Fire, Chapter 3 --PG-13

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librarian_7
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Fire, Chapter 3 --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 3

The moon rose, casting its cold silver light over a city that was never fully dark. Golden flickers from torches, lanterns, candles and hearth fires all gave promise of warmth and safety from the prowling monsters of the night streets. And somewhere, hidden in the shadows, a true monster stalked the stews and alleys, seeking a more dangerous prey than most of mortal London would have believed possible. Somewhere in London, a vampire heart burned with rage and hatred, seeking the blind surcease of death from the torture of an unwilling and despised immortality.

Not far away in space, although infinitely separated in emotion, Josef half-reclined on a pile of cushions amid a tangle of bed-clothes, watching through the heavy curtains that framed the bed as Mary Atherton Shaw combed the dark, heavy hair that rippled to her waist. He was admiring the way the candle-light danced in the shine of her hair, and the glint of her eyes as she threw a sidelong glance in his direction. Actress that she was, she had set the stage carefully, from the view he had of her to the drape of the dark, richly brocaded dressing gown that covered her linen shift.

“Are you sufficiently warm, my love?” she inquired with a look at the pale expanses of his bare chest and legs. “You seemed chilled, earlier.”

“No man could stay chilled in your arms, Maria,” he replied easily, though not without an inner qualm. That was always the challenge in making love to a woman unaware of his nature. Even though he made sure to feed before he came to her, availing himself of the warm blood of a swallow, he knew that sooner or later her questions would require answers. It was rapidly turning into a sweet torture, holding her, enveloped in her tantalizing aroma, his mouth against her skin, the taste of it on his tongue, and yet denying himself her blood, hiding the most essential part of himself behind lowered eyelids and closed lips.

For blood, he had little Betty, patiently waiting in the stone house he’d taken as a residence. Shy and fearful, she had nonetheless learned quickly to surrender to the pleasures of his fangs. And Lord Summersisle had directed him, gracious host that he was, to a couple of what the local vampires called birdcages, brothel-like houses where vampires could, for a price, find a ready supply of the humans they termed swallows, in what Josef had to admire as a clever bit of wordplay.

He told himself he had few illusions about his actress. While it was clear to him that she had no other men, the theatre itself was a formidable rival. No physical pleasure he could give her equaled the intoxication she found in the crowd’s acclaim. He was a source of baubles and gowns, a transitory pastime between her daily assignations with her true love.

In truth, he was only surprised she had not proved more mercenary. He had offered, as soon as possible, to set her up in better lodgings, provide her with a horse and carriage, treat her, in short, as a nobleman’s mistress should be treated. She’d only laughed in response.

“If I allow that, next, you’ll be telling me for too much of what I can and cannot do. And, my love, I won’t have that.” She had paused then, and twinkled a smile at him. “Of course, I won’t turn down any jewelry you might wish to bestow.”

At the time, it had angered him, and he’d thought of forcing the issue. He’d reined in these thoughts with some difficulty, independence not being what he saw as an attractive trait in a woman. But Mary—Maria, as he’d dubbed her, it being more usual in his native tongue—was no swallow, and he had no real wish to deny her anything. If she wished jewels of him, he would give them. If she wished to remain in this ramshackle, rat-infested garret, because it kept her closer to her beloved theatre, then he would enjoy her company there. Although when he ordered in a better bed, with thick curtains that could block any stray sunlight, and the finest linens to cover it, she did not object.

He was content, for now, to lounge in this bed, one knee bent up, one arm resting across it, watching her. He could feel the heat rising in her again, as she regarded him with that teasing half-smile of hers. She thought she was leading him a merry dance, advancing and retreating from him to keep his interest piqued, but he knew from the start that her desire for him was as strong, as visceral, as anything he felt for her. From the first time she’d looked at him, across that crowded chaos backstage, she’d known she’d end in his arms, in his bed.

But pleasant as this was, Josef had not forgotten that he had serious business to be about. Indeed, later tonight he had plans to meet with Lady Elaine de Woodville to discuss the matter further. And truthfully, he was glad of the occupation. He’d found, these last few decades since he’d released himself from the immediate control of his sire, that he had a talent for trade. Much as his mortal father would have despised such activities, Josef had determined that immortality held great capacity for boredom, and also that it was far safer, and far more interesting, to be rich than poor. If trade was the path to that, then that was the path he would follow. He would build a thorny golden hedge between himself and the vicissitudes and vagaries of fortune. It suited his personality. While he’d been trained as a warrior, he found it unnecessarily messy and dangerous, and without lasting benefit.

“Wars,” Josef had argued to his sire once, “end up having to be fought again and again. Pointless slaughter is a waste of good blood.”

