eyes capturing hers, to mesmorize her. It would take away the pain of the bite, but also let him sense her, did she carry a toxin in her blood that could kill him, was she hiding a knife to gut him while he fed, all of those things were open to him. She didn’t have one jot of psychic shielding, he could have picked her credit card number from her head she was so wide open, but why did he care. She literally meant nothing.

Swiping his tongue over the pin pricks in her wrist he flashed her a brief smile that did not reach his eyes. “Charmed my lady, thank you for the gift.” He said no more than what was required, and waved her away. Surely Zachariah would be done soon, he would prefer to actually talk business. He didn’t need to know he

Was here to kill him. What fun was in that. It wasn’t enough for Malcolm. Killing the undead was easy, learning all their secrets and then stealing it all, that was so much sweeter. Sitting in Zachariah’s own private lounge on the top floor of his very exclusive gentleman’s club, just call it a brothel, he thought to himself, felt sweet indeed. The master of this city was oblivious, and his days were numbered.

Ignoring the wet slurping noises coming from Zachariah’s side of the table, had he moved on to licking the woman’s pussy now, he let his eyes rest on the woman who had entered with the two ladies that had served as their dinner. There was a mystery worth pursuing. He could read nothing from her. So many humans broadcasted like a radio. From her he got nothing. She was also much prettier. Oh, she was older than either of the women who had been offered to him, with Zachariah taking the one he did not select, yet, she had a level of poise that the younger women lacked. Who was she, just their handler? He was not aware of Zachariah having a human servant. Such a bond could grant her that kind of a psychic shield, but surely, he could sense Zachariah’s power on her if that were the case.

Completely ignoring his host, Malcolm stood. At 6 foot 2 inches he was not a small man. He moved like a predator. His blue eyes, dark as midnight studied the woman. Red hair to her mid back, or so he guessed were it to be down, sharp eyes that missed a lot less than she might want people to think. His perfectly polished shoes whispered over the carpet; they matched his equally sharp black suit. He had an heir of refinement about his person; he wasn’t afraid of the money his suit suggested he had. Comfortable with his wealth was a good way to describe Malcolm and how he dressed. It was not flashy, it just was.

He stepped up to the woman and extended his hand, hoping that the touch would allow him to break into her mind, read her secrets. He could learn a lot about a person just from their hand. How a person touched said a lot about them. “I’m Malcom, and why is it that someone as beautiful as you wasn’t on the menu for this evening? Doesn’t a guest have the right to the finest?” his lips didn’t quite turn into a smirk, but he was clearly trying to provoke a reaction from her. He would learn so much just from this initial interaction.

 

[monique_minx]

Elara Veyra never asked to be different although she most certainly was. She spent much of her childhood avoiding human contact and connection, a mere brush with another and her brain would explode with the sound of their voice - their thoughts colliding into a mess. In the human world, she was something of an introvert and enigma or as her childhood peers had called her - a little weirdo.

But in the vampire world, Elara was desirable. A world she'd not known existed until her mid twenties when she'd had the misfortune of stumbling into Zachariah. She felt his presence before she ever saw him, in a way she'd never felt the presence of another. Humans were feeble by comparison, no one had ever pressured her mind quite like that before. She'd spun around to see him staring at her intently across a nightclub. Amidst the crowd, she'd located him with ease. And he had found her with similar ease. They seemed to speak to each other before they ever met.

Elara felt a prickle of fear, the difference of him to another even across a room was shouting at her like a foghorn. She held his gaze for mere moments before he started to move towards her and Elara found her feet and fled. He caught up with her not long after and the moment he laid a hand on her, Elara knew a whole new world. Everything he was; laid bare before her eyes, echoing in her skull, his intentions were very clear to her. And he demanded to know her - demanded because he gave her no choice.

