The truth lies, and Reality is never what it seems. (Locked for SandS13)

[CoSurvivor]

Clay Marston had been dreaming, he was back in Key West with his ex-wife, strolling the beach, beer in one hand, his wife holding another. The tide was coming in, and as they walked through the surf, he could feel his toes sinking into the sandy beach. He brought the cool beer up to his lips and took a long swig the alcohol hit his senses and the taste of it made his head begin to swim. He took a look at it and then noticed another empty bottle floating on the water not far away, for a reason he can't quite describe. As he did, he could hear Gabby call his name in desperation. "NO Clay.. don't!" But he did it anyway, and when he turned to see Gabby, she was gone, a sinkhole just below where she'd been not more than a moment ago. The only thing that remained of her was a necklace, one he'd never seen before. It was some dime-store junk that she had a propensity to buy as she was afraid to wear the good stuff he bought her, afraid she might lose it, or someone might try and steal it. Picking up the necklace, he looked at, the necklace was plain, but six links were thicker than the rest, each one seemed to hook to the other on an inner link which made him think of the tread to a tank, one of the toy tanks he'd played with as a kid. With the necklace in his hand, he looked out at the water, but instead of a clear evening, as the sunset, he could see a tower, a massive structure far off in the distance, and as the sun went down, the tower seemed to split it in two. The necklace grew hot, hotter than was possible to hold in his hand, he dropped it in the sand wincing in pain. His palm now black with the marks of the necklace links smelled of burnt flesh which filled his nostrils..and shook him awake.

Groaning, and holding his head, Clay rolled to his side and opened his eyes, sunlight streamed through the gap between the opening folds of his small tent, and he immediately knew why his head hurt. Clay reached down off the side of the small cot and fished around looking for anything, eventually, his fingers came to rest on a long metal cylinder which he picked up and brought to his lips, the water was stale, lukewarm from the heat of the jungle, and he immediately wished he'd stayed back in the US and taken that teaching position his brother had told him about. From outside the tent, he could hear an irritated voice, well that was no surprise, the person that voice belonged to was always irritated with him.

"CLAY! get up.. we have to head to the dig, get your ass out here!"

Immediately Clay replied, in a morning voice that precluded he'd been drinking, heavily the night before. "What.. what time is it?"

"It's daytime, now get the fuck up and let's get moving the rest of the team has been on the site for at least 2 hours."

Rolling out of his cot, Clay looked at his face in a small mirror he had near by for shaving, at the age of 30, he felt 10 years older, his hair was a mess, which he put under a wide-brimmed hat, his clothes were a mess but hey who was he to try and impress on a dig? He had at least 3 days worth of growth on his face and he thought it had been at least that long since he'd taken a shower. No, Clay Matson was a wreck. At one time he was a prime candidate to manage one of the most important dig sights in all of South America. Now, now he was lucky just to be part of one.

"I'm coming, one sec." he grabbed his bag from where he'd left it the previous day and put on his glasses, the frames lightly bent from being in his shirt pocket the night before, and now he could see much better. Not that much better, after his glasses had been scratched all to hell by a tumble he took two days ago. He'd have to get another pair, but when? He'd have to get to civilization and who knows when that'd be. They were at least 2 days drive to the nearest village, and even then it would be a flight out to somewhere else. No, for now, he'd have to settle with being a little less blind. and that was an improvement.

Walking out of his tent, Clay was greeted by one of the few people he could consider a friend, Mason Towns, a burly black man who at one time played linebacker for LSU, but after he'd suffered a horrific leg injury any hope of a pro career was gone. So he decided he'd try his hand at something a whole lot less physically destructive, Archeology. As big of a man as Mason was, he had a delicate touch and a concentration that allowed him to painstakingly restore some storied Relics, and out here, his light touch was what was required. Clay clapped his friend on the bicep smiling what he could as the sun gave him a headache, and he followed the man to the small Jeep which took them to the dig site. The place was small by comparison, to others he'd been on, but what they were uncovering was amazing. What looked like an idol of Inca design kilometers too far away from any known Inca village or established temple for it to make sense. No this was like finding a Micky Mantle baseball card mixed into a deck of playing cards, The idol, or marker as they were calling it didn't belong where it was. From what the markings were saying it didn't make any sense. but then again they'd only uncovered two or three panels of the massive stone obelisk. The structure was old...it was of vital importance that it be preserved.

Upon arrival, at the dig site, the team ignored him as he expected, and Clay marched off to where his small station was. He'd been set up to go over shards, and pieces of the massive marker which everyone had suspected broke off over time. One such piece was circular, shaped like a tennis ball, but the more he tried to uncover whatever object it was, the more the thing crumbled on his workbench. Uncovered, the small shape was still a ball, but now the material was made up of was unlike anything he'd seen in South America. Maybe on Easter Island or at Stone Henge, but not here. He swiped his small brush along its features, and as he did holding it still with delicate strokes, the stone again crumbled again, a small necklace, completely plain save for the six larger links that were hooked together by a solid square piece.

Doing something he'd normally never do, Clay picked it up, turning it over in his hand, there were no markings, nothing to tell him who made it. And just as surely as his gloved hand touched one of the links he could feel himself grow week, the necklace heated up, and in the seconds that passed after he held it in his gloved hand, he fell to his knees, the pain so intense that he couldn't let go, all the muscles in his body tensed up, his right hand squeezed tight around the necklace. From the pain Clay collapsed in a heap on the floor, his elbow catching the edge of his station tossing anything he'd had in the mess square box to crash all around him.

Passed out from the pain, and he had the same dream again he'd had last night, the tower and the sunset, the sun being split in two. Only this time, instead of waking up from the smell of burnt flesh, he heard a thousand voices cry out in pain, and the world around him burning in green flame. The dream ended, and Clay slipped into unconsciousness. no dreams, no thoughts, just silence in his mind for the first time in many years.

Clay Matson was forever changed, the world would never look the same the next time he opened his eyes.

 

[SandS13]

She hated when they struggled. A gloved hand wiped at her cheek. A low growl of annoyance as she saw the dark on the dark glove. Blood. She knew it. He had fought it and now she was wearing him.

Well, splashes of him. The body laid before her. His throat was open, blood a pool about him. Her other hand, the one no longer wearing a glove hit the call button on her phone. "It's done."

The call was ended abruptly. There was nothing for the other end to say. Confirmation was all that was needed. She knelt down by the body and checked him one last time. There was nothing to show what he was dabbling in, nothing to say she was here. There were drugs and proof of ties to a cartel. The human police would link this to a drug hit.

