Scarlet Spring

[VampiricTouch]

"We, the Riyalat, exist to heal other people... "​

Her eyes closed as she murmured her prayer, pressing the edge of her athame into the soft flesh of her arm. Biting back the pain, she watched as the rivulets of her crimson life, her Rakta, pour over dark skin and into a small dish.

The man beside her groaned as she paused to watch the sun fall below the distant horizon. With the dish filled, she began to bind her wound. When the swathing of linen had staunched her blood flow and was wrapped from wrist to arm, she returned to the small dish of blood.

"shh... it's okay, you'll be fine in no time... Bear with me, this will sting some." She murmured absently and began to apply undiluted Rakta upon the man's worst wounds.

Within moments the deep punctures slackened their outflow of blood. As she waited for his furrowed brows to ease, she went through the esoteric labels of bottles in her bag and chose a premade salve. Liberally, she applied the mixture of salve and Rakta before binding the wounds, wounds that looked like mere scratches now that she was through with him.

"I still have no idea how you got those wounds, but they should be well on their way to being gone. You've lost a lot of blood, so I'm leaving a tincture for that. Take it before every meal and after .... about two days, the dizziness will go away."

She spoke succinctly and professionally as she cleaned up and pulled her veil back in place. The translucent fabric fell just under her high cheekbones and brought out the hazy gray of her eyes framed by long black lashes. The sleeveless robe that draped modestly over her form, billowed in the evening breeze and hinted at the curve of her body as she walked briskly to rejoin the caravan with her family. They had worked through the small settlement efficiently, doing what they did best as healers and in the pause of their travels, traded for necessities.

She grimaced at the aching sting still on her arm and quietly told herself that it would go away ... soon. She was a healer, if she could not endure such to ease the suffering of her patients, then she had no right to be part of the Riyalat and her heritage was for naught. Her patients had suffered far worse...

It was until she had reached the outskirts of the settlement that she realized something was amiss. It was too quiet... too dark... normally by now, they would have gathered to light the torches and prepare to leave...

She broke into a run towards the ragged line of camels and paled as she drew near. Men and women alike laid strewn across the sand. Immediately she fell to her knees beside the nearest man, the dark lines of strangulation marring his neck and even without checking his pulse, she knew he was dead.

She went from fallen to fallen, with tears blurring her vision as she found them lifeless to her touch, each killed the same way as the first. Even then she continued, closing the eyes of each of the dead, hoping to find someone alive that she could save. This was not all of the Riyalat. Where were the children? The remaining adults? The ones less capable of defending themselves... and more importantly, where was her family?

"Papa... ?" Her voice came out in a choked scream as she called for her father.

The faint smell of the hypnosis flower alerted her to danger - too late - the strange hand came over her nose and mouth, and immediately she felt her senses dull. She crumpled to her knees as she fought to stay lucid.

"The Riyalat armband says that her name is Zaira D'Sang. Probably the daughter of that bastard we had to gut... tsk.. What a waste, with all that spilled blood.... This should be the last of them though, shackle her while she's still immobilized and throw her in with the rest...." The harsh voice made her head pound with fear... Papa... Papa was... killed?! The delayed thought brought a fresh wave of adrenaline through her as she struggled weakly against the people carrying her... to no avail - the drug began to take its toll....

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OOC:
Rakta: (Hindu) Blood
Zaira: (Arabic) Blossom
D'Sang: (French) of blood

Yes, it's modified a tad, and yes it was restarted from Crimson Steps.

 

[Chgris]

"It takes a special sort of fool to travel the desert alone," Slade said to himself as he shook the sand from his full black cloak. "Or a special sort of desperation.” His fingers tightened on the fabric in irritation and his hands twitched, snapping the garment hard enough that a cloud of the light powdery sand flew into the air. "And I *hate* sand," he growled, slinging the cloak across his shoulders and fastening the silver chain across his neck. If there was one thing he truly could not abide it was sand. It got into everything, dulling blades, ruining leather. So naturally the mythical tribe of healers he sought had to live in a desert.

He stood perfectly still, looking up at the evening sky for long minutes, contemplating the injustice of it all. He shouldn’t be here. Shouldn’t be crossing this never to be sufficiently damned desert, shouldn’t even be--. He closed his eyes; exercising his iron will to pull back from those thoughts, clearing his mind. The sudden blur of motion as his hands dropped to his waist and drew the weapons from the baldrics that crossed his chest would have taken the breath from any who observed it.

The sword that was drawn from the sheath on his right hip was three feet of razor edged steel, a knight’s broadsword. Engraved on the pommel was the outline of a rose, the petals enameled white. The axe that flew into his right hand from the hanger on the opposite hip was double bitted, forged from a single piece of steel. Two strips of leather, just wide enough for a hand were wrapped about the handle, the one he held the weapon by was just below the double bitted head, the other three quarters of the way down the shaft.

He began slowly, arms gliding through movements learned long ago in the odd dance of his combat style. The dim light glinted from the weapons as they moved, faster and faster, becoming nothing but blurs as his body twisted and leapt through the air. Then all motion stopped as he froze in an extended lunge, left knee forward and right leg straight behind him, sword extended in a cross body slash, axe raised above his head, the shaft parallel to his forearm as if to shield from a blow. Nostrils flaring, he turned his head to the south, breathing deeply to catch the scent that had intruded on his concentration.

“Blood,” he thought, rising and sheathing his weapons. He inhaled again, lips slightly parted as though tasting the air. “Blood, and something more.” In the blink of an eye, he was in motion, running swiftly across the surface of the loose desert sand as though it were solid stone, cloak billowing out behind him to reveal the royal blue of the silk inner lining, starlight flashing from the silver studs decorating his weapons harness. He knew there was a village nearby, he had almost made it there last night, but his map had understated the distance, so he had stopped within a few short leagues of it’s shelter. He might be a fool who traveled a desert alone and on foot, but he was not a fool who traveled by daylight. The desert sun would quickly kill anything except a well-provisioned caravan that tried.

Following the scent of spilled blood, Slade circled the outskirts of the small village. He was still unable to determine what that something more was in the blood scent, but it was definitely part of it. Rounding a sand dune, he came upon the source of the scent. A corpse lay at bottom, desert robes stained dark. There was no doubt what had killed him, a ripping cut upwards through the belly had spilled out his lifeblood. Slade bent to examine the wound; he had seen many like it in battle. The man was fortunate, the knife had been long enough, and the cut high enough to have pierced his heart, saving him from the lingering death of organ exposure.

Taking a bit of the stained robes in his fingers, he found them to be slightly damp. “Not long ago,” he thought silently. The desert air hadn’t yet had time to dry the blood. Raising his fingers to his nose he confirmed it, there was something odd about the blood of this man. Finishing his examination of the body, he noticed an armband with some sort of script he couldn’t read. He reached out and closed the dead man’s eyes, taking the armband from the body. “I don’t know who you are,” he said to the corpse. “But someone should know where you died.” His eyes widened suddenly as his fingers started to tingle where the blood had touched them. Looking closely, he could almost see his fingertips growing warmer. Suddenly cautious, he thrust his fingers into the desert sand, scrubbing them dry until the sensation wore off.

He was slowly beginning to dig a grave, while trying to understand what the effect the blood had on him was, when two things caused his head to snap up. The first was the charnel stink of many bodies freshly dead. They had to be near to overwhelm the blood so close at hand. The second was a choked off feminine scream. “I’m guessing you’re Papa,” Slade whispered, drawing his sword and raising it in salute to the dead man. “I’ll bring her this,” he said, tucking the armband in his belt. “And keep her from meeting your fate.”

Standing and drawing his axe, he broke into a full out run, weapons flashing in his fists. He didn’t have far to run before he found the source of the scream, a young woman surrounded by a group of seven men, all dressed in the garb of the local desert tribes. In the light of the torches some of them held, he saw the girl wore an armband similar to the one he had found on the body. He started forward, then hesitated hearing a command to “shackle her.” So they didn’t intend rape and murder, at least not immediately. His suspicion was confirmed when two of the group bent to bind their captive, the other five moving off in the direction he could tell the scent of death was coming from.

His approach was silent as death itself, the two men lifting the limp bound girl to her feet never knew he was coming up behind them. Crossing his arms in front of himself, he lashed out, sword axe parallel to the ground swinging left and right at shoulder height. The heads hit the ground at the same moment, the powdery sand muffling the thuds. Headless, the bodies continued to stand for a moment, blood fountaining from the severed necks and splashing over their former captive. The sound as they fell was loud enough that Slade was sure the others would hear.

“So much for a quiet rescue,” Slade said as he stepped in front of the girl, interposing his body between her and the group that turned back and charged at them. He reached up to his collar, unfastening the cloak, letting it drop to the sand. “And now I’ll have to get the dust out of it again.”

The group of thugs halted in front of him, just outside the range of his weapons, and spread out, looking down in fear at the bodies of their companions, then back up at the strangely dressed figure in black. For his part Slade just stood there, arms lowered and weapons hanging loosely beside his legs. He watched as the five made to surround him, ignoring them as they moved, concentrating on the one with a long knife in his belt.

“Did you kill the one who wore this?” he asked using the tongue common to the desert region. He leaned his axe against his leg, freeing his hand to pull the armband from his belt and tossing it to the thug.

“And if I did?” the man confirmed, hand dropping to the long knife.

“Then you die.” Slade grasped the axe again. “Normally I would offer these others the chance to flee, but judging from the smells, I’d say the man back there was not the only murder done here tonight. I deem you all guilty, the sentence is death.” At his last word, his right arm whipped forward, heavy battle-axe flying through the air. The leader did not even have the time to realize Slade had thrown it before it impacted, the blades cleaving his skull. The remaining four hesitated for only a moment before charging him in an attempt to overwhelm him with numbers. It was over in a matter of a few seconds. As they came in range of the flashing sword, they fell to the desert sand.

Retrieving his axe from the body of the leader, Slade picked the armband from his dead hand. He moved to each of the other bodies in turn, checking each to be certain they were dead. At the last, he tore a strip of robe, using it to clean his weapons before sheathing them. Returning to the girl, he cut her bonds, and knelt in front of her. “We have to leave here,” he said. “The rest of this band will have heard the noise, and be coming to find out what happened.” She stared blankly back at him, the hypnosis flower effect not having washed off. He reached out, lifting her chin to raise her eyes to his. “Lass, I don’t know who you are, or what they used on you, but I swore to this man,” he raised the armband in front of her. “That I would avenge him and keep his daughter safe. Judging from your eyes, you’re her. And we have to go.”

He swept his cloak up from the ground, fastening it at his throat. “You don’t know me, lass, but you’re safe.” Turning north, he broke into a run. He had to make it back to the cave he had sheltered in the previous day, and he had already lost time. He just hoped that whatever drug had been used on her would dull senses enough so that she wouldn’t notice the unnatural speed at which they flashed across the sands.

 

[VampiricTouch]

Her vision began to blur, the effects of the flower distorted both sight and sound as they lifted her to her feet. The torch light dimmed in her glazed eyes, flashing in a cascade of silver and red… as the support on her slacked and her body crumpled once more upon the desert sand.

The sound of words, and the thump of weight upon the ground warped into a haze “leave… noise… swore… avenge… safe… go…” Her clouded eyes slowly concentrated around a face… before the vision faded to its drugged blur once more.

Time passed slowly … too slow before the ice on her mind slowly dissolved and her limbs found the ability to move. She was caught up in a scent… a very male scent spiced with the dust of a traveler… Who was he? Where was she…? what happened…?

Her hands slowly coiled into a fist as her memory caught up with her. Her eyes closed, stinging with tears not just from the drug keeping her paralyzed for so long… but also from the heartache… When they opened, her vision was blurred with tears as opposed to the artificial dilation of her pupils. It was then that the dim light of the moon darkened from her sight and he gently laid her down against very solid ground.

Her hand lifted to brush aside the tears that filled her eyes as she struggled to focus in the dark. Who was he? He was alone… so he wasn’t one of them. But where had he taken her? Her eyes turned to make out the contours of sand and rock in a natural grotto. The entrance was framed in the growing halo of false dawn as her eyes adjusted to the general shadows.

“Where… am I? What happened? Papa… is he really gone…” Her voice cracked and she pulled her water skin to her lips before continuing, her eyes traveling away from the moving shadow to her robes, making out the line of splattered blood before looking away.

“They died didn’t they? Was it you?” She scowled at the distaste of death… why did knowing that her father’s murderers had received the same fate not ease its bitterness?

“…and what of the others? Why am I the only one…” She had managed to cut her words down, reigning in the flood of emotions “I- I’m sorry. I’d forgotten … Thank you, I am in your debt, for avenging my father, and bringing me to safety.” She had rolled to her knees and lowered her head to the ground in her apology and thanks.

The figure of her rescuer stepped forward, and then hesitated before stepping away from her, deeper into the shadows.

“You’re safe now,” his voice came softly from the depths of his hooded cloak. “Do not thank me. What I did, I did to fulfill a promise made to one ignobly slain.” The armband was tossed to the cave floor by her feet. “I saw no others alive, save you.”

Her eyes lifted at the clatter of metal that was all too loud in the cave. Her gaze returned to the shadow of the man she had still yet to see, before she reached out to pick up the silver wrought trinket before her.

“And the man who wore this is truly … " Her voice trailed off while her fingers traced the engraved name of her father. "Thank you for bringing this to me.”Silent tears rolled down as she mourned her loss… was she really alone?

“None of those who attacked you survived this night.” She saw the hood of his cloak turn to face the cave entrance. “I cannot read your language, but I heard those who held you refer to you as the daughter of the one they had…killed.”