Since then, Elara had worked for him in The Ecliptic - a brothel for all accounts and purposes to the human world. In the vampire world they could sate many more desires though. Elara never had much call to entertain Zachariah's clients, he used her for a rather singular purpose most of the time and that was to break into minds he could not. To extract secrets of the rich and powerful for Zachariah to use. Of course Zachariah kept her close, she didn't just work at The Ecliptic, she lived there. Elara's psychic ability eclipsed that of vampires even, Zachariah struggled to break into the minds of other vampires whereas Elara did so with ease. She could read anyone. It made her desirable yet dangerous and it also endangered her. She didn't have their strength and speed, she was still human in every other way.

It was a familiar yet intense pressure that drew her to look directly at him though. He pressed her mind harder than any had, Elara never had to work to hold her psychic shield before yet he came dangerously close to forcing her to do so. Her long red gown was in contrast to the scantily clad women she escorted and perhaps it made her stand out more than she wished. He might have thought of her as a madam were he human but Elara was certain he was drawn to the fact that he couldn't read her like every other vampire who visited the establishment. Something about him made her want to flee as she had the night she met Zachariah but instead she held her ground as he stalked toward her.

“I’m Malcolm, and why is it that someone as beautiful as you wasn’t on the menu for this evening? Doesn’t a guest have the right to the finest?”

She saw his extended hand and the look on his face, the world stood still for a moment as she coolly appraised him. Elara's lips twitched into their own smirk, 'he thinks he'll be able to read me if we touch, I'm sure of it.' She was uncertain though, he was strong and she could feel that power emanating viscerally throughout her body. Elara hadn't hesitated to touch another in a long time, Zachariah hadn't been able to break her shield in the years they'd been together and that had given her confidence that hadn't been shaken until now.

Elara extended her hand for him, even she was curious to find out, she couldn't deny it.

"I suppose that depends on the guest and the 'finest' is subjective, I'm not to everyone's...taste. I'm Elara." She told him as they shook hands.

It was a powerful surge that hit her like a gut punch. His thoughts, his memories, everything about him unlocked as soon as they touched. Elara was left a little breathless, he was older than Zachariah, older than any vampire she'd ever met in fact. She caught flashes of his life as their hands broke apart and it was his intentions that caught her by surprise. She gasped and looked up at him uncertainly, fearful and she took a half step backwards.

"Oh..." She said softly, conveying her awareness, "I see."

Zachariah was still blissfully unaware of their conversation and happily sating himself with one of his ladies several metres away from her. Elara gave him a sideways glance and then looked back at Malcolm.

"Just him? Or all of us too, Malcolm?" She asked him.

 

[The_gladiator]

Elara. Her name felt as rare as her beauty. With one touch Malcolm needed more. Her handshake was firm, it by no means showed any weakness. Yet her hand was soft and gave just the right amount of pressure. Her hand shake told him if she wasn’t the Madam of this establishment, she was not unused to boardroom deals. She clearly did more here than serve as a blood donor or give hand jobs to desperate customers.


More than any physical touch her psychic gift hit him like a gut punch. He had never had someone so thoroughly fleece his mind in a 15 second touch. He, Malcolm, had stood before Vladimir, the chief Sentinel of their people, arguably one of the most powerful vampires in existence, and gave nothing away of his true nature. Yet, with one touch he felt her sweep through the farthest corners of his mind, the desire that came with what he thought was her touching his touch was intoxicating. There is a place within everyone that wants to be known, she felt like that in that touch. He let her hand go reluctantly. He wanted more. He suspected she had just plundered all of his private thoughts, and there was a part of him that didn’t care. Even if she gained his secrets he needed to learn, could he keep her out, did she do this to everyone. Ideas were already forming behind his eyes.


The touch revealed only brief glimpses of her to him, a sensation of tired feet in the heels, minor annoyance at her boss’s antics, meaningless data. He could get nothing of import from her. She was as close to silent in his head as he had ever felt. It was psychic shielding like he had never seen in a human before. In that moment he decided to learn more, even if it meant pursuing her.


He turned his attention to the words that gave away what the feeling from her had made him suspect. Touching her could have just been lust, Malcolm had always felt desire strongly. she hadn’t read him like a picture book. Yet, it was true, she knew of his goal in being here. He frowned. How had she done that. He would learn before this night was done. “The forecast does not look favorable for some,” He was deliberately vague. Did she think he would just answer her? Her tone didn’t suggest that she particularly cared if Zachariah died, yet she worked for him, he wasn’t going to confirm anything for her. “Is he often this much of a…pig?” he asked, unable to hide the contempt that lay beneath that statement.


