Disclaimer: All characters, setting, world, and other BJT related items are property of Anne Bishop. I only wish I wrote that well…
Author's Note from Erkith: I always thought Surreal was a fascinating character and she got cheated of love in "Kaleer's Heart" which was immensely unfair. I also caught an excerpt of a short story Bishop wrote (that I have been unable to obtain…grrr) that gave me an idea for a pairing… I'll try to update soon (soon being a rather relative term…) italicsthoughts, boldingmind speech
Dedicated to Lady11Occult who's fanfics inspired me to write in this fandom (thanks also for the editing).
Please ENJOY!
Erkith
Predators' Dance
Chapter One: Blood Price
"Uncle Saetan, sugar, do I look hurt?"
Yes, Saetan thought darkly. Yes, you do.
Oh, it wasn't physically visible. She was still all balls and sass Surreal, but there was a coldness – an edge – to that purring tone. Terreille's whore had not been linked to Daemon before, not directly; looking at her now, Saetan couldn't see how Dorothea had missed that one.
That smile of hers was pure Sadist.
It left a bitter taste in the back of his throat to see that cold smile again. He'd thought they were past this now. He'd thought Surreal had finally found acceptance – that she'd been healing the heart wounds. Falonar would pay for reopening them, for pushing her back into that hell.
The hell one weaves around one's self for protection... a web of cold and vicious indifference – a web to hide loneliness and despair.
Centuries of pain are hard to forget… Saetan knew it all too well.
Falonar would pay the price for bringing her back to this.
Saetan looked up at her, and saw that her trust had turned to unease – to fear. Do my eyes scare you, child? He wondered. Or was it the cold anger seeping through his skin, chilling the room?
Without warning, she bolted from his study. He didn't chase her.
Daemon he crooned softly over an ebon-grey thread. Lucivar. I just had a… visit… with Surreal.
Shit. Shit… Shit… SHIT!
Surreal cursed herself three times a fool. She'd just had to run to Uncle Saetan. What had she been thinking!
Nice idea there, Sugar. Next time just stick a blade between his ribs yourself.
She was still bitter enough that the idea held some appeal. Quite a bit of appeal, actually.
Fuck him. The bastard.
But she didn't want him dead. Hell, if she'd wanted him dead he would be! She was more creative and twice as deadly as Falonar.
What kind of man can't stand a little bit of healthy competition? Bastard.
But Mother Night! Surreal had looked into the eyes of the Sadist long enough to know what that glazed look in Saetan's meant. It was then that she'd realized the stupidity in her plans – they didn't deserve to be called tactics – escape Lucivar, run to the High Priest of Hell, and then run from him to the Sadist!
Hell's fire!
It should be their damn title. It suited them. Cold, powerful, vengeful, and dangerous… so dangerous. Surreal muttered a long string of curses as she mused over Kaleer's Protocol. She'd be lucky if Chaosti didn't get involved; how in Hell's name was she supposed to stop Lucivar, Saetan… or worse, Daemon?
Why can't I go back to being an orphan?
The earthy smell of fresh-cut grass made her smile. The cool summer's breeze played with her long, black hair, blowing it out gently behind her. The sun warmed her already sun-kissed skin. She basked in the elemental beauty of the park as she wandered through it, Daemon at her side.
It felt good to have him there. He was a warm presence of strength and friendship that soothed her. Even in silence, she appreciated who he was, and what he was to her. Daemon was the only constant in her life – the only face from her past.
"Do you ever miss it?" Surreal asked looking out over the windblown field.
Daemon frowned at her. The question had been born out of a long silence. And since they'd been talking about Janelle and his marriage previous to that… The question came out of nowhere and made absolutely no sense.
"Do I ever miss what?"
"Killing."
There was a slight pause in his step as Daemon's golden gaze shifted to hers; he sighed as the expression in her Dea al Mon eyes confirmed that this was not an idle question. She was looking up to him for the answer, watching him. "Yes."
He saw her head lower as she nodded. He was struck, as he hadn't been in years, by how small she was – how fragile those Dea al Mon bones were. He was reminded abruptly of the young girl he picked up off the streets some hundreds of years past.
"Surreal." He turned her to look at him, saw the frustrated tears threatening to spill, and hugged her close. For a moment they were what they had been: a desperate young witch and a vicious Warlord Prince searching for roots. "I'm sorry."