Her apartment was cold. Literally and figuratively. Concrete floors, bare walls. No sign that someone lived there unless you looked in the bedroom closet. The temperature was kept low. Her preference. The kitchen was stark with no food readily visible. The windows looked out over the city. She was eighteen floors up and a view of everything. She showered. Pulling on a t-shirt, her underwear and nothing else she made her way to the living room. Her long, dark brown almost black hair was still damp. She sat on the floor and began cleaning her knife.

The phone that sat on the floor beside her rang. She picked it up. "Yes."

"It has been found. We felt the ripple."

"Is that what that was?" Even she had felt the change in reality briefly. Her magic not nearly as powerful as some others only a big even could make her feel it.

"We need it taken care of. This man has no idea what he has done."

"Civilian?"

"Yes."

Full, pink lips pursed. "I will make it quick. And the relic?"

"We will take it and decide. Deal with him and secure it."

She hung up.

----
The plane was empty but of course it was. That was how she travelled. In private, in secret and in the shadows whenever possible.

Genevieve Lepine, known to her employers as Wraith stepped out into the humid South American night. She instantly regretted the leather jacket and slipped it off. She draped it the arm that carried her single, black suitcase. Sweat began to bead on her pale skin. She muttered a simple spell and the sweat vanished. She could still feel the humidity but now she would soak through her clothing.

She got into the waiting jeep and it drove off. She needed to get her eyes on this man. She needed to figure out how best to get close and deal with the situation. She had received information as to his whereabouts since he was knocked unconscious but it was time to get personally involved. The sooner she did the sooner she could kill him and secure the relic. The sooner she could get out of this heat.

 

[CoSurvivor]

Clay could hear voices, they were swimming around his head, as if everyone was speaking underwater. His head ached, his right hand burned, and generally, his body was telling him to stay down or it would kick his ass. As his body was pleading for him to stay down, where it was cool, despite the temperature being over 100 degrees outside, those voices called him a drunk, a disgrace to the profession, and a waste of talent. He ignored those comments and started taking a mental inventory of himself as he slowly tried to get up despite his body's protest. He wasn't bleeding, his arms and legs were fine and he could wiggle all the toes on his feet. He could say for certain that his hangover was gone, replaced by the overwhelming pain radiating from his right hand which was pretty well useless at the moment. Clay put all his weight on his left hand as has he quickly realized his right hand wouldn't open. Fully closed in a fist, he could feel the pain radiating through each of his fingers, and no matter how he tried, he couldn't pry his fingers loose.

Sitting up on the dirt floor, he brushed himself off with his left hand and searched for his glasses. Looking around he found them and put them on. Clay was expecting to see the world as he knew it but through scratched lenses. But he couldn't see, everything was blurry, worse than blurry actually. He could see some shapes but it was as if he was looking through a soup of colored fog. Clay took off his glasses in frustration. Maybe the fall had given him a concussion, that's why he couldn't see. Looking at the frames they were cracked, one arm of the frame was bent, it must've been how he landed on them. and as he surveyed the damage, he could read the small print on the inside of the right arm of his glasses. That wasn't normal, he'd been legally blind for years, and never able to actually read that fine of print for quite some time. Folding his glasses with his left hand he put them in his right side shirt pocket and announced to anyone who was listening (but nobody was) that he was fine as he started picking up everything that had fallen off his workstation. It wasn't surprising that nobody replied, everyone else was busy purposefully ignoring the washed-up drunk.

As he was just about cleaned up, putting the last of the small fragments back in his workstation a few of the small pieces with markings looked vastly different. The shapes, or glyphs kind of made sense. That deeply concerned Clay as, he'd never read Inca before, it wasn't his field of study. His job here was basically to clean and log the fragments, not try and interpret them. What the fuck had just happened to him? Clay could hear mumblings, people talking under their breath about his drunken behavior, and a familiar one joining in the chorus. Mason came in from the far end of the work tent and walked over to stand behind him and looked at the mess on his workstation, then Clay. As he did, Clay could tell his old friend had had enough, and the damage he'd just caused, and the appearance that he'd just fallen over drunk was enough to push the situation beyond what he'd tolerate.

Raising his hands Clay tried to defend himself. "Look I dunno what happened I touched a crumbling clump of dirt, uncovered an old neckless, one you'd probably find in a corner store, and blanked out. I fell out of my seat ended up on the floor and now I can't open my hand!"

Mason looked at his right hand turning his hand over at the wrist, pushing on Clay's fingers gently but also putting a little bit of force at his knuckles trying to see if a pressure point might do the trick. No luck, His hand was for all intents, useless.

"Take the day Clay, get your hand looked at, and remember anything you found is property of the dig, don't go trying to pawn it off or anything."

Clay gave him a look, trying to reassure his long-time friend embarrassed by this accusation that he'd steal from him.

"Look, Mason, I know I'm a drunk but I'd never steal from the dig. I begged to get on this dig remember?"

Mason gave him a sideways look of frustration, not sure if he should believe his old friend or not. "Just.. go get your hand looked at, maybe see the doc back in the village. Either way, you're done here today I'll find you at the tent city we have set up tomorrow. And you'd better be there Clay."

Clay grabbed his wide brim hat off the floor with his left hand, plopped it on his head and gave Mason an apologetic and pleading look. "I can still work, let me get things sorted out. I can still use my left hand.."

With a look of finality, Mason gave him a flat "No." with zero feeling or emotion in his voice. With that, Mason turned and left. Clay surveyed everyone else and looked around the tent, grabbed his bag, and left. heading out past where the full dig was. The marker, or rather the obelisk was buried in the sand, the foundation, well what was left of it was being uncovered carefully while teams of five were spread out along a narrow part of the jungle. Some were carefully trying to weave through branches and fallen trees. Looking at the exposed obelisk, he could see three women going over old books, studying the glyphs, trying to interpret their meaning while they debated about all of them. Clay walked past the group, made an observation of one symbol in particular and mumbled to himself.

"They've got it wrong, it doesn't say "worlds apart., it says world torn apart." He shook his head, mumbling again not knowing that he'd just interpreted an ancient script that had no known translation.

As Clay walked away, heading down the main road leading out of the dig site, two men who appeared to be locals exchanged glances and followed Clay out of the camp keeping their distance.

 

[SandS13]

It was a long drive to the dig site which wouldn't have been an issue for her if it wasn't so damn humid. She contemplated a spell to cool the air around her but that would make it obvious to the driver that something was strange. She wasn't in the habit of letting the average know the other side of things. In fact, her job was to ensure that if they did they were not capable of talking about it. Ever.