Malcolm wanted to touch her again, wanted to learn more about what this place had to offer, but he couldn’t rush this. He had not met a woman he wanted to possess more than her in quite a long time.

 

[monique_minx]

His vague answer did nothing to allay Elara's fears that she and some of the ladies she cared about might be in danger. But she held her ground and continued to engage in the conversation. She was protected by Zachariah, yes, but she was his captive first and foremost. She knew Zachariah would discard her if she outlived her usefulness or she compromised him in any way. And the way Zachariah discarded humans was not for the faint of heart. So Elara could shout a warning, certainly, but that would merely lead to deaths sooner rather than later.

Thus, Elara was inclined to continue to engage Malcolm in conversation and delay the outcome for as long as possible.

She chuckled when he asked about Zachariah, "That? Oh, that's tame. You haven't seen anything really. The man runs a brothel, what exactly do you think he's into?"

"I surprised you." It wasn't a question, "But, to be fair, you surprised me too."

She had a million questions for him that she really had no right to ask so she was gentle about where to press him at this point. And while some of it might've served Zachariah, the urge to ask came from her own self serving motives. Malcolm made her deeply curious.

"You're older than any I've met here and I'd guess you've come here for your very singular purpose because it definitely doesn't come across as your scene." She smiled brightly at him as if to say that was okay.

 

[The_gladiator]

She had a mouth on her, and it made the corner of Malcolm’s lips twitch just a bit. He had never preferred meek in his women, she had a fire inside, despite being connected to Zachariah, who Malcolm felt was unworthy of her.



He stepped closer, using his height to look down at her, but also to speak quieter. His tone was droll, “I honestly try not to think about what he’s into, I have my own dark fantasies, I don’t usually save room for those of other men.” He snorted at her next comment. What did she know about his scene? She technically wasn’t wrong, but also wasn’t right either. He was a little surprised though that she was curious why he was here at the Ecliptic. Was she so unfamiliar with custom? Did Zachariah not educate her, did he not observe the old laws?



“I am here to secure hunting rights for myself for the duration of my stay. It is respectful for one such as me to let the local master vampire know of my presence in his lands.” As he spoke, he studied her. “As you have seen there is other business to be had here in addition. I am also considering partaking in the services of a woman this evening. I was not interested before, but now, find myself tempted.”



Stepping closer to her he lifted a lock of her red hair that had escaped the elaborate style it was in, delicately tucking it back into the complicated pattern. “Tell me, what is your roll here. Does he know what you are?” The touch hinted at so much more; how he wished to touch her again, claim her. At the same time, he was careful with that touch to not touch her skin directly, though he did so as a tease more than avoidance. How easily did she rattle?

 

[monique_minx]

That was interesting and Elara hid her surprise and confusion because either Zachariah didn't allow her into those sorts of meetings or he merely hadn't had any in the 7 years she'd been there. At least as far as Elara could recall. She steeled herself when Malcolm reached for her hair, she fully expected him to brush her skin and blast her with his mind again at the same time so it was a mixture of relief and disappointment when he didn't touch her skin.

And then there was his question, "Does he know what you are?”

Her breath caught and the answer clawed its way up and into her brain unbidden.

At first, Zachariah had watched how she'd flinch away from his touch and then he tried different materials, he wore gloves of silk and leather as he tested her, trying to figure out any other ways she could read a mind. The material protected them both but the moment he so much as brushed his skin against hers, she knew exactly what he was thinking.

Then the experiments really started.

He blindfolded her to see if taking her sight changed anything - it didn't. He drugged her a few times to either dull or heighten her senses. He even locked her in a room with a newly turned fledgling to see if proximity, fear and a fresh vampire could crack her shield but it didn't.