He'd been the one who'd taught her to kill. It seemed like a good idea at the time. It was all I knew.
"For what?" She asked. "You taught me all that I know – all that kept me alive, all that kept food on the table, and all that kept me sane. If bloodlust is the price of your friendship, it's a price I'd pay again. You gave me a life, Sadi. I can never repay that." She laughed at herself. "Mother Night, I sound like a sappy old maid."
"You were the first girl I ever cared for." Daemon said softly into her hair. He felt her stiffen against him, and laughed softly. She was worried she was ruining things for him and Janelle… How quickly she'd made the leap. Who had taught her that she was a destroyer? Falonar? Anger simmered, but he pushed it back. "Not like that, Dreamer."
Dreamer. It had been… centuries since he'd called her that. She relaxed into him.
"Remember that night I found you? Soaked in that raping bastard's blood, you were so young and scared, probably your first kill, but that didn't stop you from hissing and spitting at me." He smiled fondly. "All balls and sass, Surreal. That certainly hasn't changed, darling."
She snorted.
He continued the memory. "Dorothea had been playing her sick games worse than usual. I sat through two shavings and a torture session of an innocent man that day. Some bitch had tried to… flex her power over me… I was courting the killing edge when I stumbled upon you."
"Sugar, you never stumble." Surreal muttered into his shoulder.
He smiled into her hair. "That night, I was about as close to giving up on Witch as I've ever been… what was the point in fighting? Dorothea always won. What reason was there for me to wait? Who needed a vicious Warlord Prince like me? Then this little spitfire witch, full of dreams, walked into my life and gave me a reason. I saw you there; bleeding and vulnerable, and you pulled me back."
"From the killing edge?" Surreal pulled away to stare into those gold eyes. Surely he exaggerated… It took a Queen to control a Warlord Prince.
It was simply said. "You needed help."
There was really nothing to say to that. There was certainly no denying it. But Hell's Fire, Warlord Princes were the strangest things.
"I need to kill." Surreal confessed after a moment. "Need to, Sadi."
"Anyone in particular?"
She had to laugh. Mother Night, did he have to sound so academic about it? She took a step back from him, shaking her head. Sadi, you bastard.
"I'll just get a job. That should do it."
He studied her for a moment. He could see her mind leaping in true Surreal fashion; her mind was probably going through her contacts, smudging out the ones who had most likely been purged. She was on her way already.
Janelle had said Surreal needed purpose. This probably hadn't been what she'd meant…
"Coming out of retirement?"
"You know me, too flighty to sit and play cards all day. Know anyone who needs an assassin, sugar?"
With a hint of a smile, he flicked her a coin. "Go kill Falonar for me."
Surreal snorted out a laugh. "Sadi, don't tempt me." And with that, she caught the Gray Wind and vanished. Daemon shook his head and laughed. His little dreamer had just absconded with his money. Bitch. He thought, amused.
Why did I ever leave Terreille? Surreal considered the question as she studied the lifeblood dripping into the scarlet pool on the floor. The tang of copper mixed with the stink of fear and sweat filled the inn room.
With a predator's grace, Surreal performed an intricate dance across the floor; her feet avoiding the blood by inches. No sense in leaving bloody footprints across the innkeeper's lodge.
True, she could have air-walked over it, but that wasn't nearly as much fun. Surreal wanted the challenge.
She'd missed this: the vicious anger and delicious violence of the kill.
The Dark Realm certainly had its share of violence, but it was blatant and direct, which was not exactly lucrative for someone of her… skills – unlike Terreille. There was definitely something to be said for the decidedly devious brutality its denizens enjoyed. Surreal both the despised and liked them for it. Her purse was heavy with proof that they had not changed since the purging – not in the least.
Jealous wives. Cheating husbands. It was all very mundane – until she'd been offered this job. Rapists. Her latest victims were all abusers, the veritable scum of the earth. And the lifeblood of Terreille's crimson drenched history…
Surreal glanced back as she collected a hanging lamp from the floor and tucked it under her arm. The man swinging in its place didn't deserve the attention he would get.
"Everything has a price, Sugar. Eventually." She muttered to him as she shut the door firmly. Everything has a price.
The words trailed her like a motto.
She wasn't just a whore, wasn't just an assassin. She was an avenger.