Before she could say anything more, he had moved to her side, stripping off the long cloak he wore, wrapping it around her. “It’s cold. Use that until the sun warms the air.” His hands tucked the cloak about her, chafing her skin, the satin lining smooth where it touched her bare arms. He stopped suddenly, as though just realizing what he had done, and slipped deeper into the shadows.

The cool touch of his hand against her skin made her shiver… and a distant part of her wondered why his hand was so cold. No it wasn’t just his hand that was cold… even his cloak lacked the warmth of one who had worn it.

“Sir… I don’t know your name… but … your hands… were frigid. You might be sick with something. I’m a healer, if you’d like I could see …” She rose to her feet to follow after his shadow, walking slower as she tried to discern her way in the darkness. Her desire to aid someone in sickness was greater than that of her sorrow… It was what her father would’ve expected her to do.
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OOC: post done with much much much collaboration with Chgris, especially in the conversation.

 

[Chgris]

“My name? I crave your pardon, Lady. I am Slade De’Vere,” there was a sound of something brushing along the rocky floor, almost as if he had bowed to her. “Kni—“ his voice stopped in midword. “No, I no longer can claim that title. Slade De’Vere, and I am at your service.”

“And I am not ill, Lady. Not as you would term it.”

She continued forward, stumbling occasionally on the stray rock in her path. “Not ill… only those who are about to come down with a fever are ever that cold. I’m Zaira. Zaira D’Sang… if your reluctance is because of my capability… I am part of the Riyalat… and if what you’ve said is true… the only Riyalat left.”
She paused a moment to catch her breath, continuing only after she was sure her voice would not tremor. “We were raised as healers, it’s in our blood sir.”

Her words pulled a hiss of surprise from him. What trick of the gods brought him this close, led him straight to the legend he had been searching for, only to have his chance torn from his fingers? If she was truly the last of the Riyalat, he was doomed. He had sworn to her father’s corpse that he would keep her from meeting his fate. How then could he think of asking for her aid? Remembering the odd reaction to her father’s blood on his fingers, he feared what might happen to Zaira if he fed from her. Would nothing happen? Would her blood begin to congeal within her veins? No, he would not risk harm coming to her. If only he been able to save another of her tribe, one he was not honor bound to protect.

Hearing her continue to stumble forward, he recognized a more immediate danger. “Lady, I beg you to stop where you are. Do not come another step into the cave, if you value your life. If you will promise not to move further, I will come to you.”

Her feet stopped at his words. She had followed him much farther into the cave than she’d realized. The light from the entrance had faded completely from her view… she had been following him by the sound of his voice.
"I've stopped. Will you come?"

Slade looked closely at where Zaira had stopped, trying to judge how best to jump over the wide crevice in the floor without giving away any more of his nature. To his dismay, he saw that she had halted at the worst possible place. The cave narrowed out just before the crevice, being barely wide enough for one person to walk through. And there was not enough space for him to land in front of her without falling in himself.

Shaking a mental fist at whichever mischievous deity was plaguing him that night, he took a step forward and leapt into the air, skimming the roof of the cave, twisting in midair to land silently behind her. “I am here, Lady,” he said, hands ready to catch hold of her shoulders should she be startled by his new position and step forward into midair.

She spun with surprise as his voice suddenly came in close from behind her, taking a hazardous step backwards into nothingness. Her hands swept out wildly to grasp something to stop her fall and closed on his tunic, just as he had steadied her with his hands. Shaken, she murmured her thank you, before her head snapped up with belated shock.
“How’d – When’d you get behind me? I thought your voice kept coming from the other side...” Her head turned to the direction she had been walking in confusion as she followed his lead back towards safer ground.

“I was always—“ his words trailed off, and she could barely make out the motion of him shaking his head in negation. “No, I will not lie to you lady. I was on the other side. And if you had taken one step further, you would have fallen to your death. That crevice goes deeper than I can see.” He walked her back toward the entrance, stopping while still in shadows too deep for her to see him clearly. “Sit, Lady, and regain your strength.”

“Zaira. If you’d please…” She murmured as she settled down to her knees, using her hands to find her bearings before sitting. She pulled the pack from her shoulders, fumbling in the dark with the laces that kept it shut and sighed.
“How do you find your way in this place… I can barely make out my fingers. You wouldn’t happen to have tinder for a fire? Or help me find my way back to the entrance so I can see you?”

“I’d prefer to remain here, thank you, Lady Zaira.” He reached to his belt, removing the flint and tinder he carried. When he had rested in the cave he earlier, he had found some old crates, probably loot from bandits, and smashed them for firewood. He quickly retrieved what was left, and in short order, had a small fire burning.

She pulled her veil off, the fabric having been torn and ruined in the fray earlier as she watched the spark of fire flare, catch the kindling and several moments later the dry wood took to flame. The flickering light brought a level of security she had been without while wandering the darkness of the grotto. Her eyes traveled to the crevice she had nearly fallen into, shuddering as she realized how close to death she had been.
“How did you make it across that crevice… without me hearing?” She looked up at Slade as he settled down by the fire. He was tall… moved with the fluidity of… a fighter… no more than that, a predator. She lifted a hand to brush his cheek. “Slade.” The name was murmured as if she were putting the name to his face… as a part of her mind noted the chill of his body in comparison to her warmth.
“You’re cold. How can you say that nothing is wrong?” Her hand dropped immediately to his, pulling up his sleeve to find his pulse… and found none. “Wha- how is…”
She looked up at him with confusion, as if he could supply her the answers.

Slade looked down to where Zaira’s hand touched him. The feel of her warm hand on his skin was highly pleasurable. Looking up into her eyes, he saw only confusion, no fear at all. “Perhaps,” he thought to himself. “perhaps I can tell her the whole story sometime.”

“I told you that I was not ill, Lady Zaira,” he replied, carefully choosing his words. “And I will answer your questions as truthfully as I may, but first, I must ask a boon of you. For your own safety, please, anything I tell you of who,” he hesitated, closing his eyes. “Of what I am, you must never reveal to another soul. On your oath as a healer, please Lady, swear it to me.”

Her brows furrowed as her confusion rose another notch. Slowly, she nodded. "Upon my honor as a Riyalat, I will not reveal to another what you tell me this night."

“Very well, then. As I said, I told you I was not ill in any sense you would recognize.” He looked down at where her fingers still held his wrist. “You can feel it for yourself, my heart no longer beats in my chest. I am in fact, dead.”

Her disbelief is apparent and for a few long moments, her mouth opened and shut as if the words had some how fallen silent upon her tongue.

"Thats... not possible... The dead do not move. They do not walk, talk..."

“True, Lady. Let us say then that I am, undead. In my land we have various names, all legend. The most common is vampire.”

He shook his head slightly. “I told you I would tell you as much as I could. Vampire is term for all who share my condition. There are different types, what we term Clans. That of my Sire, and therefore my own she termed Gangrel.”

For a long moment she refused to accept the words he had spoken. Instead, her hands returned to find his pulse, finding nothing on his wrist, lifted to touch his neck. "It might've been too faint. I might've missed it..."

Her hand fell slack in her lap in her useless search as she wracked her mind for some possible reason this could be…

Slade stood, moving to kneel in front of her. Reaching down into his boot, he withdrew a dagger and held it up between them. He took her limp hand in his, wrapping her fingers about the hilt, and pulling her up to kneel opposite him. Taking a firm hold of her hand, squeezing her fingers tight on the dagger hilt, he stared into her eyes.

“Lady, I am Slade De’Vere, Knight-Commander and sole member of the Order of the White Rose. And I swear to you all I have told you this night is true. I am a vampire, Sired by Tanya into Clan Gangrel when I lay near death at her feet.” He tightened his grip on her fingers, and let his vampire self show, his eyes glowing a Hell red as he pulled her wrist forward, the long dagger blade driving unerringly into his heart.
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OOC another long collaboration between VT and myself

 

[VampiricTouch]

She pulled against the grip of his hand, trying to let go of the dagger hilt he forced her to hold. Something was wrong... what was he doing holding her to his weapon?! Her eyes moved away from the dagger and up to his gray eyes and froze. There was no doubting the honesty behind those eyes as he spoke with conviction...

“Lady, I am Slade De’Vere, Knight-Commander and sole member of the Order of the White Rose. And I swear to you all I have told you this night is true. I am a vampire, Sired by Tanya into Clan Gangrel when I lay near death at her feet.”

"NO! " The cry resonated in the grotto as the edge of the dagger was pressed into his heart. Not another dead... no... too many have died this night.... not another... not by her hand. She pulled away, trembling with the terror of having killed the one who'd saved her.

"You -you fool! Why?! Why do you throw your life awa- " Then he moved. She could only watch in shock as he pulled the blood stained dagger out with a dull groan... had the blade missed? no. She knew that it had hit its mark.

"You... you're still alive... Thank the gods... but that means..." Her ramble of relief stopped short as her frantic mind caught up with the implications of what he'd shown her.

She lifted her hand to the hole in his tunic, made by the passing dagger before stopping. "I-I'm sorry... may I?"

With the slight incline of his head, her fingers reached forward, gingerly slipping past the tunic to touch the skin beneath. She could feel the ripple of flesh as his body knitted the wound back together and several moments later, when all movement stopped, her fingertips trailed across what would've been a garish wound... to find smooth skin.

Why did the truth he had to present... be so difficult to accept...

Withdrawing, she rested her head in her hands as she settled onto her heels. Too much had happened... and now this. "I.. I need time. I'm sorry. My mind isn't wrapping itself around what I see... I - it's too much."

Propping her head against the rock wall, her eyes closed trying to accept the sudden upheaval of her life... and now companion. Her fists clenched and unclenched as she tried to grapple with myth and reality before finally speaking. "Hand me your tunic... I can at least mend the hole for you. It'll be something ... methodical to do..."

When nothing filled her outreached hand, she met his gaze with askance and watched as he complied. From a small corner of her bag, she pulled out needle and thread, thankful for the work at hand to keep her thoughts preoccupied, and her hands from trembling. Her fingers worked, meticulous with each stitch that passed through the obsidian cloth. It was cold... like that of his cloak, without the warmth of someone wearing it. He was... truly a vampire...?! Her eyes shifted from her work to Slade, staring at his... very male form, before tearing her gaze away.

She'd seen men undressed before, having to apply sutures across patients... why was this any different?! For a brief moment the vision of his body returned to her mind's eye, the deeply muscled chest and shoulders, his skin pale white and smooth... his beautiful gray eyes... The prick of her finger against the point of her needle, drawing a droplet of blood, brought her out of her reverie as she flinched and finished.

Tying off the last stitch, she handed the shirt back to him, and with a touch of hesitation spoke, "So... Wh- when do you have to feed? Unless the legends are wrong and you don't need the blood of man to survive? Will you... tell me about your kind? How... you became a vampire? I'm sorry... It still feels very... surreal to me."

Her head rested against a ledge as she relaxed to listen, her eyes growing heavy with each passing moment...

 

[Chgris]

Slade had remained kneeling across the fire from her, watching the light play across her form as her fingers set fine stitches in his tunic. Not needing to speak, he had ceased to breathe, and merely knelt, completely immobile, as though giving up all semblance of living to reinforce what he was upon her perception.

When she pricked her finger with the needle, he took in a small breath of the air, and found the scent of her blood carried the same odd additional scent as her father’s had. This time it was much stronger, even the tiny drop causing the thirst to begin to burn within him. He remained motionless, ruthlessly suppressing the urge to reach out and take her hand, to suck her finger into his mouth and sample that drop of blood, to savor it, determine if the legendary healing properties might have an effect on one such as he.

He accepted his shirt back from her with a nod of thanks, but made no move to put it on. He certainly didn’t need it, and the warmth of the fire on his bare skin was pleasant. Her questions surprised him in their directness. He had expected her to react as most humans he had encountered since he has been turned did, with fear and loathing.

“That particular legend is not wrong,” he answered. “Vampires do, indeed, drink blood. Some can subsist on the blood of animals, my kind, though, can not. Animal blood provides no sustenance to me. Tanya, my Sire, did not know why, though she suspected it was because we Gangrel are so close to the Beast inside us.” He paused at the frown that crossed her features as he named Tanya as his Sire. “Vampires take no notice of sex when we refer to our creators. It is always Sire to Childe.”

He decided that since she hadn’t asked about the Beast, there was no reason to reveal that aspect of his nature. That particular battle he would fight as he always did, alone and in silence, clinging to his humanity and honor against the instinctual urges of his kind to rend and kill, to gorge on the blood of humans with no thought of them save as prey.

“Our need for blood varies. We use it in the same way that living creatures do food. The more we exert ourselves, the more we need, and the shorter the time between feedings.” He stopped, listening to her steady even breathing, and lapsed into silence, letting her sleep. There was no reason to burden her with the fact that it had been nearly two weeks since he had fed. Already he felt the urge to feed again, the Thirst flaring up within him, only to be denied. He knew he could last another two weeks at most, if he did not exert himself.

He knelt there, silently watching her as the fire burned low and went out, leaving them in the deep shadows of the cave. Sometime during the day she began to dream, stirring restlessly. When she began to moan piteously, locked in a nightmare, he moved to sit beside her. Taking her by the shoulders, he gently turned her from the cavern wall, easing her down to lay her head on his lap. “Be at ease, Lady,” he whispered to her, his right hand softly stroking her hair. “Rest, sleep; no one will harm you while I am here.” He continued murmuring to her until she quieted. His hand never stopping it’s gentle stroking of her hair, he maintained his ceaseless vigil, grey eyes unblinking as he watched over her throughout the day.

 

[VampiricTouch]

Her eyes closed to see the faces of the dead - the ones that had not arrived to their caravan in time, the ones that could not be saved by Rakta… and the ones that were killed.

