Ruby in the Shadows

Part Two - End Game

KINGDOM OF WESSEX AND ALL ENGLAND
Anno Domini 979

So now ya know the first of it; part and parcel, I s'ppose. And that, as you might say, is the fated beginning.

Then came the end; there was no 'middle' as humans think of one, and yet... perhaps, indeed, it was all middle, for this story has neither a swift nor a clean breaking of ties. Ya do realize the irony of that statement, don't ya? Where everything with me is done and ended, yet never completely finished.

I find him, wonder of wonders, on the other side of the cemetery, glaring heatedly at a century-old gravestone- as if it's owner had ever done any injustice upon him. The dumb gravestone doesn't deserve such blatant animosity, at least in my book- and let me tell ya, I've got quite a many-chaptered tome- so I decide to rescue it from it's vicious tormentor. I do this, of course, by coming up behind him and slapping him heartily on the back, halfway breaking the dark moodiness that had been swirling enticingly around him like a loose, second skin.

"So what's new?" I ask lightly, as that wine-colored glare is immediately fastened on me, most likely attempting to burn a hole straight through my empty, feathery little head. Hm. Try all you like, Hiead dear; it ain't gonna happen in this lifetime. I sit very close and throw a casual arm around his shoulders in silent retaliation.

Silence from the statue.

Well, that's no good. My stomach rumbles lightly in obvious agreement; no scruples there. I pause to throw away the finger bone of St. Peter I had been toying with; it probably wasn't helping the mood much.

Hiead shrugs off my offending arm and stands, not even deigning to look at me. Oh, that hurts. That really hurts; and after all I've done to- er, I mean, for him, too! This guy's got no sense of decency, I tell ya.

"Leave me alone, Enna."

And God said, 'Let the stone have speech,' and the silence parted. I raise an eyebrow at his words; the first he's spoken in what must have been five minutes. Grinning, I jump lithely to my feet, and before he can react or voice protest I have my arms wrapped securely around him from behind, maybe just a bit tighter than absolutely necessary. He stiffens, of course. What antisocial reclusive wouldn't, in this situation? And then I start doing... interesting things with my hands...

He, unfortunately, doesn't take the bait.

Hiead lifts one leg and then brings it down, landing a vicious blow on my poor foot; I reel a bit and let go of him (much to his pleasure, I might add), as red flashes across my vision for a split second. Damn, where'd the boy get that kind of strength? That actually hurt, damnit!

I feel an iron grip on my throat as Hiead pushes me up against a nearby cypress tree, and grimace as the rough bark digs sharply into my back.

"I warned you not to mess with me, Zero Enna. I wasn't joking."

Gee, I think I figured that out way back when ya first slammed me into the wall at that tavern. Contrary to what you might believe, Hiead, I ain't as stupid as ya think. I don't comment, though, just grin and let my eyes catch his in a penetrating gaze. I think it unnerves him, this steady face in the rush of what I've affectionately come to term 'Impending and Immediate Doom by Hiead Gner's Hands'.

His fingers twitch tighter, and I can't help a small grimace of pain at the pressure on my windpipe- right before I lash out, using my legs to sweep Hiead's out from under him in a short, derisive movement. We both go crashing to the ground, Hiead's grip on my throat falling free as his back jars against the hard-packed ground, a pained expression crossing his face for just a brief instant before it is violently and thoroughly quashed. He moves to roll from his position under me, but I move to stop him, caging him with my arms and legs. He isn't getting away from me without a fight.

Gee, déjà vu much?

He glares at me again, an expression the color of mulled wine; I'm beginning to think it's some sort of defensive gesture for when he's faced with something unpleasant, as I must be to him. He's breathing a bit heavily, I note, eyes flicking up and down his prostrate, extremely tempting form. Oh, how he'd mangle me if he'd heard how easily I used the words to describe him. He's really quite irresistible; I'm still a bit surprised that this hasn't happened to him before this, with another of my kind.

And then I lean down and kiss him. Something that feels vaguely like static electricity passes between our lips in the instant before they touch, but I pay it no attention; it isn't strong enough to bother me for more than a split-second. Our mouths meet in an instant of fire; I am using all of my inherent magic to make him respond, but still he barely moves. He really must be made of stone or something.

