Fated Part Four
And this Part is unbeta'd as yet (hey, I'm trying to work to a deadline here!) There's only one part to go after this one :)
Fated - Part Four - Confrontation
Trying to relax in the shower, Faith sang along with the radio, but her mind refused to stop dwelling on the dream she’d had the night before. She was finding it hard to recall the visuals, the images hazy and indistinct bar the feel of cool hands and lips gliding over her intensely fevered body, but the content and the feelings behind them were unmistakable. She’d woken up horny as hell, muscles sore and with a vague sense of loss and guilt, and nothing to blame it on besides the memory of deep, amethyst coloured eyes.
This was not going to help today: she had a job to do and she was already wound tighter than a rubber band ball. Just as she’d made up her mind to try to relieve herself, Doyle banged on the door.
“Faith, we need to hit the streets in half an hour, sweetheart. You’re gonna to have to hurry it up in there.”
Clenching her jaw, Faith rinsed her hair one last time and shut off the water.
‘I guess play time’s just gotta wait.’
The day passed in a blur as she accompanied Doyle from one end of town to another, running errands in preparation for the night’s heist. The slim demon had taken to calling it a mission, but she wasn’t fooled - as far as she was concerned, if it looked like a duck, walked like a duck, and quacked like a duck…. Still, she was away from Kane, no cops on her tail, and she had someone helping her through the weird shit factor of becoming a superhero. If all she had to worry about was the odd wet dream, and dishing out the occasional ass-kicking, life was good.
The level of tension thrumming through every fibre of her being had not decreased; if anything, it had slowly simmered to a quiet, nerve-tearing boil. Her already twitchy demon radar was going haywire, and traipsing around Chicago visiting various demons, warlocks and occult specialists had added to her discomfort. She grimaced, rolling her shoulders and shaking her hands, trying to ease the itching pin pricks that burned just beneath her skin.
“Hey, are you okay? You’re looking a little frayed around the edges; you can go back to the apartment if you like. I can do these last few calls on my own,” Doyle stopped for a second, waiting until Faith met his gaze.
“I’m good,” the brunette forced a smile. “Five by five. Just, you know, kinda looking forward to getting some action after all this practice!”
Doyle gave her a lop-sided grin.
“That’s my girl! It’s not like it’ll really give you a work out, though. Rezyek demons are big and ugly, but they’re pansies. Nothing to worry about,” he promised, allowing himself the luxury of stroking her hair, his hand coming to rest on her shoulder.
She wished she could lean into the comfort he was offering, maybe even indulge in a little more, but now was not the time. The brief intimacy made her uncomfortable, and she moved out of reach, attempting to avoid disappointment replacing the sparkle in Doyle’s eyes.
The wolf that had followed the pair since they’d first left the apartment stifled a low growl as the half-demon laid his hands on the Slayer. She was not for such lowly creatures! Dracula had found himself unable to prevent his footsteps leading him back to the building in which she lived after he had hunted and fed, the song of her power, her very nature, urging him on. He was thankful that unlike the typical half breeds walking the earth calling themselves vampires, he was not doomed by the sun, merely hampered. He was able to watch over her even after dawn broke, adopting his animal form before the rest of the populace began to stir, switching between wolf, bat and man as he shadowed her every movement.
Faith sensed him, of that he was sure, the signs of agitation giving her away. The more he watched her, the more his obsession and admiration grew, the urge to reveal himself almost forcing him into her path. He managed to make himself wait, but it was so hard; harder even than the decades passing, the loss of his passion, the existence that he’d chosen eating away at his will. For a long time, he’d been relieved he had no use for his heart, certain that by now it must be shrivelled and decayed, nothing more than a fossil. But now the blood raced in his veins, and he felt like roaring his supremacy and defiance to any within range of his voice. Sunset could not come soon enough.
A damp fog had closed in upon the city after dusk, and Faith, Doyle and his associate Simon shivered as they made their way to the car and adrenaline coursed into their systems. The girl peered into the dark, unable to shake the feeling that she was being watched, and that something more than the prospect of her first real fight was making her uneasy.
Simon noticed the curvy brunette’s agitation - hardly surprising since he couldn’t keep his eyes off her. Doyle had the touch, that was for sure. When Simon had dropped by the apartment he’d not really known what to expect from a Slayer, and since his old friend hadn’t warned him she was gorgeous, he’d just stared and stared until Doyle’s sarcastic voice called him on it. And she’d just laughed at him, winked, and made a point of wriggling suggestively as they collected the gear for tonight’s job, leaving him edgy and increasingly frustrated. Despite knowing he should be concentrating on the task in hand, his eyes were inexorably drawn to her, taking in her hair, her smile, that tight, full little body….
