|posted on 14-Oct-2002 9:19:51 PM by blake|
|Title: Little Slayer|
Category: AU, M/L, kinda X-overish
Disclaimer: Roswell is not mine, I'm just borrowing the characters, and I have incorporated things from Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Angel, Laurell K. Hamilton's Anita Blake Novels, and Christine Feehan's Dark Series, none of which belong to me.
Author's Note: Yes, I know I shouldn't be doing this, but I've had this fic written, and it's been haunting me, so I need to finish it, and posting it will make me finish it. I'll try not to cut into my other fics! Oh, and each part is approximately two pages in length.
Thanks goes to talena for the banner!
She was new at this. She’d been the Slayer for one month now, and had killed vampires before, but they had been fledglings, newly risen from their hollowed graves. He was not, he was old, old enough that she felt the weight of his age pressing down on her.
And he was fast, so very fast. Her Watcher had told her the oldest could move so swiftly that you’d be dead before you could tell they’d moved a millimeter. Her Watcher had also told her she wouldn’t have to worry about master vampires, that Roswell was so small they wouldn’t bother to come.
How could he have been so wrong?
She watched him warily, fearful, from her position on the floor of the crypt. He had knocked her into the granite wall and only her new strength had saved her from a cracked skull. He was staring down at her from his formidable height, shadowed in the moonlight filtering through the barred windows, not attacking, just watching. She wanted to squirm under the scrutiny, but held back, knowing that he was toying with her before the kill.
A moonbeam hit his face as he moved forward, glinting silver in the darkness. A gasp escaped her throat and he stilled, illuminated in the blue-gray beam.
He had died young, barely older than she was now, his face still held some of the boyish look that his “life” hadn’t managed to steal. He was dressed all in black; boots, jeans, T-shirt, and leather duster. His hair and eyes echoed his clothing in this lighting, both dark as coal. There was a scar splitting one midnight eyebrow, a silver hoop piercing the cartilage. Another flash of silver came from his slightly large left ear, and she finally mustered up enough courage to speak.
“I thought silver hurt?” she questioned softly. Great Liz, she thought, real sarcastic and intimidating.
If he was surprised at her sudden ability to talk, he gave no sign. “It burns,” was his whispered response, voice husky and stirring. She felt her eyes widen.
“Then why do you wear it?” She was amazed at her capability to speak calmly to this creature that was going to kill her.
“The pain reminds me that I’m not human.”
Again, she was stunned at his response. “Other vamps don’t seem to have that problem,” she told him dryly.
A laugh escaped him, the sound brushed over her like silk, making her toes curl as her body began to tingle. He could magick her with his voice, she realized. Valenti had told her some of the masters had the capacity, others could capture your soul with their gaze, but this one used his voice.
“I am not as they, ma petite morte,” he informed her, amusement coloring his tone.
She blinked rapidly in surprise at his use of French. She had no idea what it was he had said, she only knew the language from Maria, who practiced it constantly, in training for when she moved to Paris, which was her life-long dream.
“What do you mean by that?” she demanded, pleased that a hint of steel had crept into her voice. One of the number one rules of slaying, other than not to get killed, was to never show you were unnerved. It gave the beasties a superiority complex.
An enigmatic smile flitted across his face, causing things low in her body to tighten and she berated herself fiercely, schooling her body back under her control. But vampires had a keen sense of smell, and she knew he knew that she was attracted to him, and he laughed, a low, almost harsh sound, that chilled her to the very bone.
“Dawn is approaching, ma petite morte,” he said, “We will have to continue our conversation at a later date.” He gave her a bow, one of fluid elegance, and then, seemingly, he vanished.
Liz drew herself up slowly, hugging the crypt wall for support as stars exploded in her head. She needed to talk to Valenti, he’d know what to do… Maybe he’d even know who this vamp was, and how to defeat him.
Having a plan gave her scientific mind confidence that she could beat this guy and whatever power he was trying to wield over her. She was the Slayer, and she was powerful. And it was her duty and birthright to fight against the demons and vampires that invaded her dimension.
But while her mind was filled with an unswerving dedication to destroy this newest threat, her heart was beating erratically, and her body was quivering with anticipation of meeting him again.
And they would meet again.
To be continued...
[ edited 10time(s), last at 1-Jan-2003 5:54:42 PM ]
|posted on 16-Oct-2002 3:03:06 PM by blake|
|Applebybehr: I don't know French either, just German, but that's not as romantic as French, is it? Anyhoo, the meaning will be told in part three (cause Liz doesn't know what he meant either).|
Note: We made it to the second page, hurrah!
He watched her leave the cemetery from his formless position in the sky. It was a bit disconcerting having no body but possessing the awareness to see, hear, and feel, but he was old, and he had had centuries of practice to get used to the sensation.
But he was not used to the sensations this small girl had provoked in him. Most of his kind had little recourse to emotions, being soulless helped when they went on a rampage and annihilated anything in their path, but Max was different.
He had spent a large amount of time fighting the demon inside him, and he had done many things he had regretted once he had gained his soul back, but he couldn’t change the past, so he stopped dwelling on it.
Once he had managed to regain that soul, he had only had to fight against the demon when feeding. Now…
The Slayer walked down the streets of Roswell with her arms wrapped around her body, as if trying to keep in warmth even though it was a balmy night. He had the sudden urge to wrap his own arms around her slender form, to keep her warm through an entirely different means…The beast rose up abruptly and he turned his thoughts from such matters.
