Chapter 37: 37
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Turns out in a castle of vampires, there aren't many places to go for solace. So I go to the one place I know, consequences damned.
Soren finds me in his study hours later, curled up on a couch, leeching the warmth from a fire that had long since died. Shadows curl around his form from where he shadowshifted in, but it takes one look at my tear streaked face, and another coming to rest on my heart for his eyes to flame red with untameable anger. In two swift movements he is hoisting me off the couch, carrying me bridal style, my body limp and swaying loosely in his hands. I don't even have the energy to protest or wonder why he's bothering to pick me up at all.
"Who," he growls lowly in my ear as the bookcase opens, a sound so low that it might be the graveling snarl of an untamed wolf searching for its prey. A demand, I think heavily to myself as he walks us into his rooms. His eyes flicker downwards every now and then, scanning my face, the dullness of my eyes, and again I feel that strange phantom hand on my chest, prodding for answers. His face drops defeatedly, and it is clear in that moment he has found none. "Azrael?" he asks, but I shake my head lifelessly, the effort in itself seeming more effort that it is worth. A part of him that I hadn't realised was tensed relaxes. "Who, then," he demands again, softer yet laced with the promise of violence, black nails tightening on my back, quivering slightly. Silently, I stare, searching the flaming red coils in his eyes and past that into the murky blackness of his pupils and know that in that moment, if I told him, regardless of who it was, he would go out and kill them. Kill them in cold blood, like he had Azrael, and would revel in the suffering it brought about. And all at once I find myself confused. This vampire, this wicked, hedonistic vampire has a lifeforce sustained on suffering, on pain, and power, blood and murder. The look on his face alone would make that undeniable: red hot, boiling rage under his mask of merciless cold. And yet… it is not in the nature of the vampire (nor had it ever been) to help another creature. Vampires are selfish and self-serving, and yet what Soren is offering is neither of those things.
"Tell me," he implores once more, but my head is spinning with so many questions that I can hardly bear to look at him, let alone answer. His voice cracks on the words, as if they hadn't been uttered for a very long time: "Please," I shift my stiff neck painstakingly to one side and wince.
"I am fine," I mutter, but it comes out more of a choking sob. Soren gives me a look of cold disbelief and deepens his frown. My head pangs sharply at the memory of what had gone on hours before, at what I had amounted to in the eyes of my best friend.
Don't be a child Serena.
A sickening sob lurches from my throat. Soren growls again, animalistic, seething.
"Don't kid me with that bullshit, I know a damaged heart when I see one- yours has gone black for f**ks sake," he hisses, jaw tense, flexing his fingers for something, perhaps to shatter against the wall. I feel my eyes widen at his anger which smoulders under the smooth planes of his face, and underneath it all how desperate he looks at my tear stained cheeks, and how his hands clench with rage against my back. It is almost startling and equally frightening how this creature could probably tear apart this whole room if he wanted to, and that the only thing stopping him from doing just that is the sheer fragility of my body. Shadows pulse around the room. I think for a moment what would happen if I reached up to cup his face, to soothe him or calm him, the way Ithuriel always had done when I was sad, or angry. Would he rip my hand off? Probably, I think stupidly to myself. And then, like the idiot I am, I reach up and do it anyway. His skin is cool against my palm, and smooth like polished marble. The Scarlet Prince stiffens at my touch, at its warmth and the pulse of my blood under the skin, like he is feeling it for the first time, as though each beat was a call singing through him. Then takes a long deep breath, tipping his head back as his eyes flutter shut, and the next time he looks at me his eyes are glorious pools of molten gold. And that's when I realise.
"For someone supposedly heartless, you care an awful lot," I whisper, drawing my hand back to my side and pressing my face against his shoulder, tear stained cheeks wetting the silk black fabric of his shirt. He doesn't seem to care.
