Midnight In Heat 2: Blood Puppets on Delicate Strings by Ash Kennedy Part I: Ebony Wings and Innocence Lost New York City, nearly 6 years later 1 2 3 Naw, little cutie, I ain't drinkin' But scope this, I was just thinkin' You and me, what a ride If you was thinkin' the same, we could continue outside Lay your pretty body against a parkin' meter Strip your dress down like I was strippin' a Peter Paul's Almond Joy Lemme show you, baby, I'm a talented boy Colina MacKinnon's heart was beating in time to the soft thud of the music-the music she had chosen-as it thrummed beneath her fire engine red high heels; beneath the obsidian runway. She swayed as she made her way slowly to the edge, to the glowing ring of ivory bulbs, her hips gyrating in time to the song. Her dance was languid; liquid fire, slow honey. And the faces around her, so many faces, were alight with desire, yearning for a glimpse of her supple body like moths yearned for a flickering tongue of flame. She had power over them, these crude men with their tongues lolling and bulges hardening in their pants. She could do anything to them; anything she wanted and they would lap it up like the pack of well-trained curs that they were. Get off - 23 positions in a one night stand Get off - I'll only call you after if you say I can Get off - Let a woman be a woman and a man be a man Get off - If you want to, baby, here I am Come on Colina stepped out of the hells and crossed her arms over her shirt, pulling her top ove rher ehad in one fluid motion. A chorus of hoots and catcalls went up all around her as she threw her head back and ran her slender, manicured hands up the length up her body, cupping her breasts when she reached them and running her fingers slowly around the erect pale-pink nubs of her nipples. As the crowd noise grew to a deafening roar, she could feel her blood temperature ascending and the slight rise and fall of her chest quicken in pace as it became increasingly harder to steady her breathing. She closed her eyes as her fingers finished their teasing show over her breasts and reached slowly downwards, seeping along skin that had been set ablaze; Down further and further still until they were slipping beneath the band of her aerobic shorts and then of elastic that kept her g-string securely in place. The heat there was more concentrated, the flesh soft as silk and slippery beneath her fingertips. The din of the crowd crescendoed and then all at once became a tidal wave that hung quivering in midair. A slicing thread of silence split the very crest. Colina abruptly froze in place, coming out of her searing-hot erotic 'trance' long enough to ingest what was happening. And then the crowd scattered like cockroaches scurrying from underfoot, the noise swelling once again at full force, this time like a horde of angry wasps. Colina had a moment to be confused, mere seconds to ponder the situation. And then she saw the police, guns drawn and at the ready, pooling into the cramped club via the supposedly obscured main entrance, nearly ripping it off the hinges so frantic was their rush. "Bust!" she heard somebody scream in a ragged, strangled stretch of voice. "Nobody move!" That was a cop. She could tell by the way his voice dripped with superiority and self-importance. "Everybody, hands on your heads and remain where you are." Colina didn't linger to see if any of the patrons obeyed the snarling, egotistical hierarchy of the law. After all, police matters were nothing out of routine. The cops had always kept their sights on this particular illegal underage strip club; always watching who went in and out; always watching the teenaged dancers slink away after their shifts were over. They had just chosen this night to act upon all their assumptions and stakeouts. That, or somebody had cracked down upon their sluggish, slovenly, doughnut-hording dispositions. Colina's shirt was thrown hastily back on as she pounded down the backstage corridor, bare feet slapping against the rotting wooden planks. Her heart was racing to the beat of her gait, each stride wider then the last. She was almost there. The backstage was not anywhere near extravagant. There was only one hall and two ends that she could escape through. But there was only one end that was secret, nearly hidden. She was sure even the owner didn't know of its existence. And she was almost there. Almost out. She ducked into a dressing room, knocking the dancer applying makeup to her face out of the way of her rampage, then bared left and through the bathroom cubicle. She was there. Almost. Almost. Colina slammed her entire body against the sidewall across from the toiler, a wall where there was a hairline fracture cutting jaggedly through the wallpaper. The paper shifted with a sound like flesh tearing from bone. Metamorphosed into an uncomfortably gut wrenching grinding noise. And then she was out. She stopped in her tracks as she felt solid concrete beneath her bare soles, her toes curling inward to feel tiny specks of rock rattle and slip through them. She was safe. For the moment. She stood there silently; breathing; watching. Waiting. For what, she hadn't the slightest idea. But she knew that something akin to an invisible barricade was keeping her from going any further. What the fuck? she fumed mentally, and before another thought could surface from the murky depths of her unconscious she felt a crushing psychic weight settle upon her mind. It felt similar to taking on a physical burden, only tepid and golden instead of cumbersome. Whoever it was, whatever it was, Colina could be sure of one solid fact. The power that the unidentified 'it' wielded was immense. Too immense. And from that she could tell it wasn't human. Having the experience of being mentally linked to a real vampire for a short period when she had lived far from the city, in a town called New Paltz, Colina had pinpointed and met enough immortals over the past nearly six years to make a few uneasy friendships to their kind. From her experience from those vampires, and her dabbling with her psychic potential, she recognized the visiting presence of a vampire, but it wasn't anything like the others she had ever encountered. That was for certain. This one was incalculably old, and had the strength to match its years. Plus... Plus...the mind...the tendrils and wisps of thought that embraced her own in a touch as soft and supple as the darkness itself...she knew that thrum of that pulse, that faint quivering promise. Seduction, the tempting offer of flesh slipping against flesh, at first. Then fear. Pure instinctual, animalistic fear. Colina swallowed hard and knew for certain that the mind that held her own captive, a mind that was rapidly drudging up every memory she had ever had of the first time she ever laid eyes on its owner, was incredibly close. As her cheeks took on a healthy flush, burning bright red as she stood helplessly entranced by the images and visions flashing in her mind's eye, she thought that if she could just turn around she would be able to see- "Who would you be able to see?" a voice asked from behind. Colina's heart stopped dead in her chest and she whirled around- -Only to find herself staring up into childlike deep-brown eyes and a perfectly combed head of dirty-blond hair. "Damon," she whispered, then sighed and managed to look miserable. "No, Skip." Skip's brow furrowed and one edge of his mouth rose in a smile. "You know, Skip Rosetti? Mortally challenged, best friend, bails you out of trouble? I heard about the police bust and I hurried over as soon-hey, you alright?" "I'm fine, fine." Colina clutched her head and squeezed her eyes shut, swaying in place. "I just need...just, can you walk me home? I'm having a bit of trouble collecting my thoughts." Skip put his arm around her and twisted her in the direction of the alley exit. "That's what I came here for. I figured you'd need a hand." "More then a hand. We have to talk." "Fire away." "No, not here. I can't. I need to sit and think first. There's a lot I have to understand before we discuss anything." "Alright, if you say so. But once we get to your apartment you better have a rubber jaw. Or else." Despite her earlier predicament, Colina smiled at him and leaned more of her weight against his side, trying to hide the limp in her tired walk and the fact she was almost physically drained. The apartment wasn't far, and there was plenty of time for conversation there. Now the only part left was deciding where to begin when they got there. XXX Damon Salvatore hit the ground with the silence and expertise of a hunting cat just as Skip and Colina turned out of the alley. Damn that uncouth vampire throwback, he thought as he watched them go, his mounting temper getting the best of him. He was so close, so close to dropping in and having a much- awaited reunion with the girl. It had been five long years in which he had seen her, one in which it took all of his efforts to track her down, and he had finally caught up to her. And then that bastard Skip had to pop up and complicate things in the worse way possible. If Colina was having any intimate relations with him, sexual or otherwise, it would be an uphill struggle for Damon to get a chance at befriending Colina. Vampires were territorial that way. Even if they were just friends, Skip seemed protective enough to want to keep strange, intruding vampires away from her. But, in the long run, it wasn't really any more a bother then a pesky insect. Perhaps the younger vampire would even fear Damon in the way the weaker scurried from the stronger. Most of the young ones were like that. Stupid, naíve, and gullible. As for now, he was going to find out just where Colina's apartment was. He wanted to see her tonight, if it was possible, and he had heard one of her thoughts about the apartment not being too far a walk. Smiling to himself, safe in the knowledge that he would break past the barrier of Skip either way he tried, he let his form melt into that of a crow and took to the air with a shriek-like caw and the sound of paper slapping against the breeze. XXX Colina stood in the apartment building's small mailroom, arms crossed over her chest as she stared at a steel mailbox labeled '42.' Traces of withered and peeling stickers glittered back at her through the rust and grime of age, a stream of graffiti streaking across it and clouding the small window that once would have let the viewer see the box's contents. "Since the day has been such a disaster so far, I'm seriously debating checking my mail," she told Skip, who was absently watching a lone silverfish skitter across the floor. He looked up at the sound of her voice. "Ah, just go on with it," he told her, one corner of his mouth turning up in a smile. "Things can't get no worse, can they?" She gave a half shrug. "I suppose not, but I have a really bad feeling." Skip just shook his head. "Yeah, yeah. Just open the damn thing so we can go and have that chit chat you promised me." Colina sighed. "I was kind of hoping you'd forget about that." "Not a chance." Colina shook her head and reached out to twist the mailbox dial, first left to 9, then right to 6, then a full circle and a stop on 13. The small square mailbox door creaked as she pulled it upward and snatched the stack of envelopes from within, then clanged as she released it and pushed it back into the locked position. She trifled through the parcels quickly, plucking one of the larger envelops from the pile and staring at it in confusement. "What?" Skip asked when she had been staring it for quite some time. "It's...It's from the New Paltz Psychiatric Home," she managed to choke out. "I...." She looked haplessly at him, a crease of worry forming between her brows. Skip instantly picked up on her unspoken anxiety. "Up to the flat then?" She nodded. "Yes and fast. I'm starting to get queasy and I don't know how much longer I can keep my stomach done." "Right." He grabbed her arm and lead her out of the mailroom, heading for the lobby elevator. "And try to hold it in past the 3rd floor this time, if you can. We don't need a repeat of last time. The elevator smelled like someone died in it for a month." Despite her nausea and apprehension, Colina managed a weak smile as a bell dinged and the doors before her slid open. XXX Damon took one step into the apartment building's main lobby and instantly recoiled. He had been prepared for the worst, but his idea of 'rat hole' was far less atrocious then the state of this place. From the high ceiling to the very tiles beneath his feet the building was a decrepit, revolting, bloated carcass, one that looked at if it had been decaying beneath an unrelenting sun for far too long. It was redolent of urine and the sweet, sharp scent of rotting garbage, undermined by the much more potent scent of death. Everything around him oozed of poverty and even without the array of bums and junkies loitering about the place he would have known it was a dwelling for the deprived and those down on their luck. He had seen places like this before, during the period in which he was born and throughout history, and knew most of these people would never be ensnared by the thralls of old age. They wouldn't survive that long, disease or violence or even their own two hands squeezing the life out of them long before their time. But those matters were not important now. What mattered was Colina, and Damon made his way towards the front desk to ask for the information he needed. The punkish bronze-colored girl rifling through papers and marking things down in a slim leather-bound book looked up as he approached, her ear piercings clinking together noisily and her fire-red hair falling down over her forehead as she did so. Damon met her eyes and gave her a cold smile. "Can I help you?" she asked, her accent laden with a heavy city drawl. "Yes," Damon answered her smoothly, his gaze unwavering. "I'm looking for Colina MacKinnon." He prepared himself to use his powers to influence her into telling him the floor and apartment number, but it turned out it wasn't necessary. The girl smiled. "Ah, yeah, Colina. She's on the 5th floor, apartment G 251. I just saw her go up there so she should be in. Uh, and I hope you're not a boyfriend because she's got Skipper up there with her. He gets pretty jealous at times. Unless you're her John for the night. Are you her John? You don't like the usual riffraff, but no offense if you are. Even the créme de la créme need a little--ah, never mind." Damon stared at the girl quizzically for several moments until realization slowly dawned on him. "No, I'm not her John," he told her smoothly, then added, "Nor do I need to be." ****************** Lyrics: Get Off by Prince Part 2 "Oh, ah...you can just go up then" The girl's skin blushed a deep scarlet and she looked about ready to scurry under the desk. "Watch out for Skipper, though." Damon went over to the elevator and waited for it to open before answering. "Oh, I do believe I have nothing to fear. After all, it's probably HIM who should be watching out for ME." The elevator doors slid closed on the girl's look of befuddlement, the gears screaming in protest as the ancient machine began its ascent. XXX "What are you going to do?" Skip asked from his cross-legged position on the brown and cream shag carpet, his lips pulled in a tight thin line as picked idly at the threads. Colina sat down heavily in the plush chair and swiped at her eyes with the back of her hand, sniffling. "God, I don't know, Skip. I don't fucking know! My mother was the last family I had and now...oh God, this is exactly what it was like when my father died only with my mother in this position." Tears streamed down Colina's cheeks and she buried her face in her hands. "Even if I wanted to go back home now, I can't. I can't go back. I don't have anything. Nothing. This is all that I have and...oh why did I fucking run, Skip? I was so goddam stupid." Skip's voice was gentle, soft with understanding. "You had to. You would have been adopted or put in a home if you hadn't decided to run away. Then where would you have been? " "But...oh, Skip, I killed my mother. I'm telling you...she was such a mess after dad died. And then she was committed...and...when I didn't show up for visits it must have completely broken her. She died because she thought she lost me too. She did, damn it. I fucking killed my own mother!" Colina let out a wail of shear emotional agony and curled herself up in a ball, burying herself in the seats cushions as if she could meld with them and become one with the stuffing. Skip sighed and managed to look positively miserable. "It wasn't your fault, Coli. I'm sure you're mother was very proud of how strong and independent you were, and it says in the letter she died of heart failure. It was her time to go, and