Vampiris Sancti: The Elf (34 page)

“Hello.” She
addressed the Tyro with friendly warmth that had their Founder who
was nearly Aunsin narrow his eyes.

Content that
she had his attention she continued. “I see you have new friends. I
also have new Vampire friends.”

Lyov—the
Founder of Cardei was a study of perfection in his antique evening
coat and his gold hair streaked with silver highlights revealed him
nearly at journey’s end. His attachment to Vampire life would have
been limited to the preservation of his House. The stare of his
hazel eyes could have intimidated any Vampire and several demons,
but Zyre had seen the edges of his mind as his demon responded to
her Elf. Having enough of uppity Vampires she would have been happy
to introduce them to emotional destruction of an Elf variety, but
that would mean gathering the attention of a large, jealous
Martyc.

She curved her
lips into a smile as she pulled on Florian’s sleeve. “This be
Florian and I like him just fine and if I didn’t, I be finding new
friends instead.”

Not quite as
progressed on his journey to Ancient, the Herald beside Lyov shone
with ebony perfection while his strong features were haughty with
power. He moved as if to speak, but an almost imperceptible nod
from the Founder silenced him. Noting this display of power Zyre
ensured he also understood that she was capable of decimating them
without issue.

“One day,” she
said cheerfully, “I must tell you of the legend of Sere.”

The two
exchanged wary glances and Zyre continued with the message she
wanted to impart. While she continued to look at the Tyro her words
were obviously directed to Lyov.

“If you don’t
like such friends, if they be unkind, you can always visit Florian.
He won’t mind—not one bit!”

Florian choked
at the invitation revealing that he did mind while silver flecks
gleamed in the eyes of Lyov. Zyre met his gaze and allowed him to
drown inside her kaleidoscope eyes, knowing her warmth would cause
him enough strife to allow her a quick getaway. She wanted to
torment the Founder of Cardei further, but a sudden chill invaded
the entire Ballroom and she looked over to see the one she had been
waiting to arrive.

“Ahh—Martyc.”

This was her
only comment before she disappeared into the crowd leaving her
unwilling accomplice attempting to blend into obscurity. She
reappeared beside the Veraign table and watched as Vryn Dhaigre,
with his Varkja and Druqe, cross the platform to an area especially
reserved for them. The Varkja and Druqe sat down while the Martyc
continued on to another platform where the Ghuvk were sitting on
their throne like chairs. Everything surrounding the Ghuvk was the
epitome of luxury, from the silk of the carpet runner under their
chairs, to the swing of the delicate lace curtain behind them. The
emotions of the Vampires staring in the wake of the Martyc left a
path upon the atmosphere that battered the Elf. She knew, as always
with Vryn, that the intensity of their inevitable interaction was
going to tax both her resolve and physical being. She sat at the
Veraign table with a cheeky smile that belied her inner qualms and
caused an affected Estienne to glower in response. She returned to
watching the Martyc as he nodded to the Ghuvk with reserved
formality and the group nodded back as neither side gave any more
homage than respect to the other. When the music started Vryn—with
the immaculate etiquette of a prince—bowed to Ideal Hilara as he
invited her to dance. If those watching were surprised to see the
invitation accepted they were about to be astonished by the grace
of the large demon. He twirled the beautiful Vampire across the
floor while blending into the waltz as if born to dance. Zyre
followed him with eyes that were a constant fluid between blue and
green as the desire of watching Vampires coloured the
atmosphere.

Florian eyed
their dancing with envy before snorting, “I suppose it could be no
worse than waking in a pile of ashes.”

His comment
induced a sly giggle from younger Vampires while Estienne ignored
the babble of those at his table as he kept the dancing couple
under intense surveillance. Zyre knew that the Herald was not as
aloof as he pretended for under the table his knee frequently
sought to invade her space.

Zyre gave
Florian a curious look because the comment had no meaning to her.
Noting her confusion one of the younger Vampires explained as her
eyes lit in the schadenfreude superiority of one who didn’t deserve
the blessings of an enhanced existence.

“When fat
people go through the Change they wake up in their own ashes while
they transform into slimmer Vampires.”

