A Bloodthirsty Angel:
Part Seven - Momento Mori
By: Kitty E.
Quatre felt a strange kind of peace as he trod slowly through the nearly deserted, silent streets. He paused whenever he could as if continually distracted, but he knew he was merely delaying his arrival at the Diablo, not because he was afraid, but because his heart was full and it would need to be empty before he faced Lucien again. Within him he carried the precious taste and warmth of Trowa's blood, and the memory of his face and voice. Though he was alone, walking purposefully through the meandering homeless and prostitutes, he did not feel lonely. All that's left to do is die, he said sullenly, chasing away the last feelings from his soul, storing them away. He has promised he would try to return, but to do so would put Trowa's life in constant danger. Once the Council had his life, they would lose all interest in Trowa, and he hoped that this time he would take the chance to move on.
He stood before the door of the nightclub for a long moment, summoning up every bit of courage and control he could find within himself. The cage had been left up as if he was expected, and he tugged on the door, underestimating the strength of the deadbolt the first time, but splitting the jam on the second pull. He had expected to be inundated by the pulsing, tacky music, but there wasn't a sound, he laughed a little to himself as he remembered the scene he'd caused. Of course the club would be closed, but only to appease the authorities. When he let the door fall shut behind he was plunged into darkness, most of the lights were off, save one behind the bar, and the red lights over the booths. Some of the shadows proved too deep to reveal much of anything, but he sensed another presence there with him. He sighed softly, hearing the echo in the perfect silence, "Lucien?"
For a moment there was no answer, and then a disgusted sniff pulled his eyes to the left. There was a flutter of clothing, and a sudden jerk towards his right, a larger, white hand coming to close on hi wrist. "Aurel."
Quatre kept his face turned away, he didn't want to see Lucien's face right now for it he needed nothing more than his old master's voice to revert to the child he had been under the elder's care. He had expected this, and worse, nothing ever angered Lucien so much as when he did not get what he wanted.
"Oh, Aurel, your father is very, very angry." The fine bones of his wrist began to grate together, another moment and they would break. Quatre made no sound, but bit his lip clean through, two trickles of black blood falling down his chin.
Lucien made a soft exclamation, and the crushing force on his hands lessened, then removed. Quatre opened his eyes to see the elder vampire close to him and felt a thumb swipe over his mouth. Lucien turned away, taking a few steps as he darted his tongue over his finger. He turned back to regard Quatre, smiling viciously. "I can taste him, you know. You always tasted like honey, but he... he drinks too much caffeine."
Quatre wiped his lip fitfully for his own sense of violation and Trowa's. "Where is your Council, Lucien?" He was proud of his disaffected tone of voice, though it was pointless to pretend that Lucien hadn't found and was making efficient use of Quatre's greatest weakness. "Where is this exquisite punishment you promised me?"
Lucien's eyes faded to slits briefly, and then were widened as his shoulders lifted in an elegant shrug. "I confess I do not know."
"You do not confess to anything," Quatre spat. He seethed for a moment, frightened and angered now that he realized he was already in Lucien's game. He reigned himself shortly, suddenly, looking away from Lucien's face as if it made him ill.
"That is true," Lucien conceded. "But I haven't lived for so very long by sharing secrets. Tell me, Quatre, what is it like being in love with in a mortal? I imagine it must be rather like having romantics feelings for a cow."
Quatre held his breath for a short count, then replied, "The difference is that as far as I know I have never been a cow... but I once was what he is... and he makes me feel... human again."
"Is *that* what this is about?" Lucien sneered incredulously, his voice reverberating in the dense air. "Humanity? Do tell me, Aurel, what is it you miss? The ignorance? The subordination? Being doomed to die? Do tell me just what it is about humans that make them so enviable."
Quatre refused to answer, staring at the floor as if his head were too heavy to lift.
Lucien took a few, slow steps forward, and slipped a sharp-nailed finger under Quatre's chin. He raised the heavy head slowly, until once more he was able to look Quatre in the eye. "Why can you not look at me now? You used to love glaring at me, putting all your resentment into those two exquisite eyes. There were nights when I truly thought I would burst into flame..."
"Lucien..." Quatre started his plea without thinking. Briefly, he hesitated, wondering if it would do any good to ask, or if it might simply goad his old master into teasing him further. He remembered, too well he remembered, that Lucien often lost interest in his games when Quatre was no longer defiant. "Lucien, please, just do what you want, ask what you want, and I will giving it to you. I'll even..." he paused, clenching his teeth as if fighting to swallow rising bile. "I'll replace him, drain me dry, and set me aflame, it doesn't matter... It is, after all, what I deserve."