you had nothing to do with it." Colina's reply was a stream of sobs and wails and Skip rose to his feet warily, giving up the fight. "I'll go make you some tea, alright?" he asked her, knowing she wasn't going to answer. "Then you can get your mind off things by giving me that little talk session we were supposed to have, if you're up to it." He watched her for a few moments as her small, frail body shook with her pain-fed tears, then gave her head a gentle rub before going into the kitchen. XXX Damon stood before the door that read G 251 and fingered the large fading sticker that covered a good portion of it. Recognition washed over him as he studied the triangular image with the knife-wielding figure sprouting from the center, and the bold orange print that read 'Clockwork Orange' below it. That was one particular 20th century novel, and film, that he wasn't likely to forget anytime soon, and he silently congratulated Colina on her intellectuality. Part 3: Damon stood before the door that read G 251 and fingered the large fading sticker that covered a good portion of it. Recognition washed over him as he studied the triangular image with the knife-wielding figure sprouting from the center, and the bold orange print that read 'Clockwork Orange' below it. That was one particular 20th century novel, and film, that he wasn't likely to forget anytime soon, and he silently congratulated Colina on her intellectuality as he pressed the button for the doorbell. A hackle-raising electrical buzz rang out from somewhere behind the door and its shabby wooden frame, a sound that grated on his preternatural hearing and made him wince momentarily. He was remunerated for his discomfort by the muffled shuffle of feet coming towards the door. There was the murmur or voices, the click of a lock sliding back, a rattling twist of the doorknob. And then--. The door swung inward, creaking inch by cautious inch as it was pulled back by what at first seemed to be an invisible hand. But then a male face peered around the side, two chocolate brown eyes peering vacantly out at him from beneath surprisingly kempt strands of dirty-blond hair. Any human staring back at those eyes would have thought the man to be dull-witted or downright stupid, but Damon knew better. The figure before him was another vampire, most likely the one dubbed Skipper, and that look was one of cold calculation, hostility, and challenge. Damon ignored it and smiled coldly. "Is Colina in?" he asked, managing to meet the other vampire's eyes without moving an inch. The so-called Skipper took one languid step forward and crossed his arms over his chest, propping a shoulder against the doorframe and giving Damon a once-over. "Yeah," he answered unemotionally. "But, eh, who might you be?" "Damon Salvatore," he answered unemotionally, managing to look bored in the process. Skipper shifted slightly against the doorframe, his brow furrowing for just a moment before he rolled his eyes heavenward and managed to become infuriating. "Damon, last name Salvatore. Class: definitely fellow vampire. Let's see. Hmmmm, Damon --have I heard of you before? Doesn't seem like it. Colina musn't know you then, so I'm afraid I'm going to have to ask you to leave. Bye bye now." Skip sprang from the doorframe in one graceful movement and made a gesture to slam the door in Damon's face when an enraged snarl stopped him dead. "Tell Colina I'm here," Damon demanded in a tone that was dead calm, despite his building rage. Skipper's eyes narrowed as it took mere seconds for his laid back attitude to morph into genuinely pissed-off anger. "Look, pal, I don't know who you are or how you know Colina, but I sure as hell know you are one fucking arrogant prick. Who the fuck do you think you are comin' round here and commanding me around like some bad-assed control freak? What makes you think I'm going to listen to your bullshit, huh?" This time Damon couldn't hold back the animosity in his voice. "Perhaps the fact that I can snap you in half like a dry twig is reason enough," he nearly spat, his tone harsh and clipped. "Wake up, genius." Skipper rolled his eyes and gestured towards the threshold. "I'm standing inside the apartment. You're out there. You haven't been invited in. It's going to be mighty tough trying to-." Skipper was suddenly cut off by a muffled inquiry from within the apartment's interior. Damon could make out that it was Colina's voice and that she seemed a bit frustrated with her current doorman. "Skip, what's going-," she asked, suddenly breaking off as she appeared beside him and shoved him back with an arm. The blow wasn't hard, and it certainly couldn't have budged even a fledgling vampire, but Skipper backed off anyway. His eyes, however, remained coldly fixed on Damon. Colina's gaze was fixed on Damon, too, but the look she gave him was far from cold. Her bloodshot and red-rimmed eyes had gone huge, the soft green of the pupils seeming to burst at the edges. Her mouth was open in a lopsided 'O,' still stuck on the beginning vowel of what she had been about to say. Damon was staring at her, ignoring Skip for the time being, and seeing something in her appearance, her stance, her reaction that was nearly making him react the same; something he had glimpsed in Fell's Church almost sixteen years ago. He tried to grasp the memory, to take hold of the fleeting images, but he felt blocked, burdened, muddled. As soon as they had come, the teasing ghosts of remembrance faded and he was brought back to the scene before him. With an odd sensation of reality, he realized Colina was speaking. "Damon," Colina whispered, her initial shock having worn off. "It's--Jesus." She smiled nervously, her muscles relaxing as she took up a less composed posture, letting her head rest against the doorframe. When she spoke it was gentle, depressed. "I didn't think I'd ever be seeing you standing at my door. It's so--so surreal." She laughed and it was humourless. "And what a night to pick. Jesus Christ--." She laughed again and Damon saw now that she was crying, had been crying for a good long time before his arrival. Tears glistened wetly in her eyes and left shimmering trails on her hand and arm when she wiped them away. "It was time," Damon told her cryptically, his tone unemotional. Colina forgot her tears suddenly, looking up at him in confusement. "Time for what?" she asked. Damon smiled lazily at her and he felt rather then heard Skipper's protective snarl pierce the heavy tension in the air. "Just to talk," he answered, laying both Colina's puzzlement and Skipper's fears to rest. "It's been almost six years since our little incident up in New Paltz. Every time I had the opportunity to do since then, I've been watching you, waiting for the time when I could finally approach and breach the subject of what happened between us." He paused, letting her digest the information. "I'm sure you've thought about it many times since then, too. The how, the why of it. Perhaps it's even affected you in a way you can't even begin to comprehend. I can help you understand." "Somehow I think you're the one that needs to understand," Colina told him, one eyebrow raised. "You're troubled about what went on. You've been trying to figure out just exactly what it was all this time." Colina chuckled and this time it was rich with mirth, saturated with emotion. "I can feel it, Damon. You've got it wrong. It's me who can help you understand." Damon's gaze never wavered; his eyes never left her face. He sighed, running his fingers through his hair. "Fine. You're right. I've been haunted by our encounter for a long time. But I can still help you, too." Colina rolled her eyes. "You don't need to worry about your pride around me, but if you insist I guess it's alright." She smiled, stepping aside and gesturing. "Come on in. Oh, and please excuse the mess." Damon smiled in return and crossed the threshold. Following Colina, he ignored the outrage and hatred that radiated off of Skipper, who slammed the door behind them and growled something unintelligible before disappearing into another room. XXX New Paltz, NY: Silver Ballroom was far from the state it had been in nearly six years ago, or so Matt Honeycutt pondered as he slinked across it's flat roof, a black figure against a black background. Anybody passing by on the back road below wouldn't be able to see him, even if they had bothered to look up towards the top of the abandoned building. The gently bending boughs of the great oaks around him were his cover; the moonless night his shroud. He was safe from the prying eyes of any human. The forest animals, however, were a different story, but luckily the ones he had encountered only studied him briefly before returning to their nocturnal business. If it had been almost eighteen years earlier, before he had met Damon and Stefan Salvatore and life was simple, he would have laughed at this insipid fear of animals watching him. Now he knew better; Now he wasn't so naïve about the darkness that clung to the underbelly of humanity. Now I'm a part of it , he added to himself silently, his thoughts wandering. He was remembering the last time he had been here, the night that a blizzard had covered this now colourful display of trees and flowers in a blanket of thick white. That night was still fresh in his mind, a squirming living entity bursting through a sea of old memories. He would never forget the assault of Ursus Rex, the long dead forest guardian; never forget the bear's teeth and claws tearing mercilessly into him. And then hours after that--disoriented and jangled images. A bloodied bed in a cabin somewhere, the child Colina Mackinnon, Damon's teeth piercing his wounded flesh. And then there was the blood slipping thickly down his throat, changing him even as it wound its course through his innards. It had been like liquid energy, recharging him with a fierce power that was electrifying. He remembered the supper of chickens' blood he had imbibed shortly after the beginnings of the change, his body alive but his mind barely focused. And then there was the sleep. Deep at first, and then so unwanted and despised that Damon had had to force him into unconscious. He remembered fighting it, wanting to roam, wanting to hunt, wanting out of the bed with its stale sheets. He knew that sleeping for a long period to bring on the full change was normal for a newly made vampire, even necessary, but--he couldn't bring himself to lie still for that long. He spent most of his waking hours learning to handle his new self under the supervision of Damon, who was surprised at the overly rapid processes of the change and the speed at which his fledgling was developing. Before long, after many sessions of brief and loathsome rest and hunting live prey, Matt was ready to face the world as a new vampire. And that perhaps had been the hardest trial of all. Matt cut his mental wanderings off at that point and fingered the lapis lazuli ring he wore, one Damon had ordered for him shortly after his 'birth.' He had two rings in his left ear carved from the same stone, but those were more for show rather then protection. They also served as backup. Just in case. A sudden gust of wind that whipped at his hair and sliced through his thin clothes caught his attention as a strange scent was carried in on it. Crouching, his hands flat to the ground between his bunched knees in a strangely frog-like pose, he tilted his head up slightly and licked his lips. His nostrils flared; he snuffled. There was a strange odor emanating from the building below him and it confused his vampire senses. It smelled like blood but yet there was something wrong about it, as if it had corroded or was tainted with poison. Slowly he made his way over to the lip of the roof, sniffing the air around him as if following an invisible path. As he peered over the ledge, fear started to rumble in his guts. There was something wrong here. Something very wrong. As if it had suddenly appeared out of thin air, he saw the remnants of the theatre's front doors lying splintered and scratched on the ground below, a pile of bright yellow and orange leaves having been disrupted by their wake. >From the way the leaves were scattered, and how far the doors lay from the building, Matt judged that someone with a lot of strength had to had torn or clawed them off in haste. This wasn't a break-in. It was a desperate, frantic attempt to find shelter and safety. A life or death situation. Matt, now half mad with concern and fear, moved with alacrity. Without a thought to who or what might be watching, he gripped the rooftop ledge and swung himself over, propelling himself at lightning speed towards the ground. He hit the grass silently, as expertly as Damon had taught him, his knees bending to absorb the impact. Taking a brief moment to dust himself off and look around furtively, he turned to face the entrance to Silver Ballroom. Part 4 He hit the grass silently, as expertly as Damon had taught him, his knees bending to absorb the impact. Taking a brief moment to dust himself off and look around furtively, he turned to face the entrance to Silver Ballroom. It yawned before him like a gaping maw, silent and ominous, a deep swirling mass of black and gray that seemed to stretch backwards into solid nothingness. He could sense something alive within; hear the rustling and scraping of frantic movement. Straining his senses, he made his way to the theater's threshold. The strange odor he had smelled before was stronger now, radiating off the interior of the building in nauseating waves. It was the smell of decay, of rotting foliage and sour blood. He wrinkled his nose in distaste and hesitantly took a step forward. Then another, and another, sensing for the whereabouts of the presence as he ventured into the darkened and boarded-up main lobby. He had just about made his way to the audience chamber when something danced at the corner of his vision. Swiftly he turned, his speed betraying his vampiric abilities, and strained his eyes into the darkness. The shadows lay still, seemingly unmoving. He waited a few moments before turning away, deciding it had just been some trick of his mind. And suddenly he was being knocked flat on his back, an enormous weight settling on his chest as the first waves of shock rolled over him and transpired into confusion. There was a mass of black hovering above him so close it was almost lying on top of him, and as it slowly oozed forward he realized it was a person. He could just make out the shape of arms that held him pinned to the floor, the legs to either side of him that were bunched in a crouch. A pair of seemingly opaque eyes glittered just inches away from his own. "Who are you?" The voice was deep, gravelly, but there was an underlying silkiness to it. It was almost seductive, marred only by an alto rumble. When Matt didn't answer right away, he felt the hands that were wrapped around his collar clench tighter and tug, cutting his air off momentarily. "Answer me!" the voice demanded, the words nearly spilling over into a growl. "I'm--my name's Matt Honeycutt," Matt finally managed to choke out, unknowing of exactly how he was supposed to answer. The person above him let out a wet, moist sound that could have been a snuffle and the hands around his collar loosened some but didn't let go. "What are ya doing here?" the voice came again, inquiring but no longer entirely forceful. "Ya don't belong to that vampire gang who's after my hide, do you?" "No, I-" Matt began, but suddenly cut himself short as his mind absorbed the question. "Wait, you can tell I'm a vampire?" Those glittering eyes leaned in further, if it were possible, and bore into him. "I can tell a lot about many things, Matt Honeycutt. " the voice answered cryptically. Matt suppressed a shiver and squirmed, a warm cloud of acrid breath brushing his face every time his captor exhaled. There was silence for several moments in which neither of them moved nor spoke. Then the body above Matt was moving, releasing him and edging backwards and off. Matt found he could move freely and he quickly sprang to his feet, body poised to strike. From the darkness there came a throaty chuckle so low it was almost inaudible. "Aggressive devil, arent'cha?" the voice asked and this time the tone was serene and at ease, as if the owner had a handle on all impending problems. Matt dropped his arms to his sides and managed to relax his muscles, body sagging with fatigue. He hadn't realized how much he had worn himself out over the course of the day; hadn't thought trying to help Alazuria decipher a couple of ancient scriptures could eat through his strength like corrosive acid. The confrontation he had just had, or was still having, was only adding to the weight of the day's burdens. Dimly he realized that the