Once more she ran towards those that laid dead, once more her fingers touched the darkened marks that stole their breath from them, and once more she closed their eyes. Her groan of despair was quieted by the same smell that heralded her paralysis, this time the clarity of what she saw was unmistakable.

The blur of her vision sharpened into the silhouette of him looming over her captors and with one smooth stroke… The scream died in the silence of her dream as blood spilled across her robes. Two more dead…

She thrashed against the paralysis of the drug, this time sleep, as if it could change the course of events, as if it could bring the dead back… as if she could see her father again. Her vision turned hazy once more as her dreams took her away from the carnage at hand.

She returned to the time when her father had cradled her to sleep. It had been right after her mother had passed away. It was a disease that had been slowly deteriorating her sight, thinning her blood and eating away at her body… until only a shell remained of her.

She and her brother, Ramiz, had watched them burn her body, the light of those funeral flames lapping up against the night sky. And when the desert wind picked up, it dispersed her ashes across the sand that was her home.

“From dust we were made… and to dust we will return.”

She watched as her father had taken the one earring he had always worn on his left, and placed it to his right… the sign of a widower. They had mourned together that night, remembered her that night … until exhaustion had closed their eyes.

~~~~****~~~~​

Sleep slowly faded, leaving the gentle touch of a hand stroking her hair…
“mm… Pa… I don’t want to wake up… just a little bit longer…” She murmured as she pulled her blanket closer and buried her face into her pillow.

The gentle touch hesitated but did not stop… but neither did her father’s voice ever fill her ears. Was it not her father? Then… who? Her eyes opened to see stone, lit by the flames of a dying fire. Shifting in her confusion, she looked up to see a very bare male body, discovering that her pillow had been his lap and her blanket his cloak, all of which quickly brought her out of the half sleep she had been in.

“I – I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to…” Blood rushed to paint her cheeks as she tried to get up, back away, and stammer an apology all at once. Her gaze lifted to meet gray eyes… and stopped as the events of the previous night came crashing down.

“I’m sorry.” Her voice softened into a hoarse whisper as she struggled to contain the tears of her reality. She turned away from him to hide her eyes bright with her pain and started to find things to do.

She should return… at least to see if there were survivors… Her hand worked busily to unravel the linen on her arms, checking the self inflicted cuts she had made the previous day. A distant thought automatically registered the faint lines that would soon fade. She searched her pack and pulled out a portion of bread, immediately offering some to Slade before stopping short.

“Would you like some – oh… do you still eat...?”

~~~~****~~~~​

They had returned from the town to find seven of their men dead. Their alarm filled the air as they turned to search for the one who had killed their comrades.

“Leave them. The lot of you, siphon as much blood as you can off the dead Riyalat. That will start us off, the others get the caravan ready. We leave for Rajmuat at dawn.”

The bustle of movement brought a few people out of the stupor of drugs as they found the clatter of irons restricting their limbs. Their clamors of confusion only brought down the ire of the agitated slavers and quickly the Riyalat hushed as the caravan began to move.

 

[Chgris]

When Zaira nuzzled her face deeper in his lap, Slade felt himself stir in response. Outwardly he gave no sign of his flaring lust save a slight hesitation as he softly ran his hand down her hair. When she returned to full wakefulness, it was with a mixture of regret and relief that he released her. Regret that her body was no longer in contact with his, relief that she had not felt his growing arousal. He sat motionless, fighting against the need to feed, his growing lust for Zaira combining with the exertion required to force his body to not slip into the normal daylight sleep of his kind so he could maintain his watch adding to the urgency of his thirst.

Seeing the cuts on her arm shocked him back into control of himself, the thirst banished by a flare of rage at the thought of her skin being cut. He busied himself poking up the dying embers of the fire, adding the last few pieces of wood so she would be able to better see as they prepared to leave.

Her offer of a piece of bread, nearly caused him to laugh, but recognizing her courtesy for what it was, and remembering her ignorance of his kind. “I can eat, Lady Zaira, and often do as a means to mask my nature. But it holds no value for me. Save the food and water, depending on how fast we move, you may need them.”

He changed the subject as she ate, finding that he enjoyed the sound of her voice. He was sure that he would have found any voice acceptable after wandering alone for years, but hers soothed him in a way he hadn’t felt since before he was turned. “I am sorry, Lady Zaira to have caused you embarrassment. You seemed to be dreaming in your sleep, and the rock is less than comfortable.”

She nodded and broke a piece of bread for herself and placed the remaining loaf back. “It's alright... and it was more comfortable that way, I was just surprised.”


“I have never before been used for a pillow.” He flashed her a small grin, the tips of fangs appearing for a moment. “I am at your disposal, should you again find yourself in need of one.”

He watched her eat in silence. The sun had not yet fully set, and he saw no need to rush to leave, preferring instead to simply talk with Zaira, and learn more about her and her clan. “The cuts on your arm, who did that to you?”


“Cuts? I did. I draw blood to heal... We all do. and depending on the situation, fresh blood can be needed. We heal faster than most and these will fade to nothing in a few hours.”

A look of shock crossed his features, “You do? How is it that you use your blood to heal? I have heard of blood magic, but never a practitioner using their own blood. Nor of them being used for ought but harm.”

She rested her hands in her lap as she tried to explain, “I - we... The elders explained that our blood, Rakta, has the properties of restoring something to its natural state. As our blood ages, it takes on the quality of enhancing characteristics of what it's mixed with.”

She reached over to open her bag, showing him her array of vials and containers as she spoke, “Most of this is made with blood as a base and added herbs. The blood strengthens the properties of the herbs. By the same token... poison becomes much more deadly when mixed with Rakta...”

“Not so much different than what I can do with my blood as to the strengthening,” he murmured to himself. “But…wait you said it can restore something to it’s ‘natural
state’?”

“It could be seen that way... The natural state for flesh in an open wound... would be to close the wound. A person's body already works to that end... with Rakta, it speeds up the process.”

“Lady, you are the healer, you are most familiar with your abilities. Tell me, what would you judge my normal state to be?”

She looked up at him in surprise before seriously contemplating his question.
“You... you said you were sired right...? You were once human, albeit a dying man...”

“Yes. Tanya found me as I lie near to death, and turned me. Once I was as mortal as
you.”

Her words came out before she had the time to contemplate their implications and as it led her forward, she paled at what this vampire might consider... “It would be human... “ The words were murmured quietly.

“Human. A mortal man once again. So, the legends might be true.” Seeing the skin of her face go pale, he stood gathering his tunic and harness. Moving to the other side of the cave he dressed rapidly, his movements fluid and economical, again displaying the grace of a predator. He settled his cloak about his shoulders, before turning back to her. “You have naught to fear, Lady,” he said. “For I would not harm you, nor let another bring you to harm.”

“And so I condemn myself to this existence.”

She nodded slowly as he withdrew from her side, “I know... I just thought... that if you were one of the undead... then there might be more... and ... “

“I'm not afraid of giving blood Slade. But... there is only so much I can give before my body begins to wear.”


“More? Vampires you mean? Of a certainty there are. I know of at least twenty, not counting myself, and I have only been one these past seventy odd years.”

Her eyes widened as she looked up at him... “I'd say that were impossible... but after yesterday...”

“As for you giving your blood, Lady I fear two things. The first is I do not know what it may do to me. When I touched your father’s blood, the flesh of my fingers began to tingle and burn.”

“As to the second, there is something more to your blood, an odd scent that is mixed in it. In truth, it calls to me as a candle flame does a moth. I beg you, please, warn me if you intend spilling any, so that I may prepare myself.”

Her brows furrowed, as she was about to offer a small amount to test, but immediately replaced the athame back in its place.

He stepped to her side, taking her hand in his and drawing her to her feet. “Please warn me before you cut yourself. I find the thought of you in pain to be…disturbing.” Knowing his concern must sound strange coming from a vampire, and not wanting to admit his growing attraction to her, he told her half the truth as explanation.

“I swore an oath to a dead man that I would watch over his daughter, and keep his fate from befalling her. I mean to see it through. Where you go, I will go with you, until you are safe, or I am destroyed.”

“And what have I done to merit such care?” She murmured, “Surely you had other plans besides caring for my safety? I don't intend to be a burden to keep you from them.”

“Lady, in truth I did have plans when I came to this desert. I was following old legends among vampires, legends of a mythical group of healers, who might know a cure for my…condition.”

She turned slowly to face him, “And... am I... what you have been looking for?”

“You, Lady? No. The blood of your kind perhaps, but not yours. I will not be drinking your blood.”

“And... if what you said is true... and I were the only Riyalat...? “

“Then I condemn myself willingly to this existence.”

“Slade. If my blood can cure you... Then take it. Surely you would not drain me dry. “

“Lady, did you not hear me?” his voice was shifting, becoming less human, almost and animalistic growl. “Did you not listen when I said how your blood calls to me?” He stepped closer to her, to stare down at her, his eyes glowing red, and fangs appearing as he smiled dangerously.

“When you pricked your finger yesterday, that one small drop of blood filled my senses so that I could think of naught but what you might taste like, what it would feel like to wrap you in my arms, and feel my fangs sink into your lovely throat. Is that truly a chance you are willing to take Lady? Will you play so dangerous a game?”

Her eyes lifted with defiance, defiance that faltered at his suddenly ominous eyes, eyes that held her in place despite her desire to look away. “There- There are ways around that problem.”

Steeling herself, she tore her eyes from the glittering of his fangs and rested a hand along the rocky wall to steady the tremor of fear in her hands.

Slade felt the sun finally slip below the horizon, and decided to end this line of thought. He would not feed from her. Stepping closer to her, he placed a hand on either side of her body, letting his nails shift into talons. The sounds as his claws drove deep into the rock echoed in the cave. “Lady, I will not feed from you. It is too dangerous for both of us.” He stepped back from her, his eyes slipping back to their normal gray. “The sun has set, and we have a long run to reach the village.”

She flattened up against the rock, and her eyes squeezed shut with the fear of his sudden change... how had she not been afraid of him... She paled at the grinding sound of claws on rock... Just the presence of his changed form brought the dull feeling of hopelessness. She'd die here... he said he'd protect her... but he'd kill her here... the panic welled up in a maelstrom of conflicting thoughts When he stepped away, her knees completely sagged beneath her weight.

She blinked several times; amazed that she was still alive. She tried to steady her shaking to no avail. The simple words “I'm still alive... I'm still alive...” ringing in her head

His words slowly reached her through her haze of fear... Could she still travel with him? He wouldn't hurt me...he was going to keep me safe... he said he wouldn't hurt me... Her shaking slowly stilled as she repeated her mantra over and over in her mind. Pulling her pack onto her back, she stood to follow him, She kept her head lowered, to avoid meeting his eyes, knowing that he'd see her fear... if he didn't sense it already.

Slade led her from the cave in silence, knowing he had frightened her. Her scent was dominated by her fear, and he felt shamed knowing he had caused it. He had no desire to cause her fear and torment, but at least now she might understand why she must be cautious of drawing her blood near him. But, it would make the trip to the village much harder if she could not overcome her fear of him. There was only one way for them to cover the distance in a single night. He would once again have to carry her.

“Lady,” he said softly, turning to face her. “I am sorry for having frightened you, but it was necessary. You needed to understand, to see what I am so you would truly believe how important it is that you give me time to prepare if you are to draw your blood.” He paused, wondering best how to broach the subject. “Now I must ask you to set your fear aside, and to place your faith in my word that I will not harm you. I mean no offense, but will you consent to my carrying you back to town? Should we travel at your pace, the sun will rise. Leaving me two choices, bury myself in the accursed sand to hide from it, or die.”

Her head snapped up, meeting his for the first time since they left their grotto. Just how far were they from the village? He had made it to the cave in short order... wasn't it near enough for her to walk... “Is that how we got to the cave in the first place? I suppose..." She sighed and stepped closer. “If you would please?”

Slade scooped her into his arms, cradling her to his chest, and began to run.

The burst of speed took her by surprise, the gasp drowned by the whistling of wind in her ears. Her arms snaked to wrap around his neck and the soft smell of him filled her, it was a scent that implied security... and even with his prior show of aggression, she calmed in its embrace. For a moment she was caught in the conflict of burying her face in the security that was Slade, and watching the speed at which they passed everything by.

The exhilaration of speed surmounted that of her fear, bringing her back to the Slade she felt safe with, the Slade whose lap she had slept on, the Slade who had stroked her hair and kept vigil of her slumber... the Slade who would not harm her.

For his part, Slade was struck by curiosity and admiration. It was obvious that she was viscerally afraid of him when he had shown her a small part of his nature, but here she was, calmly resting in his arms. “Tell me Lady, when you first discovered what I was, you seemed to feel no fear. Indeed, it took me nearly manifesting the Beast to impress upon you the danger you flirted with, and now, you again rest securely in my arms. From where springs this calm of yours?”

“Hmm. fear... If you had plans to hurt me in any way... you had more chances to do that than I could count... and knowing that you were a ... vampire only added to that.”

He nodded in understanding.

“Beast... is that what that was...? “ She shuddered involuntarily at the thought of his red eyes, “Those eyes... above all else... were what terrified me. They... were like the assurance of certain death.”

“The Beast Within,” he confirmed. “That is what we term it. The endless driving Thirst, the hunger to rend and destroy, to treat everything around us as the prey. To simply lose ourselves in the hunt, in being the perfect predator we are. That is the Beast.” He shrugged, curling her closer to his body, enjoying the feel of her warmth, and the scent of her as they talked.

“What I did, what you saw, was a minor shift toward the Beast. The vampire term for the ability is Protean, the ability to control our form.”