It had struck him like that earlier. She had snuck up upon him, and it had been the first time in a long, long time that anyone had accomplished that, and in his surprise, which was another thing that didn’t occur often, he had sent her flying into a stone wall.
He hadn’t attacked at that moment, for he felt no need to, he had merely come to Roswell to study this new Slayer. He had met many in Europe over the centuries and had only felt justified in killing them when he was soulless, otherwise he didn’t see the point in wasting a life like that. They were only doing what they had been born to do. It was no reason to punish them.
Max had avoided Sunnydale though, the Slayer there was rumored to kill without asking, but when word had swept through France that one Slayer had perished in a jail in L.A., his curiosity had been piqued. He knew other vampires would now be coming to America, and to Roswell specifically, just to test her mettle, to add another badge of blood to their twisted little counts, and a slayer was worth a lot of points.
The game had never been one he had participated in or was ever even interested in, not even when the demon ruled his form. He never bragged of his kills, when he made them, and he never killed unnecessarily. And so he had come to Roswell to, as amusing as it sounded, protect this Slayer.
He had not been prepared for her tone or her looks. Her voice had been soft, breathy, and held only the smallest traces of fear. He reckoned she had never set her skills against a being as old as he, and it had unbalanced her, but still she had tried to hide it. She had kept up the pretense of control using wit and sarcasm, and for that he commended her.
Her beauty, for beautiful she was, had surprised him. She was small, yet graceful, and very well made. Her face was a work of art, all full lips and big eyes, complimented by high cheekbones and a delicate fringe of dark lashes. And her hair…It was a cascade of dark silk, it was hair a man could wrap his hands in and…
And the beast had risen in him so unexpectedly he had barely managed to contain it, had actually stepped toward her before he could contain himself. And even that was a hard-won battle, it was clamoring even now to be released, to be able to swoop down upon her and claim her for his own…
But his logic won out, as it always did.
She went up a ladder to the balcony of a café and into a room, her bedroom he figured as the lights came on. It was neat and organized, obviously reflecting her personality. He streamed in through the window as a blast of wind and observed her.
It was obvious she was tired. She prepared for bed quickly, stripping without hesitation. He watched her slide on a pair of boxers over the thin scrap of pink satin underwear. He watched her remove the matching bra and felt the beast start roaring again as her breasts were uncovered.
She stopped abruptly as if she could feel his presence in the room, and she turned around, bare-chested, cotton tank-top crumpled in her hands. The need over swept him and he sent himself hurdling from the room and into the starry sky, streaming toward the house he had recently bought on Murray Lane.
Dawn was coming fast, and he needed the healing soil of his homeland. He formed once inside the house and walked down the steps to the basement and then even lower to the chamber he had carved into the rock below the house. Max collapsed on the bed, and then sunk through and let the soil cover him. He reached out with his mind and set safeguards around his new home and around the Slayer, now sleeping in her bed.
Again need swamped him, and he determined one thing as he began to sleep the sleep of the dead.
He wanted this Slayer.
He needed this girl.
And he would have her.
To be continued...
Please leave me feedback!
|posted on 20-Oct-2002 4:20:26 PM by blake|
|Hello all! I'm oficially 18 and a half as of 2:02 yesterday, how cool is that. 2 and a half more years until I turn 21 and me and mom go to Vegas, yeah! I also saw my first hockey game last night, it was so exciting, and we won, which was awesome. But enough about me...|
“Hello? Earth to Lizzie! Liz, you in there?”
Liz snapped back from her contemplation of last night. “What Maria?” she asked her best friend.
Maria rolled her eyes and shook her long blonde hair out behind her, stealing one of Liz’s carrot sticks. “You were like, having a staring contest with your sandwich. It was disturbing. Anyway, as I was saying-“
“Maria,” Liz interrupted, “What does ‘ma petite morte’ mean? I know petite is little, but…” she trailed off.
“Oh!” her friend exclaimed, seeing as French was her favorite subject, after guys and music, “It means…” she puzzled for a minute, “My little death. Or I guess, my little killer, since death doesn’t really make sense in that context, morte has a variety of death related meanings.” She waved her hand, “Why?”
Liz shook her head and took a bite out of her sandwich. My little killer. My little Slayer, was what he had called her… She remembered the caressing whisper of his voice and shivered. “No reason,” she finally said noncommittally.
Maria raised her eyebrows, “Whatever.” Then she shook her head, “What’s up with you Liz? This past month, you’ve just been…And now you’re getting all morbid, and hanging out with Michael Guerin-“
“Did I hear my name, DeLuca?” Michael slid into the seat next to Liz and snagged the carrot out of Maria’s fingers. Liz suppressed a smile at Maria’s outraged squeal, after all, if anyone got to be upset, it should be Liz, they were, after all, stealing her carrots.
Michael ignored Maria’s now bashing tirade and looked at Liz concerned, “How’d last night go?”
She shrugged, “Something happened. I need to talk to Valenti.”
“What?” Maria asked, leaning forward, obviously done tirading, “What happened last night? What did you do? Why would you need to talk to the Sheriff?-“
“Why don’t you ever shut up?” Michael put in. She shot him a sizzling glare out of those demon green eyes of hers. Liz shuddered, God, this was getting to be too much, now work was affecting school. First with the no time to do homework, having to quit Science Club, her grades were dropping, her popularity was going down the tubes, and now she was using evil references to describe her friends! Why did this have to happen to her?