No matter, as long as I get what I want.

He squirms under me, then, and I clamp a hand over one of his wrists, my grip a smidge tighter than really necessary. I really can't control myself anymore; it's been way too long, and I can feel the vein in his throat pulsing in a wild rhythm as he glares at me...

And then... nothing. He just... gives up; stops fighting. I pause and glance up at his eyes from where I had been concentrating on his (much more interesting) mouth, and I can feel his slight, humorless smirk against my lips. Hm. This isn't good; not good at all. Where's all the fight, the dark fire he had before? Even his aura's down.

His ruby eyes stare blankly back at me, with one silver-gray eyebrow raised in feigned puzzlement. A silent challenge; for what, I'm not really sure.

In any case, it should make this much easier. I shrug fluidly and lean back down, bypassing his mouth altogether (he twitches at that unexpected move) and leaning forward to lightly scrape the tips of my elongated canines against the skin over his jugular- an action I know, from past experience, can feel very, very erotic.

He doesn't even gasp. I hesitate again and, after a moment of thought, sit back up with a deep sigh, giving him a glare to rival any of his own previous ones. I am very irked right now.

Damn. Damn, damn, damn. It seems the stupid, intelligent human is making this a bit too easy. It's like trying to get a meal from a severely frightened animal- something I wouldn't advise trying very often, seeing as only human blood has the right mixture of oxygen to keep vampyre blood flowing; our blood suffers from lack of oxygen, and it's the reason why we need other... hm, donors in the first place. Otherwise we'd die from asphyxiation. And trust me, that is not a pretty way to kick the bucket.

But anyway, I think I've gone off on a tangent; I tend to do that. As I was lamenting about, Hiead just suddenly went... cold. In more ways than one. And I don't like it.

See you, there are two emotions that really sweeten blood for me or any of my kind: passion, and fear. Now, Hiead doesn't really seem like a 'fear' type; then again, he doesn't exactly have 'passionate' written in black ink across his forehead, either, now does he?

But his just lying there like that is just damn irritating; his blood would do the trick, but it would be dull and tasteless if he was just complacent, likes to as he's doing now. And I, for one, like a bit of spice in my life- and my meals. It's the difference between cold rice and a nice, big, juicy steak; there's no comparison. It also the reason why I picked this human in particular.

Not that I'm calling Hiead a steak or anything.

I know, I know; I'm kinda rambling, aren't I? That's me: Mr. Chatterbox. Kizna would really lay on to me about it, too, if she were here.

Lucky for me, she isn't.

And, now that I think about it, my hunger doesn't really care what type of 'food' I get, as long as its edible. So I can probably stand a rather dry (figuratively speaking, of course) meal for once.

So, smirking at him, I lean down again- and his eyes widen just the slightest bit, not enough for anyone but someone like me to notice. 'Curses, foiled again', eh, Hiead? Oh, yeah, I think I'll make him enjoy this just to spite him and his over-exaggerated ego problem.

And then he starts struggling again, and I partially lose my balance, and, in effect, my physical control over him. Damn it, not again! He's stronger than he looks, this one. I curse imaginatively and clamp my mouth over his, hoping it'll give him pause for thought.

No such luck, Enna. I've done it one too many times in our little encounters, it seems. In his struggles he tries to yank his wrist from my iron grasp, but I don't relent, and he ends up cutting himself as my fingernails bite into his skin trying to silently dissuade him. The sharp scent of blood is very, very enticing in my nostrils, and oh, why did he have to cut himself-

"Oy! Gner! You in here?"

And then there was a disturbance in the force. We both freeze at what can only be Gareas' shout, almost painfully aware of what kind of promising position we're in. Hiead growls low in his throat and shoves me off of him with enough force to uproot a tree, I tell ya; and I, surprised at the move (though I really shouldn't be, knowing what I do of Hiead), go crashing backwards, totally off-balance for once. My eyes are wide in what I can only imagine as a comical manner, and I fall back, breaking my fall in a patch of nice, helpful (really painful) thorn bushes. Ouch.