To the driver and the passenger acting as guard it seemed as if she were just checking herself in her little pocket mirror. Genevieve was using it to scry on the men she had hired to follow her target. She couldn't follow him. She didn't know the man and had never made any sort of contact. The limit of the scrying spell was you had to at least have talked to the person you wished to see.

Annoyance appeared on her face. It seemed the men were leaving the camp which meant her target was leaving the camp. Genevieve was on her way to the camp. This was frustrating. She had no desire to follow this man around the place and the idea of waiting in the camp until he made a return was unappealing. What if he was done for the day and off to get dinner, go dancing or find a whore? Genevieve immediately shook off the idea of dancing. He was a borderline washed up drunk she had been told. Dancing was not likely on his list of daily activities. Dinner either. Booze and the whore seemed the most likely. She wondered if he had the relic with him.

She almost made the call to go to the camp anyway. Part of her thought the relic might just be there. These sort got pretty protective over things like arrowheads. There was a chance he had had to leave it with them. If that was the case, he was of no consequence. The relic was. Genevieve knew they would never hand it over to her and killing them all to get it would cause too much attention.

"Change of plans. Start driving where I tell you. Understand?"

The driver nodded and Genevieve began directing them based on where her trackers were. They followed and when he stopped the jeep was able to catch up to his location. Genevieve got out. Left her bag in the back with instructions to remain there until called. In her calf high boot was a dagger. One gun was holstered at the small of her back. Her black tank top was over it and as she was going out in public and did not want it noticed, Genevieve pulled back on her leather jacket. With a toss of her wavy, dark hair she walked to where her trackers stood.

"Stay here. You will follow him if you see him alone at any time." The two men nodded.

Genevieve inhaled. It was time to go meet this man, Clay who was about to upset the balance of everything.

 

[CoSurvivor]

After Clay left the dig, he thought, "what's the rush getting back to the camp?" and decided he'd take his time getting back. The draw of the half-empty bottle of whiskey he had stored in his footlocker back in camp was kinda itching at the back of his mind, but that was for emergencies and this wasn't one of them. His original planned on walking the main trail back, which was frequented by villagers and anyone associated with the dig. But as he looked through the dense jungle, he decided to head for the beach, which if his directions were correct, was straight west of where he currently was standing. Clay had been told numerous times as mason drove him in that morning wondering off the trail was not recommended, It was so ill-advised that they had signs up all along the road. Rumors were that the jungle had enough residents that could gobble him whole and leave no evidence were frequently shared amongst those who worked at the dig but Clay either couldn't remember or had been too drunk to pay attention. This didn't seem to phase Clay even in the slightest and as he stepped off the trail, leisurely strolling as if he was on a Sunday walk.

Clay hiked for about an hour, what was supposed to be a straight walk turned to a bit of an adventure, but bound and determined to see the pacific, he kept right on walking. It was at the top of the hill when he looked out and could see the ocean, it was vast, quiet, and absolutely beautiful. Between his heavy breathing, his stumbling, and bumbling through the forest Clay never noticed once that he had company. It wasn't until they were on him that he felt, or more 'smelled' something. He knew he stank it has been at least 3 days since he'd last showered, but this guy whoever he was, reeked of pipe tobacco and spice. He could feel the man behind him and put him in a headlock, the man's hands immediately going for Clay's throat, his left hand trying to pry his attacker's fingers, and or try to get purchase to get out of this chokehold. It wasn't till he saw the other man, a tall skinny man with a wiry mustache pull a machete from a leg scabbard did his eyes go wide with disbelief. And in the language that he couldn't have understood yesterday, but could understand clearly now, Clay heard the man behind him threaten him loudly.

"Give us the relic, we know you have it. Give it to us and we'll leave you alone..."

The man was tall and thin, but he had green eyes, which were a bit alarming. Physically he was a bit of a rail really, but Clay knew not to be deceived, men like this had the physique of people who lived his life within his means, ate only what he needed, and was always on the move. Which was why he and his friend with the machete were able to sneak up on him so easily.

"What? what relic, I found some rusted out dime-store necklace in a ball of mud that's all I found! But I can't open my hand to give it to you!"

Both men looked at each other, and as one held him, his mustache-wearing machete-wielding partner pointed to a downed tree. Stabbing the machete into the log the man tried to undo Clays' clenched fist, but with every attempt came frustration, they tried to smash his knuckles against it. Nothing. they tried to break his fingers, nothing, what was even more frustrating was that Clay felt detached from this whole event. He knew for certain this was his right hand they were trying to destroy simply to get at the necklace but he couldn't feel anything below his elbow, and that was just weird. they then tied him and his arm stretched out to the log, the big of the two held Clay still so the machete wouldn't miss. As it came up and back in the man's hand to make a massive powerful strike, Clay could see his fingers move for the first time. They twitched and rolled as if he was moving something in his hand.

As the Machete came down both men watched closely. With a speed he didn't know he had, Clay pulled his hand free of the tied rope as if he was snapping a twig. The Machete buried itself deep in the log with a resounding THUNK!* The green-eyed native holding Clay, was a bit in shock as he hadn't expected Clay to exert any sort of fight. Clay Kicked at the man as he tried to pry his Machete free. Clay landing one solid kick across the man's face, sending him sprawling, then turning on the green-eyed villager who'd held him down. Clay Jabbed at him, trying to land a few solid punches to the man's chest. His* man stepped back, watching as Clay grabbed his pack off the ground and took two steps away from them yelling "You stay the fuck away from me!" As he yelled, Clay stabbed at the air between them with the closed fist of his right hand. It wasn't until he had yelled at the man five times that Clay noticed he was actually pointing at him, his fingers now felt free. Distracted by his own hand, Clay didn't notice how close he was to the ledge of the hill, stepping back once more he lost balance and slipped.

In a tangled mess, Clay tumbled, his pack protecting him a few times until it became tangled on a branch and was torn free from him flinging Clay one way and it's contents scattered across the hillside. He tried once to grab hold of a tree branch only to lose his grip and tumble further, trying to protect his head he balled up, crashed against trees and a number of rocks. he could feel his ribs give, one cracked, maybe two he wasn't sure. And, did his right lung just got punctured? Finally, he went limp either due to taking a blow to the head, or the number of injuries he'd already sustained. But Clay slid the last 100 feet on his back, slipped over a rock disappearing into a pool of water. His body splashing against it, giving into the pain he quickly lost consciousness.

What Clay didn't see, but could now feel, was that his right hand was now open, palm up. A small gold ring was now wrapped around the ring finger of his right hand. and as his hands slipped beneath the water the palm of his right hand was branded, the shape of some ancient rune burned into it.