"Well, you are mistaken," he says bluntly, "I told you before, I don't care. I only wish to find your aggressor, thank them for driving a little dove to the safety of my quarters, and then take great pleasure in watching them speak again without a tongue and see you without eyes," I shudder a little, but his eyes are warm enough to tell me no such action would be taken yet as he lays me down on his bed, then retreats a respectable distance to sit on the armchair on the opposite side of the room. I try not to let the disappointment on my face show as I adjust to the newfound emptiness surrounding me, or tell him that I don't think I am mistaken at all. He doesn't make a single sound as he sits down, his face calculating, body rigid. The vampire taps his fingers irritably on the side of the armchair, nails pattering on the firm fabric. His eyes never leave my shaking form. For a moment, I listen and stare at the ceiling, at the lulling floating lanterns, and the delicately painted night sky, whose stars almost seem to swirl with life as the shadows shift past them. Something tickles my cheek. Half heartedly shifting my head to the side, my eyes come into contact with a little shadowy rabbit. Slowly, I sit up, wiping my eyes.
"What are you doing?" I ask Soren with an embarrassingly wobbly voice, who reclines lazily in his chair, one hand draped over the side, feet crossed at the ankles. He shrugs, pushing his dark hair back past his pointed ears and dangling earrings.
"Distracting you while I think of who I might have to kill tonight," he says coldly, shrugging nonchalantly. I swing my legs over the side of the bed and make to pick up the peculiar shadow creature, almost recoiling halfway across the room when I do. There is no other way to put it aside from the feeling is odd, almost... airy, as though a cloud has semi-solidified into a cottony substance that is not entirely tangible. It's smoking fur brushes my hand like real fur might, but there is an element of fluidity to it, that if I pressed down on it too much, it might just melt away into darkness and appear elsewhere. The rabbit purrs in my lap, its tiny head brushing against my cold fingers, and looking at it is almost enough to forget everything, those words Ithuriel uttered at me. Perhaps if they hadn't been brandished into my mind, I just might. I breathe a shuddering sigh.
"So are you going to tell me why you are crying?" he presses more gently than I had hoped but still with the undertones of anger, leaning forward in his chair to rest his elbows on his knees.
"I still don't understand why you even care," I mutter, turning my attention back to the rabbit, who since has taken to trying to dig up some invisible objects tucked away in my black dress. Sadly I stroke it's back.
"I do not care as you creatures of the forest care. But that does not make me immune to feeling things, such as curiosity, or wrath. Tell me, is it because I am a vampire that you think I am incapable of emotion? That you think all I care about is having you spread across my bed so that I may please you long into the night?" he asks, leaning further forward, the golden tones of his eyes catch with mine, so playful so… inviting. I pull my gaze away once more, biting the inside of my cheek anxiously.
"Or," he adds, a seductive smile creeping onto his face. "Is it because of who I am?"
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Turns out in a castle of vampires, there aren't many places to go for solace. So I go to the one place I know, consequences damned.
Soren finds me in his study hours later, curled up on a couch, leeching the warmth from a fire that had long since died. Shadows curl around his form from where he shadowshifted in, but it takes one look at my tear streaked face, and another coming to rest on my heart for his eyes to flame red with untameable anger. In two swift movements he is hoisting me off the couch, carrying me bridal style, my body limp and swaying loosely in his hands. I don't even have the energy to protest or wonder why he's bothering to pick me up at all.
"Who," he growls lowly in my ear as the bookcase opens, a sound so low that it might be the graveling snarl of an untamed wolf searching for its prey. A demand, I think heavily to myself as he walks us into his rooms. His eyes flicker downwards every now and then, scanning my face, the dullness of my eyes, and again I feel that strange phantom hand on my chest, prodding for answers. His face drops defeatedly, and it is clear in that moment he has found none. "Azrael?" he asks, but I shake my head lifelessly, the effort in itself seeming more effort that it is worth. A part of him that I hadn't realised was tensed relaxes. "Who, then," he demands again, softer yet laced with the promise of violence, black nails tightening on my back, quivering slightly. Silently, I stare, searching the flaming red coils in his eyes and past that into the murky blackness of his pupils and know that in that moment, if I told him, regardless of who it was, he would go out and kill them. Kill them in cold blood, like he had Azrael, and would revel in the suffering it brought about. And all at once I find myself confused. This vampire, this wicked, hedonistic vampire has a lifeforce sustained on suffering, on pain, and power, blood and murder. The look on his face alone would make that undeniable: red hot, boiling rage under his mask of merciless cold. And yet… it is not in the nature of the vampire (nor had it ever been) to help another creature. Vampires are selfish and self-serving, and yet what Soren is offering is neither of those things.