“If you had wanted to harm me... then there would have been nothing I could've done then and do now to find my security... but... you still reigned it in. You still uphold the oath you've made... it wasn't enough to take away the fear... but it was a start. And if you truly desire a cure for your condition... then I believe you won't allow that Beast to come forth... because... you detest that part of yourself...”

Slade looked down into her eyes, nodding in acknowledgement. “And there you echo what my Sire told me as I ventured forth. Cling to your honor, do not ever lose your humanity, and kill only those who you must in defense of yourself or another. Never let go of yourself, and tame the Beast Within to be a true Gangrel.”

She pulled herself closer to him; the only sense of security was from him... as well as the source of her fear.

“Lady, I pray you never see me truly manifest the Beast. The last time I did, was the night that the Order of the White Rose ceased to exist. It was the night I took my revenge on them, and slew them all.”

Seeing the question in her eyes, Slade began to explain, laying out the tale of his death, and rebirth.

“I was in life, Slade De’Vere, a Knight of the Order of the White Rose. The purpose of the Order was to protect, to hunt down the unnatural creatures that prey upon mankind,” he smiled slightly at the irony of it. “I did my best to be an honorable knight, obeying my commanders, doing whatever tasks the Order laid upon me, and doing them well. For in truth, I loved that life, but there was one thing I loved more. Her name was Elaina, and she was beautiful. Her family were farmers from the town near the Order’s chapter house. And I would spend all my time not taken up by my duties there with her and her family.”

He stopped speaking for a long moment, lost in the perfect clarity of vampiric memory. When he felt Zaira shift in his arms, he continued. “I loved Elaina, and she returned my love. I had asked her father for her hand and was on my way to ask her when I was summoned to the commander of the Order. He had a mission for me. An undead, a vampire, had been slaying folks in a distant town, and they had called on us for assistance. I saw it a great quest, a chance to prove myself, and return in victory to marry my love.”

Shaking his head at the foolishness of youth, he continued. “What it was was more sinister. There was a vampire, true, but it was more than one. A small coven had established itself, normally a mission for at least ten of the Order. The commander knew this, but was sending me to my death. He had seen me with Elaina, and he lusted for her. To her she was simply a peasant girl, to be taken and discarded at whim by one so nobly born as he. But, should she marry me, then he could never have her. So he plotted my doom.”

“His plans were thrown awry by the fact that Elaina was as virtuous and brave as she was beautiful. I had been training her in arms as a game, and when he attempted to force himself upon her, she snatched up his dagger and fought him. In the struggle, he slew her.” Slade’s eyes tightened at the memory, if he were human, he would have been weeping openly. Unable to express his sorrow in that way, he simply continued speaking, the words coming out in a rush of emotion and memory.

“I managed to accomplish my mission, mostly through luck. I caught the coven divided, one of them had gone off to tend to something, I know not what. I returned to the chapter house, proud of my accomplishments, only to be greeted with the news of my love’s death. An undead, they told me, the female mate of the one I had slain had slain her, and her body had been burned to prevent her rising from her grave.”

“I believed them, how could I not? Were they not my brothers? And so I swore vengeance, taking a blood oath that I would not rest until Elaina’s killer and any with her. I set off on my hunt, casting about the countryside, trying to track any vampire I could find. Not far from her parent’s home, I was set upon by a group of bandits. I was outnumbered, and in fighting my way clear was gravely wounded. Running from them, I remembered a place Elaina and I had found one day, a cave in a hillside, the entrance obscured by brush. I made my way inside, and collapsed there.”

“Feeling my life drain away, I cried aloud to whatever gods might be listening. Begging in the last rays of the sun, I swore to pay any price, if only I could have my revenge on Elaina’s killer. That’s how Tanya found me. She had been sheltering in the cave for the day, and my drive for revenge piqued her interest. As I lie there near death, she came out of the depths of the cave, and embraced me.”

“You need to know one thing about my kind, Lady. When we first wake after being turned, the Beast has control. We are in a bloodrage, the only thing real is the desire to feed.”

“But Tanya had other plans. She had bound me tight with chains, and was there with me in the cave, holding captive one of the bandits. She tore his mask aside, and I recognized him as a fellow knight of the Order. Tanya forced him to tell me the true tale of Elaina’s death.”

“I think what happened next surprised Tanya. My rage burned hotter than a forge flame when I heard the tale, and I felt myself shifting, my body changing. When I snapped the heavy chains that bound me, Tanya threw the knight at me, and I didn’t just feed on him, I tore him to pieces. Then I ran from the cave. I ran directly to the chapter house, and I slaughtered every last member of the Order. Only after I had torn the commander into pieces did I recover myself, and only then was I able to return to my human form.”

“Tanya came to me then, for she had been watching her new Childe, the sudden shift to the Beast having made her cautious. She stayed with me for days, explaining enough about of our Clan and vampires to give me a chance to survive, then she left.”
A long moment of silence stretched ... now that his tale had come to a close before she softly murmured, “Thank you... for trusting me with this, with your past.”

“So, Lady Zaira, now you know me. As I have judged those who slew your father, I submit myself to your judgment. What say you Lady, am I a Beast?”

“I - I cannot judge that.” She spoke in the softest of whispers.

“Do you know why we travel across the desert? Papa... “Her voice caught briefly before she continued, “My father told me that was so we would not be caught up in the politics of the world. He said that as the Riyalat, we have an obligation to save those we can save, those that are within our reach. For those that bring their wounded to our caravan, we will not turn them away, no matter who they are or what they've done. There are too many that we cannot save, too many that did not arrive in time to receive treatment, too many... “

She stopped as she remembered those that had attacked her people... and for the first time was caught up in the conflict of vengeance... and her obligation as a healer. “I am not fit to judge you.”

For a moment she contemplated the possibility of wreaking vengeance upon those that had taken so much from her... before throwing it away, aghast at the train of her thoughts. The harshness of her anger shamed her as she lowered her head, letting the passing of sand fill the gap.

“Lady…” he paused, his breath escaping in a sigh. “Zaira, we both are who and what we are. You are a healer, kind, compassionate, caring. I, I am a predator. I was a predator in life, hunting the undead and the wicked. Tanya merely perfected that in me when she turned me. I cling to my honor, and my codes, holding desperately to my humanity, but I can not change what I am.” He looked around, feeling an odd change in the desert air. He didn’t know what it was, but it felt threatening, so he increased his pace, the desert sand flashing under his feet.

As they approached the village, he slowed, intending to set her down, but none took notice of their approach. The village was a bustle of motion, people moving quickly, and shuttering windows, tying down anything not being dragged indoors. Slade set Zaira on her feet as they entered the village proper, allowing her to lead him to an inn she knew of.

As they slipped into the door, the wind began to howl, and the door was bolted behind them. “You are lucky travelers to have made it here before the storm.”

************
{OOC} Long enjoyable collaborative dialog creation session with VT formed the basis for this post.

 

[VampiricTouch]

Amidst the bustle of activity, the innkeeper had glanced up and noticed the telltale signs of a Riyalat healer and quickly brought a round of food and drink before settling down in a chair by their table.

"I'm Askari. My wife, Kadijah, and I take care of the Inn here. You're one of the Riyalat no? I thought the Riyalat had left already? I could've sworn those camels weren't there this morning. Where's the rest of them?"

"We were attacked." After introductions were made, her voice went flat as she briefly recounted the past events, "They killed my father. This man here managed to save me but... I fear for the rest of my tribe. We returned in hopes of finding survivors."

She paused a moment before reaching into her coin pouch to pull out a few silvers as a small part of her mind wondered if she'd still have enough coins to replenish her dwindling supply of herbs. "If you've heard anything, please let us know. We'll be needing a place to stay until we've found where those men have gone, I hope this will be sufficient..."

"Actually... How about you take a look at my son in return for room. He came home early this morning in miserable shape, and it's only been getting worse. He probably got caught in a fight somewhere out of the village. Boys... acting like they can live forever... Kadijah'll show you to your room sir, and if you'll follow me."

Zaira was led to small room. After a quick examination, she asked the innkeeper for privacy and was quickly left alone with the young man. Poison. The ugly gash across his body was still bleeding despite the bandages that were there. Cutting the soaked linen away, she pulled open a small vial of salve and applied it on the open wound. A whiff of smelling salts brought the man out of his feverish stupor as she waited for the salve to do its work.

"They took her!!" The first desperate words that burst from his lips as his blood shot eyes opened. "I was going to tell her my feelings... but they took her, they took Nashia... "

Nashia... the name brought a wave of agitation over Zaira as she recognized it.... Could it have been the same Nashia? Her thoughts were disrupted as the man tried to get up, further exacerbating the wound.

"She's still alive... I need to save her..." He fought weakly against her as she pushed him back down on the bed.

"You're not fit to go anywhere. Tell me, is this the same Nashia of the Riyalat? How do you know that she's alive? Where have they taken her??" Her voice carried the edge of her hope as well as the despair of her loss.

"She was alive... along with many other. I saw her myself before they cut me down. I don't know where they went... I tried to see where they were going... and was blinded by the rising sun... I need to go after her... "

She brought a small satchel over his face, the crushed scent lulling him back to sleep as she tried to calm her shaking hands to finish her task. There were more alive... Her brother might still be alive...Her people...