Suddenly Alex and Isabel were there, and they were putting Michael down for messing with Maria. Liz gasped and grabbed Michael’s arm. He was getting angry, she could feel it like raised fur brushing across her aura. He couldn’t get into a fight, that much anger combined with that much power was deadly.
He shook her off and stood up, “I’m out of here.” She breathed a sigh of relief as he walked away. She shouldn’t have gotten worried, Michael had been a werewolf since the fifth grade camping trip. He had had to learn to control his power, before another person wound up dead from a wild dog attack like his foster father had.
Liz had confronted him a couple weeks ago, when she finally figured out what it was she was feeling when ever she got near him, he gave off energy like Isabel Whitman did sex appeal. He had told her he had it under control, she had believed him, and they formed a friendship based on each of their freakish secret lives.
Valenti had first been alarmed, and then amused by the tame werewolf. Her Watcher still told her to be careful, but he genuinely liked Michael, and appreciated the help he provided in researching and training Liz. Michael was a more realistic opponent than Valenti when it came to combat, and it was paying off, she was moving faster and packing a lot more heat to her punches.
But that hadn’t helped against him.
Liz stood and gathered all her books, halting all conversation at the table between Maria and the Whitman twins. “Liz, where are you going?” Alex inquired.
She looked at them and sadness struck her, she hated ditching them, but this new vamp had wigged her out and she needed to see Valenti now. “I forgot I have a quiz in Bio next class that I forgot to study for,” she lied.
They frowned, and Maria opened her mouth. “But Liz, I don’t remember any quiz. And besides we should study together if there was one.” But Liz was altready walking away. “Liz!” Maria shouted after her, “Liz ,what is the matter with you?! Why won’t you tell me what’s going on?!”
She closed her eyes and kept walking. “I’m sorry, Maria,” she muttered under her breath, but she couldn’t help it. They were only human, it was too dangerous for them enter her new world. After all, it was better that they hated her than that they wound up dead. Right?
She headed for the parking lot and her old army Jeep. She really needed to see Valenti, because right now, she was in no position to hold her own in a fight, and she needed to be, because he would be coming back for her to finish what they started last night.
And she needed all the help she could get in order to be prepared for that encounter, even if she was sure none of it would matter.
To be continued...
Pretty please can I get another round of feedback?
[ edited 1 time(s), last at 20-Oct-2002 4:21:15 PM ]
|posted on 27-Oct-2002 2:23:59 PM by blake|
|Banner art by Angelic. Isn't it awesome?!|
“Maxwell Evans,” Liz read aloud to herself. She, Michael, and Kyle had been researching her newest foe in the Watcher’s Diaries while Valenti was at the Sheriff’s station. He would go off duty in five minutes.
“You find the guy?’ Kyle asked, putting his thick, leather-bound book down with a loud thump.
Liz looked up at her sort-of boyfriend, and felt a flash of guilt. “Yeah,” she replied, showing him the picture of her sexy assailant, taken pre-undeath. It was obviously copied from a portrait, done in black and white.
“Evans,” Kyle murmured, “A knight in England, reported to be one of the oldest living vampires.”
“Great,” Michael snorted, coming in from the Valenti kitchen with a Snapple, “Just what we need.”
“Hold on,” Kyle said, “It says here he was the typical rampage vamp for awhile, but then just sort of stopped with the maiming and killing and moved to France, where he’s been for the past few centuries.” Kyle frowned, and looked at them, “Why would he suddenly feel the urge to come to the good ol’ U.S. of A?”
Liz had kind of zoned out during Kyle’s rendition of the text. Ma petite morte, his voice whispered in her mind, and she shivered.
“Liz?” A large hand was being waved around in front of her face and she snapped her head back, looking wide-eyed at Michael. “You with us there?”
“Yeah, yeah,” she muttered, “Sorry, I just kinda… I didn’t get a whole lot of sleep last night.” Right, because you were thinking about him, her brain whispered.
The sound of a car in the homestead driveway made the three turn their heads to the door. Jim Valenti walked in, looked at them, and then sighed, removing his mirrored sunglasses and cowboy hat. “How did patrol go last night?’ he inquired, seemingly already aware there had been an incident.
Liz sometimes found it hard to believe her Watcher had lived in England for years of his life, he was such an orginal cowboy. His father had been a Watcher before him, but had died when his Slayer was killed. Jim’s mother had moved to New Mexico in hopes of avoiding the Watcher’s Council, but they had found him, and he had gone back to England to learn his trade by birthright.
When he came back to Roswell, he found the Sheriff’s position waiting for him, and that his wife was pregnant and angry with him. Then she left when Kyle was six, leaving the two boys to themselves. When Liz was activated as Slayer after Faith died, Valenti had started training her to do her duty, and also began training Kyle to be a Watcher.
She and Kyle had been dating when Faith had died. He had helped her transition from a normal teenage life into one of a demon hunter. Their relationship had suffered though. There were no more movie fests, or parties, or dinners out. Liz always had to patrol, and he had to research. A mutual break-up was going to occur soon.
At least, she hoped it would. Because if she was having all these thoughts about another man, a vampire at that, then she didn’t deserve Kyle.