 

[SandS13]

Genevieve sighed. This is what she got for hiring men with no subtly. Of course, she hadn't really expected Clay to fend them off as he had. From what she had seen he was a mess. A drunk, out of shape and generally soft. These two should have been able to subdue him. She had rolled her eyes at the machete, it was a little extreme but who was she to tell locals not to use the weapon they favoured?

The fact that Clay had fallen was more annoying. "Get down there!"

The men were gone, following the falling body as it bashed against rocks. They moved nimbly but carefully. Genevieve snarled and began her own descent after she called for the jeep to meet her at the bottom. It would take them time to navigate down but she didn't care. She needed Clay and the relic. Well, just the relic. She wasn't being paid to care about him.

The men made it down but Clay had already slipped under the water. They jumped in and hauled his unconscious body out. They laid him out on the rocks. The ground was uneven and the closest flat area was fifty meters behind them. Genevieve looked around as she descended. Between her training and a spell she was at the rock quickly, not a single pebble disturbed.

She approached and the men backed away a little. She didn't check his injuries. What she wanted was in his hand. Her eyes fell on the open right hand. "Fuck."

Her hands clenched and unclenched. This was not good. She had hoped this would be a quick trip. Subdue him, take the relic. Done. She wouldn't have even had to kill him. Now, the scar on his hand and the band on his finger told a new story. She reached out to touch the band but immediately pulled her hand away. No, it radiated too much power and from what she was feeling it was tied to Clay now. It meant more than just killing him. There would have to be a ritual to unbind the relic before cutting down its source of power.

Genevieve began to check his body for injuries now and she hoped he hadn't killed himself falling down the hill. He was breathing but a quick check told her his ribs and lungs were in bad shape. Healing wasn't her thing. It took too much out of her and it felt wrong compared to her other spells but she would have to make an exception if they were going to move him. Her hands went under his shirt. Cold fingers touched his ribs on both sides and Genevieve closed her eyes.

Sweat began to bead on her forehead as she used her energy to stabilize him. She was breathing hard as she pulled her hands away. "Take him to the jeep."

The men moved to haul him up.

"Carefully! He isn't fully healed, just stable enough to move."

She stood and wipe the back of her hand on her forehead, finding sweat. She gave a look of disgust before following them to the now waiting jeep.
------
It was hours since the fall down the hill and he was still unconscious. Now though he was bathed, his ribs wrapped, cuts and any wounds bandaged. He had been administer pain medication. Clay was in a bed in a very stark bedroom. There were large windows though that looked over the skyline. It was night and lights dotted the landscape below. Like her apartment this place was kept at a lower temperature as well. The difference was in the oppressive humidity and heat no one here would question it.

Two different men stood guard just inside the door. Both were large, tan skinned with unreadable expressions.

The shower was running not far from the where he lay. It turned off. The bathroom was just to the left of where Clay was laying. The door was partially opened, steam wafting through into the bedroom. Genevieve wanted to be aware the moment he woke up. She towelled off and wrapped it around her body. She brushed her dark hair so it hung in wet waves, dripping down her back. Cold blue eyes stared back at her in the mirror.

 

[CoSurvivor]

His mind was in a haze, it felt like an entirely out of body experience. He could remember falling down the hillside, feeling every bone in his body bend or break depending on what he crashed into. Clay was lucky to even know he was alive or was he? He'd been drinking his way into a bottle for the last several years that maybe death would be a release, give in to his own sorrow and self-loathing end it all now and put his sorry excuse for life up on a shelf. Often times he'd told himself he felt like some second rate character in a cheap dime store novel. One of those characters mentioned on page 6 and killed off somewhere in the end because he got hit by a runaway bus. Clay knew he'd been dreaming, as it was always the same scene he dreamed about* Really they were nightmares, waking up in a screaming pit of agony as his wife slipped from his fingers. Each time that pit opened up beneath her, every time he reached for the bottle and he lost her. This time his dream was somehow more vivid, he looked out and could see that spire clearly, the sun split by its massive size. He expected the necklace to appear, only this time, he could see someone walking toward him on that beach. The woman was pale-skinned, had dark hair, and was dressed in black. She was stunning, beautiful in a way different from any woman he'd ever seen before. Something in him knew she was so incredibly beautiful without seeing her face because, in his nightmares, the fine details were never there. His nightmare ended with a cold splash against his face, like a shock. Life breathed back into Clay as his ears were filled with the sound of rain.

Clay felt clean, but he couldn't remember how that happened, and as he blinked his eyes he could see through bleary tired eyes. the view he found was in a word, cold. The room was stark, probably one of the many apartment buildings in the world made of poured concrete, the walls, the floor, and ceiling were bare, no artwork to show personal taste or character. Even more so he could feel a slight chill in the room. His head had been propped up on two pillows as he slept, and as he looked around and tried to move his body ached too much, telling him to lay back down and stay still. What he could see were two men who outsized him by at least a foot and outweighed him possibly by double. It was no matter, Clay didn't feel the urge to go anywhere, and his body would probably not allow it anyway. He did notice something, both men hand an unnatural aura around them, they didn't seem to be aggressive, they were simply just standing there, observing him. Turning his head he could see a slight amount of steam coming through the slightly open door of what Clay assumed was the apartment's bathroom. He could hear water running, and then it abruptly shut off. Someone was in there, and it concerned Clay that whoever it was had the intent to kill him.

Taking stock of his situation, Clay looked down on himself. He could see his abdomen wrapped tightly in white bandages, he could breathe, but it was uncomfortable. His body hurt but Clay wiggled his toes, lightly moved his legs arms and turned his neck. Yup, everything still functioned. But there was something else, something in the back of his head which told him things were very different. his nose itched and by reflex, he reached up and itched it with his right hand. When he did, Clay noticed his right hand worked! Looking at the palm of his hand, he could see a rune carved there, burned into the palm of his hand so deeply he could still remember the pain and the smell of burning flesh as his hand had locked up. The single symbol looked like it might be a Gaelic, or Nordic. he wasn't sure, but it was an ancient language long forgotten by man he was sure of. Really? Since when did he study ancient languages, and since when did he shake off that kind of subject, he should be paranoid. What the fuck was going on here! Ok, one thing at a time he thought. As he flexed his fingers he noticed the narrow gold ring now laced around the ring finger on his right hand. He wiggled it, moved it like it was any normal ring even took it off beyond the knuckle, and in his hazed state, he almost dropped it, except, he noticed the ring clung to his palm. Ok, this was getting really fucking strange.