“Simon! Snap out of it would you, mate? We need to be sharp tonight,” Doyle hissed, well aware of his partner’s attention to Faith and fighting to contain his irritation. The girl turned with a small frown as she heard her name, wondering what the problem was and rolling her eyes when she saw the faintest hint of a blush on Simon’s face. Even loser guys had one track minds, it seemed. Doyle’s acquaintance was tall and drawn, not a hint of muscle anywhere, with orange frizz for hair and the largest bulbous eyes she’d seen outside a fish tank. She’d queried the necessity for dragging along dead weight with Doyle only to be told that Simon had some specialised skills which would come in useful, which she put down to some demonic trick or something: Simon, like Doyle, made her skin crawl and her temper boil in a Slayer’s instinctive reaction to her natural enemies.
“C’mon guys. Let’s do this already,” Faith muttered, hoping that she’d be able to shake the creepy feeling that had possessed her all day once the night was over.
Nodding assent, the two men climbed into the car, Faith riding shotgun and Doyle driving.
“Showtime,” he grinned, to an answering smile from the Slayer.
__________________________________________
Glowing violet eyes reflected the glare from the car’s taillights for a moment before shimmering and dissolving into the mist. Dracula followed the vehicle, a stream of consciousness held within countless molecules, biding his time.
__________________________________________
Twenty minutes later, Doyle pulled up in an upscale residential district, switching off the ignition and looking in his mirrors.
“We’re a couple of blocks away, just to be on the safe side,” he explained, taking a small backpack from Simon and handing it to Faith. He reached underneath his seat and drew a long, black shape forward, struggling a bit in the confined space and looking from the girl’s face to the object he now held.
“This is yours too. We’ve done enough practice - time for the real thing.”
Faith took the package from him, somewhat surprised to feel the hard shell before her fingers closed around what was unmistakeably a hilt.
“A sword? You got me a sword for this job?” She wasn’t sure whether to be elated or horrified.
“It’s a katana. Light, manoeuvrable, and sharper than that tongue of yours. Faith, you need a proper weapon - not just for tonight, for always. Most demons aren’t like me: the majority will see a Slayer and attack, for no better reason than that’s who you are. A stake’s all well and good if you’re fighting vampires, but there are worse things out there. Much worse,” Doyle told her quietly, the serious expression in his blue eyes silencing Faith’s objections, and she nodded.
“Thanks, Doyle.”
“Don’t worry about it. Now let’s get out of this car so you can have a proper look at it,” he suggested, opening his door and swinging his legs out with Simon and Faith following suit. The dark haired young woman unsheathed the weapon Doyle had given her, the steel gleaming cold and white in the dim moonlight as she performed a kata, gaining the feel of the blade. It was perfectly weighted, the grip moulding to her hand and making the katana an extension of her arm.
Simon gulped nervously while Doyle merely admired her proficiency. The scrawny ginger-haired man suddenly realised the fascination the girl held for him - she was utterly deadly, the sting in the scorpion’s tail, as exquisite and mysterious as the death she promised. On second thought, Doyle was more than welcome to this one.
Finishing her brief exercise, Faith bounced over to her friend and threw her arms round him, kissing him lightly on the cheek.
“It’s perfect, Doyle. No one’s ever bought me anything so beautiful in my life. Now all I gotta do is use it, right?” She half-joked, suddenly awkward and nervous.
“You’ll be fine, babe. You’ll be just fine - you do the heavy lifting, and me and Simon will do the rest,” he assured her, trying to conceal his triumph at feeling Faith’s body against his. ‘Soon enough,’ he promised himself.
“Deal. Don’t ask me to do any of the complicated shit,” she laughed.
_________________ *___________________________
“You sure this is the right place?” Faith breathed.
“Trust me, it’s the place. What, you think they’re just going to hang a sign outside saying ‘Black market magic items sold here’? The underworld, the real underworld, doesn’t like drawing attention to itself, firstly because that would alert the Council, who’d send their Slayer, and secondly, because if humans really knew what was going on, there’d be panic, rioting, and likely a hell of a lot of demons would end up dead. Don’t suppose you ever studied the Inquisition?”
“Never studied,” Faith shrugged, and Doyle shook his head.
“The last time there was a big hunt, it was by the Church. They had people everywhere - hunters, executioners, torturers, and it wasn’t just demons that died. Anyone who was even remotely suspected vanished. Keeping it quiet is the best policy, and the demon community knows it. Some remember the Inquisition, and given that was over four hundred years ago, it’s best not to argue with them.”
“Huh. Guess it makes sense, really. It just looks so… normal,” she noted.