“I met up with a vamp,” she told Valenti, “Old, powerful. I was lucky he didn’t kill me.”
Her Watcher raised an eyebrow, “Why didn’t he?”
She shrugged, “He said dawn was coming, and we’d finish our little conversation later. Which means he’s gonna be coming back. We researched, his name is Maxwell Evans-”
“Maxwell!” Valenti exclaimed, “But he’s never left Europe. The Council keeps a close eye on him. He couldn’t be here, we would have gotten a call.”
“He’s here,” Liz stated firmly.
Valenti looked at her, blue eyes serious. “This could be dangerous Liz. Maxwell has killed Slayers before, he is one of the oldest living vampires in the world. He is not someone to be trifled with. Why he would…” Valenti trailed off, “I’ll call the Council. They need to be informed if they aren’t already aware of Maxwell’s disappearance.”
“What do I do?” Liz asked.
“You will patrol, even with Maxwell here, we can’t let innocents wander the streets unprotected. Take Michael with you, the two of you should be able to hold him off if he does show up.”
“Got it," Michael and Liz chorused, and started packing up their things.
“Be careful you two,” Valenti warned, “Be very, very careful.”
To be continued...
There will be some more M/L action soon, and Tess will be our "big bad" in the fic, in case anyone was wondering. Please leave me feedback!
[ edited 1 time(s), last at 27-Oct-2002 2:24:39 PM ]
|posted on 4-Nov-2002 9:03:42 PM by blake|
|Strawbehrry Shortcake: Happy Birthday!|
talena: THANK YOU SWEETIE!
“What is up with that Maria girl?”
Liz missed a step in her brisk walk and turned to her companion, eyebrows raised in disbelief. Michael met her gaze and scowled, sticking his hands in his pockets, “What?” he growled.
She smirked, “That Maria girl?”
He rolled his eyes and started walking faster, “Forget it,” he muttered.
“No, no,” Liz called, running a few steps to catch up with him, “What about her?”
Michael glanced at her sideways and shrugged. “Are we sure she’s not…something?” he asked.
She blinked, surprised, and frowned at him. “C’mon Michael, both of us have known her since we were little. She’s been my best friend forever. I think either of us would’ve been able to sense it if there was anything otherworldly about her.”
They were silent for a time, just walking. Liz couldn’t guess at her friend’s thoughts, not when he had brought up such a random topic. Maria? There was no way. She was just too normal. Well, as normal as she could be. She was a little wacky sometimes, but it just made you love her more.
Speaking of wacky things, where was Maxwell? She kept walking, but sent her senses searching the cemetary. His presence was there, like a warm breath on her neck, but it was faint. He wasn’t in the Roswell Memorial Cemetary, but he was fairly close. She let out a deep sigh, half relieved, half disappointed.
But why was she thinking about him at all? At least, in a favorable sense…She should be thinking about him, he was a vamp after all, and it was her duty to dust him. She shouldn’t be feeling this reluctant. She shouldn’t be feeling half the things she was feeling…
“It’s just, she sends out these weird vibes,” Micael said suddenly.
Liz looked over at him sharply, “What?”
He met her eyes with a sheepish smile, “Maria, she gives off these vibes, you know? It raises my hackles.” He shivered and turned his attention back on the tree line they were walking parallel to.
“Hackles?” Liz repeated, “Only you wolf-boy.”
“Hey!” he exclaimed, “I thought we agreed you would never call me that. It’s degrading.”
She rolled her eyes and grinned, “No, I don’t remember agreeing to that.”
“Hurrumph,” he said, looking disgruntled.
They continued walking, until Liz finally managed to gather up her courage to say something that had been lurking in the back of her mind for awhile. “Do you think it’s because you like her?” she inquired softly.
Michael froze in the middle of the path and stared at her, slack-jawed. Liz stopped too and turned to face him. She watched, bemused, as he tried to gain his composure, and when he ahd that, he exploded with anger.
“Like her?! Like her!!! She’s insane!” he shouted, “She’s absolutely the most infuriating girl in existence! And what’s up with her ‘smell this’ and ‘smell that’ kick? Huh? She’s a complete…Aargh! I can’t believe you would think that I… That she and… Jesus, Liz, are you losing your mind? Is she rubbing off on you? Because that is just about the most ludicrous-“
“Ssh!” she interrupted, whirling around into a fighting stance. Something was out there. Michael moved up so that his back was against hers, and she could tell by the tenseness of his body that he had scented the disturbance too.
She didn’t know if it was Maxwell or not. His presence in her head had gotten stronger, so much that it almost felt like he was all around her, but the intent she sensed was malice. And malice was not something she had gotten from her handsome foe last they met.
“Liz?” It was Michael, his voice had gotten gravelly, as if the beast in him was itching to be let out.
“Stay, Michael,” she whispered back, “I can’t pinpoint it. And we don’t want to go rushing in…” She trailed off as she felt him take off. She sighed and spun, watching as he sprinted at an inhuman speed toward the trees. That was Michael-act first, question later. One day, it was bound to get him killed.
She just hoped it wasn’t today.
Liz began to run towards where Michael disappeared. As she neared, she could hear a fight, and she made herself speed up. Normally, she wouldn’t worry about Michael, he was a big, bad werewolf, he could handle himself, but…Neither of them knew what they were up against.