Lucien pulled his hand away sharply, nicking the underside of Quatre's jaw. "Do not play that game with me, Aurel! Do not pretend that you feel guilty. You were never so clich� as that. Your only regret is that you don't regret. In two hundred years you've felt no remorse save what you've done to that boy. Don't pretend, Aurel, not with me."
Quatre sighed softly, Lucien was proving more unpredictable than ever. He sensed something in the air, and it was not bloodlust, and so he pressed on. "Alright then! Take me even if I don't give it out of self-sacrifice and repentance! Take me just because I am selfish and I do not want my lover to die before me. Just do it, Lucien, and *end* this."
Lucien looked truly shocked; he had been begged before, but never for this. His Aurel had begged for freedom, revenge, and once- though he had never remembered -to be loved, but never for death. "That... is not what I want."
"And what is it you want, Lucien? What would make your sad, twisted heart happy?" He had taken a step forward, ready to lash out, but the door to the Diablo was once again opened, and he whipped about in surprise.
"We have him, master," the words were spoken in such a young exuberant tone, but with an old voice, a voice that should have known better. It had to be a newly Turned vampire, perhaps only a few years into his eternity. "God, he was just as you said. Perfect, like noth-"
"Good work," Lucien said abortively. "You fed?"
Quatre took the moment of silence that followed to peer into the smoky, red darkness, but was rewarded only with unfamiliar forms.
"Yes," the same voice admitted. "But only because he fought."
Lucien let out a terse sigh of disapproval. "It does not matter now. Just leave. Go upstairs, and turn on the lights down here when you do."
Quatre watched them leave apprehensively, the smell of blood was on them, and it lingered in the room. Through the stale cigarette smoke, and spilled alcohol he sensed it as if it were the only scent in the room, tasted it on his tongue, and knew his other nature would be rising soon. Now, he was a latent predator wary of danger, searching for food. "Your servants?" he asked hoarsely.
The elder vampire shook his head, "Your elusive Council members."
Quatre nearly laughed, as if it were a joke. "Surely you lie."
"How long you must have been in space," Lucien remarked condescendingly. Our society is not what it used to be. The oldest of us are realizing their time had passed... and there is upheaval, disorder, and young ones like them are being appointed simply to be controlled by people like myself."
Quatre felt like laughing again, this time at himself. "Oh... I am so stupid. I just assumed-"
"*I* would have found you anyway, Aurel," the words were soft, as if in some kind of awkward comfort. "You are mine, you have always belonged to me, and if you will no longer play war with me, I will gladly begin a round of hide and seek."
There was a loud- to vampiric hearing -click from afar, and row after row of harsh floodlights sparked to life, flooding the dance floor with an unholy amount of light. Quatre blinked blearily, shaking his head, and momentarily losing the scent of blood, when he looked up to find it again, he shouted in surprise. It was Trowa's blood, Trowa's blood pouring from Trowa's body on the floor fifteen feet away. He started to move towards him, but a sure hand caught his collar and pulled him back.
"No, Aurel. You will stay with me." Lucien was at his back, the hand pulling at his throat now locked around his waist.
Quatre did not struggle, desperate as he was, the same part of him that hungered sought to preserve itself. Lucien was older, stronger, larger, and on a very thin thread, still he could not help tensing in the embrace. "Let me see him," he demanded.
"You have seen him enough, too much," Lucien began to pull him a step back, but Quatre stood firm.
"Lucien..." Quatre swallowed thickly, and made careful use of his peripheral vision, when he was sure that he was listening he continued. "You said you did not want my death... I think I knew that... what is it then?"
Quatre was suddenly pushed away, and he used the momentum to reach Trowa, he wasn't entirely sure that he would have made it completely under his own power. Trowa's body was heavy with dead wait, and his wounds bled weakly, his heart was so slow, too slow. He clenched the fabric of Trowa's shirt, focusing his energy to that single point, to keep from uttering any sound, to keep from crying. Inwardly, he collapsed, and his body followed, falling until he rested his forehead on the smooth contour of Trowa's cheek. NOT this. Damnit, not this. *I* should have received this, *I* should be dying now, why couldn't he- why could have I... Oh, please, not this.
"Don't you see the mistake, Aurel?" Lucien sounded close, but Quatre did not lift his head. "You gave your love to a weak, short-lived vessel, to someone that could never understand you."