The three would-be thieves were currently waiting in a shadowed doorway opposite a jewellery shop, which occupied the ground floor of an apartment block in much the same style as the rest of the neighbourhood. To Faith, it looked like any other outrageously expensive store, with security grills and a burglar alarm, and no doubt lost of electronic devices inside, and she wondered what exactly she was doing here. The niggling sensation that something was wrong had faded to a dull throbbing at the base of her skull, subsumed by the concern that she’d been tricked by Doyle.
Doyle and Simon spoke in a hurried whisper, and the taller demon dug into his rucksack, pulling out a couple of crystals and a small bag.
“What the fuck is he doing?” demanded the girl, her anger fuelled by the suspicion that Doyle’s agenda had been all about using her, in addition to frustration and impatience. Simon flinched briefly at her tone, although his hands continued to place the items he needed with exact, precise movements.
“The building’s warded - Simon’s about to perform a counter spell so that we’re shielded and can pass through. Just back off and give him a moment, will you?” Doyle’s usual Irish lilt was tinged with barely restrained irritation, triggering a hardening in Faith’s eyes. Just who the fuck did he think he was?
_______________________ * __________________________________
The mist coalesced into flesh once more, a tall, powerfully built shadow only slightly darker than the gloom. Dracula had never once let his eyes move from his intended and now was no different - his intense indigo gaze locked on to Faith’s body where she was concealed. The vampire had easily cloaked himself from both the warding spell and the various alarm triggers around the shop, and was now standing on the roof, watching the tall warlock summoning the magical energy required to allow the small group admittance. A small, bright glow signalled the spell’s success, the three sneaking forwards until they were directly in front of the shop’s door where they hesitated, Simon muttering quietly as he unravelled the magical defences. Gliding from form to form, Dracula used the time to enter the building, nullifying the subtler traps hidden within and viciously slaughtering the half dozen demons on guard duty within moments. None of them so much as suspected his presence before they met their violent, bloody ends, unseen claws sliding through their skin to rip each one apart from the inside out. The vampire was methodical, his skill and capacity for destruction honed over centuries; unhindered by morals, scruples or any interest other than claiming the Slayer about to enter the building, he was an efficient, ruthless foe. By the time Simon had countered the spell upon the door and Doyle had broken the electronic locks, there was nothing to challenge their arrival. Remaining incorporeal, Dracula awaited the perfect time to reveal himself.
______________________ * __________________________
Faith took point, the katana naked in her hand as she stalked slowly deeper into the shop. Straining her senses, she searched for any sign of the four demons Doyle had brought her along to handle.
‘Handle? No, he brought you here to kill them, you dumb bitch,’ mocked her conscience.
Well, by all accounts, killing demons and monsters was now her mission in life, thanks to some hidden group of manipulative old men, so what was the problem? She’d learned young that it was a dog-eat-dog world, and that the strong did whatever the hell they wanted while the weaker, poorer and less popular were simply trodden underfoot. The laughter, the remarks, the insults at her expense when Faith had actually gone to school were just the start of a long history of people telling her she was nothing but worthless trash, incubating a contempt of others she’d so far only been able to express through self-destruction and a spiteful attitude. Now she was the one with the power, and ironically she was experiencing some trepidation about wielding it.
‘Screw that! About time I balanced some karmic shit,’ she determined, a sly smile curving her lips into a sneer. Doyle had shown her how to use the curse’s effects, and he promised freedom and money: it was high time she was on top for a change.
Oblivious to Faith’s internal conflict and consequent decision, Doyle hovered nervously by a cabinet. Simon assured him that the arcane countermeasures on this floor were neutralised, and the dark-haired half-breed knew he’d handled the electronic systems he’d been able to reach: what was in question was making it to the warded vault downstairs. Only the slayer was going to be able to deal with the guards, but he had no idea where they were. The Rezyeks should have noticed the minute anyone entered the premises and thrown themselves into the fray - their impressive sensory range was why the race were so often used for security. This eerie silence was simply… wrong.
The three cautiously pressed forward, passing through two rooms and a small corridor before reaching the stairs: ahead of them, the back room which would give them access to the basement. A sharp, unfamiliar smell reached Faith’s nose and she fought the urge to gag.
“You guys smell that? What the hell are they keeping here?” She turned back, seeing Doyle sniffing and grimacing.
“Christ! It stinks like -“
“Something died,” added Simon quietly. Faith’s knuckles whitened around the hilt of her sword.
“Wait here, I’m gonna take a look,” she ordered, instinct taking over as she stalked up the stairs. Doyle cursed quietly as his careful planning derailed completely. If someone had beaten them to the punch, he was in some serious shit.
Faith crept upwards, her eyes darting around, examining every corner and shadow, but when she reached the landing she could only gasp at the carnage decorating the hall. Even knowing that she would have inflicted her own damage on the one-time guards didn’t lessen the shock; it wasn’t so much that she was squeamish as the sheer scale of the devastation.