A body went flying over her head and she gasped spinning to watch where it landed. Michael crashed into a headstone and stilled. Liz held her breath, willing her friend to breath, to move, to get up… But then there was a crack behind her and she had no more time to worry about him. She could only hope that the recuperative powers shapeshifters had, he’s make it.
Liz was too late. A hand closed around her throat as she turned back to whatever creature had done that to Michael. She choked, trying to suck in air, but unable. She stared up at the creature, and her eyes bugged at it’s ugliness. Definitely not Maxwell.
She wrapped her hands around the ones at her throat and tried to fight him off with her superior Slayer strength, but it was useless. Whatever demon this was, it was strong. She felt the world going dark around her, and tears stung her eyes. To die like this…
She lost consciousness as the demon began to squeeze harder. She missed the sudden materialization of a masculine form as it extracted itself from the shadows and broke the monster’s neck.
Liz never felt him pick her up in his arms and then take to the sky, towards his home…
But neither of them noticed the other being that stepped from the shadow of the cemetary. The one who took the tableau before her in with unfeeling blue eyes. She stepped forward into the moonlight, staring after the fading figures in the dark night sky. And then a smile crossed her face and she giggled.
“Hello, Maxwell,” she whispered to the wind, “It has been far too long.”
And then, she simply vanished.
To be continued...
Please leave feedback!
|posted on 11-Nov-2002 9:11:46 PM by blake|
“Hmmm,” she sighed in her sleep, snuggling deeper into the warmth of the covers. She felt like she was ensnared in a dream world, one she didn’t much feel like coming out of, and she opened her eyes slowly, sleepily.
The room was dimly lit from a fireplace, which she was facing. There was a rug in front of it that was furry, like the llama-made ones she’d once seen at a store in the Mall of America on one of her family’s summer vacations. She remembered the soft texture of the hair, the pretty, intricate designs…The price…
They couldn’t afford one, not even a small pillow. And in her sleep-clouded mind, she suddenly became aware that she was most definitely not dreaming, and she wasn’t in her bedroom. Heck, she wasn’t even in her home!
She turned in the bed, trying to peer through the darkness of the other side, but even her enhanced night vision couldn’t pierce those shadow. The satin of the sheets whispered over her skin, and she sat up abruptly, clutching the wine dark material to her bare breasts.
She was naked.
A masculine chuckle came from that vast obscurity beside her, and she twisted in that direction, the sound of the laugh rippling over her skin in taunting, drowning waves. It was his laugh. Maxwell.
He stepped from the shadows much as he had the night before. Powerful, old, beautiful… He made her breath catch in her throat.
Liz clutched the sheets tighter to her, having the overwhelming feeling that she was stuck on the tracks with a train headed for her, and she couldn’t move away, didn’t even want to move… Though she knew she should, or, at least, avert her eyes. That was the ladylike thing to do when a nude man was walking towards you.
But she couldn’t look away. It was almost as if he had her hypnotized. Her gaze traveled hungrily over his form, lean, muscled, perfect… He looked as if he had been carved from marble and his Creator had breathed life into him… She blushed when her gaze brushed over his manhood, which was large and hard, but she met his eyes defiantly, knowing he was daring her to look away even as he invited her to stare.
It was the first time she had ever seen his eyes, and they managed to take her breath away yet again. They were a rich honey brown, with flecks of amber shining in the depths. They lent a certain quality of unearthliness, as if just by meeting them he could entrance you, make you his for eternity…
And here she thought the only thing she had to worry about was his husky, seductive voice. Now she had bedroom eyes to contend with… And that body… Was it any wonder she felt so helpless?
He moved towards her like a jungle cat stalking its prey, and she sat there, unable to look away, and let him come. His silver earring glinted gold in the warm firelight, and she noticed that his eyebrow piercing was gone as if it had never been. She thought of commenting, that was what a bad-ass vampire slayer should do, but her vocal cords weren’t working properly, and she couldn’t think of anything coherent to say.
Her hands tightened convulsively as he made his way up the bed on all fours, finally coming to straddle her where she sat, like a frightened rabbit. She swallowed hard at the feel of him, so hard against her softness, and she resisted the urge to reach out and touch that smooth chest of his. To discover if his skin was a soft as it looked.
What was wrong with her? This was not a position she should allow herself to be in. And yet…she still couldn’t move, couldn’t speak…
Liz let her eyes close as he bant his face down to hers. She could feel his breath, warma nd sweet across her skin, and the soft feel of his lips on her eyelids, then down further, nipping lightly at her bottom lip. She parted hers in response, but his mouth had slid further down to her neck, where he sucked gently above the big pulse, his teeth scraping.
She jumped, and was suddenly herself. Her hand flew up to her neck, feeling. His eyes watched her impartially, his face still hovering over hers. There were two punctures in her neck, ones much deeper then that small bite would have made.
He had bit her in her sleep.
The bastard. She looked up at him, ashamed to feel tears in her eyes. Why was she feeling so hurt by this discovery? He was a vampire, he sucked blood, it was his nature. So why was she feeling betrayed?
“Why?’ she croaked.
“To replace what you took,” he replied, voice neutral.
He moved slightly, so that his body was no longer half hidden in the shadows, but wholly in the firelight. She stared in horror at the scar on his chest, right over his heart. There was a bruise forming, like a hickey, but she could see the imprint of teeth.
Dear God, she had sucked his blood… She had…
Her eyes met his again, and she asked, voice uneven, “Am I a vampire?”