Clay brought the ring up to his eyes holding it and realized he was looking at the ring without his glasses. Had to be his head, had to be a concussion or something related to his tumble that affected his vision. The subtle scripture on the inside of the band was an old language, maybe Gaelic? or Nordic? he wasn't quite sure. He'd have to look at it in daylight to be sure, but he could distinctly make out words in a language he'd never read before and blurted them out loud before realizing he had an audience.

"Key to the end of the world."

 

[SandS13]

He was awake. Genevieve could feel the shift in the room just outside the bathroom. Her sense of magic, her keen senses served her well. She pulled her eyes from the mirror. For a moment the reflection that had been looking back at her didn’t move. The reflection looked sad before following. She hated when it did that. She had trapped those emotions, that part of her soul there for a reason. There was no place for that in her line of work. It had been one of the things she had done to protect herself. Her allies could turn to enemies quickly and if they did it could mean her death. She had safe guards to ensure she had no open weaknesses.

Clad in the dark grey towel she stepped out of the bathroom. The cold blue eyes fell on the man in the bed.

“Indeed it is.” She had heard his words as she stepped out. “From what I have seen you have no idea what that means or what you hold there. You are marked and that is very bad for you.”

She crossed the room to what appeared to be a blank wall. She pressed it in the middle and a door opened. Genevieve stepped through it.

“Tell me Clay Marston, do you understand what that means?”

The towel was dropped outside the door by one pale hand. She slowly dressed. She had no plans to leave the apartment yet, he was too injured and she had not yet figured out how she was going to separate the relic from him. The ritual to unbind him was beyond her capabilities. She needed him alive and healthy enough to survive it anyway. That meant first priority was getting him healthy and keeping him safe.

Genevieve stepped out in short workout style shorts, black with a white tank top. It was very clear she was not wearing a bra and that her pert breasts boasted taut nipples and piercings. Her dark hair hung in damp waves of darkness down her back.

She reached down for the towel before once more closing the door. Her head cocked. “You have questions I am sure. Feel free to ask them of me. I will answer those I feel are pertenant to the situation. Please know that for now you are both under my protection and my prisoner.”

 

[CoSurvivor]

Clay couldn't help but be entranced by her voice, Who was she... and what the hell was he doing here. Surely those were the two most obvious questions he should be asking. But the ring, it held more than just the words he'd spoken out loud, there was more to it, words he hadn't said and since he didn't know her, he wasn't about to divulge that information to a woman who carried such a mysterious aura about her.

Watching her athletic figure walk across the room so brazenly, opening the hidden closet and watch her get dressed made his throat go dry. It had been a long long time since he'd been in the company of a woman like her. He remembered the Librarian he'd seen before he married his wife, she looked the part of quiet type, her hair put back in a pony tail, perfect body, only he remembered her body in other positions, ones that made his mind stir. And considering the woman in front of him, he was completely certain that this woman whoever she was could break him in half with little effort.

So that it was, he was her prisoner, at least till he could find his way out of here. Gather info he thought know her better than she knows you and escape. But her words made him stop and think, so he asked what was the obvious reason for his situation. The only oddity in his life that would bring such a change. The ring. Holding up his hand showing the ring laying flat in the palm of his hand he then turned it to hold it in two fingers.

"What is this to you, what level of importance is it that you'd hire to thugs to kill me and take it? Now that I'm your prisoner, you plan to kill me as well?"

Clay's assumption was that the thugs intended to simply kill him and take the ring, seeing as they'd planned to cut his hand off at the wrist. He hoped he'd hear more from her in the answers she'd give him, and his whole mental process was about this was changing, He was inquisitive, and he found this whole thing to be very interesting, something he'd not found in any work he'd done in years, well, not since he'd lost his wife. A return of that thought, the sinking feeling in his body of her loss came back to him fast. He repressed it though, feeling that whatever was in front of him needed his attention, no matter his desire to bury his head in a bottle. The desire for a drink was, very enticing, but so was she. Standing there in workout clothes, the piercings of her nipples easily defined. He looked at her chest, took in a breath and asked one more question.

"You know my name, would my jailer care to tell me hers?"

 

[SandS13]

Genevieve smirked. He was charming in his way. He had questions as she expected. "I didn't hire them to kill you. If I wanted you dead you would already be dead."

She moved around to sit on the bed, on his right side. The smirked remained. "It isn't of importance to me. It is to my employers. So, that means our are my prisoner but also under my protection." Her hand touched his. Her touch was cold. "Until I can figure out to get this from you, you will remain with me."

She leaned in and her hand still on his. "I am known as Wraith. As far as my real name...we will work up to that." She was still smirking. She could feel his pulse and the power of the ring. It was a little uncomfortable being so near it.

"You broke ribs, a few other injuries. I looked after you and will continue to do so. Would you like anything? Are you in pain?"

Genevieve looked to the men at the door. "You should know that they will not hurt you but they will not let you leave my apartment. You have no reason to fear unless you try to run. Do not try to run."

She removed her hand and then stood. She waited to see what other questions he had or any requests. Her eyes were cold and piercing as she looked him over. There was clearly little about her that was warm or soft. Her smile, the smirk was the most open thing about her.

 

[CoSurvivor]

Her touch was cold, colder than Clay would've expected it to be especially with the room temperature as it was. She wasn't Human, but what was she then? Her voice was even cold. as if it was below her to care about him. When she asked if he needed anything, Clay just shook his head and looked at her.

"No.. nothing. I I don't need anything right now. And if I tried to run where could I run to anyway? There's nothing for me out there. I've pissed away, drank away any sort of future I had."

Clay was more disappointed with himself admitting his complete failure as a human being that he figured whatever Wraith wanted with him was better than whatever future he had where he had been.

"No.. don't worry, I've got no place to run to anyway." He had to admit, she was stunning in her own way, carrying a sort of magical appearance that was not of his world. He had to catch himself there, 'not of his world?' What other world was there? But she did expect him to answer questions, so he could at least persist in that.

"OK.. so this ring, this artifact that I'll call it, which looks like nothing more than cheap dime-store jewelry that you could find at your local Quicky Mart or Dollar store, has to have some serious importance. What is it? And.. More importantly.. What are you?"

 

[SandS13]

Genevieve moved to stand at the end of the bed. She wanted to be able to look at his face as they spoke. She took a very relaxed stance. Feet wide, hands at her sides. The silhouette of her torso could be seen through the tank top but it didn't matter. When she parted her soul the part that held embarrassment or modesty went with the other emotions.