“Think I’ve found the guards. Some of ‘em anyway,” she called down before stepping carefully through the blood and less pleasant remains. Behind her, dark vapour flowed silently down the hall and briefly, lavender eyes glowed in the shadows. Doyle and Simon fell easily into the vampire’s thrall, their expressions wiped as blank as their minds, leaving them posed like statues.
Carrying on down the hall, the anxious Slayer trod carefully to avoid the worst of the splattered bodies, her guard dropping as she watched her feet. Her heart pounded, the hiss and rush of blood filling her ears as fear and adrenaline surged through her body at the thought of something which killed which such brutality. Sweat beaded along her spine and in her hands, the katana’s hilt became slick and slippery.
‘Shit!’
She hadn’t signed up for this. Whatever had beaten them to the punch was obviously more than she could handle, especially her first time out. She should just back up, get to the others, and all three of them should be getting the hell out of here. Her supernatural senses were still screaming, every nerve ramped up to full alert and she realised that their competition must still be in the place. Oh yeah, it was so past time to leave, mission be damned. Having come to her conclusion, she turned, prepared to hurry back to Doyle and get the hell out of Dodge.
“Alone at last,” the deep, accented voice seemed to vibrate in the air around her and Faith shivered.
“Sorry to disappoint, but I already have a date for this party,” the young brunette drawled, relying on her sharp attitude to cover the gut-twisting fear creeping over her skin. Eerie laughter shimmered through the gloom.
“If you’re referring to the two imbeciles accompanying you, then I assure you that they might as well be a million miles away. If you’re partnered to that rather elegant weapon…” the voice paused as darkness became flesh behind Faith, and Dracula casually reached out, sliding the sword from her grasp before she felt it move.
“…then I’m afraid I must insist on cutting in.”
Faith whirled in panic to face her enemy, dark eyes wide in panic, fists raised. In a flash, she took in the man’s appearance - a dark tailored suit that would put Armani to shame and a high collared white shirt complimenting his athletic build. It looked so incongruous that she found it hard to believe he was a threat. She’d been expecting horns, tails, claws… almost anything but this calm, assured, attractive man. And oh, yeah, he was hot. Pale skin, sculpted features, thick, long, dark hair - and then she looked into his eyes.
Amethyst fire enveloped her, scorching her with its intensity, and suddenly the memories of her dream returned with in glorious technicolour and with surround sound. She gave a small half-moan, half-gasp as the sensation of his lips and hands ghosted over her body, and spasmodically her empty hands clenched into fists. The small pain of her nails slicing into her palms brought her back to the hallway, clearing her mind.
Dracula’s mouth twitched in a small smile, and she so desperately wanted to smash her knuckles against it. Invasive bastard! Her arm was flying towards him before she could finish the thought, her speed taking her by surprise, but the vampire anticipated the slayer’s instinct and caught her wrist easily.
“If we’re going to dance, we should at least be introduced, my dear. I am Dracula, Count of Wallachia, and I am honoured to make your acquaintance.” Maintaining his grip on her wrist, the man afforded Faith a shallow, courtly bow, stunning her when he flipped her hand over and pressed his lips to the same knuckles which had been aimed at his face not moments ago.
Suppressing the shudder his kiss prompted, Faith struck a practised, unconcerned pose.
“Dracula, right. Like the films? Babe, I know I didn’t finish high school, but I’m not that stupid,” she acidly remarked, smirking. In response, the vampire merely lifted one eyebrow.
“No doubt you would believe me had I arrived wearing a cape on All Hallows’ Eve, sweeping in through your bedroom window to steal your blood and your virtue?”
Now that he mentioned it, that scenario did seem kinda hokey. Just over a week ago, she didn’t believe vampires and demons existed, and here she was, arguing that Dracula could only be a fiction? There was definitely something sexily dangerous about him, and his voice was a velvet whisper in the secret corners of her mind, speaking to her every hidden desire.
“Okay, say you are Count Dracula. Guess that makes me Van Helsing,” she shrugged, pulling her hand from his in a lightning movement.
“Oh no, Faith. Do you not understand? You are not the hunter here,” he murmured, demonstrating his own speed by vanishing from her sight, materialising behind her as her head whipped round, searching. His hand stroked her cheek, revelling in its softness even as he inhaled her scent. So passionately defiant, so coldly determined and yet so uncertain - the girl was everything he could have wished, not just in her beauty, but in her spirit. Wrapping his other arm around her slender waist, Dracula pulled her close.
“You’re the prize. I have been searching for you for longer than you can conceive, Faith. You have been my hope, my reason, my guiding light for centuries: you are the most precious gift the world holds. We are linked as the moon is linked to the tide, and I can feel your longing. Soon, you will feel mine,” he promised, and Faith was helpless in his embrace as his teeth lengthened and pierced her neck.