"Tell me," he implores once more, but my head is spinning with so many questions that I can hardly bear to look at him, let alone answer. His voice cracks on the words, as if they hadn't been uttered for a very long time: "Please," I shift my stiff neck painstakingly to one side and wince.
"I am fine," I mutter, but it comes out more of a choking sob. Soren gives me a look of cold disbelief and deepens his frown. My head pangs sharply at the memory of what had gone on hours before, at what I had amounted to in the eyes of my best friend.
Don't be a child Serena.
A sickening sob lurches from my throat. Soren growls again, animalistic, seething.
"Don't kid me with that bullshit, I know a damaged heart when I see one- yours has gone black for f**ks sake," he hisses, jaw tense, flexing his fingers for something, perhaps to shatter against the wall. I feel my eyes widen at his anger which smoulders under the smooth planes of his face, and underneath it all how desperate he looks at my tear stained cheeks, and how his hands clench with rage against my back. It is almost startling and equally frightening how this creature could probably tear apart this whole room if he wanted to, and that the only thing stopping him from doing just that is the sheer fragility of my body. Shadows pulse around the room. I think for a moment what would happen if I reached up to cup his face, to soothe him or calm him, the way Ithuriel always had done when I was sad, or angry. Would he rip my hand off? Probably, I think stupidly to myself. And then, like the idiot I am, I reach up and do it anyway. His skin is cool against my palm, and smooth like polished marble. The Scarlet Prince stiffens at my touch, at its warmth and the pulse of my blood under the skin, like he is feeling it for the first time, as though each beat was a call singing through him. Then takes a long deep breath, tipping his head back as his eyes flutter shut, and the next time he looks at me his eyes are glorious pools of molten gold. And that's when I realise.
"For someone supposedly heartless, you care an awful lot," I whisper, drawing my hand back to my side and pressing my face against his shoulder, tear stained cheeks wetting the silk black fabric of his shirt. He doesn't seem to care.
"Well, you are mistaken," he says bluntly, "I told you before, I don't care. I only wish to find your aggressor, thank them for driving a little dove to the safety of my quarters, and then take great pleasure in watching them speak again without a tongue and see you without eyes," I shudder a little, but his eyes are warm enough to tell me no such action would be taken yet as he lays me down on his bed, then retreats a respectable distance to sit on the armchair on the opposite side of the room. I try not to let the disappointment on my face show as I adjust to the newfound emptiness surrounding me, or tell him that I don't think I am mistaken at all. He doesn't make a single sound as he sits down, his face calculating, body rigid. The vampire taps his fingers irritably on the side of the armchair, nails pattering on the firm fabric. His eyes never leave my shaking form. For a moment, I listen and stare at the ceiling, at the lulling floating lanterns, and the delicately painted night sky, whose stars almost seem to swirl with life as the shadows shift past them. Something tickles my cheek. Half heartedly shifting my head to the side, my eyes come into contact with a little shadowy rabbit. Slowly, I sit up, wiping my eyes.
"What are you doing?" I ask Soren with an embarrassingly wobbly voice, who reclines lazily in his chair, one hand draped over the side, feet crossed at the ankles. He shrugs, pushing his dark hair back past his pointed ears and dangling earrings.