She smiled, that same small smirk of amusement. "I am me. If do you mean am I human, I can assure you that I eat, breathe and bleed like you do. I..." Her tone was coy, almost playful if everything else didn't seem so cold. "Have abilities, powers you might call it granted through magic. I am of this world, but not of this world. I work for people who are decidedly not human."

Genevieve let that sink in for a moment. "What you have there, the dime-store jewelry is actually a very important artifact. Unfortunately for everyone, it is bound to you now and to kill you...well it causes some issues as the artifact will not like that. To remove it...again, it is a bit temperamental. Like a woman."

She licked her lips. "You found something you shouldn't have and its presence has my employers very concerned. It is a key to the end of the world." She shook her head a little. "I feel bad for you, coming upon it and not knowing what it was. I assure you that its presence puts you in great danger but also protects you. My job is to protect you but also ensure you do not get away. I must find a way to free it from you without you dying or before you bring about the end on all of us."

Her hands went to the end of the bed, Genevieve leaned over as if staring deep into his soul. "Tell me...look around the room. What do you see Clay? Does anything look odd to you? How do I look?"

 

[CoSurvivor]

Clay looked at her like she was nuts for a moment. Her comment regarding how the room looked, how 'she' looked and any observations he could make about his surroundings struck him as rather silly. How would this room look any different from how he thought it should look. But when he concentrated, he could see the room, and everything about it was not 'normal'.

Everywhere he looked there was some sort of 'aura' around everything the walls, the windows, the bathroom, the two men against the wall, and her. Each object and person varied as if the strength of the aura around them could tell him just how powerful each thing or person was. He thought for a moment he could see different colors, as in the two men were more yellow, at the moment his bodyguard if he could call her that was green, or maybe blue. It was all still hazy.. and he had to concentrate on each person before it would actually come into focus.

"Everything has a sort of haze around it, I can sort of make out different colors and some of them change. For example, you.. yours changes.. the guys in the back there's are a certain color but I don't know what it all means."

Clay looked down at his hand, concentrating he is drawn into the ring, as if something was pulling his complete attention upon it. He could see a sort of aura growing around it.

"It's... It's beautiful..." is all Clay can say...

From his point of view, the ring wasn't circled in an aura, it was a blinding light, one that was difficult to look away from.

 

[SandS13]

Genevieve could see it in his eyes. She didn't need to see his expression or hear his words to know he was truly seeing the world around him.

She moved back around the bed to sit on his right. Her hand reached out and covered his, blocking the ring from his vision. She disliked the pulsing power under her palm but knew he needed to shift his vision back to this world. "Breathe."

Genevieve felt the pulsing of the ring slow and it struck her that it was in tune with his heartbeat. As he had grown surprised, even a little scared it had sped up. She feared what the artifact might do if it thought he was in danger. Clearly, they needed to keep him calm, his heart rate slow.

"Steady now. It is alright. What you saw was the other world, the world that lives alongside the one you know." Her words were said softly, meant to sooth and calm him but sounding almost sultry. She lacked the empathy for true soothing. That was locked away.

"There are two worlds. Yours and one steeped in magic. Mythology and fairy tales. There was always truth in them but not in the way society chooses to see it. It isn't all cautionary tales for children. These were places and people and the stories are warnings and guidebooks for those like myself to use to navigate that world. You, by finding this have opened yourself to this other world. The key is bound to your life. My employers never wanted this found. In addition there are those that do want it found. Two sides as it were...those who want the world to end and the veil to be ripped away and those who want it to remain hidden. My job is to keep you safe from both sides until I can get it away from you. Do you understand?"

Again, she sounded more like she was trying to seduce him than offer comfort. Genevieve used her other hand to draw a rune on his forehead. "My protective mark. It will mean a great deal to some and others..." She shrugged. "I am not concerned. You will not be leaving my sight for any reason."

 

[CoSurvivor]

The mark felt cooling yet strange upon his scalp. as if she'd just touched his soul and drawn him to her. His captor, that's who she was, not his bodyguard or a friend but someone who was intent on keeping him under close watch was now trying to soothe him, protect him and now carrying her mark, did he belong to her? Looking up at the mark on his forehead he asked,

"So as my bodyguard and jailer with the mark you just put on my forehead does that mean I belong to you or something? And, where are you taking me? All this talk about a world within a world, or one that exists within my own makes me even more suspicious. I would be, if not for the relic. And one other thing, it's as if it's advising me, telling me things that I'd never know. Do you think it has it's own personality?"

The instant he said it, Clay felt stupid saying it. There's no way that a ring.. could be alive?

 

[SandS13]

“The ring does have its own personality, the ring will want you to do things and help to guide you. It pulses with power.” Genevieve moved her hand under his to lift it and show him the ring. “It wants you to know all it knows. It is one with you now.”

She looked into his eyes, her own were like pools of ice. “You are mine to protect. The mark will tell all who see it and that is only those of my world, that I am watching over you. It will scare many away from trying to hurt you. It will make others think twice before attacking you because if you are hurt I will make them pay. Many will be looking for you because of the ring. I cannot let you get taken by anyone.”

Genevieve inhaled. “As for where I am taking you there are a few places I may need to go to get the information I need. This will not be easy but I will not let anything happen to you.”

 

[CoSurvivor]

Clay nodded at her comment, it was strange how the ring was actually telling him things, sometimes obvious, sometimes more subtle.

"I know what you mean now, when I was leaving the dig site, I could actually read the glyphs on the marker, I knew what it meant. Even though I'd never studied any of it before. I was only brought on the dig for my expertise in cleaning and meticulous detail of care for relics. It seems... the ring has decided that I'm to be some sort of messenger maybe. All of this is just so confusing. So much information to process."

Clay also thought for a moment about her comment of 'where' they were going. "Ok.. so if we are headed to a few different places, where is the first place to go? Don't tell me, Bermuda, or maybe stone henge, no no.. Easter Island or even the North Pole. All of this sounds so hokey, as if it's not really real. But it has to be. What I'm seeing now I'm forced to believe forced to now take as my reality when I've never seen anything like it before."

in a bit of a huff, he looks at her with a mild sense of disappointment and finishes by saying "This is probably what a blind person feels like after a cornea transplant. The go from a world of darkness to a world of bright colors. Now I see all of this, as a new layer to the reality that I face."

And then it dawned on him, he's been given this ring, the ring actually chose him... for all of his screw ups and mistakes, all the layers of issues that he has, the ring chose 'him'. What if.. he didn't want to be rid of it, what if he didn't want to let go. What then? As the idea crystalized in his mind Clay looked at his prison guard, in all her mysterious beauty and cold demeanor, he asked the question he wasn't sure she was prepared to answer.

