A/N:

I one nothing except the plot. Everything else goes to the wonderful Rachel Caine :)

THE LAMENT OF THE LAMIA

Chapter one:

Myrnin gazed down at the glistening drop of crimson. He watched as it slowly seeped out of the pin-size hole and trickled down the pale smooth skin of her slender neck. He cocked his head to one side and watched with all the fascination of a curious child. Additional drops joined the first and they merged to form a stream of dark red. Myrnin placed his hand just under the puncture wound he had made and applied light pressure. Warm blood blossomed and he allowed it to splatter over his fingers. The girl's skin under his hand was clammy with cold sweat. Goosebumps pebbled along her neck as he delicately sniffed the air around her. He was instantly hit with a scent so pure and so sweet that he felt his eyes slowly flare with a red of their own. The warm brown of his eyes relinquished to a dark, dangerous scarlet and he felt his fangs slide down from the depths of his mouth. He acknowledged the terror that lit up the young girl's eyes as she realized that she was going die. It hit her in one powerful, relentless wave. He ignored it – being long past the time of caring. Slipping into predator-and-prey mode he shrugged off his humanity and twisted the girl's neck to one side.

He sucked her dry.

Moments later he licked a few spots of dried blood from his hand, straightened his burgundy waistcoat and swept back into the ball room. His eyes adjusted quickly to the glow of the numerous candles and chandeliers that hung around the large, circular room. He allowed himself a moment to allow the friendly persona wash over him, cloaking his savageness in the shadows. Only then did he truly take in his surroundings. The ballroom was exquisite and Myrnin had no doubt that it must have been Amelie's doing. The walls were draped in gold and red cloth, interspersed with elaborate tapestries of Greek figures in battle. The windows were as high as the ceilings and opened up onto a breath-taking view of 16th Century Paris. The carpets were of the finest quality, threaded with unique patterns and vivid colours. The chandelier above shone a beacon of lunar light - and there were swirling, dancing bodies everywhere.

He pursed his lips as he took in the mass of white powdered wigs, corseted dresses in various patterns and black, shining buckled shoes. A small consort of strings played cheerfully in the centre of the room, providing the backdrop for the evening. Myrnin could still hear the heartbeats over the chaotic ménage of the voices in his head. Still hear the flow of blood in their veins. He felt his throat flare with thirst but ignored it for now. He swiftly cut a path through the throng of dancers and scanned the room with his enhanced sight. Finally he spotted her standing with a prim and proper Lord of some kind - Myrnin didn't care to recall his name.

Amelie's head snapped round at his arrival and Myrnin saw a muscle twitch in her jaw. He stood patiently, humming to himself, with his hands clasped lightly behind his back. Amelie quickly excused herself from the Lord and steered Myrnin over to an unoccupied corner. She turned to face him and Myrnin knew by the thin line of her mouth that she was in a far from agreeable mood.

"Where were you, you fool?" She hissed, her silver eyes glinting in the candle light.

He shrugged and buffed his nails on his silky waistcoat then gazed at them with more concentration than was necessary. "I was around."

Amelie's cold gaze cut through him and the air seemed to turn colder. Myrnin took in her silver hair and eyebrows, the sharp angle of her jaw and the dangerous, almost uncaring, glint in her frosty eyes. She is truly an ice-queen, Myrnin thought idly. Amelie studied his face then raised a sharp eyebrow. "Who was it this time, do I dare ask?"

"No one of any importance. She won't be missed."

"A small mercy then,"

"So, it would seem. Quite fortunate, really. I think some people are wary of me. It is all very irrelevant in the grand scheme of things."

"Speaking of things irrelevant," Amelie's gaze flickered around the room then her searching eyes fixed on something. Myrnin knew what – or who – it was before he followed her glare.

Ava. She was almost obscured by the mass of swirling silk and satin skirts, her hands clasped lightly in front of her. She was alone in her elegant dress of gold, with the many skirts fanning out around her, acting as an invisible barrier to the rest of the room, warding off half-intoxicated dukes who wanted to have her hand in a dance. Her cheeks were flushed in a way that set off the delicate cream-and-roses of her skin. Her lips were soft pink and he noticed, as he had a thousand times, that they curved in a perfect cupid's bow. He loathed himself for wanting to run his finger over those lips. Ava's eyes were a warm brown, the kind of eyes that seemed to go on forever. The kind that one could perish in– and happily. Myrnin knew that when she became irate her irises would swirl in a dizzying chaos of colour, all greens and browns. Those eyes that he knew so well were watching them. Her gaze was unyielding and unabashed. She's so strong and brave, he thought, distracted. Myrnin knew that if Amelie was to look into his eyes at that moment she would see something that he'd rather she be oblivious to. With great effort Myrnin curled his lips into a sneer.

"Her again," he hissed with as much venom in his voice as he could muster. Yes, her, he thought curiously, why is it that I cannot seem to forget you like I have many others? Why is your hold on me so strong?

"Something must be done about her," Amelie said, still watching Ava. "If she discovers the truth she won't hesitate to expose us. We must silence her. Permanently."

Myrnin knew from centuries of acquaintanceship –occasional friendship - that Amelie's orders were not to be taken lightly. If she wanted something done, it was done, regardless of anyone and anything that tried to get in her way. If you happened to get in her way you were disposed of - quickly and quietly. He knew that if she didn't find his erratic behaviour so entertaining she may have disposed of him many centuries ago. To act against Amelie's direct orders was suicide, but he hesitated. Ava was irritating and perhaps too observant at times but he had, although he would nAvar admit it to anyone, grown rather fond of the shadow that was Ava. More than fond of, really. She was rather handsome and she had a quick, bright mind – he disliked destroying something so bright and so full of energy. He tried to reason with Amelie.

"Well, I can assure you, she poses no threat. She's not the first woman who has fallen utterly in love with me. Quite the opposite actually." He shrugged, and grinned at her. His teeth shone ivory in the candlelight. "But, really, can you blame them?"

"Mmm," said Amelie, as she cocked her head to the side and studied him. Myrnin willed his gaze to meet hers and not wander off, attracted by the nearest shiny thing. "I didn't realize what a tender creature you were until now. Quite foolish of me, I'll admit."

"Ah. I think you mistake me, ma chérie."

"I do not." Amelie said sharply then she smoothed out her silky gown with a quick brush of her long pale hands. "Very well, let her live a few more years, it makes no difference to me. But please know that she may not last that long. Do you know why that is?"

Myrnin shook his head, and the movement caused his night-dark hair to lash and whip at his cheeks. "Pray tell."

"She's dying. I can smell it." A faraway look spread over her face as she stared up at the night sky outside the window. "How short, fragile and unpredictable their lives are."

He had already known Ava was dying – some sort of blood disease, he guessed - he had also smelt it on her. Ava didn't know. She had no idea that her life was going to be cut short and that she wouldn't live to see the new century. The disease wasn't so advanced that anyone could detect it. Anyone human, anyway. He turned to Amelie again and bowed elaborately, bending at the waist with a wave of his hand. He strutted out the ball room, dodging the dancing and twirling bodies. He didn't have to look behind him to know that Ava was following. He slipped into a small servant's room and waited for the click of Ava's shoes. She quietly stepped into the room and closed the door...

A/N: So R&R if you want the rest of the story. Thanks :)

-C.