"Distracting you while I think of who I might have to kill tonight," he says coldly, shrugging nonchalantly. I swing my legs over the side of the bed and make to pick up the peculiar shadow creature, almost recoiling halfway across the room when I do. There is no other way to put it aside from the feeling is odd, almost... airy, as though a cloud has semi-solidified into a cottony substance that is not entirely tangible. It's smoking fur brushes my hand like real fur might, but there is an element of fluidity to it, that if I pressed down on it too much, it might just melt away into darkness and appear elsewhere. The rabbit purrs in my lap, its tiny head brushing against my cold fingers, and looking at it is almost enough to forget everything, those words Ithuriel uttered at me. Perhaps if they hadn't been brandished into my mind, I just might. I breathe a shuddering sigh.
"So are you going to tell me why you are crying?" he presses more gently than I had hoped but still with the undertones of anger, leaning forward in his chair to rest his elbows on his knees.
"I still don't understand why you even care," I mutter, turning my attention back to the rabbit, who since has taken to trying to dig up some invisible objects tucked away in my black dress. Sadly I stroke it's back.
"I do not care as you creatures of the forest care. But that does not make me immune to feeling things, such as curiosity, or wrath. Tell me, is it because I am a vampire that you think I am incapable of emotion? That you think all I care about is having you spread across my bed so that I may please you long into the night?" he asks, leaning further forward, the golden tones of his eyes catch with mine, so playful so… inviting. I pull my gaze away once more, biting the inside of my cheek anxiously.
"Or," he adds, a seductive smile creeping onto his face. "Is it because of who I am?"
Turns out in a castle of vampires, there aren't many places to go for solace. So I go to the one place I know, consequences damned.Soren finds me in his study hours later, curled up on a couch, leeching the warmth from a fire that had long since died. Shadows curl around his form from where he shadowshifted in, but it takes one look at my tear streaked face, and another coming to rest on my heart for his eyes to flame red with untameable anger. In two swift movements he is hoisting me off the couch, carrying me bridal style, my body limp and swaying loosely in his hands. I don't even have the energy to protest or wonder why he's bothering to pick me up at all."Who," he growls lowly in my ear as the bookcase opens, a sound so low that it might be the graveling snarl of an untamed wolf searching for its prey. A demand, I think heavily to myself as he walks us into his rooms. His eyes flicker downwards every now and then, scanning my face, the dullness of my eyes, and again I feel that strange phantom hand on my chest, prodding for answers. His face drops defeatedly, and it is clear in that moment he has found none. "Azrael?" he asks, but I shake my head lifelessly, the effort in itself seeming more effort that it is worth. A part of him that I hadn't realised was tensed relaxes. "Who, then," he demands again, softer yet laced with the promise of violence, black nails tightening on my back, quivering slightly. Silently, I stare, searching the flaming red coils in his eyes and past that into the murky blackness of his pupils and know that in that moment, if I told him, regardless of who it was, he would go out and kill them. Kill them in cold blood, like he had Azrael, and would revel in the suffering it brought about. And all at once I find myself confused. This vampire, this wicked, hedonistic vampire has a lifeforce sustained on suffering, on pain, and power, blood and murder. The look on his face alone would make that undeniable: red hot, boiling rage under his mask of merciless cold. And yet it is not in the nature of the vampire nor had it ever been to help another creature. Vampires are selfish and self-serving, and yet what Soren is offering is neither of those things. "Tell me," he implores once more, but my head is spinning with so many questions that I can hardly bear to look at him, let alone answer. His voice cracks on the words, as if they hadn't been uttered for a very long time: "Please," I shift my stiff neck painstakingly to one side and wince. "I am fine," I mutter, but it comes out more of a choking sob. Soren gives me a look of cold disbelief and deepens his frown. My head pangs sharply at the memory of what had gone on hours before, at what I had amounted to in the eyes of my best friend.Don't be a child Serena. A sickening sob lurches from my throat. Soren growls again, animalistic, seething."Don't kid me with that bullshit, I know a damaged heart when I see one- yours has gone black for f**ks sake," he hisses, jaw