Zyre couldn’t
comprehend the Vampire disdain for variety of their form. The
humans came in all shapes and sizes and were far more interesting
than the endless array of perfection that suggested a perpetual
stagnation. She gazed at the whirling dancers—they had slight
differences, some were taller, some had bigger features, some were
prettier, but they were all attractive beings. There were none that
was attractive because of charm, or intelligence, and the
artificial perfection with its absence of physical irregularity
made her uncomfortable. Was she of a wondering nature she might
have considered if the lack of Vampire young was due to their
having reached an evolutionary stalemate.

If the Vampires
at her table were not so absorbed in their judgements they might
have noticed the quick moment of stormy teal. Instead the table
smiled at her acceptable beauty while wrapped in a smug blanket of
their own self-congratulatory appreciation. The wary gleam of his
eyes revealed that Estienne had observed the change in the Elf and
was waiting within his own world of remote observance before
reaction.

“So fat tis not
good?”

Her question
appeared innocent and Zyre gave Florian the smile he should have
recognised because he had seen it often enough, usually before his
life took a perilous turn for the worse. He must have felt safe
within the confines of his group for he took no heed of the
delicious smile directed at him. He answered her with the arrogant
disregard that only the undeserving could possess.

“Fat is a
crime,” he paused at her surprise. “Well it should be as it is
horrible to watch. No Vampire ever admits to waking to ashes
because it lets us know their past shame.”

Her eyes became
bright with secret knowledge. “So no ashes for you?”

“God no,”
laughed a scornful Florian. “I would never allow myself to get so
revolting!”

At that moment
the yard cat living in the garden at the House of Veraign leapt up
in a startled rush, her fur upon end as her skin rippled in a shock
of disruption. She settled back down into her warm spot on the
earth while licking the static off her coat with sour
discontent.

Zyre didn’t
respond to his comments and instead she patted his shoulder while
settling into the satisfaction of knowing that when Florian arose
he would discover the back of his immaculate black suit covered in
a disarray of white cat fur. The white blanket would be almost
impossible to remove at the best of times and completely impossible
without appropriate tools. She was so engrossed in the pleasure of
mischief that she didn’t notice the music had stopped. In a few
swift seconds the Martyc known as Vryn Dhaigre had crossed the room
to stand before her with an invitation to dance.

“May I.”

She looked into
the dark of his eyes, the depths so indecipherable to others told
her this was no request and he expected her to acquiesce. She could
feel the jealous burn of Estienne who was looking anywhere except
at the two powerful beings at his table. Zyre was almost startled
into a dissolve, but a figure across the room caught her eye as she
noted the presence of Galt. She saw him approach the Tyro on the
dance floor, so she held out her hand to the one being she should
have avoided at all costs. She hadn’t resolved her anger from
earlier—the sting of knowledge that he had been whoring about while
she was busy saving the world, but the fascination for Galt held
sway.

The sharp edge
of Vryn cut through as he growled, “I see your Vampire Herald keeps
you on a short leash.”

So he had noted
the interest of Estienne and in turn this made her head swirl with
the mischief of torment.

She couldn’t
help but prod the demanding demon. “I see you have bathed.”

The fathoms of
his eyes glittered into angry coal, and he held her arm in a
vicious grip as he steered her onto the dance floor. Curiosity, the
heart of cats and Elves, was often also the end of both. Always
true to her nature Zyre remained unaware of her tendency towards
encouraging mayhem when discretion would have served better.

The music
started, causing Vryn to take her about the waist and hold her
close allowed her to feel the strength of him beneath his elegant
attire.

“I see your
manners have not improved despite the chaos that might be upon us.”
His pompous disapproval barely affected her.

“You might look
at your own behaviour first—prince of the realm.”

She smiled
while her eyes dared him into reaction and his grip relaxed as he
pulled her into an intimate embrace. He looked down, the depthless
black of his eyes locked her into his gaze and his desire besieged
every particle of her being. She could sense, taste, and breathe
him everywhere upon the world surrounding her. They joined the
whirl of colour, but she didn’t notice his unexpected grace or hear
the music because she drifted inside the moment. There she became
fluid as she relaxed into his embrace and the demon held onto her
while his eyes burned with the passion of one who was claiming his
own.