To be continued...
I'll try and post some more later this week. Please leave feedback!
|posted on 25-Nov-2002 11:34:24 AM by blake|
|Quick Author's Note:|
All righty guys and gals, I know it's been forever, but my mind hasn't been able to concentrate on any thing Roswellian. I have Harry Potter fever, and chances are, you're not gonna get an update until I've seen the movie. I know, it's horrible, but I'm so hyped up now that I can't sit still!
Okay, but the important thing is that I am heading to New York this week (for Thanksgiving with the good side of the family *hip-hip-hurrah*) and won't be back until Sundayish... I am going to try to work on my fics pen and paper style while I'm there, but I can't make any promises because New York visits are always so action-packed that I barely have time to catch my breath!
Hopefully you will all understand, and I do so solemnly swear to keep a look out for Zan while I'm there.
P.S. And if I die in a fiery plane crash, you'll never get an update ever again. *sob* Cross your fingers for me, I hate flying!
[ edited 1 time(s), last at 25-Nov-2002 11:36:03 AM ]
|posted on 18-Dec-2002 1:30:37 PM by blake|
|OKay, so I didn't die. Whew! But it was a close one, there were some suspicious looking people on the plane back home... And, alas, I did not see Zan or any Dupe while in the City, but I did see a Broadway show, and I got to take the subway, which were both cool. I'm gonna try and get this fic and A Dragon's Heart done before I go back to school in January, and then I have four challenge fics to write and the sequel to this fic. *sigh* busy, busy... Anyhoo, let's get this show on the road!|
"Non, ma petite,” he replied, amused.
“But, you sucked my blood, and I sucked yours…” She trailed off, paling, “The whole sucking thing happened, I should be…”
“Myth, ma petite,” he murmured, “It takes three exchanges before a person joins the ranks of the undead.” He watched the relief flood into her face at the realization, and color returned to her cheeks. He wanted to kiss her again. Her lips had been so soft, so pliant and eager… And she was his now. Now and for eternity.
“But you have powers over me now, right?” she asked, her voice rising slightly with panic, “Something happened, I can feel it inside me… You did something to me.” Her large brown eyes were now accusing, and he chuckled again, unable to stop himself. She was adorable.
“I saved you life. That is all.” But that wasn’t all, not by a long shot, and he knew she was astute enough to figure that out.
“How?” she demanded, and he watched her hands tighten on the thin barrier of satin between them. Her knuckles were white, and she was quivering. Desire rose in him as he watched the rise and fall of her breasts just above the sheet line.
“How did you save me? And why?” she elaborated, staring him dead in the eye. She appeared to have no fear of him capturing her mind with his gaze, and though the blood exchange had made her immune to such feats, she couldn’t know that. No, she was either very brave, or extraordinarily stupid to meet his eyes. With any other vampire she would be putty, meat for the taking. But she was with him, and she knew it. She also, apparently, knew that he was not there to harm her.
“I killed the demon, and because I could not let you die,” he answered honestly.
“Why?” she asked again.
He felt a wicked smile curve his lips and she gasped when he flashed fang. He reached out and cupped her cheek, running his thumb along her lower lip. Her tongue flicked out, tasting him, and he bit back a groan. “Because I had not had you yet,” he murmured hoarsely, leaning forward and taking her lips with his own.
She responded as she had before, eagerly, wantonly, and he could smell her desire for him, knew it as intimately as his own. Tonight he would take her…
But then she pushed away, shaking her head and clutching the sheets even more closely to her nude body. “Stop,” she commanded, “I have a boyfriend, and you’re a vampire.”
Murderous intent filled him before he had a chance to fully register her protest. The demon within his raged for the death of the other who would dare to touch her. To take from him what was rightfully his. His hands gripped the sheets beneath his palms and he kept his head down, breathing deeply, not wishing for her to see the beast hidden inside the man.
But the other part of him, the darker part, would not be put aside. However, it’s anger transformed quickly into hunger as he stared downward. He could see the curve of her body beneath the wine red sheets, could smell her lust, could hear the pounding of her heart, the rush of her blood…
He was a vampire, as she had just pointed out, but he had a soul. He had fought hard for that soul, and still fought to keep it. He raised his head and stared at her, beautiful, powerful, and frightened, and realized he would fight to keep her just as he had fought to regain his precious soul.
What was it about this Slayer that made him more a man than a monster?
“And your point is?” he inquired.
She blushed, he could sense the blood rushing to her face. “My point is, we can’t do…um…this.” She made a motion with her hand, gesturing from her to him, and then back to her. The sheet slid down a little and she caught it, but the roaring had begun again. The clamoring to claim her.
“I just told you!” she exclaimed, exasperated.
“You gave me excuses, not reasons.” He met her gaze seriously, and trailed one of hands up her arm, and over her shoulders, his fingers tracing the curve of her breasts above the sheet. He could sense the spike in her temperature when his finger dipped between the sheet and her skin to caress her. She jumped.
“That’s another thing,” she said quickly, “Why am I naked?”
He cocked his head to the side, amused at her delaying tactics. “You cut you head on the tree when the demon slammed you against it and lost a lot of blood, that’s why you lost consciousness. It’s also the reason for the blood exchange.”
“That doesn’t explain for my nakedness,” she interrupted.