Hiead's already on his feet and exiting the clearing by the time I clear my vision and look up, heading off the way Gareas' hail came. Oh, no, you're not getting off that easily, dear. And that's a promise.

I'm on my feet in a second, and in another I'm in front of him, bodily blocking his passage. "Be right there!" I call to Green-Hair over my shoulder, then turn around to stare at Hiead, not even bothering to clarify for our mutual friend. Let Gareas draw his own conclusions, valid or invalid as they may be.

Hiead's glaring at me. Again. Then again, when is he not glaring at something? I shrug it off and reach for his *ahem* injured arm, noting the clenched fist as he (surprise!) lets me grab hold of it. It's a very reluctant cede, though, and I know it won't last. Well, that's me for ya; make the most of any situation I'm presented with, no matter how random.

I let my hand cover his for a moment, then begin to pry his fingers open, being at once surprisingly (for Hiead, anyway) gentle in my actions. His expression is almost unnoticeably puzzled as I grimace a bit at seeing the half-moon rings of blood his fingernails have brought to the surface of his palm, and then I lower my head a bit, warm, moist breath caressing his hand like a lovers touch. I sweep my tongue over the tiny droplets and he visibly jumps, but my -still gentle- grip on his wrist is strong and he can't pull away as I swipe at the liquid again. The taste of his blood is salty and sweet, almost unbearably so, but not quite; it's right on the verge of being overbearing, and just the way I like it.

I can hear him swallow convulsively as I pull him closer to me and trail a wet path with my tongue up to the three parallel lines of blood welling just above his wrist, and I smirk, taking care not to let him see the expression. He might take it the wrong way, after all. Ya never know with twisted psychos like him.

My tongue darts out for another taste of his blood, this time on the scratches caused by my earlier actions, and I clean them thoroughly, though I don't think he knows what exactly I'm doing. The taste of him is very, very invigorating, and my bloodlust is rising, even as I pull him even closer in a liquid move and fuse my mouth on his. He responds in kind this time, mouth moving heatedly against and in mine, and I crow in triumph inside. All it took to get to him was a delicate touch, after all!

"Oy! Gner! Enna! What're you two doin' in there? We need to regroup!"

Ddaammnn iitt. I resist the urge to let loose a childish whine, and instead pull back and once again lean my head over Hiead's injured arm, much to his surprise. Gritting my teeth at what I'm about to do, I quickly bite my tongue, just enough for a few drops of blood to well up. I let these crimson orbs of liquid fall against the cuts above his wrist, then move down to let a few more fall against his self-inflicted injuries. I straighten back up when I am finished, giving Hiead a penetrating, promising stare before I turn and lead him towards stupid Gareas and the others, not relenting my grip on his wrist. I know without looking that he has seen his arm, and how the application of my blood has healed the cuts, not leaving even a trace of scars- and I wonder what he is thinking; what is going through his head at this exact moment in time.

Even I cannot guess that.

-----

It seems the others are calling it quits for the night, and for the next year or so; the only evidence they found that anyone had been in this graveyard for awhile was a broken evergreen twig, found- coincidentally enough- in the clearing where the Sidhe had been.

I grin my idiot grin and don't comment. Thankfully, neither does Hiead. Smart boy. Or maybe just too antisocial to care much. Either will do.

And so we say our farewells and good-byes, the usual promises to keep in touch and the like, and part ways at the iron gate of the cemetery, Ernest, Gareas and Rioroute heading one way, me dragging Hiead in another. I notice before I center all my attention on my silver-haired victim-- er, I mean, friend-- that Gareas has a casual arm flung across Ernest's shoulders-- a little too casual to be entirely casual, if you know what I mean. Well, good for them; looks like I'm not the only one in for a bit of fun around here.

The moon is full and bright as I lead Hiead down the rutted dirt road, no sound but that of our feet crunching against the sand and the wind weaving a dance through the trees filling our ears. His breathing is heavy in my ears alone; he knows what is coming next.

