Fire, Chapter 6 --PG-13

Post Reply
User avatar
librarian_7
Forever Moonlightaholic
Posts: 23481
Joined: Fri Jan 16, 2009 7:21 pm
Location: wherever Josef is
Contact:

Fire, Chapter 6 --PG-13

Post by librarian_7 »

Standard disclaimers apply.

No spoilers here.

This story is rated PG-13 for relatively mild violence and sex.

This story follows the events of “Control.”



Fire

Chapter 6

Josef pulled up his horse in the torchlit courtyard in a clatter of iron-clad hooves and a flurry of activity from grooms and gatekeeper hurrying to attend their returning lord. The early morning lacked an hour or two yet of first light, but the men were well accustomed to their master’s hours, and well-paid not to comment on them outside his walls. The bay stallion, used to the pressure of a strong hand on the reins, pranced and curvetted as Josef kicked his boots free of the stirrup irons and vaulted lightly to the cobbles, expecting the grooms to seize the stallion’s head as he tossed the rein ends in their direction.

He was fatigued, he thought as he strode inside, boot heels ringing on the flagged floor. More staff waited to serve him there. A man to take the cloak, hat, and gloves he shed as he walked to his seat by the fire in the great hall. Another servant bore a tray with a decanter of brandy and a single crystal glass, and yet another stood by to assist in removing the young lord’s spurred jackboots. And lastly, off in the shadows, ghostly in their thin white nightgowns and caps, shawls thrown hastily around their bare, pale shoulders, Josef’s three resident swallows waited sleepily to see if their special services were required.

Josef regarded them speculatively. Really, if he intended a lengthy stay in London, he should add a few more girls to his staff. Especially given his situation with Maria. Having a lover who was unaware of certain of his—needs—was proving more stressful than he had imagined. That would have to change, one way or another, and soon.

But that was not a topic he needed to dwell upon now. He pointed to his choice, Betty, whose plump figure and light brown curls were about as far from the quick, slender, darkness of his Maria as he could find. The other two faded back, presumably to return to their beds. But before the girl could approach him, he stopped her with a gesture, and indicated that she should take a seat on the settle by the hearth to await his pleasure.

And before he slaked his thirst, assuaged the hunger that ached in his bones, he needed to think about what he’d found, or not found, in the course of the night.

He was sure by now that he’d talked to everyone—every vampire—in London who had any knowledge of the murders. Everyone who had removed a body, everyone who had known the murdered vampires. He had even, and he grimaced with distaste at the thought, interviewed their swallows. While he told himself he had nothing against mortals, and his gaze strayed over to the young girl staring into the fire with sleep-dulled eyes, the girl waiting to feed him, there was still a part of him that sneered at the thought of expecting intelligent response from food. Somehow it seemed like expecting to treat with his bay stallion as an equal, and he had to admit to himself that he valued the stallion far more than most of the humans who crossed his path. Swallows were for feeding, and possibly for fucking, but—his mind stumbled a bit. His sire had tried to train him to take that view of humans. The training had been long and arduous. He thought he had rebelled against it, but it seemed some of the philosophy had taken root. Still, the logic seemed flawed, somehow. Despite himself, despite his training, he couldn’t quite completely discount humans.

Maybe it was the emotion Maria had awakened in his heart, the undead heart that had been closed to all softness for the past decades, but he was starting to look at the world differently. Sometimes, in some contexts…he realized that of his three swallows, he only knew Betty by name. The others appeared, performed as requested, and departed. He shook himself mentally, and poured a glass of brandy to try and chase these thoughts out of his head. He had more important concerns.

Murder. Murder took precedence. There had been six vampires now, slain as they fed in the streets of London. He had thought that there would be some obvious connection between them, but none had presented itself. Male, female, newly made, ancient. Four were native to London, although with different sires, two had come to the city from other places. The only tie that bound them, beyond the fact of their vampiric nature, was that they had all been taken without a struggle.

Josef had made a point of visiting the death scenes, letting the stillness within him remove him from the present, and reaching out with his acute senses to gather every scrap of information he could. In the earliest killings, time and weather had removed much of the information he sought, but at the sites of the more recent killings, the traces of blood, human and vampire, showed him flashes of the scene, unrolling like a play before him, albeit one dimly lit even to his sharp eyes. It resembled nothing so much as the flickering glimpses of a landscape in a lightning storm.

He sighed to himself and took another drink of his brandy, more for something to distract his body from the questions in his mind than anything else. He’d caught flashes of the murdered vampires feeding, and turning to greet their fatal destiny with smiles. The glint of moonlight on steel, the barest suggestion of a cloaked and hooded figure, but not one unknown to them. In at least two of the slayings, the vampire had not killed the human present by feeding, but the stroke of the sword that decapitated the vampire had fatally wounded the blood donor as well. Josef had not bothered to seek human witnesses to the events, knowing that even the younger vampires were careful to choose their feeding grounds. Secrecy was everything, discretion was everything. And in this city of endless narrow streets and hidden, filth-clogged alleys, most receiving precious little light at noon, and not even a stray candle flame in the further watches of the night, few eyes watched. Fewer still would linger, if the sight was dangerous. But something itched behind his eyes, some sense that he knew what was going on, even if his brain hadn’t quite pieced it together.