Zyre wanted to
resist, she wanted to scorn and reject him, but he encompassed her
in mind and body making her want more. She lost her place in space
and time as her essence entwined in his aura and they blended
together, the couple that left those watching breathless with a
sudden yearning that lay like honey against the back of their
throats. Not a word passed between them and her eyes remained a
perpetual eddy of colours that never rested as she floated within
the strength of his resolve.

It wasn’t the
change in the music that caught her attention or the sensation of
being held tightly that brought Zyre back to reality for she had
refocused upon the creature that caught her attention earlier. Her
eyes cleared as she stared at the Vampire Galt speaking to the Tyro
whose fate she had understood in one crystal moment. Despite the
deluge of emotions surrounding them the one nearly Ancient singled
out the intensity of the Elf and he looked up to meet a sapphire
glare that was anything but friendly. This was the being that
needed to answer so many questions, about Martycs, Goblins, the
Tyro, and she wanted to dissolve over to him except she could feel
Dhaigre’s heart in her throat. The Vampire might have little use
for shenanigans of a magical nature, but he had acquired enough
knowledge of his universe to beware the anger of a creature that
had the capacity to turn him to dust. A capricious creature that
would do as she pleased she was also in the arms of one of the most
powerful beings from the Reveal.

Zyre gave her
head an almost imperceptible shake and Galt, whatever his desires
were, discontinued his conversation with the Tyro to leave the
floor without a backward glance. The Elf was so fixated upon
intimidating Galt that she didn’t notice the music stop. Seconds
later Vryn had whisked her off the floor into an area underneath
the seated platforms. The music started again causing couples to
continue their dancing, but Zyre discovered herself backed against
a pillar. They were out of view of the main body of Vampires and
she was still very much within the embrace of a determined
Martyc.

Vryn didn’t
bother to provide explanation, he didn’t wait for her permission
because he was a demon and demons like Elves took what they wanted,
so he took what he had wanted for a lifetime. She looked into the
dark eyes of the dark being that held her body onto his and she
felt the rage of his passion rise as his lips found hers. Of all
the reactions she could have enjoyed her choices were torn from her
when the betrayal of her response energised the Martyc into a
frantic embrace. His hands ravaged the luxury of her hair while his
throat purred with pleasure of a barely suppressed moan as ravenous
lips consumed hers. Zyre melted into him, unable to deny her own
desire of attraction to the one who would follow her throughout a
universe until she was his.

Seconds later
her wits had returned because she felt a song hovering upon the
air. It was unnoticed by those whose ears were filled with the
strains of Zhismi music since only she would know the call of Beb.
It took all her strength to pause the seduction of the Martyc and
she pushed him back while letting him look down into the clear
green eyes of beauty. She couldn’t help herself as ruby lips curved
into the delicious smile that plagued every male she encountered.
She left him with the sting of her jealousy for that beast she had
not yet harnessed.

“Ahh Martyc, I
not be one of your games.”

Zyre dissolved
out of the arms of her suitor before she could enjoy the inevitable
scowl from her insolence—landing onto a roof several miles away.
There she had the unexpected encounter of a Pixie drunk on both
terror and an excellent bottle of gin.

The Suspended
heart

The Elf, a
wayward creature spontaneous with delight, curious as the cat,
beautiful as the sunrise, had at her disposal a myriad of defences
when attacked. Yet despite her attributes she was betrayed by a
fluctuating interior and often found herself unable to cope with
the stress of conflict. Guided by emotions, distracted by emotions,
betrayed by emotions, this was the last creature to send into
battle. If she considered the battle not worth fighting then she
would walk away since the Elf and logic had never been close
associates. The Elf used her magical qualities for protection—only
dangerous when cornered for this free spirit couldn’t abide
restriction of any sort. The magical being was wild, uncontained,
to confine them was worse than death and some believed—worth dying
to avoid. A trapped Elf didn’t fracture into splinters of reality
like the Fairy, seep into the drunken stupor of the Pixie, or self
inflict brutality like the Gnome. The Elf, the being who would wear
her heart upon her sleeve if she could survive it, would suspend
her emotions for these were the mainstay of her existence. An Elf
suspended was easy to spot as her kaleidoscope eyes were now a
brilliant sapphire blue—removing the heart she dared not show. This
was a creature of impressive power and once her few boundaries were
removed would give even a Varkja reason to pause. A creature with
nothing left to lose—no matter what realm—was truly the heart of
danger.