slow, snaking coils of hunger were unraveling in his jaw, had been unraveling for quite some time. He could feel the tiny prickles of thirst throbbing to the beat of his pulse, dangerously chose to ignore them. He knew that if he let the bloodlust linger in him too long it would drive him to attack any available living creature viscously and mercilessly, with neither thought nor feeling of what he was doing. He knew the consequences, chose to ignore them. There were more important matters at hand. The clink of a glass object against the hard floor brought matt back to the present. With a shake of his head, he realized the voice was talking to him again. "Well, since you're obviously not an enemy, why don't'cha come over here and sit down with me," the voice was saying. "You don't have to worry. I won't bite. Hey, I even gotta little something for ya, if you're interested. " Matt sighed. Well, why not? If he started feeling as if the thirst was becoming too strong, he had the woods surrounding him and a town nearby. And if he got sleepy, he figured Silver Ballroom was as safe a place to crash as anything. There was no harm in staying there for a while and finding out the identity of the man who had been his captor only minutes ago. Matt took a step forward so that he could find a comfortable spot to settle down on when he realized that the theater was pitch black. All the windows had been boarded up, and the world outside the broken front door was just another mass of swirling darkness. He was blind here and wildly he pondered how the other man could maneuver himself in this place where absolutely no light penetrated. "I can't see," he said aloud. "Uhm, you have anything that might give us a little luminescence?" "Hmm, yeah. Hold on a sec." There was a rummaging sound like claws tearing through heavy-duty brownbag paper, then again the sound of glass against the floor and the soft metallic chik of a lighter. Soon a circle of candles illuminated the floor, flickering bright orange and yellow against skin and throwing shadows everywhere. As Matt sat down Indian style and adjusted himself until he was snug, he had his first glimpse of his companion. What struck him first were the man's eyes. They weren't a light brown, or an orange-yellow, but gold. At first Matt thought it was a trick of the candlelight, flames being reflected back perhaps. But when the man turned his head to look at Matt straight-on that yellow burned just as bright, engulfing the entire eye for the pupils were just black specks; pinpoints. Sleek unevenly cut black hair hung down past his eyes in wisps and strands, framing a hollowish caramel face; sharp cheekbones; sensual but sneering mouth. He wore only a pair of tattered black cutoff jeans, painfully thin frame emerging from the waist band and a pair of smooth and skinny chicken legs poking out from the other end and tapering down into bloodied and dirt-encrusted bare feet. Even without the sickening stench of rotting human waste and fluids emanating from, Matt knew there was something off about the man, besides his obvious malnutrition and lack of a proper cleansing. There was something in his jerky movements, his gravelly relaxed voice that just didn't seem quite right. When the man extended his arm in greeting, Matt saw the reason. The tender inner flesh of the ropey-veined appendage was pitted with needle track marks. "I'm Rasheeva," the man said, slipping his hand into Matt's, who was still staring fixedly at the telltale signs of junk use. He could almost feel where the needle had slid beneath the skin, parting the flesh as easily as his fangs could, the sweetest place to sink either in at the bend in the elbow; could feel the phantom plunger depressing just as surely as his fangs would plunge as deep as he could drive them. "You can call me Ras. Most people do." Matt blinked as Ras pulled his hand back, the movement breaking his gaze and concentration. He looked up into the gold eyes that were watching him, tried to think past their liquid fire. Ras smiled at him and it was slow and devious. Ras smiled at him and it was slow and devious; a smile full of sharp teeth. And when Ras's other hand, the one that had been hidden by the darkness, slid into the glow of flickering candlelight, reaching for a dark-blue nylon rucksack that lay beside him like a shed skin, Matt noticed the claws. Blackened hooks of bone like the talons of some fierce and hungry raptor, alternately painted off white and jet black like alternating piano keys. "I don't lie," Ras stated flatly, picking through his bag expertly with those claws, his arm sinking up to the elbow into the piles of junk that passed for his belongings. "I really do have something for you." He frowned, riffled harder through his personals. "I can't seem to find it, though. Must have left it with my other stuff upstairs. You should come up there with me, anyway. I can smell a bad rainstorm coming down from the north, which will probably hold you up for a couple of hours. Might as well make yourself comfortable." "Ok," Matt agreed, a bit taken aback by Ras's weather prediction. He inhaled deeply, nostrils flaring like a racehorse's, and sure enough there was the faint scent of electricity and rain hanging just on the fringe of the surrounding air. "Just what kind of were animal are you?" he asked as Ras slung his rucksack over his bare shoulder and rose to his feet, helping him up and grabbing one of the candles at the same time. Ras didn't answer him right. Instead he waited until they had made their way to the foyer staircase and were ascending the tattered carpeted steps. "I'm no were animal," he stated flatly, taking each stair slowly. "I'm the Guardian of the Sacred Woods, and of course you know the Sacred Woods are just beyond the rear of this building, right? " Matt nodded. "I had a run in with the last Guardian there a little over five years ago." "Ursus Rex. That bastard killing-machine was not a protector. He was a tyrant, and too rash in his dealings with humankind. At one point he started hunting down patrons of this very theater until the Elder Werecat Nahele became brave enough to intervene." They reached the last step and he fixed the glowing embers of his eyes on Matt. "But I think you know about all that, don't you?" Matt opened his mouth to say something, shut it. Slowly he nodded. "Good, then I don't have to repeat what happened to him." Ras reached out in the darkness and grabbed hold of something that Matt couldn't see. With a metallic click, he heard the soft sound of a door being pulled open. "And on that note, here we are. Do you need the lights on or can you manage in the dark this time?" "Better put the lights on," Matt answered, picking out the glow of Ras's candle in the thick blackness. "I can't see a damn thing." "Ah, figures. Wait right here." Matt stood quietly as he waited, listening to the faint howl of the wind rushing through the giant oaks that surrounded the outside of the building. There was something ominous about the sound, like the telltale calm before a bad storm. He didn't realize it was holding him enraptured until Ras appeared in front of him and gave him a shake. "Hey, what're you doing?" Ras asked him, breaking his concentration. "Is something wrong?" Matt flinched and shook his head, clearing his mind. Hs stared at Ras, his eyes slowly focusing. "Nothing. I was just--listening to the wind." "I see." Ras looked puzzled for a moment, then melted into a smile. "So, anyway, you can go in now. I turned the lamps so you can see better." "Uhm, thanks. I appreciate it." Ras shrugged. "No problem." When Matt didn't move, he stepped aside and gestured to the doorway. "You gonna go in or what?" "Oh, sure, right." Matt managed to gather his wits as he slid past the door and into a room that was too big to have once been an office and too small to have ever been a storage closet. With the roar of the wind out of his mind, he was able to look around and concentrate on the bare furnishings. Like the sleeping bag and raggedy blankets that were piled haphazardly on the bare floor, and the dilapidated dresser that was pushed against the farthest wall and housed two lamps with brightly burning naked bulbs. "It ain't much, but it's home," Ras stated, coming up behind him. "Sit down and I'll get you settled in." Matt did as told and Ras opened the dresser and started rummaging through it, picking out bits of clothes and old food wrappers and tossing them carelessly to the ground. Once or twice he stopped to examine something of interest, but quickly discarded it as he did with everything else. Finally he came upon the thing he was looking for, a brown paper bag tied at the top with layers of rubber bands. Holding it with both hands, he sat down next to Matt and crossed his legs Indian style. "Here, this is for you." Ras proffered the bag to Matt, who looked at it as if it was going to bite. "I'm not sure if you want it, but you should give it a try." Matt stared at the bag for several seconds until he reached out and slowly took it from the offering hands. Gingerly, as if unsure of what to do with it, he rolled the rubber bands off and forced his hand inside. His fingers slid around something cold and metallic, and with a strange look at Ras he pulled it out. The look became one of puzzlement when he saw it was a small silver flask with a dragonhead carved into the surface. "It's a little intoxicating concoction I give to all my guests," Ras told him simply, picking up one of the blankets and sniffing at it. "A little bit of this, a little bit of that, and some dragon blood for added effect." "Dragon blood?" Matt asked, his eyes widening slightly. "Dragon blood?" Matt asked, his eyes widening slightly. "Yeah. It packs a punch." "How the hell did you get dragon blood?" Ras just smiled and made it obvious he wasn't going to give an answer. Matt shook his head and unscrewed the flask. He gave the mouthpiece a sniff, decided the liquid inside was safe to consume, and took a swig. It burned going down but the rush came almost instantly. Matt found himself gasping for breath. "Goddam," he muttered between gulps of air. Ras laughed. "Too strong for you?" Matt gave a wheeze and nodded. "Just a bit." "Means more for me, then. Pass it on down." Matt handed the sliver flask to Ras, who swiped it from him greedily and knocked its entire contents back in one gulp. When he was through he flung the metal container away carelessly and leaned back on his hands. For a moment he sat entirely still, gazing at nothing through eyelids that had drooped considerably, and then his arms gave out and he fell to his back. Not for the first time that night Matt found himself wondering just who had chosen this particular mess for the Sacred Wood's Guardian, or if he was the Guardian at all. He seemed a bit incompetent for the job, not to mention a tad screwy. Then again, he WAS an incredible mind reader and sensitive, and Matt hadn't quite seen him in action yet. Perhaps there was more here then he was perceiving. Ras gave a muffled groan and flipped himself over on to his stomach. "That was better then sex," he muttered, curling sideways and fixing his gold eyes on Matt. "Maybe even better then my daily fix." He paused, looked down at his midsection briefly, and then sighed exasperatedly. "Uh, would you mind doing me a favor? You see, well, I can't seem to muster enough coordination to get these shorts off. Think you could do it for me?" Matt didn't answer, only raised one eyebrow, half-suspicious. "Don't give me that look," Ras told him, scowling. "I know what gender you prefer, and I'm not that way. I just need some help here." Matt sighed and leaned over the intoxicated Guardian, shaking his head as he unbuttoned and unzipped the cutoffs. Without much help from the wearer he had to pull and tug them down before he could get them all the way off, and he caught himself staring more then once in the process. "Thanks," Ras said dreamily when Matt was finished, grabbing a fluffy down Navajo-printed blanket off the floor and pulling it around him. "You can have the sleeping bag. Make yaself at home." When Matt didn't move, only looked at him, he blew hair out of his eyes and showed his teeth. "Well, what're ya waiting for? Get some sleep." "I can't," Matt answered flatly. Ras groaned. "If this is about what I think it is-" "And what do you think it's about?" "Damon Salvatore," Ras answered, startling Matt with his accuracy yet again. "I know you miss him, and I assure you, he's due back tomorrow morning. Even earlier if all goes well. So ya won't have to suffer much longer." "Thank you." "Don't mention it. Now get to bed." Matt looked down at the bright yellow nylon sleeping bag with its stuffing hanging out, and then at the Navajo-printed down comforter Ras had tightly wrapped around him. He frowned. "Would you mind if I slept under there with you?" he asked, hoping Ras didn't get the wrong idea. He just wanted something more comfortable then a leaky sleeping bag, not to mention the warmth of another body. 'Huh?" came the muffled reply. "Uh, alright, just as long as ya don't try anything funny." "Don't worry, I'm loyal," Matt reassured him, pulling off his shirt and pants quickly and climbing underneath the piece of blanket Ras had untucked for him. Instantly he huddled close to his bedmate, who protested at first but then decided the extra body heat was well needed. Before either of them realized their eyes were closed, they were both sound asleep. XXX Damon lay across Colina's worn out couch peering into the darkened pit of the apartment, moth-eaten blanket pushed down to his bare waist, ears listening to the sounds of cockroaches, sex, blaring televisions that came in through the thin walls. He couldn't sleep, couldn't think, so he just lied there trying to drown out the surrounding noise and the fact that the rough blanket was scratching his sensitive skin. "Don't you ever sleep?" came a quiet voice from the kitchen behind him and he didn't need to turn around to know it was Skipper, fresh from a post-coitus shower. The herbal scented soap he'd used hadn't helped much. Damon could still make out the musk of sweat and semen on him, and under that the faintest hint of Colina's skin. "I thought she wasn't your girlfriend," Damon commented as he heard the padding of footsteps on the living room carpet. Skipper sat down on the couch where Damon's feet ended, a plum in one hand and a glass of cheap supermarket wine in the other. Staring at the blank screen of the old JVC television across from him, he bit the plum thoughtfully and held out the glass. Damon took it thankfully. "She's not," Skipper finally answered, having sat in silence for some time. "We're just, you know, occasional lovers." He shrugged. Damon took a sip of whine. "You take care of her," he observed. "It's a rough city, somebody has to look out for her." "So I guess you're not going to allow me to take her back with me, are you." Skipper shook his head. "I can't do that. You and I might be on better terms now, and you might need her powers, but I just can't let you take her away from me." Damon took another sip of wine. "You do realize what she is, don't you?" Skipper looked straight into Damon's eyes, licking fruit pulp from his lips and swallowing loudly. "I know exactly what she is." Damon sighed and finished off the wine in one last gulp, putting the empty glass down on the small wooden coffee table that sat by the couch. "Very well. There's nothing else here for me, then. I should be getting back to New Paltz." "I'm sorry, Damon. I wish I could let you take her, but I can't. She's not ready to go." Damon pulled off the blanket and swung his legs over the couch, tugging on the clothes that he had left draped over Colina's favorite lay-z-boy armchair. "Don't worry about it," he assured in a smooth and controlled voice. "Just keep in contact with me so that we can discuss things when she IS ready." "I'll do that." Damon extracted his leather jacket from the coat rack by the door and shrugged it on. "And keep her safe. You're all she has." Before Skipper could answer, Damon had already slipped out the door and was making haste for the elevator. Now that he was out of the apartment he found he could think straight, and his thoughts were haunted by one specific question: How would he ever break it to Matt that his long dead High School friend Bonnie McCullough had come back to this world as the strongest child telepath ever to walk the material plane? Part II: Shattered Oblivion Matt had just fallen into the world of pleasant dreams when a violent blow to his side knocked him awake. "Come on!" a voice was yelling urgently in his ear. "We don't have much time!" Matt's eyes fluttered open and he blinked repeatedly until Ras's face above him came into focus. "Wha?" Matt