A sudden movement at the edge of his vision caught his attention. Little Betty had nodded off, her head falling forward and then jerking back upright as the uncomfortable position awakened her. The quiet of the hall, broken only by the subdued crackle of the dying fire and the warmth of the chimney corner where she huddled, had done their work, dragging her eyelids slowly down. Even the odd mix of excitement and fear she felt at being chosen to serve the master again was not enough to counteract the seeming peace of the room. Josef smiled a little to himself. The child was tired, and a merciful master would have sent her away.

But he was not feeling merciful tonight. He had stood where pools of blood, human and vampire, had lain, and even the memory of that scent was enough to raise the red thirst in him, like a beast fighting against its chains. And this girl, this mortal, was here to serve the thirst. She was his and he would drink her innocent blood before the looming dawn.

And be damned to the rest of the world.

He could feel the veil of mortal illusion sweep away from him, his true eyes shining silver in the gloom, his lips parting over lengthened fangs. He began to growl for the girl, but even at this point the thought crossed his mind that there was no need, even now, to do the thing brutally.

“Betty,” he said, trying to make his voice, thickened with thirst, as gentle as possible, “attend me.”

The girl started when he spoke, raising wide eyes to him. When she stood, she let her shawl drift from her shoulders, leaving her clad only in the straight fall of a worn white linen shift. With the fire behind her, Josef could see her limbs silhouetted, and felt desire rising in him for more than blood alone. In that space of a few of her rapid heartbeats that passed as she approached, he considered taking her completely, sweeping aside the flimsy nightdress and pulling her, struggling or not, into his lap to straddle his hips. He’d read enough of the fire in her blood to know that she’d ride him well, even as he pierced her willing throat.

And yet, somehow he saw Maria’s eyes in his mind. Those blue eyes he had seen smoky with passion. And he knew that if he were to set his hands on a woman’s body, to steady her on him, he wanted his hands to feel the subtle flare of Maria’s hips beneath his touch. Josef shook the image from his head as Betty came to a halt before him.

“Kneel,” he said. “Give me your wrist.”

He heard the faint thud of her knees against the stone floor, felt the soft texture of the sheer linen as he pushed back the frayed end of her sleeve, although it was rough beside the silken texture of her inner arm. In his hunger, he smelled only the fragrance of her blood, could almost see it pulsing wildly just beneath the tender skin. Another time he would have paused to savor it all, to take in all her scent. But this morning, with dawn red on the horizon, he merely slid his tongue across her wrist, and let his fangs enter her, his lips curving against her skin in a smile as he heard her moan, the sound almost inaudible to him above the rushing tumult of the current of blood into his mouth, the pounding of her fragile human heart.

It was only after he gave her wounds the final cleansing stroke of his tongue, and she swayed sighing against his knees, that he realized there was a scent of decay about her. The scent of another vampire, and an ancient, at that. His hand clamped on her shoulder, trapping her with no possible escape, while he cursed himself for a fool, letting his hunger override his judgement. This time, as he pulled her scent into his nostrils, moving his head to garner all the nuances, he wasn’t simply appreciating the bouquet of willing human blood. He was seeking information, seeking evidence of betrayal. She was a spy in his house, of course she was a spy. Cleverly placed, with that farce of a test in the council chamber. His sire would have had him flogged for such carelessness. And rightly so.

Betty cringed as the vampire brought his other hand to her neck. She didn’t know how she had offended him; he’d seemed pleased with her service. But now the gentleness was gone from his hands, the heat of passion from his eyes.

“Betty,” he growled, “I’m going to give you one chance to talk to me, and you are going to tell me the truth. Aren’t you?”

The girl sobbed and turned pleading eyes to him, but did not struggle. “Anything,” she whimpered. “Anything you want, milord.”

“You talked to someone,” Josef snapped. “Someone like me.” He saw the confusion in her face and clarified. “I can smell him on you. You talked to a vampire.” He could see her grow visibly paler, and knew she understood him. The questions spilled out, rapid fire. “When was this? Who was it? What did you tell him? What did he want to know?”

“He said you would hurt me. He said—he said you would kill me,” she gasped.

Josef released her, with a slight push away from him, and she collapsed to the floor. “And you believed him.” Josef’s tone was flat, then his voice hardened further. “I saved your miserable life the first night.”

She seemed to be trying to sink into the stone, her face covered with her hands. “He asked me, where you went, what you knew. I didn’t understand it all.”