Max gave her a quelling glance, “I was getting to that. As I said, you were bleeding profusely, and your hair was all matted and sticky… So I bathed you.”
“Bathed me?” she squeaked, drawing the sheet even further up her body. He nodded, and she thought on it. “I guess that makes sense…but why are you naked too?” She glared at him suspiciously.
He widened his eyes in innocence, “I didn’t want to get my clothes wet,” he responded primly.
She blinked, and her mouth fell open in disbelief, drawing his attention to it, and he was quite unable to resist the temptation. As his mouth closed on hers once more, she sighed, made a muffled protest that he could tell was half-hearted, and relaxed beneath his ministrations.
One of his arms slid around her smooth back, and the other supported his weight as he slowly positioned her beneath him. Her tongue massaged his own, hesitant because of his fangs, but growing more confident as the kisses continued. Her hands released the sheet and moved to grasp his shoulders, she moaned and her hands slipped further down his back, clinging to him.
His mouth moved downward, toward her neck once again, and she moaned, arching up into him, and as his tongue swirled over the bite marks, she gasped, and suddenly went rigid. Max, surprised at the sudden change in her body, rose up and looked down into her face. Her eyes were wide, tear-filled, and hurt. “What is it, ma petite?” he crooned, anxious. He did not know what he had done. He knew he hadn’t done anything that would cause her pain.
“This isn’t right,” she whispered, tears in her voice, “I can’t want this. You’ve done something to me!”
He drew back, feeling as if she had just drove a stake through his heart. “I have done nothing!” he protested, “Nothing!”
She struggled to sit up and hold the sheet in place, “Then why do I feel like this?” she demanded, “Why do I crave your touch? Why do I feel like I need you to breathe?” She wiped at her eyes furiously, “You’re a vampire. You’re dead for pete’s sake! How can anything I’m feeling be real? Be right?”
Max felt his own fury rise. “You think this is something I planned?” he challenged, “You think I came here for the express purpose of wanting you? Of making you want me? Well, I can assure you, Slayer, I had no such plans. I came to see you, merely to see you, to judge you, and suddenly I find myself unable to stop looking. Suddenly I need to touch you, to hold you, to feel your body against mine…” He stopped and met her gaze, and then his voice dropped to a whisper, “Believe me, this attraction was an unwanted surprise, but it is unavoidable. And, quite truthfully, I do not wish to attempt to avoid it.”
They stared at one another, and he watched the realization come to her eyes that he was just as out of his depth in this situation as she was. He was just better at hiding it. He watched her draw her breath and knew she was going to apologize, and he was going to let her, but the knight in him protested. It was ungentlemanly and unchivalrous to allow her to continue when he hadn’t told her the whole truth.
“Wait…” he said, holding up a hand to forestall her, “You were partly right in your assumption, I have done something to you.”
She froze, her mouth shut with an audible snap. “What?” she ground out, arms crossed.
He ducked his head, feeling embarrassed for the first time in a century. Why did she keep doing this to him? “The blood exchange formed a connection between us…” he cleared his throat, “It strengthened the attraction already present, and gave me the power of suggestion…over you.”
She took a deep breath, and he could tell she was trying not to scream. “What the hell does that mean?”
“Such language,” he scolded frowning, ladies shouldn’t use such words. But then again, she didn’t seem to be in the mood for a lecture on etiquette. “It means that in the vampire world you have become something of a…servant.”
“Servant?” She raised an eyebrow.
He cocked his head to the side, trying to figure out a way to word this so that she would stop looking so angry. “It is similar to the position Renfield had for Vlad the Impaler,” he mused.
“Renfield?” she repeated, voice rising, “You mean the guy who ate bugs and followed Dracula around like a puppy in heat!”
He winced, she was yelling now. “Perhaps that was not the right analogy for this situation, “ he said trying to placate her. She was standing on the bed, sheets draped around her like a dress, her long dark hair falling over the smooth material, caressing her skin in the firelight… He swallowed heavily. Now was most definitely not the time.
“Perhaps?” she screeched.
“Please, ma petite, you must see this from my point of view-“
“Stop calling me that!” she interrupted, “My name is Liz, not ma petite. I’m not poodle!”
“I never said you were, “ he replied blithely, “It’s a term of endearment, not an insult.”
“Well, stop anyway, I’m not your dear,” she retorted. She was blushing again.
“No, but you will be my lover!” he yelled back, losing his temper.
Time seemed to stop as they stared at each other. “Is that an order, Master??” she asked, sounding sarcastic and broken all at the same time. She fell to her knees on the bed and began sobbing. His anger left him in an instant and he hovered over her, wanting to comfort, but afraid of her rejection.
Nothing in all his years, dead or alive, had ever been as hard as this.
“I am not your master, Liz,” he said, as softly and as soothingly as possible, “And you won’t crave bugs or follow me around like a puppy in heat.” He smiled a bit, and she finally looked up at him.
“Non, we are merely connected by blood.”
“But what does that mean exactly.”
She sounded very calm, and he realized she had put her fear away and was attempting to look at the situation from an objective viewpoint. She had a very scientific mind, and he found himself admiring her even more.
“It means that have shared blood and are now connected. Heart to heart and soul to soul. If you are in pain, I will feel it. If you are in trouble, I will come. If you need me, I will always be there.” His voice had dropped to a whisper, and he found he could not look away from her deep brown eyes. It was almost as if she were the vampire and was entrancing him with her gaze.