asked, sitting up and rubbing his eyes sleepily. Ras tossed a wad of clothes at him. "Get dressed. Quickly." Matt obeyed without question, the urgency in Ras's voice almost tangible. "What's going on?" he asked, concern starting to erupt in his mind. "No time to explain. We gotta get goin'." When Matt was fully clothed Ras helped him up and dragged him out of the room and down the main staircase, nearly tripping him in the process. Ras paused briefly in the foyer, looking around thoughtfully, and then he lifted Matt off the ground and hefted him on to his back as if he weighed no more then a sack of potatoes. "What're you doing?" Matt asked as they stepped out of Silver Ballroom and into cold driving needles of rain. From somewhere in the distance came the ominous rumble of thunder, as if it was starting to build up to something bigger. "Just hold on tight." Ras dropped to his hind legs, bending his head low to the ground, and Matt felt muscles beneath his clinging arms and hands bulge and contract as they began to transform. When Ras had at least doubled in size he stopped the process, which left Matt as bewildered as before. There seemed to be no change in the body beneath him's appearance besides the growth, and he had mere moments to ponder this before Ras grunted and took off at a pace that could have broken the sound barrier. Matt wasn't ready for it. He let out a choked yelp as the woods passed by him in a vector of browns and greens and the ground seemed nothing more then a grassy blur. His fingers were digging into Ras's skin hard, trying with difficulty to keep him astride as rain and debris pounded at him. The flesh of his palms had gone white and his hands were starting to slip. They rounded a bend where the trees had been cut away to make a small footpath and Matt felt himself slipping even further off as Ras leaped over ancient oak stumps and maneuvered around saplings. Once or twice they hit a particularly strong branch as they swung around it and Matt was jarred and bumped on each impact. Suddenly, as Ras let out an animalistic bellow that shook Matt to his core and could only signify deep rage, Matt caught sight of two crisscrossing structures just starting to spiral above the trees in the distance. He stared as he was rocketed even closer to them, mesmerized by their pure lily-white luminescence and trying to figure out why they were calling up such a strong flicker of memory in his brain. He remembered something about these things ahead of him being associated with the scriptures Alazuria and he had gone over that very morning. It was something about--a passage and an incantation; something to do with dragon culture. It's one of the four gateways into the Oblivion of the Draconi, Ras's voice echoed in his mind, having obviously read his thoughts. There was a slight mental pause as if he were about to continue, but he didn't go on. Matt, however, wasn't paying much attention anyway. Something in his head had put two and two together and his mouth was nearly agape with astonishment and surprise. You mean, he replied telepathically, that under the ground past those white things--? Those exact 'white things' that crisscrossed each other at the level of the tree tops were almost on top of them now, and Ras slowed to a halt. "Yeah," Ras answered aloud, shaking rain from his mop of wet hair and sliding Matt down off his back. "Under the ground past this thing is one of the dragon gods himself. The God of Red Dragons, Rubidinomilis, to be exact. And he's enjoying a sweet eternal slumber. Lucky bastard." Matt had made his way over to a dry spot near one of the crisscrossing structures and was thoughtfully checking it out, noting that it was made of pure ivory, when the bitter razor-edge to Ras's tone persuaded him to look up. He furrowed his brow, now curious as to what kind of situation he had gotten himself entangled in. "Why are we here, anyway?" he asked pointedly. "There doesn't seem to be anything going on." Ras sighed and tilted his head up towards the rain, closing his eyes and letting it spill down his face. "Every single freakin' life form on this planet is in danger, and it's all because of my negligence." "What?" Matt asked, strangely calm. "Does this have to do with Rubidi-whatever his name is?" Ras nodded. "But that's all a Legend. Just lore passed down from the dragon ancestors, right? He's not really a God. Is he? I mean, I believe something utterly destructive and powerful that can strike fear into any heart is under that ground, and that's why I was so surprised when you told me what this was, but--the existence of any kind of God-" Something in the way Ras was looking at him stopped him even before he could form the next word. Those eyes, like twin golden suns, were fixated on him with an intensity that could burn holes through steel. "This is no legend," Ras said slowly, each word a red-hot spear that penetrated the thick air. "Rubidinomilis is a true God. He can make and unmake the world as he wills to. He is a force of pure good, and a force of ultimate evil at the same time. He was bound into eternal slumber by the hands of mages to save humankind, like all of the other Dragon Gods." Ras bared his suddenly elongated teeth and snarled. "And now somebody has crossed this Gateway and is trying to break his seal and awaken him. You're probably wondering how something like this could happen. Well, I was too drunk to feel that somebody had disrupted the delicate balance that the Gateway has with the Sacred Woods; too wasted to fill my role as Guardian. The penalty for that is death, Matt. As soon as I fix all this mess up the elders are going to kill me just as they did Ursus Rex. Now do you doubt the existence of the Dragon Gods?" Matt shook his head quickly, feeling the truth behind Ras's words. "Great to know you trust me." He paused, looking first at Matt then at the Gateway. "So, are you ready to go through?" 'We're going through?" Matt blinked, surprised. "Yeah, well, what did you expect? I gotta stop whoever's gotten in there, and if they've done damage I have to repair it before anything happens." "But I read only dragons could pass through a gateway." "Dragons and those who they choose to take across with them. I highly doubt our intruders are dragons, though, so I don't know how they got in. Hopefully we'll find out soon enough. But anyway, as long as I've decided you're worthy of crossing into the Oblivion of Draconi, you'll be able to get through." "Wait,are you telling me...you're a dragon?" Ras said nothing, merely nodded and beckoned the vampire over. "That's not important now. What matters is that we cross into the Oblivion as quickly as possible." "But-" Matt protested, stepping up beside him. Ras's upraised hand him off. "I'm afraid ya gonna have to shutup. I need to concentrate." Ras moved forward until he was directly under the ivory gateway and lifted his hands above his head, drawing his muscles taught. "Diety of my red dragon brothers, I offer you my blood in exchange for safe passage," he yelled into the rainstorm, and then brought his clawed hand against the opposite wrist. With a grunt he bore into the flesh, piercing it easily, and tore a path down his forearm. Matt watched raptly as fat beads of blood welled up from the wounds and seeped downwards, spattering to the forest floor with a wet sound that would have been inaudible to human ears. Matt felt the itching, tingling sensation in his mouth that Signaled the lengthening of his canines. He remembered he hadn't fed the night Before and he could sense the hunger uncoiling from the depths of his mind; feel the bloodlust begin to scream in his veins. He tried to turn away, tried to chase all thoughts of blood out of his head, but he found it wasn't possible. He unwillingly took a step towards were Ras was performing his bloodletting ritual. Then another. And another. Ras lowered his arms and started up a chant. The language was familiar. Matt recognized it as the same ancient draconic tongue that had been printed on Alazuria's scrolls. The words that came rushing out of Ras's mouth were more powerful, though; more magical. He could feel the Earth start to thrum with their strength just as reached his destination. The hunger suddenly enveloped his mind,driving all other thoughts away and forcing him to his knees. He growled and bared his teeth in a savage grimace. Ras finished up his chant and turned around to see what the noise was. And that's when Matt struck. X X X "Don't tell me that's your fuckin' car." Damon took his keys from the garage attendant and turned to stare for the first time at the young hooker that had followed him doggedly from Colina's apartment complex. Even with a faux fur-trimmed coat that hung on her wiry frame like a drooping skin and pounds of makeup masking her features, he estimated that she couldn't be more then thirteen, fourteen years old. Her eyes were still bright with the luminescence of youth, the dull edge of bitterness from life on the street shaving not crept into them yet. No, she was still very young. But Damon could vaguely sense the contents of her mind and it seemed at the rate she was going it wouldn't be long before the corruption set in. Damon nodded at her and gestured towards the passenger side. "You want a ride?" he asked. "No shit, huh mister?" she replied, skimming her hand over the sleek paint job of the Ferrari's hood. "First we settle how much you're gonna pay, though. It's a goddam hot car but I don't ride for free." "Fair enough. How about we start at a thousand and work our way up?" "Nice, very nice. I can give you an all-nighter for that rate." Damon clicked his key chain, deactivating his car alarm. "Get in, then." The girl hesitated in opening the passenger door, but when Damon slid into the car and glanced at her quizzically she pulled it open and climbed in, trying to hide her enthusiasm in an air of nonchalance. "Where we goin?" she asked, pulling the seatbelt tight across her chest. Damon pressed his foot down on the Ferrari's clutch and shifted from neutral into first gear. "New Paltz," he said, and pushed in on the gas pedal. The car lurched forward, momentarily swathing the building opposite the garage in the soft yellow of the headlights before turning on to the street with a roar from the engine. "Shit, mister, that's a two hour drive." "Well," He turned to look at her and grinned. "We could always call this off and I could let you out at the next corner. Without pay, mind you." The girl looked up into his eyes warily and twirled a piece of her honey colored hair around her finger. She sighed. "New Paltz is fine, then. But you better bring me back here in the morning." "I have every intention of doing so," He shifted the car into second gear and sped through a red light, horns blaring in protest as he narrowly missed a collision with the oncoming traffic. "Anyway, I don't believe I caught your name." The young girl rubbed absently at the bucket seat's leather armrest and turned her attention towards the window. "You can call me Grace." "Damon. You can call me whatever you like." Grace careened her neck towards him and raised an eyebrow. "Whatever I like, huh?" she asked. "This isn't your idea of some twisted game, is it, cos if it is I'm telling ya right now, I don't do kinky shit." Damon laughed and steered the car on to a ramp with a sign marked LINCOLN TUNNEL/ NEW JERSEY, merging with the steadily moving traffic of Highway I-495 west. "If you're worried about THAT then you can rest assured. It's not what I picked you up for." "Huh?" "It's a long drive back to New Paltz, and I was feeling a bit...." He trailed off and turned his head towards her, looking her up and down before turning his attention back towards the road. Grace felt tendrils of fear start to uncoil somewhere in the depths of her mind and she willed herself to ignore them. Why should it unnerve her so much that he was giving her a once over? In her line of business plenty of men, especially customers, did it to her everyday. So why should he be any different? "What were you feeling a bit?" she asked, not really wanting to hear what he had been about to say but needing a means to chase her thoughts out of her head. He turned towards her again and this time his gaze stayed locked on her, unflinching, unblinking. She wanted to scream at him to watch the road but his eyes seemed to hold her frozen in place. "Hungry," he answered, then finally looked away. The small passenger space in the Ferrari suddenly seemed suffocating and Grace felt an irrational wave of panic wash over her. For a moment the only thing she could think of was escape; of smashing the window or thrusting the stiletto she had tucked in her sneaker into Damon's heart. And then it passed as quickly as it had come. She swallowed, tasting something bitter. The flavor of fear and adrenaline she thought wildly and bit back on a laugh. She could feel her body relaxing, the tension that had pulled her muscles taught only minutes ago slowly draining out of her. She glanced over at Damon and had to force back her laughter again. What had she been afraid of? Him? For chrissakes, he had a six-digit sports car and looked barely older then she was. He was probably some spoiled uptown boy out for a night of spending daddy's money. If THAT could strike fear into her heart then maybe it was time to cut back on all the drugs. Or maybe it had just been his eyes. She'd never quite seen eyes such a luminescent and unsettling black before. In fact, she had read once that there weren't supposed to be eyes that color, that all eyes that dark were just a highly concentrated shade of brown. Damon's eyes, however, made her doubt that theory. "Where are we now?" she asked, realizing quite some time had passed since she had buried herself in thought. 'Not far from the New York State Throughway," he answered. "You wouldn't know a good place to stop off for a bit, would you?" "Not that I can think of." "Damn. I guess I'll just have to wait, then." "Oh right, you said you were hungry. Are you still?" Grace tried to remember how he had come to mention something like that in conversation, but couldn't exactly recall. The corners of Damon's mouth turned up in a grin. "Yes, I'm quite famished. Maybe we can get off on the next exit, then? Would you mind?" Grace shook her head. "Not as long as you're still paying. Besides, I haven't eaten since this morning. I could use a snack." "Very well, then. "We'll see what the next-" Damon broke off suddenly and jerked the steering wheel sharply to the side, the tires screeching in protest. Grace slammed against the passenger side door, her head striking the window as the breath was knocked out of her. "What the hell?" she demanded as the car lurched again and barreled on to a darkened ramp, cutting off several other cars in the process. Horns blared angrily behind them but Damon ignored them. "Almost missed the exit," he grumbled, and geared the Ferrari down. Grace glared but figured it wise to keep her mouth shut. They descended the ramp in silence, Grace watching road reflectors pass by in a blur of orange until she saw the bright red and white lights of a Kentucky Fried Chicken rise up out of the darkness on the side of the road. Her stomach rumbled as she waited for the car to slow down and turn into the parking lot, realizing just how hungry she really was. But when Damon passed it as if it wasn't even there she frowned and turned towards him. "Uh, you just missed the food," she stated dumbly. "Did I?" he asked unemotionally, keeping his eyes on the road. "Must've not been paying attention." There was something in his voice that Grace didn't like the sound of; something that made her earlier fear start to creep up again. "Aren't you going to turn around?" she asked, fighting down the panic for a second time. He didn't answer, nor did he make any indication of having heard her. She frowned and scrunched down in her seat, saturated with the uneasy feeling that he was merely amusing himself with her; toying with her mind. She watched the world outside the window and her thoughts were even further confirmed when they passed several other assorted fast food and family restaurants, as well as a Quickie Mart and never ending rows of houses. Pretty soon trees on both sides surrounded them and the number of other cars on the road kept trickling down until they were traveling solo. Grace closed her eyes. Where was he taking her? What kind of mess had she managed to get herself into? And suddenly the car stopped. Grace opened her eyes and noticed they had pulled on to the shoulder of the road, nestled between a clump of bushes and trees. With a jolt she realized that to anybody driving by they were probably invisible. It didn't help that the Ferrari was entirely black and blended