Tbc
Fated - Part Four - Confrontation
Trying to relax in the shower, Faith sang along with the radio, but her mind refused to stop dwelling on the dream she’d had the night before. She was finding it hard to recall the visuals, the images hazy and indistinct bar the feel of cool hands and lips gliding over her intensely fevered body, but the content and the feelings behind them were unmistakable. She’d woken up horny as hell, muscles sore and with a vague sense of loss and guilt, and nothing to blame it on besides the memory of deep, amethyst coloured eyes.
This was not going to help today: she had a job to do and she was already wound tighter than a rubber band ball. Just as she’d made up her mind to try to relieve herself, Doyle banged on the door.
“Faith, we need to hit the streets in half an hour, sweetheart. You’re gonna to have to hurry it up in there.”
Clenching her jaw, Faith rinsed her hair one last time and shut off the water.
‘I guess play time’s just gotta wait.’
The day passed in a blur as she accompanied Doyle from one end of town to another, running errands in preparation for the night’s heist. The slim demon had taken to calling it a mission, but she wasn’t fooled - as far as she was concerned, if it looked like a duck, walked like a duck, and quacked like a duck…. Still, she was away from Kane, no cops on her tail, and she had someone helping her through the weird shit factor of becoming a superhero. If all she had to worry about was the odd wet dream, and dishing out the occasional ass-kicking, life was good.
The level of tension thrumming through every fibre of her being had not decreased; if anything, it had slowly simmered to a quiet, nerve-tearing boil. Her already twitchy demon radar was going haywire, and traipsing around Chicago visiting various demons, warlocks and occult specialists had added to her discomfort. She grimaced, rolling her shoulders and shaking her hands, trying to ease the itching pin pricks that burned just beneath her skin.
“Hey, are you okay? You’re looking a little frayed around the edges; you can go back to the apartment if you like. I can do these last few calls on my own,” Doyle stopped for a second, waiting until Faith met his gaze.
“I’m good,” the brunette forced a smile. “Five by five. Just, you know, kinda looking forward to getting some action after all this practice!”
Doyle gave her a lop-sided grin.
“That’s my girl! It’s not like it’ll really give you a work out, though. Rezyek demons are big and ugly, but they’re pansies. Nothing to worry about,” he promised, allowing himself the luxury of stroking her hair, his hand coming to rest on her shoulder.
She wished she could lean into the comfort he was offering, maybe even indulge in a little more, but now was not the time. The brief intimacy made her uncomfortable, and she moved out of reach, attempting to avoid disappointment replacing the sparkle in Doyle’s eyes.
The wolf that had followed the pair since they’d first left the apartment stifled a low growl as the half-demon laid his hands on the Slayer. She was not for such lowly creatures! Dracula had found himself unable to prevent his footsteps leading him back to the building in which she lived after he had hunted and fed, the song of her power, her very nature, urging him on. He was thankful that unlike the typical half breeds walking the earth calling themselves vampires, he was not doomed by the sun, merely hampered. He was able to watch over her even after dawn broke, adopting his animal form before the rest of the populace began to stir, switching between wolf, bat and man as he shadowed her every movement.
Faith sensed him, of that he was sure, the signs of agitation giving her away. The more he watched her, the more his obsession and admiration grew, the urge to reveal himself almost forcing him into her path. He managed to make himself wait, but it was so hard; harder even than the decades passing, the loss of his passion, the existence that he’d chosen eating away at his will. For a long time, he’d been relieved he had no use for his heart, certain that by now it must be shrivelled and decayed, nothing more than a fossil. But now the blood raced in his veins, and he felt like roaring his supremacy and defiance to any within range of his voice. Sunset could not come soon enough.
A damp fog had closed in upon the city after dusk, and Faith, Doyle and his associate Simon shivered as they made their way to the car and adrenaline coursed into their systems. The girl peered into the dark, unable to shake the feeling that she was being watched, and that something more than the prospect of her first real fight was making her uneasy.
Simon noticed the curvy brunette’s agitation - hardly surprising since he couldn’t keep his eyes off her. Doyle had the touch, that was for sure. When Simon had dropped by the apartment he’d not really known what to expect from a Slayer, and since his old friend hadn’t warned him she was gorgeous, he’d just stared and stared until Doyle’s sarcastic voice called him on it. And she’d just laughed at him, winked, and made a point of wriggling suggestively as they collected the gear for tonight’s job, leaving him edgy and increasingly frustrated. Despite knowing he should be concentrating on the task in hand, his eyes were inexorably drawn to her, taking in her hair, her smile, that tight, full little body….