“And vice versa, right?” she questioned, voice a low murmur, “I mean, I feel the need to protect you too. To be with you.” She couldn’t look away either.
He bent his head, eyes still fixed on hers. “I would like very much for you to be with me, ma petite, always.”
And then their lips met once more.
To be continued...
OKay, hopefully that whole scene wasn't too unrealistic. I tried to make it longer as an apology for the lack of updates. PLease leave feedback!
|posted on 1-Jan-2003 5:53:06 PM by blake|
|Sorry about this taking so long, Word got eaten by a virus so we had to get Windows Xp before our computer completely crashed, which it very nearly did. (Our start menu wouldn't even come up...) *grunmle, grumble* Anyway, HAPPY NEW YEAR to all!|
Liz woke up with a smile on her face. She couldn’t help it. She could feel Max in her head as he slept below her, could trace his heartbeat as if it were her own. It was a new sensation, but one she found wholly satisfying.
And she was no longer a virgin.
She had never thought she would give herself to a man until she was engaged, until she was sure he was the one she was going to spend the rest of her life with. Of course, according to Max, they’d be spending eternity together.
It unsettled her slightly, in the small part of her that didn’t trust him completely. The infinitesimal part of her that had protested last night before she had come to grips with her situation. She was the Slayer, yes. He was a vampire, yes. But she was also a woman, and he was a man, and love, as impossible and improbable as it was, had come into being.
She was in love for the first time in her life.
Another deeply contented sigh escaped her as she slipped out of the warm bed, leaving it empty. The chill in the morning air lasted only a moment before she felt phantom arms around her nude body, warming her. She rolled her eyes and walked out of his embrace, grabbing the previously discarded sheet and wrapping it around her body to keep out the chill. Liz could hear his disappointment in her head, but chose to ignore it, concentrating on finding her clothes instead.
She managed to find her jeans in a small bathroom off the main chamber, and slid them up her legs once she had her undergarments on. Her bra had a few spatters of blood, but nothing major. Unfortunately, the same could not be said for her shirt, on which the blood had soaked into and completely ruined. Liz sighed and went back into Max’s sleeping chamber, where she poked around until she discovered a T-shirt in a trunk at the foot of the bed.
Liz slipped it over her head, and then tugged it down so that it hung right. The shirt was soft, and still smelled like him, which caused a small smile to appear on her face. She really couldn’t picture him wearing a T-shirt though. Leather, tight shirts, button downs, a suit and tie, even nude she could picture him, but not wearing a pair of jeans and a T-shirt. It just seemed too normal for him.
But Liz didn’t have time to contemplate Max’s style of clothing, she was pretty sure Valenti was waiting for her, probably worried at this point, and there was no doubt in her mind that another grounding would be waiting for her when she got home. Sometimes she thought it would be easier just to tell her parents that she was fighting the forces of evil and couldn’t be bothered with miniscule things like homework and sleep.
A snort escaped her as she tugged on her sneakers. Yeah right, and while she was at it, aliens did exist and she was the only real person in the world, everyone else was just a hologram. She was lucky she had Michael to talk about all this weird stuff to, otherwise she might just go postal on everyone’s ass.
Michael! The thought froze her, and suddenly panic and guilt overwhelmed her. She had forgotten about him. Oh Lordy! Her mind was abruptly replaying last night’s fight, watching him go flying into that tombstone, not moving… Was he okay? What if something had happened to him? And she had been… Oh god, Michael…
Max’s voice was automatically there, in her head, his tone soothing, Are you talking about the wolf?
“Yes,” she murmured out loud, staring down at the bed she was sitting on. He was there, underneath it, sleeping in the ground… She closed her eyes, all of a sudden her world stopped making sense again, and the confusion brought tears to her eyes. She had to get out of there.
Wait, ma petite,his voice followed her up the stairs and out the front door, he is fine... And then his seductive voice trailed off as she got farther away, but she kept running, last night's events running circles through her mind. What had she been thinking? He was a vampire!
She burst in through the Valenti’s screen door, and then came to a screeching halt as three men looked up at her from where they were poring over a map of the city on the kitchen table. “Liz!” Kyle shouted in relief, taking her in his arms. She hugged him back, but when he kissed her, she didn’t respond. It felt wrong to be in Kyle’s arms, and she could fell Max’s rage faintly in the back of her mind, but she shook it away. “I was so worried,” he whispered.
“I’m fine Kyle,” she assured him, “I promise.” And then she looked up at Valenti and Michael. Michael looked a little worse for wear, but other than the bruising, he was fine. Relief flooded her, and she smiled at him as she sat down at the table, he smiled in returned, but it turned into a small frown.
“What happened?” Valenti asked tersely. So Liz put Michael out of her mind for a moment and answered him, leaving a few details out.
“There was a demon, I’m not sure what kind though, I didn’t get a good look at its face, sorry,” she apologized, she knew that lack of a visual would make determining what was going on a lot harder. Kyle placed his hands on her shoulders in support, not noticing when she stiffened at his touch. “Anyway, I lost consciousness, but I think Max…well,” she added quickly, not wanting to seem too familiar, “saved me. I woke up at his house.”
All three of them looked at her in disbelief.
To be continued...
Please leave feedback, it is much appreciated.
[ edited 1 time(s), last at 1-Jan-2003 5:54:13 PM ]