“And what did you tell him?”

“That—that I didn’t know anything, milord.” Her body shook, and he could smell the salt tang of her tears. “I could not betray you. I would not.”

Josef paced angrily, boot heels and spurs ringing sharply on the floor. The violence of the noise pleased him somehow, matched his mood. That someone would dare enter his home—and just how had that been accomplished? he wondered—was enough to enrage him. And that this intruder had the gall to question his swallow? It was insupportable. But the girl—it was true. She knew nothing that could harm him, beyond the knowledge of his nature, and that was no news to whoever had dared to approach her. Otherwise, he sensed no deceit in her, now that he was looking for it. As easy as it would be for him to turn his anger on her, to release the beast within and glory in its savagery, what purpose would it serve? He’d been taught better.

Josef stopped his pacing, deliberately setting his anger aside and engaging his reasoning to look at the situation. This was a subterfuge, a false trail meant to draw him in the wrong direction. No vampire—especially not one of the age he had scented on the girl—would expect a swallow to have any real information about another vampire’s business. It was ludicrous to assume so.

He went back to the trembling girl and bent down to lift her to her feet, frowning as she shrank from his touch. He put a hand on her face, firm but not ungentle, turning her tear-stained visage to him. She was such a tiny thing, he thought, and so terribly young. He spoke quietly, and, he hoped, soothingly. “Be still, child. You won’t be harmed. Answer just a few more questions, and then I’ll let you go.”

“Please, milord,” she begged, and would have sunk to the floor in supplication if not for his supporting arm, “please don’t turn me out.”

“Turn you out?”

“He said—he said you’d throw me into the street, milord, or sell me to a whoremaster, if ever I mentioned he was here.” She paused, gulping. “If you didn’t kill me.”

“I see.” Josef regarded her with some dismay. “I meant I would let you go back to your quarters.”

Her eyes were still tear-filled, but she whispered, “Milord is merciful.”

“I’m not sure I’d go that far. But milord still wants to know—what did he ask you, Betty? What did he expect you to know?”

The girl quaked in his arms. “He wanted to know what I’d heard you talk about—to me, to the others. But I didn’t tell him anything. I swear, milord, I didn’t. Not about the way you talk to me in that foreign tongue, not anything.”

“Peace, girl, I believe you.”

The sun was rising, and Josef wanted nothing more than to descend the steps to the cool crypt below and sink into a dreamless torpor. But he needed to ask one final question of the little swallow. “Betty, one last thing. The vampire who was here—who was he?”

He thought he knew, and the answer, when it came, did not surprise him.

“It was the one from that other place, the one who dressed like a Puritan,” Betty said, her words dropping into the morning like pebbles into water. “Master Thomas Corn.”
User avatar
coco
Cleaner
Posts: 6983
Joined: Fri Jan 16, 2009 6:17 pm
Location: In my own little corner of Moonlight heaven :)
Contact:

Re: Fire, Chapter 6 --PG-13

Post by coco »

The sun was rising, and Josef wanted nothing more than to descend the steps to the cool crypt below and sink into a dreamless torpor. But he needed to ask one final question of the little swallow. “Betty, one last thing. The vampire who was here—who was he?”

He thought he knew, and the answer, when it came, did not surprise him.

“It was the one from that other place, the one who dressed like a Puritan,” Betty said, her words dropping into the morning like pebbles into water. “Master Thomas Corn.”
:gasp:

*off to the next one* :biggrin:
coco's Fan Vids/coco's Graphic Art
Image
Avi by TugaFanatic & banner by me. Thank you.

"Maybe it was her blood in my veins that let me feel her. The beating of her very living heart. Or maybe, we've always been connected." Mick & Beth - Moonlight


coco's YT channel
coco's Vimeo channel
100% Moonlight Tumblr
:twothumbs:
mitzie
Courtesan
Posts: 2911
Joined: Sat Jan 17, 2009 1:39 am
Location: Somewhere in Moonlight land...

Re: Fire, Chapter 6 --PG-13

Post by mitzie »

Thomas Corn!! :gasp: :dizzy: I love this story, off to read more... :yahoo: :clapping: :clapping: :clapping: :devil: :slappy: :swords: :scary: :scarycat: :yahoo: :clapping: :clapping: :clapping: :thud: :thud: :thud: :thud: :notworthy:


mitzie :mooncat:
User avatar
allegrita
Moonlightaholic Admin
Posts: 45960
Joined: Sat Jan 17, 2009 9:22 am
Location: Snuggled under the brown afghan, watching the fire

Re: Fire, Chapter 6 --PG-13

Post by allegrita »

Lucky was such a descriptive writer! I could see and hear the action of this scene vividly. Josef's frustration and fatigue almost caused him to behave in the way his swallow feared. But why would Thomas Corn interrogate Betty? :chin:
Image
Post Reply

Return to “Fire”