“Simon! Snap out of it would you, mate? We need to be sharp tonight,” Doyle hissed, well aware of his partner’s attention to Faith and fighting to contain his irritation. The girl turned with a small frown as she heard her name, wondering what the problem was and rolling her eyes when she saw the faintest hint of a blush on Simon’s face. Even loser guys had one track minds, it seemed. Doyle’s acquaintance was tall and drawn, not a hint of muscle anywhere, with orange frizz for hair and the largest bulbous eyes she’d seen outside a fish tank. She’d queried the necessity for dragging along dead weight with Doyle only to be told that Simon had some specialised skills which would come in useful, which she put down to some demonic trick or something: Simon, like Doyle, made her skin crawl and her temper boil in a Slayer’s instinctive reaction to her natural enemies.
“C’mon guys. Let’s do this already,” Faith muttered, hoping that she’d be able to shake the creepy feeling that had possessed her all day once the night was over.
Nodding assent, the two men climbed into the car, Faith riding shotgun and Doyle driving.
“Showtime,” he grinned, to an answering smile from the Slayer.
__________________________________________
Glowing violet eyes reflected the glare from the car’s taillights for a moment before shimmering and dissolving into the mist. Dracula followed the vehicle, a stream of consciousness held within countless molecules, biding his time.
__________________________________________
Twenty minutes later, Doyle pulled up in an upscale residential district, switching off the ignition and looking in his mirrors.
“We’re a couple of blocks away, just to be on the safe side,” he explained, taking a small backpack from Simon and handing it to Faith. He reached underneath his seat and drew a long, black shape forward, struggling a bit in the confined space and looking from the girl’s face to the object he now held.
“This is yours too. We’ve done enough practice - time for the real thing.”
Faith took the package from him, somewhat surprised to feel the hard shell before her fingers closed around what was unmistakeably a hilt.
“A sword? You got me a sword for this job?” She wasn’t sure whether to be elated or horrified.
“It’s a katana. Light, manoeuvrable, and sharper than that tongue of yours. Faith, you need a proper weapon - not just for tonight, for always. Most demons aren’t like me: the majority will see a Slayer and attack, for no better reason than that’s who you are. A stake’s all well and good if you’re fighting vampires, but there are worse things out there. Much worse,” Doyle told her quietly, the serious expression in his blue eyes silencing Faith’s objections, and she nodded.
“Thanks, Doyle.”
“Don’t worry about it. Now let’s get out of this car so you can have a proper look at it,” he suggested, opening his door and swinging his legs out with Simon and Faith following suit. The dark haired young woman unsheathed the weapon Doyle had given her, the steel gleaming cold and white in the dim moonlight as she performed a kata, gaining the feel of the blade. It was perfectly weighted, the grip moulding to her hand and making the katana an extension of her arm.
Simon gulped nervously while Doyle merely admired her proficiency. The scrawny ginger-haired man suddenly realised the fascination the girl held for him - she was utterly deadly, the sting in the scorpion’s tail, as exquisite and mysterious as the death she promised. On second thought, Doyle was more than welcome to this one.
Finishing her brief exercise, Faith bounced over to her friend and threw her arms round him, kissing him lightly on the cheek.
“It’s perfect, Doyle. No one’s ever bought me anything so beautiful in my life. Now all I gotta do is use it, right?” She half-joked, suddenly awkward and nervous.
“You’ll be fine, babe. You’ll be just fine - you do the heavy lifting, and me and Simon will do the rest,” he assured her, trying to conceal his triumph at feeling Faith’s body against his. ‘Soon enough,’ he promised himself.
“Deal. Don’t ask me to do any of the complicated shit,” she laughed.
_________________ *___________________________
“You sure this is the right place?” Faith breathed.
“Trust me, it’s the place. What, you think they’re just going to hang a sign outside saying ‘Black market magic items sold here’? The underworld, the real underworld, doesn’t like drawing attention to itself, firstly because that would alert the Council, who’d send their Slayer, and secondly, because if humans really knew what was going on, there’d be panic, rioting, and likely a hell of a lot of demons would end up dead. Don’t suppose you ever studied the Inquisition?”
“Never studied,” Faith shrugged, and Doyle shook his head.
“The last time there was a big hunt, it was by the Church. They had people everywhere - hunters, executioners, torturers, and it wasn’t just demons that died. Anyone who was even remotely suspected vanished. Keeping it quiet is the best policy, and the demon community knows it. Some remember the Inquisition, and given that was over four hundred years ago, it’s best not to argue with them.”
“Huh. Guess it makes sense, really. It just looks so… normal,” she noted.
The three would-be thieves were currently waiting in a shadowed doorway opposite a jewellery shop, which occupied the ground floor of an apartment block in much the same style as the rest of the neighbourhood. To Faith, it looked like any other outrageously expensive store, with security grills and a burglar alarm, and no doubt lost of electronic devices inside, and she wondered what exactly she was doing here. The niggling sensation that something was wrong had faded to a dull throbbing at the base of her skull, subsumed by the concern that she’d been tricked by Doyle.
