Dancing Dragon

by Nicola Claire

  So, having assessed Viktor's words, I couldn't see where this alliance could come back and haunt me, but then I'm not practised in making alliances at all. I only had my gut instinct to go on, but fortunately my gut was not causing too much concern right now. So, I had to trust that all would be OK.

  I repeated my side of the alliance commitment back to Viktor.

  “I, Lucinda Monk, agree to an alliance with the Nosferatu, Viktor Davydov, abiding by the rules of the Night and Day, for the duration of our combined need, beyond the observation of others. I will promise to bring the vampire Alastair, Master of this City, the final death, in exchange for two of the Nosferatu's line to assist where necessary in the hunt.”

  “So be it,” Both Sergei and Natalyia attested. The first time I had heard them utter a word.

  Maybe alliances required a witness, but I had heard Michel use those same words before and they had always been accompanied by a slight shift in the air, almost a wash of Sanguis Vitam, but I could never home in on the signature to tell.

  The words had that same fatalistic power accompany them on this occasion too. I suppressed a shudder of fear as the power, for want of a better word, washed past me.

  As soon as the formalities were over, Viktor's whole demeanour changed. He seemed relaxed and jovial, back to the vampire I had first met in Samson's home. His eyes no longer deep pools of black, slate grey and charcoal now swirled in their midst. He settled himself further into his comfortable looking leather couch and looked casual and at ease.

  Natalyia poured four glasses of vodka, handing one to Viktor, then her brother and finally me. I took the offered glass, not appreciating being the last to receive my drink and glanced out the window. We were approaching Michel's house at last. The traffic still quite dense. I was beginning to think that old Viktor and his cohorts were seeing me as the lesser in this alliance though. Their mannerisms, Viktor's stance and my order in the drink-giving ranks all led to that conclusion. Maybe they saw me as a measly Nosferatin, or perhaps just a half-human girl.

  Vampires are very hierarchical, they are headed by the most powerful of their line and those down from that position are appointed by the level of Sanguis Vitam and power they possess. In Michel's line, I am his kindred, joined and Bonded Nosferatin, so my position is directly beneath him. I prefer to think of it as at his side, but I am not naïve, I realise the vampires do not. But they do see me as being above Jett, his second.

  Here, I am not a part of Viktor's line, but as an aligned partner, I should have equal standing in this room. I did not. And that was perhaps the first moment I realised I had made a mistake when setting up this alliance. No matter what changes I made to the phrases Viktor proposed, any change would have given me more power than what I had now. I had remained quiet, accepted his wording because I had not seen any fault with it at all, but I should have made one up. By saying nothing I had accepted his position of superiority. So much so, that I was now beneath his Duo of Dark.

  Nothing in the alliance said I couldn't throw my weight around outside of our agreement. But, I also wasn't stupid. Pride before a fall and all that. My message could be made at any time, for now I thought it prudent to see exactly how far Viktor took his superior position over me. Sometimes playing things close to your chest was better than proving your point out loud.

  “To our alliance and success,” Viktor offered and we all took sips of our drinks.

  We sat in silence for a while, then I asked, “So, Alastair has fed this night, tomorrow would be our best chance of finding him.” I couldn't seek just him, strangely enough his signature didn't register on my Sanguis Vitam Cupitor powers until he was about to feed.

  “At the beginning of the evening you will come to me,” Viktor said, expecting no hint of argument at all. “Once you feel the call, Sergei and Nataliya will accompany you to the location. They will shield you from the Fey Prince and deal with any fey magic in the air, you can deal with Alastair.”

  It seemed simple enough, plausible and doable. But, I would have to get away from Michel and his men. That was definitely not simple, plausible or doable at all. I wasn't sure if I should mention that, somehow it seemed to me that it would support the idea that I wasn't as powerful as Viktor. And although I wasn't of a mind, right now, of proving I was as strong and powerful as the Russian vamp, I also wasn't of a mind to give them all further ammunition to think I wasn't either.