When she was satisfied the man would recover, she brought her knife to his wrist. An empty vial caught his spilled blood, and when the vial was filled, she sealed the small cut with a few drops of her Rakta.

~~~~****~~~~​

"Askari, Why were they only given one room?" Kadijah asked when she returned to her husband.

"hmm? Well the man seemed quite smitten with her, I was just helping things move along." Askari looked up from the scrap of prescribed care Zaira had left with him.

"You know... the Riyalat are only allowed to take lovers within their tribe..."

"Oh... Is that so... well if they have a problem with it, we can handle it then."

 

[Chgris]

Slade sat waiting for Zaira to return, slowly going insane. ”I wonder if this is what the Malkavians feel,” he thought while sitting on one of the many pillows surrounding the low table in the room. It was either that, or on the bed. And considering his current state of dress, sitting on the bed was entirely too risky. Instead he sat on the cushions, facing away from the door caring for his weapons and harness, wondering how Zaira would react to finding out that not only must they spend the day together in one room, but that he had no clothing save the wrap of thin cloth that Kadijah had given him to wear after badgering him into parting with his clothing so that it could be cleaned. It was the threat of being tossed into the storm along with Zaira that had finally made him relent.

He inhaled deeply, the scent of her body coming closer, and finally overwhelming that of the blood he knew she had spilled in healing Kadijah’s son.

"I asked you to warn me before you were going to spill you own blood, Lady," he said as soon as the door opened.

The words of her news were completely lost at the bite in his voice as she immediately stopped short at the doorway. Her hand dropped instinctively to the dull throb on her arm. It took a moment to compose herself before she answered, "I was asked to care for a wounded man. That alone should've been sufficient warning."

He set his sword aside, and lifted the axe, examining the edge in the light from the braziers. "You're right," his voice was barely a whisper, as though he had no air left to speak. "I apologize." The axe, too, was set aside, and he sat motionless. "How does your patient fare?”

She breathed a sigh of relief as the edge in his voice faded. "He... He'll recover. I think he was wounded by those slavers and ... he claims that more of the Riyalat are alive."

Her voice softened as she spoke of her people, as if it were too much to hope for. She repeated the man's words to Slade, slowly making her way towards him.

"So there is hope after all that we may reunite you with your people.” He turned his head to follow her as she came around the room. "While you were attending to her son, Kadijah bade me give you a message.”

He managed a fair approximation of Kadijah’s voice: " “With many apologies, the storm has filled the inn. However there are certain ‘standards’ we keep. I expect your clothing to be placed in the small basket beside the door, and the basket in the hall so that it may be cleaned.”

He stood, sheathing his weapons, and walked to the wall to hang them on a hook. Turning back to Zaira, he shrugged. "There is a similar, though longer wrap on the basket for you."

She stared in open surprise at the mimicry of another’s voice. Her eyes traveled down to her own clothes, noting the blood stain still painted across its front before picking up the wrap on the basket.

"Thank you for the message... I'm sorry... but ...Could you ... uhh... step out? Or... turn?" She had been about to undo her own clothes before belatedly remembering that he was still in the room... and struggled to find the words to phrase her discomfort without appearing rude.

Slade bowed low before turning his back to her. The pale skin of his torso gleaming in the light. "As you wish, Lady. You are fortunate Kadijah is not here. She stood at the door and waited for my clothing… before remembering the wrap,” he waved his hand to indicate the thin linen tied about his waist.

""She seemed quite fascinated by the fact that my skin did not darken from the desert sun. I was hard pressed to explain it. Luckily, she is susceptible to suggestion, and accepted that my cloak and traveling at night kept me from it."

"I am fortunate indeed..." He could hear the rustle of cloth as she quickly stripped out of her own clothes. There was a small hiss of pain as her rush jostled the cut on her arm.

"I'm done. " She spoke as she turned from the basket of dirty clothes. She tugged uncomfortably at the edge of her own wrap as the flush of her cheeks darkened her skin.

Slade’s determination to honor her request had nearly vanished at hearing her pain. Mere moments after she said she was done, he was at her side, his cool hands on her arm, looking at her questioningly. " “Zaira, how long does it take for you to heal from your wounds?”

"That depends on how many times I've given blood. The healing process slows the more I give. A single cut like this... it should be gone before nightfall.” She saw his concern and continued, "This is nothing Slade. My patients suffer far worse... if a single cut could end their suffering... They say that we heal by partaking in a small amount of the pain that we cure. If I can't endure this, I have no place amongst my people."

He thought for a moment, considering. " “Would you be willing to try something, Zaira?” He asked quietly. " “I will understand if you say no, but it may speed up the healing process.”

He looked at her, then quickly away as the light from behind her turned the thin linen warp nearly transparent. With a hiss of indrawn breath at the sight, he felt his lust for her beginning to rise again. It was becoming harder and harder to control himself, the combination of her scent and nearness in the small room overwhelming his senses. He exerted all his will to control his appearance, to stop his fangs and talons from extending. The rest of his body however reacted in the same manner a human’s might.

"When I feed from a willing partner, I give back to her a small portion of my own blood. It strengthens them, encouraging their body to heal, and replace what I have taken from them.” He looked away before continuing, not wishing to see her expression. "Would you be willing to try it? ”

"Slade... the last time I offered my blood to you... ” She trailed off as they both remembered the fear that had radiated from her. "You had... transformed. You had refused to feed from me... You would know best what your limitations are. Should I be courting such danger? ”

Slade closed his eyes, breathing her scent deep into his being, testing his control. While he had waited for her to return, he had been forced to admit to himself that his feelings for Zaira were changing. He was losing the feeling of a knightly protector, and replacing it with the feelings of a lover. Not turning to her, he reached back to capture her hand in his. "Lady…Zaira, I meant to offer you only my blood to help you heal yourself.” Before she could react his fingers squeezed hers. "But I find that is not all I would say.”

"If you already need blood to survive... I shouldn't be taking more..." her heart skipped a beat when his fingers squeezed hers... this was getting dangerous...

Slade spun to face her, standing and pulling her to him until their bodies touched, only the thin layers of linen separating them. His right hand cupped her cheek as his lips met hers in a kiss. He pulled back, looking down into her eyes. "Zaira, I wish to share with you everything I can.”

 

[VampiricTouch]

It was an eternity. It was a instant. His hand warmed by the crimson flush of her cheeks, his lips stealing her breath away, his body... pressed so intimately to hers. It was an eternity... that was too short.

He was so close, so dangerously close as her body stirred for him, for the cold touch that sparked flames... and his words... For the first time, as she drowned in the depths of his eyes, she sincerely wished to not be part of the Riyalat.

Her head lowered, breaking his gaze, too shocked to find the words to answer, to explain, to lie. The action brought a shiver down her spine as her movements caused her body - her nipples, hardened and sensitive by his hauntingly cool skin to drag seductively...

"I'm sorry. I-I truly wish I were allowed to return those words." Her head rested on his chest as she finally summoned the will to step back and break their first physical touch that had been so blissfully sweet... and dangerously addicting.

Lie... That's your duty. Lie... A Riyalat can only take another Riyalat as a lover... You should not desire this. You have an obligation to dissuade those outside of your tribe of their affections... It is for the best. Lie...

I can't.

She fled. Took one more selfish moment of their intimacy and fled.

"I suppose you didn't know either... Riyalat are not allowed to fall in love... with someone outside of their tribe. Don't mind me though... I just came to pick up the wash. I'll be off now." The perceptive Kadijah had seen the girl run by... an educated guess told her that her husband's hopes of 'helping things move along' had been much too helpful.

 

[Chgris]

Slade stood at the doorway, his hands falling to his sides. She had run from him. Her rejection of him hurt, just a he had known it would, and he thought he had been prepared for it. She had run from him.

"I suppose you didn't know either... Riyalat are not allowed to fall in love... with someone outside of their tribe. Don't mind me though... I just came to pick up the wash. I'll be off now."

He spun to the door, hearing Kadijah’s words. ”What was that?”

“Oh, the Riyalat, they refuse to marry outside their tribe."

"Why?”

“Well, I don’t know for certain, but you hear stories when you run an inn. The most common reason, the one I know for a fact that they give, is because they are always on the move, traveling the desert, healing others.”

"That would make no difference!” he objected.

“So I said to myself whenever I heard it,” she agreed.

"And? There must be more.”

She stepped into the room, closing the door. “Children.” She said, her voice low. “I’ve heard that what they truly fear is children of a union with outsiders. It has something to do with their healing powers.”

"Children,” Slade considered. "Children?” Also not something that he and Zaira need fear. "Thank you, Kadijah,” he said, quickly walking past her into the hall. He took a deep breath, head turning down the hall, tracking Zaira by her scent. "Please see that there is some food and drink in the room before we get back, and make certain no one disturbs us.”

“I’ll have your clothing left outside the door,” Kadijah said, “and for my part, I’ll wish you well with your Riyalat.”

"Not mine yet,” Slade whispered. "Not yet.”

Tracking her was simplicity in itself. With the storm raging out side, only the thin wrap around her body, she wasn’t going far. ‘Not far’ turned out to be a storeroom down the corridor. Trying the door, he felt resistance, as though someone had placed something beside the door to block it from opening.

"Zaira,” he said softly. "Open the door. I know you’re inside. You know that I can tell where you are. Hiding from me will do you no good.”

He waited, but heard nothing except her breathing. "Zaira, please, I simply wish to talk to you.” Still no sign of movement. Closing his eyes briefly as though asking the gods to grant him luck, he pushed the door open, the crate she had slid behind it moving as if it wasn’t there.

Stepping inside, he shut the door, picking up the crate and setting it atop another along the wall. He didn’t look directly at her, not wishing to see her rejection of him again. "Come back to our room.”

He heard her shake her head.

"Please Zaira. I swear to you, I will not force my attentions on you. I will not force you to even talk to me. But I swore an oath to your father’s spirit that I would keep you safe. I can’t do that with you here. And I need to rest. When the sun rises this day I must rest. I have expended too much energy, I don’t dare expend more until I can feed.”

He held out his hand, making no move toward her. "Please, trust me as you did when I carried you here. There is food and drink in our room for. You will sleep in the bed; I will stay sitting near the door. At least that way I will know that you are safe, and I can rest.”

He fell silent, his hand extended, waiting.

When he felt her fingers grasp his, he opened the door and led her back to their room. As Kadijah had promised there was a tray on the low table. He released Zaira and sank to the floor, directly beside the closed door, watching as she examined the food on the tray. "Thank you,” he said. "Thank you for trusting me again. Now I have to rest. I cannot spend another day active, not without feeding, and I can not do that here.”

Her feet padded softly to the bed as she lowered her head with guilt. She should've known better... Somewhere she found the courage to speak as the words came tumbling out. "I... I don't know when's the last time you've fed...” She pulled her bag to her and spent a brief moment rifling through its contents. "I don't even know if this is enough .... but here, this is for you.” Her hand pulled out the vial of blood, the brilliant hues of red capturing the lights of the braziers that lit the room.

Slade caught the vial as she tossed it to him when he made no move to come to her. It has been…awhile. He looked at the vial, then back to Zaira. "It isn’t mine,” she said. "You don’t have to fear—”

He uncapped the vial, quickly drinking down the contents. "Zaira, I do not fear you, any part of, not your blood, or your body, or your abilities.” His eyes were slowly sliding shut. "The only thing I fear is this hold you have over me,” he whispered before falling silent and still.

 

[VampiricTouch]

Even after he fell silent, she had watched him for a few moments longer before her eyes closed to dream... and even then she saw him. He came to her aid and saved her. The man. no... The vampire. It mattered not. The disarray of black hair that fell loosely over his face brought out those piercing gray eyes... that saw through everything, and missed nothing.

Her ghostlike hands traced the ragged line of his hair down the side of his cheek, remembering the chill that was uniquely him. Slade... touching him with the affection she could not show if she were awake... Her fingers danced over his lips... that were cold... but achingly tender and in the mist of her fantasy, she returned to that moment when lips touched and time stood still. The softest of moans escaped from her parted lips. Slade... How could the chill that radiated from him, incite... such an intoxicating fever...

She slept... her skin flushed with the desires of innocent fantasy as she pulled the tousled blankets closer in her dreamy embrace. Her body arched just a touch as her breath caught and she pressed closer... making the twisted tangle of blankets, confined by her feet, conform all the more to her. Each motion dragged the lower hem of her wrap seductively up her thighs like the caress of an arduous lover, bent on captivating everything that was her...

Taboo. From the darker recesses of her mind, rose that single word. It was enough to drive her away from the touch that was him. It was forbidden. They would not approve. Her father would not approve...would he? He was a man outside of her kind - no, he was not a man, he was a vampire. Did she share the same affections... No. There was only one answer. No.

Her eyes fluttered opened, roused by the clamor of noise somewhere outside of her room. She walked softly to the door, and found their clothes cleaned outside. The muffled dispute became clear when she opened the door in time to hear Askari yell, "You can't go out in such conditions!"

~~~~****~~~~​

The noise was from Askari's son, still weak as he swayed in his steps towards the doors of the Inn. He had been muttering incoherently about Nashia as his worried parents stood in his way, attempting to convince him back to his bed.

"I need to help... tell ... Nashia - " His words were cut short by the crack of Zaira's hand across his face.

The blazing imprint of her hand on his cheek threw the entire common room into silence as they watched her confront him... Somehow making the tall man seem diminutive in the light of her anger.

"You're a fool. You are in no condition to be leaving your bed and untill you have regained your health you need to stay in bed."

"But I- "His lost voice somehow found their way as he tried to brave the fury of her wrath as a healer, only to be interrupted.

"Second, there is a storm outside. Unless you want to make your parents mourn the death of their son, those doors will remain shut. You are twice the fool for courting your own death."

His shoulders sagged as she brought up the concern of his family, "Nashia..."

"Third. It is pointless for you to find her if your purpose is to tell her of your affections. She will not return them and you are thrice the fool."

"You don't know that! There is always a chance... She might. I just need to tell her!" His despair drew a rush of energy as he railed against her words and for a moment he might've raised his hand against her when she continued.

"She cannot return them. It is forbidden. There is only one answer she can give, of which I can deliver to you now without you risking your life recklessly in the midst of a sand storm. This will be her response, 'What you ask is not possible. We are Riyalat, and may not, with any who are not of our kind. Such a match is doomed to fail as surely as if you tried to count the sands of the desert.'" Her voice was cold and brittle as she delivered those words... words that she should have told Slade... but couldn't.

Her eyes followed Kadijah as mother and son returned to their room, before finally making her way back to hers, suddenly weary with the tumult of her own emotions.

 

[Chgris]

Just inside the hallway to her room, he was waiting for her. Dressed once again in his usual black, Slade stood in the hall, arms crossed, watching her. "We should talk, Zaira,” he said, stepping aside for her. "But not here.” Footsteps silent as though stalking prey, he followed her down the hall and into their room.

Closing and locking the door, he turned to her. "What you told that boy was well said, but it was also wrong.”

Her eyes closed wearily, all the arguments that she might have been able to rally flagging
He'd heard... of course he'd heard. She had raised her voice in her anger... he'd have to be dead to not have heard. “And... why do you say that...?”

"You were right to stop him from going into the storm,” Slade said, counting off the points. "You were right to stop him from going anywhere in his weakened condition. But you were wrong in that formulaic rejection you gave. ” He continued on before she had a chance to respond. "That was not yours to give him. It was this other, this Nashia's to say or not. None should gainsay the feelings of another. Even one such as I would not do that. ”

“It is standard. It was what she would've said. It was what I should've said.” She spoke with little conviction as she sagged down onto a cushion and rested her head in her hands.

"You would say that to me then?” He moved to stand in front of her, looking down as though deciding her fate. "Because I have an answer for you if you do. Unlike that boy out there, I have *eternity* to count the sands of the desert. Where would you like me start?”

Why did he have to bring this up now? She should've said it to him... and even now she couldn't. Her mind searched frantically to find the arguments to respond, and found none. “It is forbidden Slade. It has always been that way.”

"Really? Are you certain of that?” He knelt in front of her. "Do you even know why it is forbidden? Or is it simply a tradition? One that got started and now no one remembers why?”

Her mouth opened and shut. He was right... she didn't know why it was forbidden... merely raised on the gut wrenching feeling of disgrace if she had crossed the line. Yet if she said so now...

She shifted with the discomfort of what he forced her to think about, desperately trying not to think about it.

"Why, Zaira?” He leant toward her, calm and implacable, hammering his points home. "Forget the silly saying, we both know it's a politeness given by a peaceful people to avoid conflict.”

"Is it because you are a travelling people? So are the nomads of the steppes and the warriors of the far North. For that matter so is every fat merchant with a plump wife and fifteen children!” He paused, letting his words sink in. "Or is it because you fear children of such a union? That they will not be good enough? That the pure Riyalat blood will be diluted?”

Her head shot up with his words and hazarded the retort, “And if that were so?”

"If that were so? Two things. The first is a tale from my homeland. The noblest families believe that they must be pureblooded, and that only their blood is good enough. Do you know what vampires call them?” When she did nothing but shake her head, he continued. "Tainted. We won't go anywhere near drinking their blood. The generations of interbreeding have weakened it; multiplying the flaws in it to the point that some of them have a disease which makes them have to drink blood like a vampire just to survive.”

He leaned closer, his head inches from hers. "The second is specific to us. I am a vampire, Zaira. I can have no children in the mortal sense. So even if what you feared is true, it does not apply to us.” His lips were now so close to hers he could feel her warmth. "Will you say it to me now Zaira? Can you say it to me?”

Us... He said us. Was there a place for that word? “I was never able to say it to you.” Her head lowered with the guilt that hung over her. “I couldn't lie then, and I still can't do it now.” Her words were barely audible.

His hand came up, fingers nearly touching her cheek.

Her head shook slowly. He probably had no idea how much she wished for the touch of his hand... his lips... but she shouldn't - couldn't accept it. “Don't. I cannot face my people if you did so.”