Doyle and Simon spoke in a hurried whisper, and the taller demon dug into his rucksack, pulling out a couple of crystals and a small bag.
“What the fuck is he doing?” demanded the girl, her anger fuelled by the suspicion that Doyle’s agenda had been all about using her, in addition to frustration and impatience. Simon flinched briefly at her tone, although his hands continued to place the items he needed with exact, precise movements.
“The building’s warded - Simon’s about to perform a counter spell so that we’re shielded and can pass through. Just back off and give him a moment, will you?” Doyle’s usual Irish lilt was tinged with barely restrained irritation, triggering a hardening in Faith’s eyes. Just who the fuck did he think he was?
_______________________ * __________________________________
The mist coalesced into flesh once more, a tall, powerfully built shadow only slightly darker than the gloom. Dracula had never once let his eyes move from his intended and now was no different - his intense indigo gaze locked on to Faith’s body where she was concealed. The vampire had easily cloaked himself from both the warding spell and the various alarm triggers around the shop, and was now standing on the roof, watching the tall warlock summoning the magical energy required to allow the small group admittance. A small, bright glow signalled the spell’s success, the three sneaking forwards until they were directly in front of the shop’s door where they hesitated, Simon muttering quietly as he unravelled the magical defences. Gliding from form to form, Dracula used the time to enter the building, nullifying the subtler traps hidden within and viciously slaughtering the half dozen demons on guard duty within moments. None of them so much as suspected his presence before they met their violent, bloody ends, unseen claws sliding through their skin to rip each one apart from the inside out. The vampire was methodical, his skill and capacity for destruction honed over centuries; unhindered by morals, scruples or any interest other than claiming the Slayer about to enter the building, he was an efficient, ruthless foe. By the time Simon had countered the spell upon the door and Doyle had broken the electronic locks, there was nothing to challenge their arrival. Remaining incorporeal, Dracula awaited the perfect time to reveal himself.
______________________ * __________________________
Faith took point, the katana naked in her hand as she stalked slowly deeper into the shop. Straining her senses, she searched for any sign of the four demons Doyle had brought her along to handle.
‘Handle? No, he brought you here to kill them, you dumb bitch,’ mocked her conscience.
Well, by all accounts, killing demons and monsters was now her mission in life, thanks to some hidden group of manipulative old men, so what was the problem? She’d learned young that it was a dog-eat-dog world, and that the strong did whatever the hell they wanted while the weaker, poorer and less popular were simply trodden underfoot. The laughter, the remarks, the insults at her expense when Faith had actually gone to school were just the start of a long history of people telling her she was nothing but worthless trash, incubating a contempt of others she’d so far only been able to express through self-destruction and a spiteful attitude. Now she was the one with the power, and ironically she was experiencing some trepidation about wielding it.
‘Screw that! About time I balanced some karmic shit,’ she determined, a sly smile curving her lips into a sneer. Doyle had shown her how to use the curse’s effects, and he promised freedom and money: it was high time she was on top for a change.
Oblivious to Faith’s internal conflict and consequent decision, Doyle hovered nervously by a cabinet. Simon assured him that the arcane countermeasures on this floor were neutralised, and the dark-haired half-breed knew he’d handled the electronic systems he’d been able to reach: what was in question was making it to the warded vault downstairs. Only the slayer was going to be able to deal with the guards, but he had no idea where they were. The Rezyeks should have noticed the minute anyone entered the premises and thrown themselves into the fray - their impressive sensory range was why the race were so often used for security. This eerie silence was simply… wrong.
The three cautiously pressed forward, passing through two rooms and a small corridor before reaching the stairs: ahead of them, the back room which would give them access to the basement. A sharp, unfamiliar smell reached Faith’s nose and she fought the urge to gag.
“You guys smell that? What the hell are they keeping here?” She turned back, seeing Doyle sniffing and grimacing.
“Christ! It stinks like -“
“Something died,” added Simon quietly. Faith’s knuckles whitened around the hilt of her sword.
“Wait here, I’m gonna take a look,” she ordered, instinct taking over as she stalked up the stairs. Doyle cursed quietly as his careful planning derailed completely. If someone had beaten them to the punch, he was in some serious shit.
Faith crept upwards, her eyes darting around, examining every corner and shadow, but when she reached the landing she could only gasp at the carnage decorating the hall. Even knowing that she would have inflicted her own damage on the one-time guards didn’t lessen the shock; it wasn’t so much that she was squeamish as the sheer scale of the devastation.