in easily with the shadows and patches of darkness. Grace gulped, the fear bubbling up fiercely and relentlessly at full-force, and looked over to Damon. XXX Ras was too slow. As he desperately tried to move away, tried to backup from the spot on the ground where his blood had made a dark red puddle, Matt pounced on him. The two of them crashed to the forest floor in a tangle of arms and legs. "Matt!" Ras gasped as he felt first the wet, hot sensation of Matt's mouth closing around the area where his shoulder met his neck, and then the sharp point of fangs plunging into his skin. His body spasmed as they drove in deep, his back arching in a strange heady blend of pleasure and pain. "Matt, get off me, NOW!" he growled through clenched teeth, throwing his head back. The only response he received was a crippling bolt of pain that shot from where Matt was latched on to him to the muscles in his hand. He bit back on a cry and bunched his legs up instead, ready to shove his knees into Matt's groin. And suddenly he realized the ground beneath them was thrumming as if the land itself had some massive, beating heart beneath its crust. His eyes widened, his body went slack even though Matt was still feeding from him. No he thought. This can't be happening The thrumming became a persistent roar in his ears and this time he couldn't hold back the scream. It was torn from his throat and from his very mouth by the power that was quickly rising beneath him, snaking in his very blood. Only now did Matt let go and scramble away, sensing the building tension in the air, unconsciously wiping away the rim of blood that outlined his mouth. And that's when Ras, body trembling uncontrollably, curled his arms tightly around his head and began to change. They didn't need to pass into the Oblivion of the Draconi any longer. In fact, nobody could ever pass through it ever again. The Oblivion had shattered. XXX Damon wound his hand in Grace's hair and pulled her head back, exposing her neck. Her skull banged hard against the dashboard but Damon had already subdued her considerably an so only an acknowledging groan escaped her lips. He ran his tongue along her throat, tasting her and teasing himself while tracing the flow of blood beneath the skin. His mouth hovered over a spot just below the jugular vein; his canines lengthened, sharpened. He leaned forward ever so slightly. His free arm encircled the small body straddling his lap. And then he felt the pain. It was as if he had swallowed the sun and it was burning him alive from the inside out. His breath caught in his throat as he felt it expanding within him, into the recesses of his mind that were lying dormant and parts of him that had never been forced open so violently before. A hellish noise filled the small interior of the Ferrari and he realized it was himself, the strange animalistic sound that was somewhere between a roar and a squawk coming from his own throat. He tried in vain to ease out of whatever state his mind had been forced into but it was like trying to quell his bloodlust when it was at its pinnacle. With a surge of pure irrational power he felt himself lunging for Grace's throat. Again he fought desperately to regain some control but it was as if his mind had closed off from the rest of his body and taken things into its own hands. It was discerning, as if he were two separate beings in the same body. The feeling only worsened as he felt flesh start to give way under his teeth and blood wash over his face. Knowing he was helpless to stop any further mutilation Grace would suffer at his hands, he closed his mental eyes and receded into the darkness of his soul, giving his mind complete and total reign of his body. XXX Matt watched raptly as Ras withered and screamed on the forest floor, snapping out of his blood frenzy as the boy before hims' body lay contorting and changing with every bellow that escaped his lips. Something really important was happening but he couldn't understand exactly what. And there was no way Ras could tell him anything, not while undergoing a transformation and with the immense pain he seemed to be in. So Matt continued to watch, helpless and clueless, but calm. Incredibly calm, in fact. Ras lifted and elongated, pale and sinewy neck and looked down a newly formed white snout at Matt, his golden eyes locking with the vampire's. "Get out of here quickly and go find Nahele!" he growled, his voice hoarse and strained. "Tell him that I told you someone's destroyed the Oblivion." Matt nodded in reply as Ras spasmed and dropped his head back down to the ground, but didn't take off at a run. He felt too placid. And languid, which reminded him of the way he would get when he was back at home In Italy sitting by the fire in his and Damon's estate. Sleepy, as if his head was full of cotton and his eyelids were made of lead. Then he'd start nodding off, right in his favorite velvet recliner that sat next to the fireplace, and Damon would come in and sit opposite him, watching him doze until he was awakened by the close mental presence. And then there would be the bed; cool sheets, sometimes black silk, sometimes red linen, and the friction of bare skin on his own. Warm lips on his mouth, cool hands entangled in his hair, smooth hips thrusting rhythmically against his body. The positions would switch and he'd have hot skin throbbing inside his mouth, delighting in the soft gasps and moans that filled his ears until- Matt was on his hands and knees, his face just inches from a clump of leaves that littered the ground. His vision doubled as a wave of dizziness rolled over him. What's happening? He asked himself, his world starting to go blurry and seeming to recede into the background of his mind, replaced again by memories. But this time he couldn't stay focused and they danced across in vision chaotically, drowning him in confusion. Burning hands wrapped around his arms. He turned his head sharply, to see who had grabbed him, and instantly regretted it. His vision blurred entirely and shrank to a pinpoint. And then, as everything went black altogether, his body flopped to the ground in a limp pile and he promptly passed out. XXX Part III: Bathing in the Blood of Fools A Loud click against the pane of the Ferrari's window. Damon awoke with a start, swiveling his head frantically around the Car's interior in search of the irritating noise. Another loud click. Damon careened his neck sharply towards the noise and saw a pair of keys pressed against his driver's side window, fingers spread eagled against them. Two gray eyes like cold steel peered in at him, eyebrows coming together in a frown above them. And just above that a receding hairline sticking out of a formal hat, a star shaped badge pinned to it. Oh, fuck. A cop. The hand with the keys reached downward, and Damon knew that it was going for the door handle. He heard it click before he could slam down on the side panel's automatic lock, and swallowed panic that he hadn't felt in years. EVERYTHING in the car was covered in blood, including himself. And he knew despite the vicious wounds his irrational mind had inflicted upon Grace, she was still alive. He could hear her softly whimpering and panting. How long had it been since he had attacked her, and since he had passed out? He hoped it wasn't too lengthy of a time. He couldn't bare the thought of her sitting in the passenger seat suffering like some half slaughtered animal just because he had lost his control. It was inhumane and unjustified. The driver's side door was opening and Damon could feel the Officer's presence beside him. Slowly he looked over to the uniformed man, wiping away the blood that he knew was smeared across his mouth. "Has there been an accident?" the officer asked, his face stony. Damon shook his head and rose slowly from the car. He read the Officer's breastplate to himself, which spelled out the name McMullen. Officer McMullen frowned at the blood that soiled Damon's clothes. "What's going on here, then? Where's this blood come from?" Something in Damon was slowly unfurling itself, not at all different from the feeling of having his mind forced open that he had experienced early. Oh God, not again. Officer McMullen was growing impatient. Answer me or I'll bust You on the grounds of disobeying an officer," he growled. Damon felt the same strange detachment from before creep over him and his mind began reeling. He couldn't let what had happened before occur again. He couldn't give in to it this time. As if something was conducting his movements like he was a marionette on delicate strings, he involuntarily crossed his arms over his chest and leaned back against the Ferrari, smirking at the officer. "Did you see the girl on the passenger side of the car?" he asked, trying to regain control of his actions. "Yes, I saw her and the condition she was in. I've already called for backup. What happened to her?" Damon's smirk grew even larger. "I ripped open her throat with my teeth and lapped her blood up until I was bloated with it," he said, horrified at his own actions. "It was delicious." Officer McMullen's eyebrows shot up into his hair, the blood draining from his face as he took a step back and reached for the gun at his belt. "You sick fucking piece of shit. I'm taking you in." Damon growled. "Reach for that gun and I'll snap your neck like a twig." "You'll never have time. So I advise you to freeze, hands behind your head with your back to me." Officer McMullen pulled the gun out of the holster and aimed it straight at Damon's chest. Damon chuckled. Then, without another word, he lunged. Before the officer could even fire off a shot Damon's arm was around his throat, the other having knocked off the police hat and gripping a clump of hair. He gave one sharp wrench to the side and the drama was over instantly. The officer's body crumpled to the street in a heap, and Damon noted it was just in time. He could hear sirens wailing in the distance indicating the radioed backup wasn't too far from the scene of the crime. It was time to get the hell out of there. Damon tried to stop the transformation of his body into crow form but he couldn't fight against the mind (his very own, sadly) that had taken him over. As his wings flapped and caught the air and he ascended into the sky, and the car and dead officer became specks on the ground, he cringed mentally and wondered if he would regain control over himself ever again. XXX Nahele heard the footsteps stomping up to his cabin even before the sound of the front door being kicked open violently and banging against the wall carried into the guest room. "Where the bloody fuck are you, Nahele?" an Americanized british voice called out, laden with rage. Nahele sighed and pulled the covers up to Alazuria's chin, who shuddered and moaned in her fever-drenched sleep. He wondered what was happening to her. She had been fine mere moments ago; fine until the tremors in the earth had started. He figured it had something to do with the dragon and the kin, but he couldn't be absolutely sure. Although he was the sacred wood's Elder werecat, he knew next to nothing about their inner culture. It was often a major hindrance in his line of work but to go against the orders of the dragons was almost blasphemy. So he dared not meddle in their affairs. "Get your mangy arse down here, you fucking boot-licker," the voice called again. Nahele sighed and brushed hair off of Alazuria's forehead. "Coming," he answered. "You better or ill kick the shit out of you." Nahele rolled his eyes and hissed before rounding the corner and stepping into the foyer. As the tall, young man wearing a black turtle neck, trench coat, and neat trousers leaned against the back of the door and smiled at him, he stopped dead in his tracks. "Demian," he croaked. "I...I thought you were Lucio." "Lucio's never involved himself in personal housecalls," Demian answered, shaking his thick brown hair out of his pale blue eyes. "You know that." "Has something happened?" "What are you, fucking daft? Didn't you feel the ground rumbling before? Don't you feel it NOW?" "Of course I did! And I still do. What's going on?" Demian gestured to the small bench that ran along the foyer where a huddle of blankets and rags lay. Nahele followed the action and noticed the heap for the first time. "I caught this little queer wanker messing around at the gateway with that worthless waste of flesh Rasheeva. Do you know what the fuck they've done?" "Matt Honeycutt," Nahele said, almost to himself as he walked over to the pile and gently peeled back the layers of its form. Sure enough when he dug deep enough he could make out a blond head and smooth pale skin. "Wait just a minute. This is Matt Honeycutt? As in...Damon Salvatore's Matt Honeycutt?" Nahele nodded, stroking the blond's head. "Fuck me, this isn't good. Lucio's going to get medieval on my arse when he finds out who I thumped here. But, bloody hell...in trying to summon Rubidinomilis he and Ras destroyed the Oblivion of Draconi." Nahele's head snapped up sharply and his eyes widened. "What?" he asked, his blood freezing in his veins. "The oblivion has shattered and the dragon gods have awakened. There's nothing stopping them from manifesting as physical beings in this realm. That's what all the goddamn tremors are from. We're in close proximity to the red dragon god, and he's building his strength up for his return. And you bloody well know about the fuckin' prophecy of the dragon gods second coming, don't you?" Nahele nodded slowly. "And if the time ever comes when the dragon gods have a chance to reclaim their lost thrones in the Earthen realm, unleash the powers of the god of the Great White King and the god of the Legendary Dark Ruler in harmony to balance all five points of the dragon circle lest all human life perish and the gods bath in the blood of fools." "Correct." "But we have nothing to worry about. You and Rasheeva are the balancing powers of black and white and complete the circle." "Who's to say that the dragons will manifest themselves at the same time. It could be fuckin aeons before all of them are back on Earth. And without all of them, Ras and I are bloody useless. That's besides the fact the two of us haven't reached our full maturity because we've strayed from our paths. Drastically. The Great White King and Legendary Dark Ruler are nothing more then...well, we're still children. What the fuck can two children do?" Nahele shook his head and cast his eyes downwards. "Yes, you and Ras are merely children, that is true, and it will take a lot of work for the both of you to reclaim your heritage. But it is not impossible. Lucio has corrupted your mind, and Ras's mind at one point as well. He's taught you two to think like modern day men and to act like them as well, and this is where you and he have been lead astray. But Ras has begun to walk the path he was destined for yet again. And you shall too if you break away from your world of human ideals. You are a god. Money and power should not be your main concerns. Stop thinking like a mere mortal." "Fuck off, you stupid git. I don't need advice from an ancient bloody werecat." Demian turned around and opened the door, growling to himself. "Now, if you don't mind, I have to report back to Lucio. He wants to know what the hell's going on in these woods, and we have to figure out how to stop the dragon gods from manifesting themselves on this plane." Nahele sighed and turned to head for the kitchen. "Go ahead, go back to your corporate wasteland. Just be prepared for the second coming when it happens because if you're not ready you're going to feel the sharpened point of your mistakes." "Yeah, sure I am. Ras is out back if you need him, chopping wood I believe. So toodles, you old fuck." Demian sneered and stomped out of the cabin, slamming the door behind him as he left. Nahele tried his best to repress his feeling of anxiety, but the churning in his stomach let him know that he wouldn't stop fussing over the situation until it was resolved. XXX Ras hefted the ax above his head with one hand and effortlessly brought it down upon the chunk of wood before him, anger pulling the thick cords of vein in his forearm taught. The wood made a sharp splitting sound and fell to the dirt in two separate pieces. He grunted at them then picked them up and threw them on to a pile of splintery pieces of timber. Oh, how he wished it were Demian's bloody and broken body he was hacking away at and not just some parts from an elderly oak. Demian...the very name made him want to scream in rage. What he had done today had drawn the line but there wasn't anyway to discipline him short of confronting the Dragon Council. And that wouldn't do much good. They would never believe the Dark Ruler was capable of such vicious and immoral