"So what happens, if I don't want to be rid of the ring? What will your employers do? The ring chose me... I didn't chose it. There must be a reason for it. And if you are supposed to be looking for a way to remove it from me, maybe we should be looking for answers to the question of why I was chosen. Because I don't believe in chance, I don't believe in random things happening. My job has always been to ask the 'why' of things. As an archaeologist I was always one to go with the facts of what my eyes see, what my hands hold in front of me. And this.. this ring.. means there's a whole lot more going on."

 

[SandS13]

Genevieve looked truly confused by his words. She had never considered that Clay might not want to be rid of the ring. She assumed the perpetual drunk would want it gone, to be free of her and this world. She had assumed he would be panicked, freaked out and terrified.

She stared at him. It was a few minutes of her just sitting there and staring at him like he had grown a second head. Genevieve stood, ran a hand through her damp hair and then shrugged. If she could have she would have laughed and smiled at the absurdity of it. Those were not things she was capable of. No where in her information did it show he would be inclined to challenge her on this.

"Honestly, it never came up as a possibility so I do not know. I would have to ask them." She frowned. "They will not be pleased. They will likely want to know why you need to know why. They will not be understanding likely but I cannot say for certain."

It took a lot to surprise or shake her up and Clay had done just that.

"You are right. It wouldn't just be a fluke that it is bonded to you as it has. When we go to well...yes, we will be going to Stone Henge, Alexandria to name a few. I will need all the information I can gather."

Genevieve rolled her neck as if trying to relieve tension. "Yes they are all real and some are here and some are there. Are you hungry?"

She wanted to change the subject to give herself time to think.

 

[CoSurvivor]

Clay was very simply out of his mind. There was no way he could keep this thing. Looking down at the ring on his finger he started to doubt every word he'd just said to his captor, and let's be honest that's what she was, as beautiful as she was, she was his jailor, his prison guard dressed to make any man's mouth water.

No, Clay was a failure, he'd failed at his marriage spectacularly. He'd failed at his job which had cost him everything. His reputation, his friends, and those he had left were only around him because they took pity on him. He wasn't worthy of this, he wasn't worthy of the immense power and responsibility that came with wearing something like the ring. And for that matter, he had no idea what he'd do with it. Every fiber of him was convincing him that he was wrong, and he had no business in this world. His self-doubt, his self-loathing came creeping in on him like a tidal wave, threatening to drown him.

But, then there was that voice.. the ring he was sure of now, was telling him that there was MORE than this... He only needed to push through and find it. But where...Where should they go first to find answers?

"OK... we both want answers.. right, You want to know how to get this thing off me, I want to know why it chose me. To all of us humans the library at Alexandra was legendary for it's knowledge, you make it sound like the place still exists.. If it does, we need to start there."

"So, how long do we need to stay here? and I should probably ask, is there anyone else after the ring?"

 

[SandS13]

Genevieve watched the man struggle. His mind and the ring were clearly having a war of wills. She was not surprised. She could read it on his face. His doubt, his curiousity, the ring’s attempt to soothe him, focus him. She knew from his file that he had had so much potential and always managed to screw things up. She could see it now, the potential success, failure and seemingly inevitable trouble he would cause her.

“Oh, are you deciding now what we do and in what order?” Again, if she could smile, if she could be amused the statement would have dripped with it. As it was, the woman Clay knew as Wraith leaned on the bed. She looked like a panther stalking its prey.

She licked her lips, her eyes moved over him. “It exists and we will go there, first when you are able to be moved. You have broken ribs and I feared you punctured a lung. You are healing, the process sped up a little by magic but we must let the bones do the work. We can leave when you are ready to stand and walk and when I have ensured safe transportation. It means at least for tonight. Tomorrow if you are feeling up to it and I deem you fit enough.”

Genevieve tilted her head. “Many others will want the ring. You are in danger but that is why you are with me, why I marked you and why you will stay at my side and almost never out of my sight. I hope that you can handle that but you have no choice.”

 

[CoSurvivor]

Clay wasn't trying to 'assume' any sort of direction over where they should go, he just hated the idea of the unknown. But his physical health was currently limiting his ability to move them forward. His ribs felt tender and his back was sore, hell he felt like someone had hit him with a tree. Although.. if his memory served him he did hit a few of them on the way down the mountainside. He wanted to try and stand, try to walk get them moving. "Well, if my mobility, my strength is what's holding us up, then we need to know how much of a liability I am and how long we'll need to stay here. For both our sakes, I hope no longer than absolutely necessary."

What did he mean by that Clay thought, was it because he cared about what she thought, or that being here longer than necessary might put their safety at risk? Or was it that he wanted to be rid of the ring. No.. Maybe it was because he didn't want to stay in this room any longer than absolutely necessary. Looking at her chest as Wraith looked on at him like a piece of meat was risky... but she was attractive, that' couldn't be missed. Trying to defuse the situation he asked.

"So I'm to call you 'Wraith'? Isn't there something else I can call you? It seems formal, and if we are to trust each other, particularly me trusting you with my life, then maybe I should know your name?"

He was pushing it surely, but something told him to keep pushing.. "And enough about laying around, let's find out just how badly I'm hurt."

With as much effort as he could find, Clay threw the covers off him and swung his legs to the side of the bed urgently trying to get out. The moment he felt his bare feet touch the ground he knew he was in trouble as pain immediately shot up through both legs, making him crumple in a heap on the cold concrete floor.

in his contorted position, he felt his crumpled body would not move. but he could talk.

Clay mumbled... "Ow..."

 

[SandS13]

Genevieve couldn’t help but chuckled, that cold, mirthless laugh as he commented on how they shouldn’t stay here longer than was necessary. She was going to remind him that he was in no condition to get up let alone walk. Fates be merciful, that they didn’t get followed and had to run or fight…

He would be no better than dead weight in his present condition.

Her eyes fell on his face as he asked about her name. She took a stance that hinted at her annoyance. She didn’t reply as she watched Clay try to move. She didn’t realize right away that he was going to try and get out of the bed. Genevieve thought he might be testing basic movement.

She moved to where he laid on the floor. “What did you think was going to happen?”

Hands rolled him. The two guards moved to help but Genevieve put up a hand to stop them. She adjusted him so his head laid on her lap. A cold hand caressed Clay’s forehead. She stared down at him. “Did you think I was trying to deceive you about the extent of your injuries, Clay? I have no reason to lie. You are a liability in the bed, true but you are more a risk to us both out of the bed right now. You are quite injured.”