“Think I’ve found the guards. Some of ‘em anyway,” she called down before stepping carefully through the blood and less pleasant remains. Behind her, dark vapour flowed silently down the hall and briefly, lavender eyes glowed in the shadows. Doyle and Simon fell easily into the vampire’s thrall, their expressions wiped as blank as their minds, leaving them posed like statues.
Carrying on down the hall, the anxious Slayer trod carefully to avoid the worst of the splattered bodies, her guard dropping as she watched her feet. Her heart pounded, the hiss and rush of blood filling her ears as fear and adrenaline surged through her body at the thought of something which killed which such brutality. Sweat beaded along her spine and in her hands, the katana’s hilt became slick and slippery.
‘Shit!’
She hadn’t signed up for this. Whatever had beaten them to the punch was obviously more than she could handle, especially her first time out. She should just back up, get to the others, and all three of them should be getting the hell out of here. Her supernatural senses were still screaming, every nerve ramped up to full alert and she realised that their competition must still be in the place. Oh yeah, it was so past time to leave, mission be damned. Having come to her conclusion, she turned, prepared to hurry back to Doyle and get the hell out of Dodge.
“Alone at last,” the deep, accented voice seemed to vibrate in the air around her and Faith shivered.
“Sorry to disappoint, but I already have a date for this party,” the young brunette drawled, relying on her sharp attitude to cover the gut-twisting fear creeping over her skin. Eerie laughter shimmered through the gloom.
“If you’re referring to the two imbeciles accompanying you, then I assure you that they might as well be a million miles away. If you’re partnered to that rather elegant weapon…” the voice paused as darkness became flesh behind Faith, and Dracula casually reached out, sliding the sword from her grasp before she felt it move.
“…then I’m afraid I must insist on cutting in.”
Faith whirled in panic to face her enemy, dark eyes wide in panic, fists raised. In a flash, she took in the man’s appearance - a dark tailored suit that would put Armani to shame and a high collared white shirt complimenting his athletic build. It looked so incongruous that she found it hard to believe he was a threat. She’d been expecting horns, tails, claws… almost anything but this calm, assured, attractive man. And oh, yeah, he was hot. Pale skin, sculpted features, thick, long, dark hair - and then she looked into his eyes.
Amethyst fire enveloped her, scorching her with its intensity, and suddenly the memories of her dream returned with in glorious technicolour and with surround sound. She gave a small half-moan, half-gasp as the sensation of his lips and hands ghosted over her body, and spasmodically her empty hands clenched into fists. The small pain of her nails slicing into her palms brought her back to the hallway, clearing her mind.
Dracula’s mouth twitched in a small smile, and she so desperately wanted to smash her knuckles against it. Invasive bastard! Her arm was flying towards him before she could finish the thought, her speed taking her by surprise, but the vampire anticipated the slayer’s instinct and caught her wrist easily.
“If we’re going to dance, we should at least be introduced, my dear. I am Dracula, Count of Wallachia, and I am honoured to make your acquaintance.” Maintaining his grip on her wrist, the man afforded Faith a shallow, courtly bow, stunning her when he flipped her hand over and pressed his lips to the same knuckles which had been aimed at his face not moments ago.
Suppressing the shudder his kiss prompted, Faith struck a practised, unconcerned pose.
“Dracula, right. Like the films? Babe, I know I didn’t finish high school, but I’m not that stupid,” she acidly remarked, smirking. In response, the vampire merely lifted one eyebrow.
“No doubt you would believe me had I arrived wearing a cape on All Hallows’ Eve, sweeping in through your bedroom window to steal your blood and your virtue?”
Now that he mentioned it, that scenario did seem kinda hokey. Just over a week ago, she didn’t believe vampires and demons existed, and here she was, arguing that Dracula could only be a fiction? There was definitely something sexily dangerous about him, and his voice was a velvet whisper in the secret corners of her mind, speaking to her every hidden desire.
“Okay, say you are Count Dracula. Guess that makes me Van Helsing,” she shrugged, pulling her hand from his in a lightning movement.
“Oh no, Faith. Do you not understand? You are not the hunter here,” he murmured, demonstrating his own speed by vanishing from her sight, materialising behind her as her head whipped round, searching. His hand stroked her cheek, revelling in its softness even as he inhaled her scent. So passionately defiant, so coldly determined and yet so uncertain - the girl was everything he could have wished, not just in her beauty, but in her spirit. Wrapping his other arm around her slender waist, Dracula pulled her close.
“You’re the prize. I have been searching for you for longer than you can conceive, Faith. You have been my hope, my reason, my guiding light for centuries: you are the most precious gift the world holds. We are linked as the moon is linked to the tide, and I can feel your longing. Soon, you will feel mine,” he promised, and Faith was helpless in his embrace as his teeth lengthened and pierced her neck.
Tbc