But that was long ago and far away, and his sire’s disagreement with his views had no further power over his actions. Here and now, there was diversion to be had, and he intended to take what pleasure he could.

Mary had finished combing her hair, and deftly twisted it into a loose braid, as was her habit before retiring. As she bound it off with a short bit of ribbon, she gave him an arch look.

“And what does milord require now?” she asked with a smile, as she rose and walked toward the bed. She shrugged off her dressing robe, leaving her clothed in a simple white shift. The soft, worn linen of her shift was, Josef noted appreciatively, almost translucent in the glow of the candlelight, and with his extraordinary vision he could sense, if not fully see, every delightfully rounded curve of her limbs, every seductive, arousing movement of her body. She knew what she was doing, the minx, he thought, smiling slightly as he listened to her pulse speed and her breath quicken.

“Milord requires that you get your lovely arse into bed,” he said, speaking carefully to avoid flashing the points of his newly descended fangs. He reached out, perhaps a little too quickly, and snagged her wrist, pulling her down on the bed, and moving them so that she ended up with her back spooned against his front, his arms gently but effectively imprisoning her there. She squirmed, laughing as she felt the results of her motion hard against her, and he growled softly.

“Be still, woman, you drive me to distraction,” he said, but even then he was using one hand to walk the hem of her shift higher, reveling in the faint delicious friction from the soft fabric as it slid between them across the sensitive skin of his thighs.

This was good, he thought, nuzzling her neck, licking the skin, tasting her not as he wished, but as he could. She can’t see the color of my eyes from this angle. It would be hard, so hard, not to relieve the pressure of his fangs with a bite, but he could stand it. She wasn’t ready for that yet, even if she was more than ready for other things he could offer. With a sigh of contentment, he eased himself inside her, and warmed himself in the welcoming fire of her passion.

Elsewhere in the city, a mortal cried out in pain and fear as a pair of rending fangs met in the side of his neck, and a burning spray of bright blood flooded into a waiting mouth. All too soon, though, the flood slowed to a bare trickle, and as the mortal heart lagged, the vampire was forced to pull, sucking at the wound with a terrible insistency, until there was no more.

Lowering the corpse to the filth of the street, the vampire stood over it, lost in thought, in the disorienting aftermath of assimilating so much blood at once. He did not hear the approach of another, moving behind him with the invisible grace of an encroaching shadow. Too late, a scent of decay broke through his bemusement, and he turned only in time to see the silver flash of vampire eyes, and the iron sweep of the blade that took his head.

With a cold smile, the avenger pulled a ragged-edged parchment from a hidden pocket, and tucked it in the waistcoat of the headless body, then, glancing around to make sure that no witnesses existed to be disposed of, vanished again into the darkness.

Hunting had been good, tonight. It was a pity, perhaps, that other vampire senses were stalking the night as well. The bodies would be disposed of, and the report would run back to the council, long before the dawn.
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Re: Fire, Chapter 3 --PG-13

Post by coco »

Fascinating chapter Lucky. It leaves me intrigued to read on. :biggrin:
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Re: Fire, Chapter 3 --PG-13

Post by mitzie »

Maria seems to be good for Josef, at least for now!! The vamp killing the vamp has me worried. :scarycat: :swords: :gasp: :clapping: :clapping: :clapping: :thud: :thud: :thud: :notworthy: :hyper2: :eek2: Off to read more... :thud:


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allegrita
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Re: Fire, Chapter 3 --PG-13

Post by allegrita »

I love the contrast between Josef's comfortable tryst with his Mary and the other vampire's mad hunt (and the other vampire's hunt of the second vamp!). Something is definitely going on in London, and it's not pretty. Josef needs to get his lovely arse out of Mary's bed, and start doing his job! :snicker:
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Re: Fire, Chapter 3 --PG-13

Post by Lilly »

This chapter is so carefully crafted and compelling. There is reflection and introspection, as Josef balances control -- over his own urges and over Maria, the object of his affections -- with indulgence of the same.

There are a couple of details here, though, that I just have to mention. The first is the absolute brilliance of the term "swallow" that Lucky coined for freshies of this era. When she first ran the term by me, I was blown away by how clever it was and how appropriate it sounded for the time period. I believe my immediate response was - "it's perfect."

Another little detail that she wove into the narrative here was a veiled reference to the modern hedge fund trader that we all know:
librarian_7 wrote:He would build a thorny golden hedge between himself and the vicissitudes and vagaries of fortune.
She loved including these sly little references in her historical pieces. She used them sparingly, but always with a wink to her readers. :heart:
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