  I just nodded, took another sip of my vodka casually to hide my emotions from those predators by my side and looked up at Viktor again, the car had come to a complete stop outside Michel's house and the driver moved to open the door.

  I said my goodbyes and prepared to face Michel and having to admit that I had aligned myself with a vampire I had only just met, who looked a little like a Russian Mafioso thug.

  I was picking this was not going to go well at all.

  Chapter 25

  Words

  It wasn't nearly as bad as I thought. For starters no one was home. The house was in darkness and eerily empty. There was just something not inviting about Michel's London based home. I didn't want to admit that scared me. Thinking Michel could own something so stereotypically Hollywood vampire. This house was not a representation of him, but it was still his. And I still felt uncomfortable in it. More so on my own.

  Plus, the thought of Avery barging in - something he was prone to do here - and being on my own when he did, was not pleasant. I decided, to hell with this, and turned tail, walking straight out the front door. A black cab happened to be moving down the street, so before I had a chance to think better of it, I hailed it down and slipped into the back seat. It hadn't been hard, at all, to get a cab at this time of night as Samson had previously said.

  Just as well, as I was still feeling a little worse for wear having had way too much vodka and walking just didn't seem like a good idea. I gave the cabbie Samson's address and settled in to look at Kensington's night time scene. The traffic had eased since my trip in Viktor's ostentatious stretched car, so within twenty minutes I was approaching Samson's house. The streets becoming more familiar the closer we got.

  Ma douce, where are you? Michel's voice felt like a gentle summer breeze inside my mind. I smiled, despite the sudden intrusion on my thoughts.

  Almost at Samson's? Where are you?

  I have just arrived at Samson's looking for you. He paused, I could almost hear the turbulence of his thoughts, but the cab had just pulled up outside Samson's, so I was preoccupied with paying the fare. You left for my house over an hour ago, where have you been?

  I sensed something down the Bond connection: worry and concern. I brushed it aside as I bounded up the steps and opened the front door. Michel stood on the other side, dead still. Vampire still. I came to rest before him, thinking his reaction was a little over the top, but not daring to outrightly challenge him when his vampire was so obviously in control. We stared at each other for several seconds.

  I hadn't shut the door behind me and jumped when I felt a presence at my back. Antonio and Ricardo blocked out the light from the street lamps outside, filling the doorway with their bulk. The tension in the room tripled, the vampires standing rigidly still at my back. Michel had started flashing magenta around the hallway.

  "What's wrong?" I asked, voice quiet. Mustn't scare the emotional vampire.

  "You went with Viktor Davydov in his car," Michel said in a low voice.

  "He offered to give me a lift to your house." I hesitated, already picking up on the fact that Michel was clearly not happy. I just couldn't figure out whether that was because I had been gone so long, or if it was actually due to the companion I'd had on my travels.

  "What did he want?" It didn't surprise me that Michel had guessed Viktor wanted something. The offer of a lift was a ruse.

  I gave my kindred a small smile to placate him. "He wants my help," I said, feeling Michel would surely understand once he knew what had transpired.

  "With what?" Short sentences, never a g
ood sign.

  "He wants..." I paused, aware of what I wanted to say, but unable to find the words to express it. "Um," I went on, "he wants me..." I bit my bottom lip. Confusion reigned inside me, momentarily making it hard to think clearly at all.

  No matter what I did, I couldn't put into words what had transpired. I searched inside my head, knowing exactly what I wanted to say by the emotions I was experiencing only. A feeling of what had happened, an understanding that I had been agreeable to it all, but still unable to say the words aloud. And I realised, unable to to think them consciously at all. It was as though the words were buried so deep, still familiar, but just out of my grasp. I visualised the interior of that super stretched Hummer, the feel of the leather seats, the smell of the alcohol in the vodka, the shine of the mahogany on the cabinets. The lights of passing street lamps, the gentle roll of the tires across London's streets. It all came back, vividly clear, including what we had talked about and my agreement to it. But when I tried to organise my thoughts into words to express that conversation, there was nothing, nothing at all.