He sat back, eyes growing cold and calculating, the eyes of a predator more than a lover. "So, we find another thing common to our homes. Zaira, I know I told you how I became what I am. Did I ever tell you what the penalty would have been for the attempted rape of Elaina?”

He waited, receiving no answer. "Death. Death for her family for the fact that she dared defend herself. A peasant must not raise arms against a noble. And now I see that the noble Riyalat impose strictures against their own in much the same way. And in doing so condemn themselves to death.”

She pulled her arms around her knees and shuddered. Her eyes closed as she went pale. Was that what would happen to her? She had not known anyone to have broken such a taboo.

He ignored her shaking head and trembling, ruthlessly laying out his case. "For answer me this, Zaira: How many Riyalat are left? Your people must either learn to live in this world, or they will die. And that foolish boy out there is what is needed for you to survive.”

"Zaira, I am a vampire. Yes, I am no longer truly living. But I think, I feel. Further, I am of the Gangrel, and we are closely attuned to the Beast Within. It makes us the most passionate of the vampires. Other clans have often called us animalistic in our passions. When we hate, we hate with our whole beings, when we trust it is total and complete.” He grasped her hands in his, lifting them and hold them between them. "We feel all emotions strongly, anger, hate, passion, love. If I were as noble as I try to be, as I once was, I would not be pursuing your love. I would be encouraging you to find a man, a true man who could give you what I cannot. But I am not that noble, if I ever was. I do not want to give you up. Unless you drive me away, I will not give you up.”

 

[VampiricTouch]

What was she to say? Cornered by his words and actions, what could she say?! She had no reason now to abide by the traditions of the Riyalat... but why was it so hard to let traditions go?

"What would you have me do Slade?" She squeezed his hand gently as she spoke. "I can't drive you away. Not when I desire you so much. Yet none of that takes away the weight that says I've done something wrong. Even if you are right and this feeling is unfounded. It doesn't change the disgust I feel of myself for not giving a proper rejection, for even telling you this... for wanting something that is forbidden. I'm sorry."

She lifted her hand to touch his cheek before standing, "The storm seems to have subsided... we should see if we can garner anymore information from that boy."

~~~~****~~~~​

They were about to leave the inn with the boy in hopes of finding more information when a villager burst through the doors.

"The Tamir family! Their house collapsed during the storm! Is the Riyalat still here??"

Zaira immediately broke into a run past the man. The rubble was easily identified as a small crowd formed to lift the debris off of the family of four. A quick glance at the situation made her blanch and she began to address the worst of the wounded. She belated remembered to 'warn' him, and spoke just as the knife kissed her skin. "Slade... Please leave. See if you can find something on where my people were taken? I will join you once these people are taken cared of."

~~~~****~~~~​

It had been at least two candle marks after she'd sent him away that she staggered away from the wounded. A few hoarse words and someone from the sidelines stepped in to look after the recovering family. She fumbled with her skin of water, and found it suddenly too heavy to even lift to her lips...

Why was she so tired... her gaze wandered down to the cut she'd made to draw Rakta... it wasn't closing. She'd lost too much blood. There hadn't been enough medicine and she had to compensate with her blood... Had there been a way around that? Probably not... not when they were so far gone... Her thoughts meandered as her vision swam and she swayed in her steps.

Someone... was it Kadijah? supported her, leading her somewhere... probably back to the Inn...She just needed to rest... She'd recover... rest...

"Slade..." The rasped whisper barely left her when her eyes closed.

 

[Chgris]

Seeing Zaira press the knife to her wrist, Slade turned to Kadar. ”Show me the place you were attacked, where Nashia was taken.” He inhaled deeply, trying to get as much air as possible before Zaira made her cut, but was too late. The smell of her blood flooded his senses. ”Go, if you wish to have any hope of me tracking them, go and pray that you can find the place after the storm.” He closed his eyes and breathed deeply once more, forcing himself to take in the scent of her Rakta and set it aside, so that he could concentrate on the task at hand. Once he was certain he had full control of himself, he set off after Kadar.

Kadar led him through the village, heading generally east, until they came to a small square that opened to the desert. “Here,” he said, indicating a bench near the well in the center of the square. “Nashia was attending to one of the potter’s assistants in there.” He pointed to a pottery shop on the right. “I was waiting here for her to come out. When she did, three men grabbed her. I tried to help, but one of them cut me.”

”You said you tried to watch them leave, but lost them in the sun?”

“Yes. When I fell, I tried to watch, to see where they went, but I couldn’t. I couldn’t help her,” his voice breaking, he fell silent.

Slade looked on in sympathy, remembering a young knight who was unable to save his love. ”Kadar,” he said, sitting the boy down. ”You did all you could, and trying to stop three by yourself was bravely done. Foolish, yes, but brave nonetheless. You have no training for this, and you had no weapons, yet you came to the defense of one you cared for. Now, if you would help her again, I need you to do something for me.”

“Anything, I’d do anything,” he replied, nearly jumping to his feet.

Slade set his hands on the boy’s shoulders, holding him down. ”Calmly, Kadar, calmly. I need you to think back to what when it happened. You’ve told me what happened; now I need you to think back. Tell me what you heard, what you saw, any details.”

“I already did! I told you all I can remember.”

Slade turned his head to meet Kadar’s gaze, locking his eyes to his, using a trick he had learned in his Order. One they used to question those who had witnessed an attack, allowing them to recall details of what had occurred. ”Slowly, boy,” he said, voice low and sonorous. ”Calmly. Breathe slowly, in…slowly. Out…slowly. Listen to the sound of your heart, force it to slow, calm it. Breathe, slow your breathing, concentrate on my voice.”

The technique was much slowly than that of the bit of suggestion that Slade had used on Kadijah. It took nearly a full candle mark to get the excited boy to a state he could recall the event without breaking his concentration. ”Now, Kadar, it was morning, and you sat here at the well, waiting for Nashia.”

“Yes, she was tending the potter’s apprentice. He burned his hand on the kiln.”

”Good, now look around the square. Do you see the three men?”

“No, I only see the other villagers, coming to the well for water. Wait, they are there, beyond the last building on the right.”

”Good. Now, I want you to concentrate on them. Can you hear them? Are they saying anything?”

“They are talking among themselves. I can’t hear every word. ‘Late, the Riyalat is making them late.’ ‘Should just go in and get her..’ Never make it to Raj,’ he turned away, I can’t hear him. Nashia is coming out, they are running at her. NASHIA!”

”Kadar!” Slade said, shaking the boy’s shoulders. ”Wake up, Kadar. You’ve remembered enough.”

“What was that?” Kadar asked his eyes wide. “I remembered. It was like I was watching it all again!”