acts, especially this close to the supposed second coming. They couldn't see him for what he really was: just a waste of an immensely powerful dragon ruler. Ras knew Demian would never care nor be focused enough to walk his destined path. Lucio had his claws too deeply embedded in the young god's hide, and had clouded his abilities. And Lucio was another name that made his blood boil. A both old and powerful vampire that controlled major industrial powers in Europe, Asia, and the United States, he was as corrupted as they came. His specialty was luring only the most powerful forces in paranormal society to his side and employing them as the main powers behind his companies. It wasn't a coincidence that he had drafted Demian and given him a place at the very top of the corporate ladder. At one point, Ras himself had even served Lucio as Demian's partner. That hadn't been a coincidence either. With both him and Demian as high powers, Lucio had quickly become one of the most powerful and influential men on the face of planet. And then Ras had discovered what the big bucks he was rolling in could buy and everything had gone downhill. A drug habit, a few arrests, and a physical attack on Lucio that had had him recuperating for months even with his vampire powers found him stripped of his company position. His home and possessions were repossessed on Lucio's behalf and he went back to the dragons in the Sacred Woods, who he had abandoned in the first place. They accepted him back as the Great White King but no longer a member of the dragon families for now he had been forever tainted with the corruption and greed that only mortal men could have. And so he was made the guardian of the Woods, living under the teachings of Nahele and the roof of the abandoned Silver Ballroom until he fulfilled his destiny. And it seemed that time had finally come. Ras threw down the ax and snapped out of his thoughts, his tummy rumbling something fierce. He guessed he could ask Nahele to fix him a bit of breakfast. Or was it lunch? Whatever the case, he didn't think the elder werecat would mind. Maybe he had even prepared something already. Dusting his hands off and licking his lips, he turned around and headed for the backdoor of the cabin. XXX Part IV: Bandages It was mid-morning when Damon stumbled up to Nahele's cabin and collapsed in a heap at the doorstep. Sometime during the trip back he had awakened to find himself sprawled belly up amongst the trees of the Sacred Woods, the control on himself regained. It wasn't long before he found out that he was exhausted and injured and that he had barely enough drive to get him to the others. There were times while he was limping along that he just wanted to crawl under a bed of leaves and sleep until someone or something found him, but somehow he managed to keep himself moving. Now, as he lay at Nahele's door waiting for someone to have heard him approaching and let him in, all he could think of was the pain. It seemed to be centered around his chest and spreading out towards his arms and legs, like all his bones had somehow been broken. Maybe they had. Maybe he had fallen out of the sky while he was in crow form. He didn't know and he didn't care as long as it stopped sometime soon. Suddenly there was a creak behind him. Slowly he turned around and watched as the front door pulled back to reveal Alazuria staring down at him dumbfounded, a wet rag tied securely to her forehead with bandages. "Damon?" she asked, realization hitting her slowly. "Are you alright? What's happened to you?" "Help me up," Damon croaked, ignoring her questions. Alazuria nodded and reached down for him, tucking her arms under his just as she noticed the splotches of dried blood that covered him from head to toe. "God, you're all bloody," she commented, trying to stay calm as she hoisted him to his feet. "What happened?" "It's not mine," he told her as leaned on her for support. "It's a long story." Slowly she dragged him through the foyer and into the kitchen where she plopped him down on a cushioned chair that sat at a small table. He nodded his thanks and leaned back, closing his eyes as she sat down next to him. Nahele had been at the stove stirring a pot of soup when the two had come into the kitchen and was now placing steaming bowls of the hot liquid in front of them. "I didn't think you'd be feeling better so quickly," he told Alazuria, "but the soup will be good for you anyway." "Thank you," she told him. "It's an old dragon recipe." He glanced briefly at Damon. "Even works on vampires. Maybe you should wake Matt up so he can have some too." Damon opened his eyes at the mention of Matt's name and slowly straightened up, his hands reaching out for his bowl of soup. "Is he alright?" he asked either of them, his voice hoarse. Nahele sighed and wiped hair out of his eyes. "We're not really sure. He was attacked." Damon froze with his spoon poised between his mouth and the bowl. "He was what?" he asked, his voice soft and almost frightened. "A dragon attacked him. It was a misunderstanding, but he was badly hurt. I don't think there's any permanent damage, though." Damon dropped his spoon down and closed his eyes again, rubbing at his temples. Suddenly the door at the back of the kitchen banged open and a bare-chested man with golden eyes and disheveled black hair walked in and made a beeline for the soup pot on the stove. Grabbing a bowl from the cupboard above it, he filled it to the brim and leaned back on the countertop. Without any regard to the fact that everybody in the room was watching, he hungrily tipped the soup to his mouth and slurped it down. When he was finished he set the bowl down in the sink and smiled at the room. "This is Rasheeva," Nahele told Alazuria and Damon, gesturing toward the caramel-colored man. "Rasheeva, this is-" "I already know who they are," Ras answered, still smiling. "And pelase, let 'em call me Ras. It's less formal then that long form shit." "Yes. Anyway, Ras is a white dragon and he's also the Guardian of the Sacred Woods. " "Not just any white dragon, remember." Nahele shot him a look. "I'd watch what you say if I were you," he warned. "But Alazuria's a dragon. She probably already knows the lore." "And Damon isn't and doesn't." "He's of the Kin. He's just as much a part of this as any full blooded dragon." "Well neither of them are in any state to hear what's happening at the moment. It can wait until later. Besides, you and I need to talk privately" Ras sighed. "Fine. I'll be upstairs waiting." He brushed past Nahele quickly, shooting him a look of annoyance, but when he reached Damon he stopped and put his hand on his shoulder. The injured vampire looked up at him with bloodshot and wary eyes. "Matt's gonna be alright," he told him. "I saved his ass before anything really bad could happen to him." Damon nodded thankfully and Ras gave him a grin before he turned and left the room. XXX "Would you like to see Matt?" Nahele asked as he took Damon's empty soup bowl from him. "He should be almost fully healed by now." Damon leaned back in his chair and stretched his sore muscles, glad that the soup had taken most of the aches away. "Only if he's up to seeing me." "I think he'd want to see you even if he was fully incapacitated." Nahele smiled toothily. "Follow me and I'll show you to his room." Damon got up slowly, using the table for support. He was still a bit fatigued, and shaky on his feet, but he managed to follow the elder werecat down the hall and into a bedroom. The shades were drawn on all of the windows so everything was bathed in a muted darkness. Damon made his way over to the bed and sat down beside a lump buried under the covers; Matt. "Would you mind leaving us be alone for a bit?" Damon asked Nahele, peeling back the layers of comforters and sheets, giving the figure underneath a shake. Matt groaned and slowly sat up, rubbing his eyes. "Of course," Nahele answered. "I've got some things with Alazuria and Ras to sort out anyway. If you need anything, just ask." With that, he slipped out the door and closed it behind him. Matt coughed and looked over at Damon, smiling sleepily. Damon returned the smile but it was brief. "I'd sit here and go on about how much I've missed you if I wasn't so concerned about how you're feeling." Matt sighed and nudged closer. "Well I'm better then I was when I first got here, but I still feel shitty." "What happened?" "I'm not sure. I wasn't exactly awake to witness it, but I know it wasn't pleasant. Something really sent me reeling. Psychically as well as physically." Matt ran his fingers through his tasseled blond hair and leaned his body weight against Damon. "I was with Ras when it happened, though, and he saw what went on. We'll have to find out from him." "Yes, he told me something about saving your ass." Damon raised an eyebrow. "What the hell were you doing with him anyway?" "That's a long story." "We've got plenty of time." "Oh no we don't." Matt twisted his head around to look Damon in the eyes. "You haven't told me what happened to /you/ yet. I heard Alazuria dragging you inside before so obviously something was wrong." "You never cease to amaze me, Matthew." Damon chucked. Matt scowled at the use of his long form name. "Quit avoiding the topic and just tell me what was going on. " "Fine, but I want this kept between us until I figure out what's causing it." "Is it really that bad?" Damon nodded. "I've been...well, like you, I'm also not sure. Whatever it is, it's happened twice. Both times it came unexpectedly. I'll be going about things normally when I'll seem to withdraw and be taken over by some dormant part of me. It's completely out of my control. Like...like I'm becoming a puppet to my subconscious. I can watch what's happening but I can't interfere. And then I'll black out at some point and come to as if nothing has happened." Damon paused, letting Matt roll things over in his head. "The worst part is every time it's happened I've done something with malicious intent. I...I tore apart this girl and left her to bleed to death. " "Shit," Matt whispered. "That /is/ bad." "I don't think it's over either." Damon sighed. "And I have no idea what's causing it or how to prevent it from happening again." Matt wrapped his arms around him and drew him close. "Well, hopefully we'll think of something. For now, though, let's forget about the last few days and enjoy having each other back. It's been awhile." Damon sighed again and settled into Matt's arms. "Yes, you're right. I've had just about enough dwelling on it. And then the thing with Colina...." Damon stopped himself before he could continue. It wasn't the time nor place to bring up what he had discovered. Thankfully, Matt didn't question him. Instead he shushed him and planted a kiss on his lips. "You can tell me all about it later. Right now I just want you." Damon managed a smile and returned the kiss, glad to finally have a change of pace. XXX Alazuria was still sitting at the kitchen table when Nahele came back into the room. She was hunched over a sheet of what appeared to be a very old piece of paper, her brow wrinkled in thought. "What's that you have there?" Nahele asked, coming up beside her. "This?" Alazruia asked. "This is something from the dragon scriptures that I haven't been able to decipher. It begins with a tale about dragon gods who used to walk the earth and then--" "Let me see that." Alazuria looked surprised but handed him the page anyway. She watched as his eyes skimmed over the words and his lips moved, sounding out syllables that she hadn't even begun to try and pronounce. "We must show this to Ras immediately," he told her when he was finished, the blood draining from his face. "Ras?" Alazuria asked, eyebrows in her hair. "Why him?" "Because he is one of the five dragons who can understand it. And I wanted to have a talk between the three of us anyway." "Well...ok. But I'm still a bit confused. " "Don't worry. All will become clear in due time. Now let's go find Ras. And, oh, almost forgot." Nahele reached over and gently unwrapped the rag and bandages around Alazuria's head, tugging gently until the adhesive tape and guaze had come off entirely. "I don't believe you'll be needing that anymore." Alazuria stood up. "Thank you." Nahele smiled and turned to leave the kitchen. "Anytime." XXX Part V: The Lashing Tongue of Decree Ras sat lounging in an old rickety wooden chair, arms crossed over his chest and eyes focused on the black and white television set in front of him. "What was it ya wanted to talk to me about?" he asked, not bothering to look up at the standing forms of Nahele and Alazuria beside him. "I was going to ask you about what happened at the Gateway, but now there seems to be a more urgent matter at hand," Nahele replied, glancing at the TV. A documentary about the history of the Catholic religion was playing, the British narrator talking a mile a minute about the erection of cathedrals and the like. Ras looked up this time, his golden eyes alight with curiosity. "Oh?" Nahele handed him the page from Alazuria's scriptures. As he took it, his eyebrows shot upward. "This looks old. And important." "Read it." Ras wet his lips and skimmed over the page, his brow furrowing as he absorbed the written words. When he was finished with it he rolled it up and tucked it into his back pocket. Nahele and Alazuria each shot him an impatient look and he sighed and reached to turn off the television. "It's about the history of the dragon gods, but I can't read what it says," he stated flatly. "What?" Nahele questioned. "Why not?" Ras sighed again and rolled his golden eyes heavenwards. "Didn't ya sense the magik when you touched it? Reeks of black dragons. They must've used some kind of mumbo jumbo shit that they've got so that nobody could decipher what was written. They didn't want it read and I think the reason for that is obvious." Nahele's eyes were wide. "The exact history of the dragons and their gods has never been recorded and has only been passed down in half-truths and prophecies. Or at least it wasn't supposed to have been." "Bingo. Whatever's on this page explains it all, right down to the origins of the Great White King and the Legendary Dark Ruler and how they manifested as me and Demian, something we don't even know ourselves. We're talkin' mind-blowing revelations here." Ras paused as if thinking. "Where did ya get this anyway?" "It's mine," Alazuria spoke up, having been quietly imbibing what Ras had been saying. "My caretaker gave it to me before I left him, and it was given to him by the Pentateuch Order of Black Dragons when he took me into his care some five centuries ago." Ras narrowed his eyes at her. "Oh, this is just wonderful. Please tell me ya fuckin' kiddin'." Alazuria shook her head, her face puckered in confusement. "But I thought Damon was your 'caretaker'," Nahele proposed, eyebrows in his hair. "He's her father but he didn't raise her," Ras answered for her, his voice a bit strained. "She lived under the rulin' of a werewolf named Ruffian until a few years ago." "How the hell did you know that?" Alazuria asked. Ras laughed but it was humorless. "You'd be surprised what I know. And what I don't know as well. Like why the Pentateuch Order thought ya important enough to acquire the complete history of our entire freakin' culture." "I don't know." Alazuria threw her hands up. "I've never even met any of them." "Right. Well, they're the central power of dragon society. Their word is law, and they've chosen ya for something important. What that might be is beyond me, though." His eyes met hers, golden light meeting black. "In fact, they'll be summonin' me shortly and I think ya should take the opportunity to come with me and talk with them about it." "The Gateway," Nahele hissed, almost to himself. "I forgot about it entirely. They're going to order you to be put to-" Ras held up a hand to silence him. "I highly doubt that, with the prophecies coming true and all. They're relyin' on me right now." "But they won't let your negligence go unpunished." "We'll worry about that when the time comes. Right now we should round up the rest of the folk. They'll be comin' with us as well." Nahele shot him an incredulous look. "You can't be serious. The dragon council positively loathes outsiders." "But Damon is descended from the dragons. He has their ancestry in his blood and he's passed that down to his fledglin', Matt. They both play a role in this whole mess, as insignificant as it seems." Nahele sighed. "I see your point but I just don't know." A yellow-toothed grin touched Ras's lips. "It isn't up to ya to decide, anyway. This is my call. They're comin' with us." "Very well, but be prepared to face possible consequences." Nahele wet his lips and turned his back on him, fixing his gaze on Alazuria. "Why