Then I pull him to the side of the path and into a cleverly concealed clearing. The dark green of the trees around us seems to meld and create the illusion that we are alone in the world, and that is exactly what I want. I release my grip on his arm and step back, staring at him for a moment. He's glaring at me, but it's not a hard glare like before, and there's something vaguely sinister glimmering beneath the surface of those crimson depths, but I don't delve any deeper. I'm too hungry to waste any time on might-be's or vague misgivings. I wait just long enough so that he starts getting impatient with me, and then I pounce.

I push him gently against the nearest tree trunk, raking my nails lightly down his arms when he's there, and he shivers. I smirk. Good. Much more enthusiastic than before; not that 'enthusiastic' is a word that really fits in the same sentence as 'Hiead', but it's close enough for my bloodlust-addled mind at the moment. I lean in closer, heated breath ghosting across his features as I bypass his oh-so-tempting mouth altogether and nipping at a spot on his neck just below his ear, and he jerks in my encasing grasp and grits his teeth, hands reluctantly coming up to rest in the small of my back. I think he's determined not to enjoy this; I'm just as determined to make him.

I grin against his neck and lift my head upwards, trapping his mouth in a sloppy kiss as I rake my fingernails quickly down his clothed back, drawing an almost imperceptible gasp from him, which I swallow in my mouth. As the kiss ends I smile against his mouth, biting gently at his lower lip and drawing blood, before I lower my head to nip at the juncture of shoulder and neck, almost-- but not quite-- hard enough to draw the blood that is flowing underneath to the surface. His fingers clutch at my tunic reflexively, causing a smirk to flash across my face before I continue with the interesting things I am doing to him.

Once I am satisfied with my work I come back the soft shell of his ear, swiping my tongue around the edge of it before plunging inside a few times. He snorts and squirms a bit in my hold, and I almost laugh out loud. Who would have guessed Mr. High-and-Mighty was so ticklish? I file the information away for later musings, then continue down a bit to plant light kisses, barely just a brushing of skin against skin, on the line of his jaw, as if in silent apology-- or maybe just to catch him off guard when I lower my head and break the skin of his throat with my canines. He sucks in a breath at the sharp pinpoint of pain, but soon enough relaxes again as the hurt recedes to pleasure, emanating from the very point form where we are now connected.

Oh, did I forget to mention that? When I take the blood of someone, depending on my mood, I can make it either painful or pleasurable-- the difference between agony flowing through your veins and the feeling of being lightly caressed with fingernails from the inside. And I am definitely in a good mood, so all Hiead is feeling at the moment is a numbing sort of pleasure as I drink my fill.

The taste of his blood is intoxicating in my mouth, a strange blend of flavors I have never encountered before-- but then, I should have known Hiead would have unusual blood. I lap lazily at a few errant droplets of blood as I continue to drink, but my tongue stills for a moment as I feel a sharp pain on my left earlobe, and realize almost immediately that Hiead has bitten my ear hard enough to pierce the skin the tiniest bit. Hmm. A little violent, aren't we? I should've known.

When I have drunk my fill I pull back, biting my tongue and letting a few drops of my own blood fall on the wounds on his neck, then on the ones I have caused on his lower lip. I plant a wet, open-mouthed kiss on the place where I had bitten him before raising my head and initiating another sparring of tongues between him and me, pulling him insistently to the ground with a promising smirk...

-----

When our tryst is done and over I manage to locate a nearby tavern where Hiead and I spend the night and have a couple of rounds of ale. I buy a few shots and Hiead buys a few shots-- or maybe he doesn't, somehow it's hard to tell through the fog in my brain. Strange; very strange, indeed. I've never had something like this happen to me after a feeding. But my hunger is satiated, and I very much don't care at the moment.

Hiead is like a silent statue next to me, all cold and dark and distant, but it's really hard to concentrate on any one thing right now, so I do nothing. I *do* notice, however, that his aura is a bit... 'smug' is the word I'm looking for, I guess.

But I think nothing of it, because I'm an idiot like that.