”It’s merely a trick of concentration, and self-control,” Slade answered. ”Where I came from, we used it to assist in training our novices, and to question witnesses. You did well. Now, take me back to the inn. I need a map so I can see where they might be going.”

~~~~****~~~~

Slade had been sitting in their room, looking over his map of the area, when it struck him. Zaira, he could still smell her Rakta. And the scent was getting stronger. He rushed from the room, nearly forgetting himself when he entered the common room, forcing himself to slow to a normal person’s fast walk. Opening the door, he heard her voice whisper his name, then trail off. ”No,” he whispered, flying out the door. ”No.” He saw them coming down the street, Kadijah and Askari supporting a limp form between them. ”Zaira.” He ran to them, taking her from them and cradling her to his chest, the scent of her Rakta too strong, telling him she was still bleeding.

”Zaira, what have you done?” he asked looking down at her.

”The family was badly hurt. She healed them, but her medicines… When she ran out, she cut herself again, deeper. After it was done, she collapsed,” Kadijah said, her voice worried. ”Aren’t Riyalat supposed to heal quickly? Her cuts aren’t closing.”

”They do,” Slade answered, as the walked into the inn. ”Unless they draw too much on their strength, then they may be unable to heal. I have to get her bleeding stopped.” He carried her down the corridor, and into their room.

”I’ll get our healer, she’s not a Riyalat, but—“

”No!” Slade snapped, not looking up from Zaira. ”I will tend her.”

He turned back to Kadijah, seeing the shock on her face. ”Please, Kadijah, I can heal her. I have… skills from my homeland. But I must not be disturbed. Please, be sure no one disturbs us.”

As the door closed, Slade laid Zaira on the bed, examining the soaked bandage on her arm, unwrapping it, seeing her blood oozing out from the deep cut. ”Gods damn it, Zaira! How could you do this to yourself?” He bolted the door; wedging his axe into the jamb to be sure no one could get in, and then walked back to the bed, rolling up the right sleeve of his tunic, baring his wrist. He sat next to her, propping his back against the headboard, and settled her head on his lap. Her breathing was shallow, but steady. He still had time, but not much.

”I’m sorry, Zaira,” he whispered, ”but I will not lose you.” The talons on his left hand appeared and he opened her mouth and placing his right wrist over it. ”I’m sorry,” he apologized again, and then drew his index finger across his skin, cutting deep, the dark blood welling to the surface. Banishing his talons, he cupped the back of her head, lifting her mouth to his wrist, his blood flowing into her mouth.
”Swallow, damn you, Zaira. Please, you stubborn little bitch, swallow,” he whispered. He stroked her throat gently, encouraging her body to unconsciously swallow. Finally, she did. He knew what that first swallow would feel like. The sudden rush of energy like fire in the flowing from the core outward, the heat fading as the blood did its work, imparting a portion of his strength, his ability to heal. As the heat subsided, the taste would change, adapting to the drinker, surpassing the flavor of the most delicious drink.

And therein lay the hidden danger, for the blood of his kind was addictive. The first drink merely enhancing the emotions toward the vampire. The second drink strengthening them, making it that much harder to resist taking the third drink. The third forged the blood-bond, binding the imbiber to the vampire, forcing them to need the blood; to need to drink from their bond-mate at least monthly. And resisting any request from the vampire became nearly impossible.

Slade knew of vampires who used the bloodbond to bind human servants to them, making them loyal, loving and devoted servants. ”But not you, Zaira,” he promised her, feeling her hands reach up, fingers wrapping around his wrist. ”Not you. I will not force the bond upon you. You will care for me; love me of your own freewill, never by the bond.” He stroked her hair as he had the first night, feeling her mouth sucking gently at his wrist. ”Drink, Zaira. Drink and heal.” He watched her face closely, the flush of strength returning to her cheeks. Her fingers clasped his wrist harder, her sucking becoming insistent. ”Enough,” he said gently trying to remove his wrist, feeling her teeth sink into him.

 

[VampiricTouch]

Her eyes flared open briefly at the first rush of fire. Thirst... Immediately registering the thirst that was answered by the metallic liquor that filled her palate. The blaze swept through her system, radiating past her chilling skin and clammy hands... and in its wake left every nerve in her body needing more as the taste turned deep...

more...

The novelty of the offered ambrosia was more than just sweet... it carried depth... visions. She could almost smell the damp earth, fertile with the harvest... the heart warming smell of rye bread as it left the oven... mingling with sliced apples on the table... the sweat of satisfaction as another prosperous year came to a close... She could almost hear the call of birds, the babble of water as it danced...

water... thirst... more.

Her hands closed around the offering as she sucked harder in hopes of getting more... as the visions became almost tangible. She could smell the oiled leather, the wearied horses, ... hear the soft twang of bows, the harsher clang of clashing metal, the gentle clink of chainmail... The sweat of hard work done well... the scent that was him.

”Enough,”

No. Her hand gripped tighter as she kept the source of him close. She'd not relinquish such intimacy... No. A low growl emanated from her throat as she clutched with desperate want. No.

 

[Chgris]

"Zaira, enough," Slade said again trying to pull his wrist free from her. He could feel her strength increasing as her body finished healing. He knew he could pull free if he really tried. But he didn't want to hurt her. And it felt good, so sensual, as her mouth sucked at his flesh.

His eyes slid shut, savoring the sensation of her fingers holding him, her lips on him...

"Zaira, stop, enough," he had to break through to her soon, or he might just decide to let her keep going.

 

[VampiricTouch]

"Zaira, enough,"

No. There was more. First was the bright laughter of feminine joy that filled the air, the uttered words of a different language and the steady tread of a horse... She could almost feel the breeze that carried the woman's scent... of apples and honey... Could almost touch her hands, hands that were calloused by work, but made gentle and soft by the tenderness of the one who held them... Who was she...

"Zaira, stop, enough,"

No. Thirst. She was thirsty... she wanted more. Her eyes flew open, glazed with the distant past in her eyes as she held tight to him... and saw her. The vivid blue eyes that twinkled with merriment, the stray strands of blond hair that danced in the breeze, the confidence... She could taste the love he had for this woman... Elaina... and despite the sweetness of his affection, it became bitter upon her lips.

The clouds lifted from her eyes as Zaira nearly pushed aside his wrist like a fiery brand. "I'm sorry. "

She looked down in amazement at the smooth skin of her arm, unmarred by the cuts she'd made few hours ago. Of course... she'd tasted his blood. how much had she taken? She could feel the nagging desire for more, more of his sweet elixir... but no. She dared not look more into his love for another woman... even if she were no longer living.

"Thank you Slade... for sharing so much with me." She looked up at him, pausing to savor the time of being close to him before finally breaking the moment and sitting up. Another surreptitious glance and she caved in to the impish desire as she leaned in and her lips brushed his cheek. It was a heartbeat later that her cheeks flamed and propriety caught up with impulse... and the passing events caught up with her mind.

"That was improper of me..." She was about to apologize... but could find no remorse to say those words. Quickly moving away, she settled down by the table to pick up the map.

"Did you find anything?"

 

[Chgris]

Slade sat motionless for a long moment as Zaira walked to the table. He wasn't sure what she had seen while drinking from him, but whatever it was, it had to be a function of her being a Riyalat. There had been something in her eyes toward the end. The normal reaction to drinking a vampire’s blood was one of heightened arousal and lust and that wasn't what Zaira had felt. And that kiss on the cheek was just enough to push him further on edge

Walking to the table, he took her by the shoulders, spinning her about to face him, "Did I find anything?" he growled. "Yes, I found a stubborn Riyalat who will not take care of herself, and who I will not let go. One who forces me to do something I never have, and force my blood on another. And one that I must do this to."

His right hand slid up her shoulder to tangle in her hair, and he pulled her mouth to his, kissing her with all the passion she had roused in him.

The growl in his voice caught her by surprise, only to be surmounted by his kiss... Immediately her lips softened to his claim. She had dreamed of the taste of his lips... surely she could indulge a moment longer.

Feeling her respond, Slade deepened the kiss, his tongue teasing at her lips, fingers tightening on her shoulder and in her hair.

Once more time slowed to a crawl as she found herself in the demands of his lips, and responded in kind, as if she could impart just a fraction of her desire for him. Her lips parted at his prompting as her own tongue snaked out to taste him, reveling in the sweet butterflies that fluttered with the thrumming of her heart.

Reluctantly, Slade broke the kiss, hugging her close to whisper in her ear. "Zaira, I have broken two promises today that I have made. I swore I would not force my attentions on you, and I have never forced my blood on another."

"But I will not apologize to you. I will merely beg your forgiveness, for I would do both over again and again if necessary to keep you with me."

The sudden loss was almost painful. As his arms wrapped around her, she too closed the embrace. "I'm sorry for pushing you to break them."

Slade hugged her tighter, and a soft chuckle escaped his lips. "Oh, Zaira. You are who you are, and giving so much of yourself to those in your care is nothing to apologize for. I would have you no other way." He pulled back, looking her in the eyes. "May I kiss you, Zaira? Will you this time give me your permission?"

“Was it the blood? Was it her? Was it him? Was it Elaina?" She leaned in and gingerly kissed his lips. It was timid, as if she might burn him or herself should she linger.
"Only if you talk to the elders after we find them." She whispered softly, and for the first time since they'd met. She smiled. It was small, but radiant in itself as it lit up her face.

Slade relished her kiss, simply holding her to him, not pressing her, but allowing her to lead where she would. The fact that she had kissed him was what mattered, and he felt something he had thought long dead in him stir. The friendship and lust he felt for Zaira slowly had been turning to love, but what he felt now was the first beginnings of hope.

"Zaira, I will speak to your elders, I would speak to anyone you wished, for I think perhaps you are indeed the cure that I was looking for, though not the one I thought I desired."

"And how am I a cure? Since you refuse to try my blood..." Her head tilted as she asked.

"You give me hope, Zaira. And what I needed more than anything I think: a reason to go on existing."

"Life is too precious for you to throw it away like that," she murmured softly as she rested her head on his chest.

Laughing, he replied. "I thought we determined I'm not alive." Before she could protest, he silenced her words with another deep kiss, before turning her back to the map on the table, his finger coming down to rest on the only city he had found matching the letters Raj. Rajmuat.

"But before we make the journey, Zaira, I have to ask you, please, for your indulgence. Stay here for a short while and prepare to leave. I...will return shortly. I would not have you watch me feed."

She started to object, perhaps to offer her own blood, but he put his fingers to her lips. "Zaira, I have been feeding undetected and without killing for over sixty years. Please, pack our things, I will return shortly." He kissed her once again, reveling in the feel of her lips, then slipped out the door.

As he stepped into the common room, Kadijah rushed to his side. “Zaira?"

"Is fine, her condition wasn’t as bad as it appeared. She’s packing our things. We leave tonight to trail the slavers that attacked the Riyalat." He held up a hand to forestall any further inquires. "Kadijah, Zaira may need help packing. And there are things I need to do before we go. The storm has cost us too much time, the slavers may already be to their destination," he said as he opened the door and stepped into the night.

As soon as he was out of sight, Kadijah rushed back to the kitchen, yelling for food and water to be packed for her departing guests. She walked to their room, knocking softly, and going in when she heard Zaira answer. Seeing the flush to the Riyalat’s cheeks, and the energy with which she strode around the room, tucking things in her bag, taking down the weapon harnesses and traveling cloak of her companion, Kadijah could hardly believe the change.

“Your man must be some sort of wizard," she said to Zaira. “When he wouldn’t let us bring our own healer for you, we doubted him, but your recovery is amazing."

Zaira looked up as Slade was referred to as ‘her man’, but Kadijah had moved to the table and was examining the map where Slade had pointed out Rajmuat as their destination.

“Rajmuat? A hard ride to there, one you’ll not make in one night." She looked closer at the map. “Who made this?" she sniffed. “It’s terrible. The distances are off, and there’s an oasis missing. Well, more of a small canyon where some rock hills break up the desert, but there’s water and shelter there." She marked the location on the map. “It’s not really common knowledge, but you hear things in an inn."

She proceeded to demonstrate the things she had heard, describing in detail how to find the canyon and water, and the best routes to Rajmuat. By the time she had finished correcting the map, the food was ready, and she insisted Zaira take it, as payment for helping her son and the family injured in the storm.
The door opened just as the last of the food was packed, and Slade walked in. Thanking Kadijah for the hospitality of the inn, he donned his weapons harness and cloak. "Are you ready, Zaira?" he asked. "The night is slipping away from us."

 

[VampiricTouch]

They had barely made it into the refuge of the caves when the light of dawn was painted across the horizon. Gently, he set her down and shied into the shadows of their shelter. "I never wanted to be a burden for you. You almost didn't make it in time."

Slade looked at her, amusement plain on his face. "Zaira, you aren't a burden. And among vampires there is actually a game we call 'Racing the Sun'. The winner is whoever gets to shelter, closest to the sun's rising, without getting burned."

Zaira smiled at the thought of the game, but instead of following after him, turned towards the rising sun and drank in the glory that came with a new morning. "Do you ever miss seeing the sun rise? Are you still searching for a means to become human again?"

"Honestly, Zaira, I don't know. If I had been human, I could not have saved you."

"That's true..." She nodded slowly and stepped out of the cave.

She took the time to gather dry wood in the canyon, and waited until she could feel the morning sun warm her face before stepping back inside. With a makeshift torch, they went in search for water. Carefully descending into the cavernous maw and following the echoing sound of rushing water, the dark grotto opened up into a small body of water. It's babbling source was lit by a small ray of sunlight filtering through a crack in the ceiling. The small ray of natural light brought a pristine calm to the small chamber.

Slade looked around the grotto, admiring the beauty, but noticing one thing odd. He took in a deep breath, but the only scent he picked up was of Zaira. " I'll return shortly, Zaira. It seems others have used this cave in the past."

And with that, he was gone. Walking into the depths of the cave, following the trail of footprints through the darkness. She would have time to bathe before he got back... She glanced around, checking that she was alone and quickly stripped off her clothes. Slowly she disturbed the surface of the pool, watching the wave of ripples as her steps took her deeper. With a shiver, she began to move in order to warm her body in the cool water.

Slowly adjusting to the temperature, she ducked her head under, relishing the refreshing chill across her face as she tossed her drenched hair back with a gasp of air. She stood under the cascade of water, face lifted as she bathed in the dancing sunlight tinted liquid. The steady rush was parted by the line of her nose and her pert pair of nipples... only to join once more down the flat expanse of her tummy and fall into step with the splash of water dancing around her thighs.

She moved towards the edge of the natural reservoir. Pressing her body against the stone, she reached for her pack to fish out a small bit of soap, and froze at the crunched sound of boots on stone. Soap forgotten, she slid back into the water and paled... Were there others in the cave? Had Slade returned? Her face flamed at the impropriety of company and she sunk even lower, until the water lapped against her chin. She blinked, forcing the droplets laced in her lashes to fall as her eyes strained to make out the figure in the shadows.

"Slade...? "

 

[Chgris]

Slade walked back into the grotto, reassured at finding only old tracks. He was about to call out to Zaira, when he caught a flash of movement from the pool. His eyes focused easily on…Zaira, her nude form sparkling with the droplets of water. Walking toward the edge of the pool. He knew at that moment what a water nymph must look like when she tried to seduce a lover.

“Zaira, I…” he broke off still picturing her in his mind. He quickly looked back toward the depths of the cave. “We’re alone,” he finished quietly, looking back up at her.

She breathed, relieved that they were alone... but her cheeks flamed crimson as he made his presence known.

Looking at the way she was crouched down, he couldn't resist asking. “Isn’t that water a little cold to be neck deep in it?”

She shook her head and slowly backed away, nearly jumping when she felt the jagged edge of stone touch her.

“Well, then you wouldn’t mind if I rinsed off some of this damn sand would you?” he asked, stripping off his tunic and boots.

Her eyes widened and she quickly found her voice. “And if I said I did mind...?”

“Then I suppose I’d have to sit here and wait for you to finish so I could. I can’t stand sand in my clothes and hair.” He loosened the laces holding his pants on, and laughed a rich dark laugh at her expression. “Zaira, I’m not going to force myself on you, though I will say that you made the most exquisite image of a water nymph when I came in here.”

She grumbled some incoherent words about propriety before answering, “Bring the soap with you. “

Slade found the bit of soap she was after, and stripped off the rest of his clothes before stepping into the water. It was a bit cool, even against his skin. “Shall I wash your back for you?” he asked softly.

She hesitated, the conflict flashing across her eyes as she contemplated his question. He was already in the water... he already saw her... would it make that much of a difference?

“Alright... “ Zaira turned slowly, rising only after her back was turned, Leaning against the rocky edges of the pool she pillowed her head in her arms.

He approached her slowly, and lifted her hair to drape over her shoulder, his fingers gentle as he washed her skin. He tried to keep himself back from her body, not wanting his obvious desire for her to ruin things. “You have beautiful skin, Zaira, and your hair is lovely.”

“Thank you “ She murmured softly as she tried to relax to his touch and keep her thoughts from wandering.

Slade slowly soaped her back, fingers gentle as he washed away the dust of the desert. As she lay her head down, he began to massage her back, his hands gliding along her spine in long strokes, fingers working to smooth her skin, thumbs working at the knots of tension he found.

“You've... done this before?” Her eyes closed lazily as her breath hitched at the uncoiling tension in her muscle. “You're very good...”

“Once or twice,” he answered softly. “A long time ago.” He worked up her back to her shoulders, massaging from just below her ears and down along her neck. His fingers worked in small circles on her skin, just enough pressure to soothe the taut muscles. His fingers did amazing things to ease his presence and when she glanced back to note his dry hair and torso... She turned with a splash that showered him with water.

“You were still dry. “ She spoke in a matter of fact voice as her eyes danced with merriment

“So I was,” he replied, sinking below the water. He swam slowly away from her, then darted in to tickle her just behind the knees before backing away again.

Her peal of laughter rang in the grotto as she followed him under the clear water. A few strokes caught her up as she lunged. Her arms wrapped around his waist as she entrapped her prey! With glee, she mouthed the words “I caught you!! “ under the water.... before finally letting go, bursting from the surface for a gasp of air.

Slade cheated outrageously, taking advantage of not needing to breathe. This time instead of fingers tickling her behind her knee, he used his tongue at the small of her back.

She yelped, spinning quickly and following after him. She glided in close, her skin almost grazing his as she fell in stride by his side. Her hands reached out to tangle with his hair and she pulled him in for a brief kiss. She took her chance to kick off from the floor, with him in tow as they surfaced.
“That wasn't fair. I forgot that you don't need to breathe. “

Slade smiled at her. “No, I don’t, but when I’m near you I like to.” He said. He slowly pulled her back to the edge of the pool, reaching out to grab the bit of soap that was left and rubbing it in his hands. “Close your eyes, " he said, as he began to soap her hair. He took his time, enjoying the silkiness, and the weight of her hair in his fingers. Then laying her back, he rinsed away the soap, watching as her hair fanned out around her. Unable to resist, he lowered his lips to hers in a soft, searing kiss.

It was a kiss that warmed every part of her... left lingering on her lips as she missed his... “You're spoiling me you know...”

“Get used to it,” he replied, breathing in the pure, clean scent that he knew was her, no dust, no blood, nothing but Zaira. “I’ll be here for a long while.”

He lifted her into his arms, and carried her out of the water. Kneeling down he spread his cloak on the cavern floor before setting her gently on it. He placed a lingering kiss on her lips, before turning about and quickly starting a small fire to warm the air and dry them off.

“So much for propriety... “She murmured as the fire sprang to life, coloring his pale skin with a rosy glow. She rolled to her side to watch him, propping her head with one arm and covering her chest with the other. She watched the delicious line of moving muscle, efficiently at work, savoring the view no longer obstructed by water.

“Propriety?” Slade asked. “Hmm. I suppose it might be viewed as improper to wash a lady’s hair. But to remove her from cold water before she begins shivering, and start a fire to warm her? That is perfectly proper.”

She chuckled at his explanation, the act itself sending her breasts into a small earthquake of motion. “So now that a fire has started... will you be joining me to warm me?”

“Though on second thought... will you be joining me so I can warm you?”

Slade turned to look back at her, his expression playful. “How can I refuse such a …proper invitation.” He lay down beside her, propping himself up on one elbow, simply taking in the beauty of her, relishing the moment.

“I dreamed of you... the time I slept in the Inn.” Her hand lifted slowly from her breasts, hesitantly revealing herself as she touched his face. “Dreamed of touching you, feeling you beneath my fingertips...” Her fingers moved, as dream suddenly became reality. She followed the same slow dance steps as she brushed aside his hair, leisurely tracing the side of his face.

Slade lay there, luxuriating in her touch, afraid to break the feeling. “And what did you see when you dreamed, Zaira?" he asked softly, before he took up his part of the dance, moving languidly, at first simply resting his hand on her waist, then slowly moving it up her body, gently caressing her skin.

Her eyes intent on his face as her fingertips committed him to memory... gently, lazily making her way across his lips, lifting a moment to tap his nose before returning to his mouth. “I dreamt of your kiss... of this... maybe not quite so intimate...” She smiled as her cheeks tinted pink. She pulled him closer, her lips dancing so close to his as her hand coiled in his hair, taking even the feel of his hair into her sense of touch.

“And I have envisioned this since the first night you used me as a pillow,” he said, fingers moving to trace the line of her jaw, then moving back to caress her ear, before cupping the back of her head.

Time seemed to crawl as they moved together, the distance between their lips narrowingly so agonizingly slowly.

Her eyes closed as she breathed deeply to capture the scent that was him. And another heartbeat, they touched. Light, as they met in intimacy and she explored his lips with hers. Gentle, a continuation of the soft explorations and teasing they had been doing ever since he stepped into the pool. When he shared her breath, his kiss became more urgent, his mouth opening, tongue seeking hers. Strangely suggestive, decadent with his desires... and hers. Following his lead, she joined in, her tongue tasting his, sparring like their earlier tussle in the water.

Dropping to lie flat on the cloak, he pulled her body tight to his, wrapping her in the circle of his arms as the kiss continued. She explored him, tracing the dangerously sharp edge of his incisors, before returning to another waltz with his tongue. His hands again massaged her back, much as he had in the water, but this time with urgency and passion, from her shoulders to her hips, his touch growing in insistence each time.

Finally their lips parted, slowly, painstakingly sensual as she immersed herself in his embrace, his touch, him. Gently she suckled his lower lip, before letting hers dance across his jawline. Rising to nibble his earlobe and leaving a kiss just below his ear. Her kisses meandered down the column of his neck, to the place where he should've had a pulse. Playfully, her mouth opened, letting her teeth graze his skin in mock mimicry of his nature... as she left him a souvenir.

Slade felt his eyes slip shut as Zaira's mouth explored his neck. His fingers that had been gliding lower down her back, tightened on her bottom as he felt her teeth on him. “So,” he whispered teasingly. “After only one time you've developed a taste for blood?” His hand s came up to caress her cheeks, pulling her up so he could look into her eyes. “Which of us is the vampire again?”

“You are... though oddly enough I'm the one who's tasted your blood, and you've not even had a drop of mine...” The smile faded quickly as she remembered what she saw in his blood.

“No, I haven't.” He kissed her softly. “What is it, Zaira? he asked as her expression changed. “What's wrong?”

She tucked her head beneath his, away from his sight as she murmured, “I saw parts of your past. I could hear the people working in the fields, smell your sweat as you practiced... “ She hesitated as she came to the last vision she'd seen. “ and I saw her. “

“I heard her laugh, I saw the radiance in her smile, the glimmer of life in her eyes... I could even feel your affection as you touched her.”

“I could taste it.”

Slade was dumbfounded. “You could taste it? Zaira, what you describe is...not normal for someone who drinks a vampire's blood.”

“At that moment... I felt like an intruder. As if... in that world there was only you and her. And I probably was intruding on your memories of her.”

“But, if you...tasted what I felt for Elaina, then do you now understand why I can't let you go?”

“Take that feeling and add to it everything that it is my nature to be, and the passion of the Beast to it, Zaira, and imagine what it is I feel for you. There is no part of me that I am not willing to share with you Zaira, though there are parts I fear will cause you to turn from me. I will not hide my self from you.”

She nodded , lifting her head to kiss the edge of his jaw. “Thank you... for sharing them with me.”

************************
OOC another long collaboration with VT

 

[VampiricTouch]

The slavers arrived in Rajmuat underneath the sweltering heat of the mid-day sun. They had pushed their beasts of burden hard, almost to the limit in hopes of getting to the city sooner. The Riyalat were dragged away as the slavers took their wares of blood to the higher ranks of the city. Although demonstrations were done behind closed doors to assure the quality of Rakta, the whispers of the Elixir of Life still spread amongst servants. Quickly, their presence in Rajmuat sparked a wild fire of rumors as word flew through the ranks of the citizens... the claims of a panacea, the cure all for everything and anything. Each passing word, expanded the abilities of this elixir... and by nightfall, the word 'immortality' was upon people's lips.

"We've brought the first batch of Rakta we've procured, along with one of the prettier girls in our lot." The clink of chain connected to the hands and collar of a Riyalat followed the growl from a tall man, as his shorter stockier partner carefully balanced a small tray of vials filled to the brim with Rakta. As negotiations took place, the shorter of the two stared in open amazement at the cluttered work tables of pamphlets and books. He set the tray down and slowly edged towards the esoteric drawings and scrawled formulae, managing to peek into a bubbling flask of silvery solution before his partner brought him back to reality.

"It's always a pleasure doing business with you, I wish you luck with your... experiments Paracelsus." Both men disappeared into the night, leaving the Riyalat standing as far as she could from the man, Paracelsus, now holding her chain.

"Release me. What do you want with the Rakta? and what do you want with me?" Her head lifted with defiance as she demanded her terms, pulling against the chain as the man began to reel her closer. When she was right in front of him, the chain was locked to the wall. Just as she was about to protest his hand came down hard across her face, stunning her to silence.

"From now on, I am your Master, and you will refer to me as such. You'll not make any more such demands, you haven't the slightest clue how much I've paid for you my pet. " His voice was disgustingly sweet. "I had the theory ... of using Rakta as a basis to create ... the philosphers stone. You... not only provide me a fresh source of this amazing substance... you'll also provide quite a bit of entertainment, especially now that all my prior test subjects have been broken in."

She blanched at his explanation, backing as far from the human monster before her as her chain would allow. His predatory grin widening as he savored her horror. He stalked closer, the gleam of a small knife flashed with the candles as he toyed with it in his hand.

"No... get away from me... " She whimpered her fear, only to recieve another back hand across her other cheek.

By the time the daze left her, his hands had yanked her chain high above her head, imobilizing them as the knife began to tease her robes. With slow languid strokes he cut aside the fabric, savoring each bit of revealed skin.

"You'd best not move my pet... We'll have fun cutting you some other time. " He murmured, his hot breath reeking of liquor and whatever other drug he'd imbibed prior... and as she made the attempt to shy away from him, the blade kissed her skin, drawing a soft cry from her lips. "See... I told you not to move. "

As fabric fell away from skin, tears began to well in her eyes, falling down to grace her cheeks after he'd left her bare. He brought a link of chain to a hook left high above her head, forcing her to her toes with her hands well restrained.

"Be a good girl and call me Master... Maybe I'll reconsider this for another night" His growled as one hand groped her chest and the other pawed at her sex....