  Fear of nothing, can be as crippling as fear of something solid. I couldn't voice what we had talked about, it existed in my mind, but when I tried to put it into words, they failed me. They were simply gone, beyond my reach. Nothing. But it was that nothing that I feared.

  My stomach churned and did a little flip-flop, my palms became sweaty and I rubbed them absent-mindedly on my short skirt. My heartbeat was sky-rocketing and my breathing coming in short bursts. I doubled over - vaguely aware that Michel had moved - trying to get a handle on the fear, the nothing-fear that seemed to be robbing me of all my senses right now. And to top it all off, my inner monologue was humming.

  It was frantic with fear too.

  Little black spots of darkness began to hover in front of my eyes. They grew, as a pain in my chest grew, exponentially. A more rational part of my brain told me it was because I couldn't breathe. A less rational part said, fuck. As the black spots became one large black nothing, the nothing-fear took over and I think my heart just stopped.

  I woke up on the couch in Samson's front room, Michel hovering nearby.

  “Panic attack,” I whispered into the soundless space between us.

  “Oui,” he answered, looking about as terrible as I felt. He'd no doubt experienced all of my emotions along with me.

  “How long was I out for?” I asked, trying to sit up on the couch. Lying down when talking to someone who is still standing is a little disconcerting.

  Michel came forward and helped me get comfortable and then quickly stood back against the fireplace well out of reach. Huh.

  “No more than twenty minutes.” His French accent was still very noticeable, he was obviously having trouble getting himself back under control.

  I brushed my hair out of my eyes and took a reassuring breath in. I glanced at the drinks cabinet, remembering having drinks with Samson and Viktor here in this room, which only made me remember having a drink in the car with Viktor. Which led to me to remembering what we had discussed, but as soon as I touched on that conversation the words slipped away.

  Panic threatened to engulf me again.

  Michel was beside me before I even registered my increased heartbeat and panting breaths. His arms around my shoulders, his face nestled into the side of my neck. I felt his warm breath against my skin and then the smell of clean freshly cut grass and salty sea spray. His scent; grounding me, centring me, bringing me home. My heartbeat began to slow and I finally managed a deep, unhindered, slow breath in.

  “Ma douce, do you not remember anything at all?” he asked quietly, stroking my arms through my jacket sleeves.

  "Yes," I said in a voice that was decidedly not mine. I cleared my throat and tried again. "I remember everything that transpired here. I remember the car, the interior, the slow trip." I paused and took another deep breath in. "I can even remember what we talked about, I just can't find the words to express it now. It's as if the words have been taken from me, buried deep, just out of my reach."

  “I could not feel any alarm or fear from you, so I did not know that you needed my help.” His voice was rough with emotion. Fear. Not all of it mine. But I agreed with him, I hadn't been in danger and I hadn't been afraid, I just couldn't find the words to tell him why.

  Michel growled - a low, loud sound - at those words in my mind and the emotions accompanying them; so strong, so potent, so not what he was used to receiving. The growl was no doubt also for the feelings he was having himself too. And for why he was having them. He was definitely angry. Vampire angry.

  Sanguis Vitam thrummed through the room and I could sense the Dark in him rising. So much, just beneath the surface, all it took was a little rage and it came flooding back in. He still had a little Light left in him, but it was losing the battle. It never failed to amaze me how Light and Dark could coexist. Where there is Light, there is always Dark and where there is Dark, there is always Light.

  I let my own Light build inside me. I'd ignored his Dark recently, I wasn't going to make the same mistake again. When I had enough gathered inside me to make a difference, I took hold of his face with both my hands, where it still rested against my neck and brought his lips around to mine. He didn't fight me, but he was no longer breathing, his eyes had bled all blue and only amethyst and magenta remained.

  My lips touched his in a gentle, tentative brush; just a warning, letting him know what I was about to do. It never pays to startle an angry vampire. When he didn't respond; no increase in Sanguis Vitam, no change in the magenta level in his eyes, I kissed him again, more forcefully. Allowing my tongue to slip between his non-responsive lips and my Light to wash down his throat.