Quatre had been shaking his head unconsciously, but stopped slowly, and opened his eyes. It sounded like... "I never knew why you kept me. I can't say that I would have been happy to die, but it would have been easier. And now... I know. You're a fool, Lucien, an idiot. You... loved me all this time, didn't you? And expressed it in cruel games, pain and sorrow. When all you would have had to do was ask."
For a brief moment Lucien was unguarded, exposed, he shook his head tautly, "You... you're not the only one who did not know what love is until it was too late. You forgot me, Aurel... left me behind. For him... he was all that needed to be removed."
Quatre shook his head, "It's too late now, Lucien. There's only so much love to be found in a heart like mine, and it is all for him."
"He is dying."
He winced sharply, knowing it was the truth and that there was only one way to fight, "I can save him."
"You wouldn't," Lucien sounded panicked. "You wouldn't Turn him, because it's only his humanity you're fascinated with. I would kill you before I let you, Aurel."
Quatre looked away from Trowa's face, momentarily he stopped attempted to rub away the blood that had trickled from the open mouth. "Joined in life, or joined in death, it's no matter, Lucien. You know I'm not afraid to die now."
"You belong to me," Lucien voice was quieter.
The blonde's shoulders sagged a bit, "Once, a long time ago. You live in the past, Lucien, you are too old. *Once* I was yours, *once* I loved you, but it is no more."
"It can be again." Quatre smiled, now Lucien was begging. "We've come so far just now."
He shook his head, but said nothing in reply, and in the silence he listened to Trowa's slowing heartbeat, and wondered if he dare let it stop forever. He had lied, he was afraid to die, but if he lost Trowa, he would have nothing left, even his hate for Lucien was now irrevocably faded to an painful sympathy. He didn't care to recover from this, to move on. He wanted Trowa, or he would take oblivion. He deliberated a moment, and felt a shameful contentment as he lifted Trowa's head onto his lap. Quatre whispered a few words into his ear, and, by an exertion of will, Trowa's eyes fluttered open, unseeing. A moment passed, and gradually comprehension and pain seeped into the dark green pools.
"Tell me you want this," Quatre spoke loudly, clearly. He would not risk being misunderstood. "Tell me you want to be with me forever. Tell me you would kill, every night and without remorse, to be stay with me. Tell me, Trowa, or go peacefully."
Trowa blinked his eyes several times, but whether to fight tears or waves of pain Quatre did not know. Lucien's agitated pacing clacked intrusively into their silent moment, but did not interrupt it. Trowa exhaled slowly, a deathly sigh that should the heralded a final breath, but instead brought the word, "Yes."
Quatre didn't know whether to cry or laugh, but he brought his wrist to his lips, prepared to slice through it deftly and give Trowa the blood that would save his body and damn his soul. His hand was caught once again, and held back by Lucien's desperate grip. He wasted only a second, biting his bottom lip harshly, puncturing it with two perfect holes. His head dipped quickly, crushing their lips together tightly, painfully. Trowa grimaced as the first drops spilled onto his tongue, the blood was cold now, a bitter unfamiliar taste, but it kindled something inside him, strength... and need. He began to suck, the insistent pressure keeping the wound open for him.
Quatre pulled away as his hand was released, he followed Lucien's retreating, angry form for a moment, and returned his attention to Trowa writhing in his lap. He coughed once, and then heaved, but Quatre clamped a heavy hand over his mouth.
"Keep it," he chided softly. "You'll die without it. Let it become a part of you." He held Trowa until at last he stilled, he moved his hand and set it to stroking Trowa's hair. "You know your choice, Trowa, please say you understand the choice you've made."
Once again, Trowa's eyes fluttered upon, and Quatre inspected them critically for any change, there was a slightly a foreign iridescence, but nothing else seemed to be altered. They fell shut again, and the body in his arms sagged heavily. He panicked a moment, and then remembered, it was daylight outside, and Trowa much too weak to fight the urge to slumber. He glanced around the room now, but Lucien was gone, most likely with the fledglings that had brought Trowa. It was hardly safe to remain, but until the sun set Trowa was trapped.
He had wanted to talk, to say reassuring things and to have them said back, but he admitted that it was probably better this way. He needed to think, to plan, but immediately he promised himself that he would never let Trowa lose himself too completely. Sleep then, Trowa, because I'll watch over you, guard and cherish you until we are the last beings on this earth.
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