don't you two get acquainted better before you go and bother Damon and Matt. They probably want to be alone for a while. If you need me I'll be in my workshop." With that, the elder were cat left the room and slammed the door behind him. "Grumpy ol' cat sometimes," Ras commented when he was out of earshot. "But hey, he comes through when I need him." Alazuria couldn't think of a way to reply so she wandered over to a cot that was tucked in one corner of the room and took a seat on the mattress. She noticed that Ras watched her every move with appraising eyes, a slightly leering curve to his lips letting her know that he liked what he saw. Usually she would have feigned being oblivious to that type of look but there was something slightly unnerving about the way he did it. "See something interesting?" she asked him, suppressing a shiver. His mouth slackened and he blinked at her, his eyes glinting like two golden doubloons. "Sorry, I didn't realize...." He trailed off and managed to look sheepish, Alazuria realizing that he actually /was/ sorry. "It's ok," she told him. "It was just...well, the way you were doing it made me...." "Uncomfortable," he muttered. "Yeah," she agreed, having heard him, but said nothing more. Ras shook his head, whether at himself or her she didn't know, and made his way towards where she was sitting. He leaned against the closest wall to the cot and crossed his arms over his bare chest. "So, miss Salvatore. Why don't ya get the ball rollin' and tell me about yourself and I'll give ya an eye for eye." Alazuria nodded. "Fair enough. Where should I start?" Ras smiled at her. "Anywhere you'd like." XXX Matt sighed contently and said, "There's a bird building a nest between the slats in the ceiling," and Damon stole a glance at the mass of twigs and leaves poking through the logs above his head. "You're just so observant," came his flat reply. "Tell me why I picked you to spend the rest of eternity with." Matt grinned beneath him. "You know why." "Do you think you could remind me again, then?" "Already? Damon, we just-" Matt's words were cut short as Damon's mouth enveloped his and drew him into a deep but brief kiss. "I know," he said as he broke away and slid up to a sitting position. "It's a tempting thought, though, is it not?" Matt rolled on to his naked stomach and dragged himself over to the edge of the bed, reaching over to where their clothes were piled on the floor. "Mmmm? Oh, yeah, but as tempting as it is we've got more important matters at hand. Like the fact that somebody's bound to be checking up on us soon." "Yes, I suppose our granted moment together has drawn on long enough. I'm surprised we weren't interrupted already." Matt tossed Damon his clothing and started pulling on his own. "Well It might be a good idea to get dressed before someone /does/ come barging in here." Damon sighed and fingered a hole in one of his socks before reluctantly sticking his foot inside it. "As much as I hate to admit it, you're right. And I'd like to finish what we have to do here and get back home as soon as possible So let's not waste anymore time." Matt nodded in agreement and slipped his sneakers on, double-knotting the laces so that they didn't drag while Damon tugged a clean black v-neck sweater over his head. When they were both set, they drew the shades and left the room. The kitchen was empty, and so was the foyer. Damon remembered Ras had said he'd be upstairs and he decided to check there. Matt and he were just about to ascend the stairwell when someone banged on the front door. "I'll get it," Matt said and went to answer it. XXX Alazuria was just finishing up her story when Ras heard somebody knock on the front door downstairs. "That would be for me," he said, interrupting her. "The door?" she asked, head cocked inquisitively. "Yeah." He pushed himself off the wall and straightened up. Then, as if on second thought, he turned to stare at her. Gold met black yet again, and Alazuria felt the same earlier discomfort. "Ya heard that?" He asked, eyebrows raised. "Of course. I'm a dragon, the same as you." Ras sighed. "No, /not/ the same as me. Ya shouldn't be able to hear what I can." "Why not? Who the hell are you that it irks you so much that I'm on par with you? I saw your reaction to when I told you about the Pentateuch Order. Really...are you some kind of arrogant fuck, or are you just jealous?" "Ya have no idea," Ras answered her, his eyes narrowed and his voice dropping an octave. Alazuria rose from the cot and crossed her arms over her chest, her own eyes narrowed. "Oh, I think I do. I caught what you said earlier about the Great White King and the Legendary Dark Ruler, and I know very well who /they/ are." "We have no time for this. One of the Pentateuch's messengers is probably waitin' downstairs as we speak and if it's one thing the order don't have it's patience for the summoned." "Tell me what you meant before in regard to your relationship with the Black and White deities and then we'll go." Ras turned his back on her and made his way to the door. "I don't have to tell you nothin' cos I go where I please, when I please. And you have the gall to call /me/ arrogant?" With a growl he walked out of the room, slamming the door against the frame. There was a loud crack and Alazuria heard something wooden clatter to the floor. "Goddam it," she muttered darkly, then hurried after him. XXX Ras let out a stream of obscenities in the dragon tongue and crouched down to pick a piece of the broken doorframe up off the floor. He hadn't meant to slam the door so hard but that damned Alazuria woman had just made his blood boil. She had no right- The door creaked open suddenly and Ras looked up to find her standing there, face stony. "What, ya still not through harassin' me?" he asked as he unfolded himself back to his full height. Alazuria sighed. "Look, I'm sorry. I've been under a bit of stress lately and, well...oh, it's too complex to explain." He looked at her, his hand fumbling over the splintered end of the frame as his features lit up. "I know. You don't need to tell me." Alazuria crossed over the threshold and out into the hall but kept her distance from him. "I still want to know who you really are, though, because I thought I heard you say before that...that you're relationship with the deities...it, er, has to do with their physical manifestation but...you wouldn't tell me and...and it's really true isn't it? You're. A. God." Ras tucked the piece of frame under his arm and shook his head, his eyes avoiding hers. "It's not nearly that simple." Turning from her, he began to walk away. "So it's true then?" Alazuria pressed, catching up with him. When they reached the stairs he turned to watch her, his eyes never wavering as the two of them descended. "You're the guardian of the Sacred Woods but you're a dragon god as well." Ras only grunted in reply. "And you said you were a white dragon which means...you must be...." "The Great White King," came a voice and both Ras and Alazuria turned to it as they reached the last step. Damon and Matt were standing by the closed front door, Matt's blue eyes gone wide and pale with astonishment as he stared first at the piece of paper he held clutched in his hand and then at Ras. "You're a dragon god?" he asked, at a loss for words. Ras looked at the circle of people around him; at Alazuria with her face alight with curiosity; at Matt with his almost wide-mouthed awe; and at Damon who stood calm and collected brushing imaginary lint off of his shirt with a tight-lipped expression that betrayed the churning cogs in his head. "Alright, yes," he gave in. "I /am/ the Great White King. My powers /are/ the legendary ones ya probably read about." Silence from everyone. Ras walked up to Matt and snatched the scrap of paper away from him. "And I'm guessin' this summons is from the Pentateuch Order to me although I can't understand why they didn't send an escort. Did somebody just drop this off?" Matt nodded. "A young boy," he said, his voice soft. "He looked looked influenced." "Odd," Ras mused. "But understandable, nonetheless. We should start headin' out as soon as possible. It's quite the hike to the Pentateuch's shrine." Damon elegantly arched an eyebrow. "We?" he asked. "Yeah, ya all are comin'." "I don't think so. /I'm/ going to head back towards the city to retrieve my car." "Ya mean the car that ya left that girl for dead in?" Ras commented. Alazuria blinked, startled by the revelation, and swung her head around to face Damon, who ran a hand through his hair and let out a deep breath. Matt was the only one of them who didn't look phased by the truth or Ras's knowledge of it. "Too late to worry 'bout that," Ras continued. "The police have confiscated it as evidence." Damon let out an involuntary growl, trying to clamp down on his anger just a bit too late. "Fucking bastards!" he cursed, louder then he intended to. Without another word he turned from the small group and wrenched the front door open, storming moodily outside. "Damon, wait...," Matt shouted at the open door then was hurrying after him. Ras looked at Alazuria and didn't bother to hide the grin that crossed his features. "I think that was just our queue to get goin'." Alazuria only nodded and cracked a grin of her own. XXX They had taken his fucking Ferrari, the bastards! It was the second love of his life and they had taken it! It was true, though, that this was mostly his own fault. He should never have picked up the young whore, should never have took her out to the countryside, should never have done the things he had up to and including leaving the vehicle sitting there, but...goddam it...he didn't even recall leaving the scene of the crime in the first place. He'd been irrational and...FUCK! They had the license plates now. They'd scan the number and track him down in no time. Then there'd be interrogations and long hours of influencing humans and just who knew what else. God. Fucking. Dammit. How did he always get himself into these complex situations? "Damon?" someone asked. The voice was soft, concerned and Damon recognized it instantly. He whirled on Matt with clenched teeth and narrowed eyes. Matt came closer, not at all intimidated by Damon's rage. "Hey, take it easy," he said. "It's just me." "Can't you leave me the fuck alone for a few minutes?" Damon snapped at him. Matt sighed and stopped in his tracks. "Did anybody ever tell you how insensitive and selfish you can be at times?" Damon just stared at him, eyes smoldering. "Thought so." Matt glanced over his shoulder in the direction of the cabin some distance away, taking note that Ras, Alazuria, and Nahele were waiting patiently outside for Damon and he to join them. "Anyway, you done brooding yet? Everybody's waiting for us." Damon slowly let down his guard and nodded. "I feel a bit better, yes," he answered, traces of fury still dancing in his gaze. "We can go now." "You sure? You still feel...wrong." "I'll be fine. I'm just a little irritated at this whole predicament, that's all." Matt could sense there was more to Damon's anger then that and it crossed his mind to pry further. But Damon was in of his moods and when he was in one of his moods you just didn't press him unless you wanted to deal with the likes of a petulant child. Matt didn't have the mental strength nor the patience for that at the moment, and so he kept his mouth shut and turned away. "Come on," he said. "Let's get this crap over with." Not bothering to wait, he went to cross the distance to Ras and the others. And was stopped by Damon's hand on his shoulder. "You guys go on ahead, we'll catch up," the older vampire shouted, and Matt looked up at him with a puzzled expression. Ras merely nodded and hurried on his way, the others in tow as he followed a trail that disappeared behind the cabin and wound through the forest. When they were out of earshot, Damon released Matt and leaned back against the broad trunk of a tree. "What was /that/ about?" Matt asked him, eyebrows in his hair. Damon took a deep breath, wet his lips. "I'm hungry." Matt stared at him for a moment, contemplating. "Hmmm, so am I, come to think of it," he stated. "I never got a chance to feed last night and healing has just about exhausted me." "Shall we hunt then?" "Sounds like a plan." Damon pushed himself away from the tree. "We better hurry. We're already lagging behind as it is." "Yeah, and lets walk, alright? I don't have the energy to change forms at the moment." Damon shook his head and started towards a thick patch of trees off in the distance. "Weakling," he muttered, grinning. Matt caught up to him and flashed his teeth, having heard the comment. "Is that a limp in your walk I detect?" "Shutup." "Just taking an eye for an eye." Damon shot him a look that more amused then annoyed, then rolled his eyes and quickened his pace. Matt let him get a good distance ahead of him before breaking into a run and cutting him off at the mouth of the wooded area. Things had pretty much gone back to their normal state but he could still detect the disquiet thrumming beneath Damon's surface. He didn't like it. Not one bit. XXX Ras was exhausted, hungry, and in a foul mood by the time he, Alazuria, and Nahele reached the Pentateuch order of Black Dragon's shrine. "It's about time we got here," he muttered as they entered the circle of limestone that enclosed an enormous rock building. It resembled something akin to Stonehenge. That is, if Stonehenge had been a four-walled structure with a neat doorway carved from the front, symbols engraved on all sides of it, and torches illuminating the entrance. "That's things big enough to fit a family of shifted dragons," Alazuria commented, trying to ease Ras's irritableness with conversation. "It's meant to be," Nahele informed her. "Oh." As they approached the entrance Alazuria felt her stomach start to inexplicably knot with tension and she almost doubled over as pain shot through her abdomen and chest. Ras looked over and his brow creased with concern as he caught her clutching herself, her eyes squeezed shut. He approached her from behind, grabbing her around the shoulders and letting her rest her weight against him. "Are ya alright?" he asked, leaning in close to her face. "I'm fine," she told him. "I just had some pain, that's all." Ras looked down at her, at the agony that was cleary evident on her features. He wasn't convinced. He looked back towards the shrine, the burning torches, the limestone, then focused his attention on her again. "Can ya make it into the shrine?" he asked. "I told you," she snapped back. "I'm /fine./" "Alright, alright. Nevermind then. Geez." Alazuria scowled and walked past him. Ras stood there, his face neutral as he watched her stalk towards the heavy door that towered above them all. XXX "Are things going according to plan?" Demian adjusted himself in his saddle and turned pale blue eyes on the burgundy-headed man riding along side him. His companion was of short stature with a broad and muscular body that added just about the right amount of intimidation to him. Outwardly he appeared to be barely older then someone in their early twenties, but it was his mint green eyes that spoke his real age. He was a man who had known what it was like to live and what it was like to die a thousand times over; who had grown hardened and impervious over the centuries. "Everything is operating smoothly," Demian confirmed, glancing around the surrounding Sacred Woods. He was on his way to defend his innocence before the Dragon Council in regard to what had occurred only hours before at the draconic gateway. "Nahele and the Pentateuch Order of Black Dragons haven't a sodding clue what /really/ happened to the Oblivion of the Draconi and my underlings and I intend to keep it that way." "Excellent." There was a pause as if the man were gathering his thoughts. "I'd suggest we move on to phase two of the plan now that we've freed the dragons from their prisons, but recently it's been brought to my attention that something is emanating an enormous amount of psychic energy in the New York City area. My men are investigating the source as we speak and I'd like to hold back on things until they've finished. Whatever they may find could be vital to our success." Demian nodded but his attention was focused on the thick reins that he held in his fist. Giving them a hard yank he grinned as the chestnut mare beneath him whinnied and shook her head, her mane whipping about. "I loathe horses. They're such daft animals." The man glanced at him, then looked down at his own white stead and rubbed the velvety skin between its ears. It huffed at him in appreciation. "It appears that you're making an attempt to change the subject. Does the next step we need to take really make you that uncomfortable?" Demian sighed and brushed