The sky is just beginning to lighten into a false dawn when I finally stumble up to our room, drunk on more than ale. Hiead is close behind me, watching me with a trained eye, but my brain is too muddled to form a coherent thought, so I mumble something along the lines of "G'nighsht, H'd" and stumble to the pallet I had earlier claimed as my own in this small room. My mind doesn't even register when my head actually hits the pillow, for I am already asleep on my feet, and Hiead is furthest from my mind.

-----

When I awake with the rays of midmorning sunlight glaring in my eyes, Hiead is gone; I expected as much from him, though. So it is with a rather light heart that I traipse down the stairs of the inn and grab a light meal of ham, eggs and more strong ale for my breakfast, wolfing them down quickly and without any small talk to any of the other bleary-eyed customers spread throughout the room.

The late morning sun is warm on my face as I travel down the main road of the town, making my way out of this place for another two hundred years or so; wouldn't want anyone to notice that I don't age between visits, now would I? I am grinning as I walk the dirt path, kicking up clouds of dust as I do so, and smiling at the world around me. The birds are chirping, the sky is a cloudless blue, and all is right with the world.

Okay, so it sounds a little sappy for a Creature of the Night, huh? So bite me. I happen to like the living world, thank you very much.

I don't really have an idea where exactly I'm going now; I could go back to the others, and Erts, but I feel that it isn't time yet. Perhaps I could tour Italy again? Egypt, perhaps? It all depends on where I end up, I s'posse. I'm not picky.

I reach the beginning of a dark wood at around mid-afternoon, and am surprised when I spot a flash of silver to my right, up in the trees. My head whirls around, but whatever it was is gone, if it was even there in the first place. I shrug internally and proceed, brushing it off. If someone wants to contact me, they'll do it on their own time, or not at all. I'm patient enough for almost anyone.

I'm about halfway through the shadowed wood when I begin to spot flashes of silver again, but only out of the corner of my vision. See you, I'm not stupid; I have a feeling it's Hiead, and my feelings are usually correct. I make no move to call out to him, though; all in his own time.

Finally, as I walk into a short stretch of clearing around the set path, I spot his form. He was perched on the second branch of a rather large tree, back leaning casually against the trunk and arms crossed, and as soon as I set eyes on him again, my hunger started up. The surprise at my body's reaction must have been apparent on my face, for I saw him smirk in obvious delight at my torment. What the...? He wasn't that nice looking or anything, and, come to think of it, it wasn't sex I was thinking of when I looked at him.

Odd; very odd. I've never needed so much blood in such short amount of time, so I know it isn't just me. And the way Hiead's smirking, I can pretty much guess it has something to do with him and his damned weird looks he gave me at various times during last night.

"Gner!" I yell, very put-out. "What did you...?"

His smirk widens and, if it's possible, becomes even eviler. Oh, I don't like this. I don't like this at all.

"What did I do?" he finishes for me, shifting the slightest bit to face me. My fists clench and my body goes taut, fingernails biting into the palms of my hands. Grr. Damn him for acting so superior all of a sudden!

He shifts and sets himself down on the thick branch, sitting cross-legged, that superior smirk still fixed on his stupid face. "I did nothing, Zero Enna. I simply let you have your way with me. I warned you, didn't I? And you didn't heed my advice."

My bloodlust is begging to overpower me; I can see red around my vision. "What...?"

"What am I? What happened, perhaps?" he reached up and brushed a stray bang from in front of his crimson eyes, feigning thought. "Simple enough," he said after a moment. "I am yokai. A youko; or rather, blood brother to a youko, but sharing the same properties. You do realize just exactly what that means, don't you?"

I didn't answer, but I knew. I knew all too well.

Shit. Why, in all the gods above, did I have to drink the blood of the one creature that had intoxicating, life-addicting blood?

*****

And that's a wrap.

No, really. That's it. That's the end. ^.^; It just... came out that way. I could probably morph this whole idea into a major arc, with prequels and sequels and side-stories and everything; and, come to think of it, I just might, if people seem to like this story and the idea. 'Til then, though, this'll have to do. Sorry it took so long for this to come out, but now it's like a Halloween present or something akin to it, ne? ^.^

'Til Next We Meet,
Nozomi