Her fingers stroked his face. The gesture could be considered gentle, comforting if her hands weren’t so cold. Now, with his head on her lap Clay could feel the strange chill that radiated off of the woman. “I require most to call me Wraith. It is the name I was given because I am like a ghost.” There was a lot to that statement but she offered no explanation.

Icy blue eyes looked down at him as her hand continued to move over his face. A light sweat had broken out on his skin, a reaction to the pain. “Leave the room.” The door opened and the guards exited, closing the door behind them.

“You may call me Genevieve. Though only when we are alone. You are right, I need you to trust me, to believe me when I say things like you are hurt and need to rest and that we will go when you are healed. I need you to understand that if you try to run I will be expected to stop you and I do not wish to hurt you.” There was no earnestness to her voice. She could have been reciting a grocery list.

She caught the briefest noise in the bathroom, like something rattling against glass. That other half of her, the part that wanted to soothe him, to show that she had empathy wanted out. It wouldn’t get it. It had no place in her.

“Come, let me help you up.”

Genevieve moved to put his one arm around her neck. “Lean on me and let me do most of the work. I am stronger than I look.” Behind his back her hand moved, a glyph written in the air that would give her extra strength to help get him up from the ground.

 

[CoSurvivor]

As she helped him up off the floor, Clay tried to stand up on his own. His body, however, refused to listen to any such requests. Once she laid him up on the same spot he'd bee resting when he woke up, part of him an eager part of him one that had been buried long ago wanted to lean in and kiss his jailer, completely out of the blue yes, it would shocker maybe even cause her to release him? or maybe he'd just end up getting slapped around by her and left like a rag doll.

As seductive as her looks were Clay knew it was either just by chance that he found her attractive, but it was a given certainty that she did NOT share the same feelings. Why would she? She was a woman of completely different origin looking at a wreck of a man both physically and morally. Come to think of it, with all of this in mind why did the ring choose him? Answers.. there must be answers where she suggested they'd go.

"I can't stay here forever, if you found me, what about those who'd possibly try to use what I now have to do render our world, well my world completely under their thumb??"

Clay could feel a well of information boiling under his suppressed memory, as if there were memories there, knowledge that desperately wanted to get out and tell him something. As if it was an itch that just was an inch out of reach. He had to get them moving, moving somewhere other than where they were.

"So you are supposed to protect me, yet keep an eye on me, we both know that now. But since we both want answers then you've got to help me get out of here. Help me get healthy..so get us the answers."

looking at the ring he thought to himself "You know something, something that'll get me healed up and out of here, tell me..." Clay begged himself. But he got no answer, just silence. Boy did he feel stupid talking to himself...

Then...soft tingling through his body began as an ache... starting at his hand, rolling across his body like a wave of electricity. As if he'd stuck his finger in a light socket. He could feel the ring begin to flood his body with raw energy, healing his body. While the experience you'd think might be a pleasant one, for Clay it was far from it, it was agonizing pain, feeling your body adjust and move as if some unknown force was tapdancing across his body. To anyone looking at him they'd think he was going into shock or having a seizure, except, the radiant wave of blue energy that flowed over him. When it was over, the trauma made Clay pass out only to awake a half-second later, looking at Genevieve clay eeked out from parched lips.

"I feel better.. I do, I just feel like someone attached a car battery to my right hand an turned up the amps.. If I'm ever in that kind of situation again, remind me NOT to seek help from the ring.." Smiling he felt better than ever, but not. it was an unnatural thing that had just happened to him He should be thrilled they could get on with their quest, but a nagging part of him worried, just what was exposing himself to. Hopefully where they were going would give them some answers.

 

[SandS13]

They were very close for a time as she settled him back into the bed. Genevieve could feel his breath on her skin on her neck, her shoulder as she helped him adjust to be more comfortable. She turned her head. Other women might have leaned in to kiss him. Other women might have felt a fluttering of their stomach. She had had to lock that part of her away along with happiness, sadness and the other emotions.

"I can help..." Genevieve frowned, unsure if she wanted to go the route of magic to help him heal. The ring might not agree with the magic. She didn't know its behaviour enough to guarantee it would not react.

Then he went stiff and for a moment he was unconscious. Genevieve looked down at him.

"Please don't be dead....don't be dead....fuck..."

Genevieve watched his chest rise and fall. Something akin to relief washed over her. He opened his eyes and claimed he felt better.

"The ring." Her eyes looked over his body and down to his hand. It had done something to him.

"Let me check to see how you are." Her cold hands began moving over his body. "Tell me if anything hurts." Her hands were moving slowly, intimately over his arms, his chest. Genevieve knelt on the bed and was leaning over him. "Did it heal everything? Do you think you can get up now?"

She knew it might be possible for the ring to heal him completely. She wasn't sure if that was the case though. He had no training with the ring, no training with magic. Genevieve shook her head. "Be very careful. Magic like this can be unpredictable. You might feel better but we need to be sure you are fully healed before you get up and act like you are."

She pulled away from him. "Let's see." She held her hands out for him to help him out of the bed.

 

[CoSurvivor]

Clay wasn't blind.... Genevieve was beautiful, she was unlike any woman he'd ever seen before, and more so the longer he was in the room with her, in her presence the more he felt attracted to her. As she leaned over him he couldn't help but look at her chest, her pert nipples straining against the fabric of her top the piercings clearly visible against the fabric. He wanted to reach out and caress her arm, her leg, any part of her that he could, but even as he reached out to touch her he forced himself not to.

At her request to trust him, he continued to feel confliction, this woman who was an entirely unknown, who'd told him he could trust her but had not long ago made clear that he shouldn't even think about running. Now, there was no place he could run to anyway, no place to hide, and no place that would feel safe anyway not with the ring in his possession. Or was it the other way around?

It was an unusual feeling, and while he wanted to not trust her, wanted to get up on his own he knew the right thing to do would be to put some trust in her. Nodding, Clay agreed and again couldn't help but look at her chest, the piercings again drawing his attention. His hands however reached for hers, they were cold, but somehow soothing..and as he put his hands in hers his eyes drew up to her eyes and slowly he allowed her to draw him out of bed, putting one foot, then the other on the cold concrete floor.

Standing there he could feel every hair on his body start to stand up, along with other parts of his anatomy, not really sure why he was doing it, but feeling the attraction to Genevieve palpable in the air, he took her left hand to his lips and slowly kissed it. "If we're to trust each other. I have to be able to put my self in your hands. And I do.. I do now..."