"What the hell is that?" The Queen asked, snappishly.
"It appears to be a lamp, Adele." Her lover responded blandly.
"A lamp. What do I need another lamp for?" She glared at Surreal. "I hired you to do a job, not play interior designer."
Surreal, didn't appreciate the tone, and casually calculated the amount of craft needed to snap the skinny bitch's bones.
"You asked for proof of the kill." Surreal tossed back nonchalantly. "This is it."
The consort's eyebrows rose. "How does a hanging lamp prove that?"
"It doesn't. She hasn't done it." Adele turned on her lover, "I told you we should have gotten a man."
The disgust in the tone rubbed the already thrumming bloodlust in Surreal's veins. But the little queen was beyond noticing her increasing peril, ignoring both the flare in the assassin's eyes and the warning in her lover's touch.
The consort, set to defuse both women, said; "I confess some surprise. I rather thought someone of your profession would have brought more convincing proof."
"Sugar, this proof is a lot easier to conceal than a severed head. And trust me, this'll be pretty convincing tomorrow morning."
"Then we'll pay you tomorrow!" The Queen snapped.
"You'll pay me now." Surreal picked at an invisible chip along her nail as the deadly quiet tone answered.
The consort winced.
"No!"
"I've a reputation, Adele. You should know I don't boast."
The little Queen stomped her foot as she petulantly refused, "I will not! Come back tomorrow or bring me a better prize."
How about the guardsmen, Surreal thought snidely. Would that be convincing enough? "I don't think you understand. I'm not leaving."
"Well I am!"
The dramatic exit was somewhat spoiled as the stupid creature walked into the Gray-locked door. Hissing, she strode over to another, and another, meeting the same resistance.
"You can try every door, sugar, but a weak, little Purple-Dusk witch like you is just not going to get through those doors." Surreal pointed out, calmly. She had guessed quite correctly that the lightness of Adele's jewels was a sore point, and Surreal had no compunction in exploiting it.
Nonetheless, the dumb bitch kept throwing power at the locks. "Calin. Open the damn doors."
She felt him sigh, then the flex of his power testing her locks. He threw Surreal a wary glance. "She has something stronger than the Green up, Adele."
Surreal surveyed the Green-Jeweled Prince with some curiosity. He seemed intelligent enough. Why are you serving such a stupid Queen?
He blinked, but responded warily. Who else would I serve?
Mine.
He paused, as if unsure he wanted to know the answer. Or maybe he was just surprised she served. Who's that?
Surreal smiled coldly. Witch.
He hadn't been able to confirm the rumours.
Three weeks of chasing his bloody tail around Hayll, and he was no closer to unearthing Surreal SaDiablo's lair. The rumours were hopelessly and worthlessly out of date. But how could one witch be so impossibly difficult to find?
The Opal-Jeweled Warlord Prince got the impression he was trailing in SaDiablo's wake.
Darkness knew he'd stumbled upon enough of her shamelessly grisly execution scenes, so how in Hell's name did he keep missing her? It was maddening!
Rainier stood facing the door, knowing he had missed her again, by inches. He could smell the copper and death from here, and had only to read to confirm his suspicions.
Price
The five-letter word had never looked quite so ominous – of course, it wasn't everyday that one stumbled upon it scrawled across a door, in blood.
Blood. Rainier thought, with a chill. As in: Blood Price.
Shit. He let out a deep sigh as he turned the knob. It was going to be another long night.
Surreal.
She crouched down and petted the wolf thoughtfully. He waited in alleyways while she did her work. He trusted her to take care of herself on a job, but somehow her ability to protect herself did not extend to walking around Terreille alone, in his eyes.
She could hardly protest. It was a compromise. Surreal rolled her eyes in a general comment on males.
Yes, Graysfang?
There's someone tracking you.
Me?
The wolf nodded. Surreal straightened abruptly.
Where?
Not far.
Graysfang gave her what amounted to a doggie shrug. She sensed that he didn't really know how describe the distance.
Show me.
With a soft woof of assent, the Kindred wolf led her through a web of alley's and streets, each shadier than the last. Surreal trusted Graysfang's instincts, but snapped up two gray shields around them. Trust was one thing; being stupid about it was another.