~~~~****~~~~​

They had slept, resting peacefully in each other's embrace. Even after she woke, she remained there, watching the sweetness of his countenance as he rested. It was after the sun had set that she showered little kisses across his face to rouse him. She almost wondered if he feigned sleep just so she'd keep showering him with her kisses... But his eyes opened soon after. They dressed under the light of the dying embers and began to travel once more.

The city loomed before them as Slade set her down out of sight from the guards on the city walls. They had arrived several hours before dawn. He pointed out her armband, suggesting her to remove it. After a short debate, she pulled the trinket off of her arm and placed it into her bags.

__________________________

OOC: okay that was the first time I wrote a creep like that... well I think he was a creep... I hope I conveyed that much at least >.<

 

[Chgris]

The guards at the gates to the city had grown used to seeing odd things while at their posts, and for the right amount of coin, ignoring them. An additional bit of coin, and a look at the obviously well used hilt of the sword at Slade’s side brought forth the name and directions to the Star of Evening, a moderately prosperous inn known more to Rajmuat’s residents than any travelers.

They walked through the streets of the city, following the directions given. Even at this hour the streets were not empty. Most of the shops were closed, but people were moving about, making their way to and from inns, wine shops, and as they neared the edge of the trade quarter, brothels. Slade marveled at how, no matter where he might go, cities always seemed to be the same. Some might be more lawless than others, but put a large group of people together, and they always segregated themselves in daylight. Merchants and guilds had their Trade quarter, nobles had their area, scholars theirs, and lowest of all, the thieves, beggars, whores and others who shared the night with his kind.

The Star of Evening was located at the edge of the trade quarter, behind a plain door opening on a street leading to the western gate of Rajmuat. The sign above the door was marked with a simple star, giving no indication of what services might be offered to those who didn’t already know about it. When Slade and Zaira entered, he found that the guard was accurate in his description, the furnishings were indeed prosperous, and though he no longer needed to eat, the smells of the food bespoke of an excellent menu. Even better was that after the first glance to see who had just entered, the patrons all went back to their drinks and conversations.

A small blue gemstone removed from Slade’s belt pouch quickly acquired them a room at the end of the corridor, with the assurance of privacy, discretion, a door with a sturdy bolt and a meal suitable for two weary travelers delivered even as they were settling in. After sitting and watching Zaira eat for a bit, Slade kissed her softly. “Bolt the door behind me, Zaira, and open it only to my voice. I’ll see what I can find of the slavers,” he said, taking the dagger from his boot and setting it beside her on the table.

He waited in the corridor a moment to listen for the bolt to slide home, then walked out of the inn. He had heard the words ‘Rakta’ and ‘immortality’ being whispered in conversation the entire way from the gate to the inn. Now it was time to find out what the other denizens of the night might know.

He walked slowly along the streets, watching the ebb and flow of the people moving about, searching for certain signs, and finally found it: an old blind beggar, sitting across from an inn, but whose eyes seemed to dart to a nearby rooftop. Slade walked up to him, dropping a few coins in his bowl, and standing to block his view of the rooftop. “Greetings, grandfather, ” he said. “A small token to see you through the night. ”

“Bless you stranger, ” he said. When Slade made no indication he was going to move on, he shifted to see around him. Each time he did, Slade moved with him. Finally, the old man gave up the pretense and looked up at him. “What do you want, stranger? ”

“Information, ” Slade answered, a few more coins falling into the bowl. “A caravan of slavers arrived recently, carrying human cargo and something more. ”

“What of it? ” the old beggar sniffed. “That much is on the lips of every person in Rajmuat. ”

“I need more. I need to know where the slavers are staying, and where their human cargo is being stored. ”

“I have no—”

“Grandfather, I am asking simply for you to listen to the night. A location, perhaps two, and this, ” the gleam of gold flashed in Slade’s fingers, “to the one who brings it to me. ”

The old man sighed, this stranger was entirely too observant. Either that or it was time to retire. No one had seen through his blind act in years. “Alright then, I will listen for you, and perhaps ask a few questions. Now will you please move? I—”

“Need to keep watch for your partner in the far building who is waiting for your signal that no guards are coming. ” Slade finished, dropping another coin in the bowl and stepping to the other side. “I will return tomorrow night to see what the winds might tell you. Good evening, Grandfather. ”

“And to you, pale one,” the old man said flashing a grin. “Now kindly go away.”

Slade turned silently and made his way back to the inn. He hoped the promise of further reward would be sufficient, he had actually liked the old beggar, and had no desire to have to use him as the first link in a chain leading to the slavers. A chain who’s links he knew he would be destroying as each led him closer to his goal. He knew that to free the Riyalat, he would have to eliminate the slavers. What Zaira might think of him after he did…hopefully she would never see what he would leave of them.

 

[marauder13]

She had been alerted the moment he had entered the city. Her attendants were immediately dispatched to find out who the intruder was, and where they went. There had only been one, but one was more than enough to be worthy of keeping an eye on.

It didn't take long to determine which establishment they had gone into. She sighed at the news. There were much more suitable places to stay, and they had space available. She rolled her eyes and she stood. The single layer of silk that clung to her lithe form floated and billowed on the faint breeze that came through the opened window. A woman with midnight skin scurried forward, bowing gracefully to her Mistress.

"Akara, my dear, I need something to greet a special visitor. Something that will help remind them who I am."

"Of course, Mistress." Akara rushed off, returning with an outfit that her Mistress looked over with bored interest. "I'm not sure, Akara, that might not be well suited for the company I shall be seeking. But, since they haven't taken the time to follow the Traditions... Yes, it will do."

~||~​

She sat in the corner of the place that the newcomer had decided to stay in.

Waiting.

To pass the time, she watched the people in the main room going about their activities. As was expected, every pair of eyes in the room had looked at her at least once, curiousity and amazement the main reactions from those that looked at her. Her skin was the colour of fresh snow, and unmarred by any marks, blemishes or other skin conditions. The thick braid of honey hung over her left shoulder ending half way down her scarlet clad body.

Finally he entered. Unlike the others in the main room, his aura lacked the brightness of their vibrant life, but had the same brightness as sun bleached cloth. With a slight lifting on a finger, Akara moved to intercept the newcomer.

"Excuse me, sir. My Mistress would like to speak with you. Please, follow me." Akara led the newcomer over to the table where her Mistress sat. When he settled in his chair, the other woman graced him with a smile.

"Welcome to My Domain, Stranger. Please, could you be so kind to tell me why you neglected to send word of your pending arrival? Is My Domain so insignificant that I am not worthy of such politeness?"

Before he could reply, she turned to her dark skinned servant. "Please, my sweet, go and find out where our guest's companion is, and have her join us. I'm sure that my newest friend here would not want her to feel neglected at all." She looked back at the newcomer. "That, and I know that a lone woman in a strange place is prone to all sorts of hazards that can be turned aside by a companion such as yourself."