  He stiffened slightly, but didn't pull away as I had expected. I was clutching his face so hard, if he had been human, I would have been leaving bruises behind. I had been prepared for resistance, but what I got was far from it. Just because the Dark had taken over, did not mean Michel wanted it there. I stifled a sob at that thought. Could I have stopped so much of what had happened recently, if I had only given him a little Light?

  It didn't bear thinking about, but I couldn't stop myself anyway. He had been consumed by Dark, I had failed to give him Light, Light which he probably would have readily accepted. And because I failed to do that, he had lashed out as a Dark vampire does. Hurting me, alienating me, pushing me away. If I had only given him my Light.

  But, now I was and he was taking it, all of it and anything else I could give too. His arms tightened around me, his tongue swept my mouth, finding my own tongue and then he deepened the kiss, taking all of the Light I was offering and giving his love in return. He ate me like I was delicacy; something to savour and cherish, something precious and rare.

  By the time all of the Light I had gathered for him had washed his soul, there was very little Dark left, but Michel didn't stop kissing me. He lavished his attention on me for a good few minutes more and then slowly pulled back. Magenta was still blazing in his eyes, but I wasn't concerned, there was a mischievous glint accompanying this magenta. It was all hot and hungry and dripping in desire.

  “Well,” he said huskily, licking his lips and letting his eyes drop to my mouth briefly. “That was delightful.”

  I couldn't help but smile back at him, with what was undoubtedly a stupid grin gracing my face. He returned it, with one of his own.

  “Ma douce.” He shook his head, but the smile stayed glued in place. “You are amazing.”

  My smile dimmed. “But sometimes a little slow.” I think he knew what I was referring to. How I had failed to give him my Light when he had needed it back in New Zealand. How much of what we had done to each other recently, could have been avoided if I had only seen what was happening and done my job.

  His finger came up and rested on my lips, stopping me from saying anything more. “I could have asked for it, ma douce. I knew what was happening. I've been there before. I chose to ignore it. I chose... to suffer alone.�
�

  I knew why he had, he hadn't been able to trust. Trust his line. Trust me. No wonder he hadn't asked for help.

  “So,” I said, letting him take my hand and start rubbing soft circles on the back of it with his thumb. “I know I'm OK with what happened with Viktor Davydov. I just can't say what it is that did happen. Why is that?”

  “I do not know. I have known of Viktor for some time, he is a force to be reckoned with in Russia. I am not, however, acquainted with any of his talents being able to conjure this type of result in you, ma douce. Samson was not aware of any danger, his trust in his former employer was sound, but one should not be so eager to extend that trust to others, connected by any thread. He made a mistake, he has learnt his lesson now."

  I flicked my glance up to Michel, warning bells ringing in my head. "Did you punish him?" I asked, dreading the answer. Michel could be lethal if provoked enough, I didn't think a vampire of my line would escape his wrath.

  He smiled at the look on my face, his hand cupping my cheek. "He knows I am not happy with him, ma douce, but I did behave myself." Then he shook his head, his thoughts obviously returning to the problem at hand. "I gave you space, you seemed to need it. I did not listen to your thoughts.” He laughed a little then. “I am not sure if I am meant to apologise for that, or not.” He flashed me a look from his now deep blue eyes.

  What could I say? I am constantly asking for space, a little independence and trust. And he gave it to me, only to have it thrown back in his face when I lose the ability to communicate a conversation and have a full blown panic attack.

  Then the thought hit me. He trusted me. I don't know when I had earned his trust back, but it seemed I now had it again. I threw my arms around his neck and buried my head into the curve of his shoulder and just breathed. I had Michel back, my Michel, not the Dark one.

  His hand ran through my hair, slowly, softly, his own face buried against my skin, inhaling my scent. We sat like that for a while, neither of saying a word to interrupt the moment. Just enjoying the smell of the other, the touch of the other, the closeness.