tense, flexing his fingers for something, perhaps to shatter against the wall. I feel my eyes widen at his anger which smoulders under the smooth planes of his face, and underneath it all how desperate he looks at my tear stained cheeks, and how his hands clench with rage against my back. It is almost startling and equally frightening how this creature could probably tear apart this whole room if he wanted to, and that the only thing stopping him from doing just that is the sheer fragility of my body. Shadows pulse around the room. I think for a moment what would happen if I reached up to cup his face, to soothe him or calm him, the way Ithuriel always had done when I was sad, or angry. Would he rip my hand off? Probably, I think stupidly to myself. And then, like the idiot I am, I reach up and do it anyway. His skin is cool against my palm, and smooth like polished marble. The Scarlet Prince stiffens at my touch, at its warmth and the pulse of my blood under the skin, like he is feeling it for the first time, as though each beat was a call singing through him. Then takes a long deep breath, tipping his head back as his eyes flutter shut, and the next time he looks at me his eyes are glorious pools of molten gold. And that's when I realise. "For someone supposedly heartless, you care an awful lot," I whisper, drawing my hand back to my side and pressing my face against his shoulder, tear stained cheeks wetting the silk black fabric of his shirt. He doesn't seem to care."Well, you are mistaken," he says bluntly, "I told you before, I don't care. I only wish to find your aggressor, thank them for driving a little dove to the safety of my quarters, and then take great pleasure in watching them speak again without a tongue and see you without eyes," I shudder a little, but his eyes are warm enough to tell me no such action would be taken yet as he lays me down on his bed, then retreats a respectable distance to sit on the armchair on the opposite side of the room. I try not to let the disappointment on my face show as I adjust to the newfound emptiness surrounding me, or tell him that I don't think I am mistaken at all. He doesn't make a single sound as he sits down, his face calculating, body rigid. The vampire taps his fingers irritably on the side of the armchair, nails pattering on the firm fabric. His eyes never leave my shaking form. For a moment, I listen and stare at the ceiling, at the lulling floating lanterns, and the delicately painted night sky, whose stars almost seem to swirl with life as the shadows shift past them. Something tickles my cheek. Half heartedly shifting my head to the side, my eyes come into contact with a little shadowy rabbit. Slowly, I sit up, wiping my eyes."What are you doing?" I ask Soren with an embarrassingly wobbly voice, who reclines lazily in his chair, one hand draped over the side, feet crossed at the ankles. He shrugs, pushing his dark hair back past his pointed ears and dangling earrings."Distracting you while I think of who I might have to kill tonight," he says coldly, shrugging nonchalantly. I swing my legs over the side of the bed and make to pick up the peculiar shadow creature, almost recoiling halfway across the room when I do. There is no other way to put it aside from the feeling is odd, almost... airy, as though a cloud has semi-solidified into a cottony substance that is not entirely tangible. It's smoking fur brushes my hand like real fur might, but there is an element of fluidity to it, that if I pressed down on it too much, it might just melt away into darkness and appear elsewhere. The rabbit purrs in my lap, its tiny head brushing against my cold fingers, and looking at it is almost enough to forget everything, those words Ithuriel uttered at me. Perhaps if they hadn't been brandished into my mind, I just might. I breathe a shuddering sigh. "So are you going to tell me why you are crying?" he presses more gently than I had hoped but still with the undertones of anger, leaning forward in his chair to rest his elbows on his knees. "I still don't understand why you even care," I mutter, turning my attention back to the rabbit, who since has taken to trying to dig up some invisible objects tucked away in my black dress. Sadly I stroke it's back."I do not care as you creatures of the forest care. But that does not make me immune to feeling things, such as curiosity, or wrath. Tell me, is it because I am a vampire that you think I am incapable of emotion? That you think all I care about is having you spread across my bed so that I may please you long into the night?" he asks, leaning further forward, the golden tones of his eyes catch with mine, so playful so inviting. I pull my gaze away once more, biting the inside of my cheek anxiously."Or," he adds, a seductive smile creeping onto his face. "Is it because of who I am?"