By the time he'd decided to fuck her, she'd been there for weeks and deprived of food, water and sleep which softened her resolve quite a bit. Not to mention the pain he'd inflicted on her, she learned how quickly resistance became punishment if she tried to flee or refused to answer his questions. He'd come to her room late in the evening with a length of dark silk and a look that told her this was not an invitation.

The gag wasn't meant to hurt, it was soft and forgiving as he tied it behind her head. He explained almost conversationally that it was for safety - whose safety was ambiguous. Somehow she'd known it wasn't for her. Zachariah couldn't risk her saying things that would distract him, or worse, things he wasn't ready to confront. Then he touched her, pinned her wrists and she knew him - all of him. Centuries of hunger, bloodlust, screaming and crying women, names of girls he'd broken before her and an enjoyment of such things that made Elara tear up.

And she couldn't speak a word of it.

She had tried. God, how she had tried. She screamed around the gag and bucked beneath him in desperation as he inflicted unimaginable assault on her mind and body. He merely watched with cool detachment as if this most complete violation meant nothing to him. She knew it meant something - he enjoyed it, she felt that viscerally. She was in his head while he was physically inside of her and if she had a thousand years of therapy, she'd never be able to describe what that felt like.

"Oh yes...he knows." Elara said softly, meeting Malcolm's eyes.

She reached up and pulled the neck of her dress aside slightly, revealing several silvery crescent shaped scars and fresher puncture wounds.

"He never let me forget. Has never sealed any of them, not once."

Zachariah did heal all the other girls when he bit them but not Elara, it was almost territorial of him to leave his mark on her. Like a warning to others and a reminder to her. She let the neck of her dress go, her expression didn't convey any sadness or even anger about anything, this was all matter-of-fact to Elara now.

"Did she know what you were?" Elara asked him with a knowing look in her eye, "The one you still think about, the one who is no longer with you."

She'd fleeced his mind so briefly but his former lover was a strong part of his memories and surged to the front of everything when they shook hands. Elara didn't have contact long enough to learn much about her but his feelings, his grief for her - that was a raging torrent Elara was unable to ignore.

 

[The_gladiator]

He couldn’t read her mind, but he could read body language, even the slightest changes. It was minute, the slowing of her breathing, the stiffening of shoulders. He estimated 99% of people wouldn’t see such things. Malcolm growled. He couldn’t help it. She exposed the scars, the marks and it fed the demon inside him. He could mark a woman, demanded it in fact, but, the idea that it was done as casual torture drove him to an unthinking place.



Lacking the previous thought of before he reached out, his fingertips caressing the skin of her throat, an almost possessive gesture. His thoughts blasted into her head through that touch, anger at Zachariah, the long-term hatred of the undead, the visceral knowledge that Malcolm saw them as not a part of his race. There was also a dark compassion, a possessive rage that demanded he fix what the other had done to her. There were images too, head bent to her neck, as he angrily pinned her to the wall, as if punishing her for what she’d let be done to her.



The Images abruptly cut off as she asked her pointed follow up question. Malcolm placed his hands behind his back as if resisting the urge to touch her, but if it was to grab her or strangle her it was not clear which. His dark blue eyes met hers finally. It happened as he met her eyes. It was like mention of his former lover gave him the strength. Something slid in place behind his eyes and his mind went silent to her. Even from a distance he had been broadcasting feelings to her, the occasional image, and a sense of his power, his presence. It was abruptly cut off. “What do you know of her,” he asked, tone darker than any he had yet shown.



Inside Malcolm saw her, red hair, not so dissimilar to Elara’s, deep green eyes, curves that would make any man groan with desire. She had been his everything, fulfilling his every dark fantasy, egging him on to greater heights, higher pleasures, until…Malcolm slammed the door on the thoughts even for himself, but doing so spurred himself into action.



“Zachariah, I demand full guest right, I will have all of my desires met at your expense.” His hand shot out and shackled Elara’s wrist. This time, he was silent in her head, for now, with his rigid control in place. There was just the whisper of the pad of his thumb over her inner wrist. “I have chosen my prize.” Malcolm needed her away from here. If Zachariah learned of his mission, his secrets. There was too much risk.