Graysfang paused. Surreal snarled at him. If he was going to go all snarly on her, over the shield; that was just too bad. He might have teeth and claws, but she was an assassin with a Gray-Jewel. The Purple-Dusk Warlord wolf would just have to take it.
But all he did was wag his tail and give her a friendly wolf grin.
Human was here.
"How did you know he was following me?" Surreal asked, still unsure just how 'not far' they'd gone.
The wolf gave her a baleful look. He was tracking you.
But… She wouldn't have missed someone literally trailing her. She wasn't that out of practice. She shook it off. It was probably something that didn't translate into human understanding. Surreal ran into that species barrier with Graysfang from time to time.
"Can you find where he is now?"
Human den. The wolf paused, as if trying to translate. Tracked you to human den.
There was a shuffled step down at the end of the alley. The footpad sensed the power in the dark witch as she turned her green-gold eyes on him and wisely decided to find less troublesome prey.
Surreal turned back to the gray wolf staring up at her. "Which den?" She frowned, "The Inn?"
Graysfang lowered his head in confirmation. She cursed. "Mother Night, why didn't you tell me before? I could have caught him there, and then we wouldn't have to worry about that bastard sneaking up on us."
She let out another stream of curses.
Graysfang watched her pace, his head resting on his paws. He'd only tried to help. A soft whine escaped him.
His lady gave him a frustrated look, but crouched beside him, stroking his head. "Oh Graysfang, I know it's not your fault you're not human. Sometimes I wish you were human just so you'd understand, but most of the time you're exactly what I need. My wolf," she said with amused possessiveness. "Let's go see if we can become the trackers and find his lair."
His ears perked up. I already did that! he exclaimed, jumping up and spinning in a quick, excited circle. Come. This way. And with that, the wolf practically pranced down the alleyway.
That's my wolf. Surreal thought. Gray's Fang.
Rainier was soaked. And freezing. And feeling completely useless.
Another night wasted. The door slammed behind him. He was damned tired of this shit assignment. Lucivar should chase his own damn cousin around Terreille and leave me out of this.
Hell's fire. He hated Terreille. Really hated it. One of those side effects of having been a slave to the fucking Ring of Obedience. Bitterness tightened the back of his throat.
Why in Hell's name had she come back here? Hayll of all places?
He shrugged out of his shirt before throwing it to the floor irritably. It slapped wetly onto the wood; he couldn't bring himself to give a damn.
The subtle flick of dark power to lock the door was the only warning he got. Rainier threw himself sideways, narrowly escaping being tumbled by a flash of silver fur. He let his momentum carry him across the tight room and rolled to his feet in a smooth motion. He called in his dagger. Kindred?
He didn't have time to worry about it. He lashed out with Opal, and felt the answering shield. It was strong. Too damn strong. Shit.
A dark shape lunged at him, its flashing blade plunging straight for his heart.
Rainier shifted his weight, swinging low into his would-be killer. Damned if he would let her kill him now. They both tumbled the floor, twisting for dominance. Physically he was a sight stronger than she could ever be, but she was damn slippery, and he didn't want to hurt her. Or rather, he didn't want to end up facing Yasi or – he swallowed, worse – Sadi if he did.
It was an unfair advantage. She was aiming to kill. He was attempting to have them both come out in as few pieces as was possible. Her goal was considerably easier. As she tried to jack-knife up, he rolled her. He thanked the Darkness for the dance training that had allowed him to anticipate her moves as her knee scarcely missed his balls. Bitch. He swore at her sharply as her blade sliced into his shoulder.
Enough. He flipped her and pinned her with Craft and weight. He felt her dive for the Gray and dropped her head onto the floor with enough force to break her concentration.
Pain shot through his shoulder. The feel of teeth was unmistakable. He'd forgotten the damn pet wolf. Using a wave from his Opal-Jewel, he threw the Kindred wolf into the far wall.
He turned back to his captive. "Hell's fire, woman! I'm Second Circle; you might ask next time." His damn lip was swelling. "I'm going to kick Yasi's ass for this," he spat blood to her left, "hope you don't mind."
A/N: Hope you enjoyed chap one! Please review and let me know what you thought: suggestions, criticisms, even flames (as long as you're not afraid to sign them), and of course encouragement are very much appreciated.
I do my best to answer my reviewers (It's a writing community, isn't it?) so please don't hesitate to ask questions…
Erkith