hair out of his eyes, smoothing it back against his head. "Ras will not be an easy quarry, as I've learned the hard way. I thought I could off him single-handedly but the bastard's as bloody strong as ever." "Don't let it upset you too much," the burgundy headed man advised, guiding his horse off the main footpath and into a clump of Maple trees. It was darker in the nest of foliage, the late afternoon sun barely penetrating the canopy of leaves above their heads. "After all, you'll soon have another chance at his hide and you'll need to stay focused if you want to emerge from the battle victorious." "Yes, of course. There's just one-" Suddenly Demian's horse reared up and let out a blood-curdling scream. He clung to its mane, holding on so tightly his knuckles went white, and fought to stay mounted as the heavy animal bucked and kicked. "Easy there!" someone shouted and Demian felt the impact of the horse's hooves crashing back down to the ground. It swayed to the side slightly, regaining its balance. And then it froze in place. It was then that Demian caught sight of the disheveled blond man crouched down on the forest floor in a fighting stance, the mare's head nuzzling him and his fingers clinging to its mouth harness. Blood was smeared across the soft outline of his lips and as he rose he wiped it away with the back of his hand. Demian's eyes focused, blinked, and then grew wide. For the second time that day he found himself staring down at Matt Honeycutt. "I'm sorry I scared your horse," Matt was apologizing. "I didn't expect anybody to be out here. Are you alright?" Demian blinked again, glanced over to where his companion had dismounted his own stead and was holding it steady by the reins. "I'm fine," he croaked. Matt rubbed the horse between the eyes, stroking the elongated muzzle. He was about to say something when a voice cut through the trees. "What the hell was all that clamor about?" It demanded. "Matt?" A rustle of branches and leaves and then another man emerged from a cluster of high bushes, this one black-haired and seemingly more refined. Demian licked his lips and narrowed his eyes at the newcomer. There was something familiar about the way he moved, something that seemed confident, as if nobody in their right mind would challenge his word /or/ his actions. Yes, he knew this one although they had never met in this lifetime. There was no denying that elegant beauty or that impression of arrogance. "Damon Salvatore," he drawled, watching in delight as the vampire tried to hide the astonishment that flashed across his features. "What a pleasure it is to finally meet your acquaintance. I'm Demian Baker, a black dragon like yourself. And that man over there is my confidant, Lucio. " It was midnight in the forest and Alazuria was running. The hard-packed earth pounded against the soles of her bare feet as she dodged between trees and bushes. She could feel branches ripping and tearing through her flesh like claws but it was of no concern to her. The real threat was the steady thrum of perusal at her back, the energy so raw and so fierce that its presence was nearly overwhelming. "Why do you run, love?" a familiar male voice called out, cutting through the trees like an artic wind. It took a moment for Alazuria to realize that the voice was speaking in the draconic tongue. "Leave me alone-please!" she cried in the same language, keeping her stride steady. Her breath was coming in pants, her muscles threatening to give out. At her pace, she wasn't going to be able to keep going much longer. And suddenly arms were encircling her and dragging her backwards. She screamed and thrashed, kicking out at her captor until he released her. She wasn't expecting him to give up so easily and as he slid away from her she lost her footing and fell to the muddy ground. "Love...," he whispered, his body obscured by shadows. "What is it that I have done? I've kept my promise to let you keep your innocence and your dignity until this very night and now that the time has come you run from me like a frightened child." The pain that radiated from him was thick enough on the air to choke them both. "Is this not what you wanted, for us to finally bridge the final chasm between us and join together as one soul? Did you not wish to be together for all eternity?" The man's voice was harsher then he intended it to be and Alazuria let out a sob as she dragged herself through the mud into a kneeling position. It was then that she realized that she was completely nude and she hugged her arms around her chest in a half-hearted attempt to be modest. "The other night, I saw you take to the sky in your true form," she explained, and her voice was shaky and thick with tears. "You are not a man. You are one of my tribe's dragon lords, the one we call the Dark Saviour and hope to someday slay. "You...." She trembled. "You are /evil/. You wish to have me spawn your legion of demons." "Yes, it is true that I am the one called the Dark Saviour, but I am not responsible for the evils that have befallen your people. The culprits are my spirit brothers, the ones that the very power of life spawned to bring balance to this land. They have only bred destruction and in turn will destroy themselves. /They/ are the ones that plot to fill the world with darkness, all save for the White King." "You are a liar!" Alazuria shouted, pounding her fists into the mud. "You are the land-raping demon, the swollen eye of the moon who steals souls from those who sleep. /Swart duiwel/." "That is enough," the Dark Savior bellowed, his voice stretched thin with grief rather then anger. "You do not understand who I am. I shaped the entire earth in my image with my own claws. I /created/ this very world that lives and breathes around you. The dinosaurs that came and went, the beasts of burden that serve you, the /human race/ stemmed from my existence and my existence alone. My power sowed the seeds of evolution and will continue to for all eternity. /My blood seeps beneath this land and gives it life/. /I/ am the reason you are here, the reason your /people/ are here. I am the creator. I am the original god. "And I've given it all up for you. I choose to descend my seat of power as the Legendary Dark Ruler, the name the new dragon gods have given me, to become human and to gain a soul. I abandoned the White King to fight against those false gods alone and now that I have I can never return. But that's not why my heart breaks; it breaks because you deem me capable of destroying the very things that I have spawned. There are terrible legends about me, yes, but they are just legends born of fear and misinterpretation. I am not good. I am not evil. I am just the god of creation. Please, you must believe me." There was something so stricken, so desperate in his voice that Alazuria felt fresh tears well up in her eyes. With disregard for her fear, with all her heart, she believed him. "I do," she whispered but the Dark Saviour heard her and, as if cued, began to approach. "I believe you, love." And as she looked up, as the Dark Savior stepped into a patch of moonlight that was coming through the trees in front of her, the world tilted on its axis. It was Damon. His eyes were the wrong color-they were a startling frosted blue instead of black-but his features, from his black hair that shone like an animal's pelt to his smooth and graceful movements, were exactly the same. Alazuria was too startled to realize he had picked her up and helped her to her feet. His mouth descending on hers in a quick kiss was the only thing that brought her back into focus. "When I gave up my place as the Legendary Dark Ruler to become human," he told her after pulling away, " I didn't exactly give up everything. As you have seen, I still have my dragon skin." As if to emphasize his point, two leathery black wings sprouted from his back and expanded to their full spread, then folded neatly behind him. "You said before that I wish for you to spawn my legion of demons, but that is a false accusation. My intentions are far more amicable. Through my love for you, I shall finalize the bond between the human race and I their creator, and through my union with you I shall bestow a gift upon the world: the birth of the dragonkin." Alazuria wrapped her arms around him and pressed him close, her face tilted up so that she could stare into his glacier-blue eyes. "I do not understand. The dragonkin?" she asked. "Our first born shall be the first descendant of the House of the Saviour; the first one to be granted the offering of my black wings. Thus he will be the first human kin of the dragon, and although I will now die someday because I have sacrificed my immortality, my flesh and blood will continue to thrive through the lineage he shall pass on to his successors." Alazuria smiled and pressed her face against his bare chest. "I love you," she told him and she could feel tears pooling in her eyes yet again, even though she couldn't quite fathom why. "Yes, and I love you too, my love," he replied, kissing the top of her dark head. "May I show you just how much?" "Please...." Before she could finish his mouth was upon her, his fiery kiss igniting the flames of desire within her being. And then someone screamed. Alazuria's eyes flew open. Instinctively she tried to sit up but stopped dead when she realized a caramel-skinned man was holding her in place, his knees straddling her thighs and his arms pinning down her shoulders. "Ras?" she asked as she recognized the face peering down at her. Her confusion turned to astonishment and then slowly descended into anger. "What the fuck are you doing? Get off me!" "Hey, easy, ya'll hurt yourself," he yelped as she moved to throw him off. He held fast, trying to keep her from struggling. "It's probably not even what ya think." Alazuria calmed a bit and paused to catch her breath. "What is it, then?" she demanded. Ras sighed and backed off of her, and it wasn't until he sat down beside her that she realized she was laying on a bed. "As soon as you stepped through the doors of the dragon shrine ya had some kind of fit. We didn't know what was happen' so the Pentateuch Order instructed me to take ya here and keep an eye on ya until you came to." Alazuria took a deep breath, closed her eyes and counted to ten, then reopened them and willed herself to relax. When that didn't work she examined what she figured to be a bedroom, noticed that the wall and floors were made of intricately carved marble. "I had a dream," she said, breaking the silence. "I mean, while I was having my 'fit' I was dreaming." Ras stared at her, his gold eyes flashing. "What about?" She frowned. "I don't really want to talk about it right now. It was the most completely ridiculous thing. Really, I'm sorry I even brought it up. "Alright." Ras just shrugged. "So...ya think ya still up to attendin' the trial?" Alazuria pondered the question for a moment and then nodded. "I don't feel any worse for wear, so I should be ok." "Ya sure?" Ras reached out and placed the back of his hand against her forehead, an oddly calming gesture. "Ya skin feels kinda warm. " "I'll be fine." "Ok, then." Ras's hand lingered for just the briefest moment before he pulled away. Rising to his feet, he made his way over to the door across the room. "There's fresh clothes in the wardrobe. There should be somethin' that fits ya." He pointed to a wooden armoire that was sitting next to the bed. "When ya finished dressing you can find me right outside." With that he left the room, making sure the door was closed behind him. Alazuria stared after him, her brow furrowed in puzzlement. Ras had acted so different at the cabin, arrogant and irritable. Now he was keeping vigil over her. She couldn't fathom it. She didn't /want/ to fathom it. Sighing, she rose from the bed and went to pick out a half-decent outfit to wear. XXX Part VI: Destiny's Pinions XXX [A Hospital in New York City: "Jimmy, you hear about McMullen?" "McMullen who?" "You know, Frank? Rookie who transferred to that shitkicker town upstate?" "Oh yeah, him. What about him?" "Dead. Somebody broke his goddam neck." "Shit happens in this line of work." Jimmy shrugged. "Is that all you wanted to tell me, Rob?" "No. They got a prime suspect. Some Italian kid named Salvatore." "Yeah, so?" "Unless it was stolen, he left a Ferrari at the scene of the crime. A fucking /Ferrari/. City impounded it." "No shit." "Local prostitute half dead in the front seat, throat ripped almost completely out. Like those fucking vampire serial killer victims. Blood all over the fucking interior. Real fucking mess." "She alive?" "Barely. They're gonna let me in to interrogate her soon if she's feeling up to it." Jimmy sniffs and put his hands on his hips. "What do you think about it?" "An Italian guy, a Ferrari, and a prostitute who's had her throat torn open. What does that sound like to you?" "It's sounds like a job for the bigger guns." "Yeah, well, I liked McMullen. He was green but he was a good kid. Learned fast. He didn't deserve a broken fucking neck, and I'll do everything in my power to see the guy who murdered him fry." "What if it ain't this Salvatore kid?" "Then I'll make sure we find the right man." "Officer Plume?" a nurse asks, interrupting the two policemen's' conversation. Rob turned to her. "Yes?" he asked. "The doctor says you may speak with the victim now." He nods his thanks to her then turns to Jimmy. "Take care, Jim. Been nice seeing you again." "Yeah, you too, Rob. I hope you get this guy." "Don't worry. I will." Rob turns away and walks down the hospital corridor towards the victim's room, Jimmy shaking his head as he watches him go. XXX [Fairfax, Virginia: Two figures lay on a bed, their bodies entangled, the heat of passion still throbbing beneath their skin. One of them raises their head-a man-and smiles softly, kisses the other figure on the lips. "I love you, Elena," he says in a whisper. His eyes shine in the darkness, the deep green of oak leaves. Elena shifts against him, frowns and wraps her arms tighter around his chest. "You haven't told him yet, have you?" A sigh. "No." Silence. Neither of them stirs, nor speaks, for several minutes. "When did you last see him?" Elena asks, her question echoing in the still air around them. "The same time you last saw him, when I sent him to Fell's Church to help Bonnie & Matt in my place." "Over fifteen years ago?" He nods. "He must think you're dead." "Perhaps, but I'm sure he's a lot smarter then that. He probably figures we're bound to have to come together again for /some/ reason, and he sees no reason to push things." "Then he's right. I mean, we /are/ inviting him after you tell him about us, aren't we?" A pause. "Yes." "He's going to be /furious/, you know. He hates me. Do you think he'll still come?" "He doesn't really hate you, and I'm sure Matt will persuade him to come some way or another." "Matt...." Elena pulls away from him then, stares up at the ceiling as the memories flood her mind. "So they're still...?" "They're inseparable and...I didn't want to have to tell you, but since they'll both be coming here soon I want you to understand that Matt isn't the guy you used to know. " He wets his lips. "Matt...died five years ago, Elena. My brother saved him before it was too late but I'm afraid he isn't going to be the man you expect him to be." "Oh God...." Elena sits up on the bed and swings her legs over the side, her hands coming to rest in her lap. "Are you sure?" "Yes. My source was very reliable." Silence again, and this time it drags on even longer then before. "Stefan?" "Yes, Elena?" His voice is soft, almost inaudible. "Do you think I could be alone for a little while?" Stefan says nothing in reply, merely sighs and drags himself out of the bed. There is the telltale sounds of rustling and zippering as he dresses himself, and then nothing but the /swish/ of his shoes as he walks across the carpeted room. At the door he pauses and turns back to Elena even though he knows she is not looking at him. "I'll leave for Damon's estate in the morning," he tells her. "It's better if I tell him the news and deliver the invitation in person, and it will give you some time to think." Elena doesn't even turn towards him as he speaks and he sighs again. "I'll see you when I get back. Love you." The only sound that answers him is the door slamming behind him. When he is gone Elena stands up and pads on wobbly legs to the bathroom that is attached to their bedroom. She looks up at her reflection in the floor to ceiling mirror, at the lines of age gently creasing her body, at her sagging flesh, at the splotches of gray that lie in waiting at the roots of her faded blonde hair like vultures closing in on a freshly dead carcass. And then the tears well up in her eyes and she begins to sob. End of fragment.