Dancing Dragon

by Nicola Claire

  “It won't last forever, but you will be free of the silver's influence tonight,” he whispered, although Lutin could probably still hear every word.

  Lutin chuckled in the background. “You are simply no fun, vampire. She will wear my silver, mark my words.”

  “I am tiring of your words, imp. Let us duel.” Michel turned away from me and readied his sword. Lutin matched his stance with an unaffected manner. He looked like he was out for a stroll under the moon, not about to battle a vampire for the right to have me as his mate.

  Once they both faced each other there were no more words spoken, they simply started to fight. Portobello Road had felt deserted before, now it was eerily quiet too. I'm not sure if the ghouls had placed a ward on the street, or Lutin had. Michel certainly hadn't had time, but not a soul entered the section of the long and usually busy road we were on. The sounds of metal on metal rang out in the night air, which seemed so much heavier than it usually would have.

  I thrust my hands deep into my jacket pockets in an effort to not be tempted to use my silver knife on Lutin, or blast a shot of Light towards the fairy. I bit my bottom lip and chanted in my head, don't interfere, don't interfere, don't interfere. It was no good, I was practically climbing out of my skin with the desire and need to help Michel.

  Not that he needed it yet. He was beautiful to watch in the stillness of the street. A parry, followed by a thrust, then a quick few movements of his feet, to avoid Lutin's counter attack. He danced around the Imp Prince with style, but also purpose. There was no elaborate foot work meant to impress, every movement had intent, a goal to achieve. He was economical in his actions, but each step, each thrust, each parry, brought a successful result.

  Lutin on the other hand was more of a showman and spent too long trying to distract with dance-like movements and fancy foot work. He wasn't clumsy, far from it, he flitted from spot to spot like a butterfly; beautifully, prettily and chaotically. The unknown was all he had going for him against Michel though, the artistry of his steps was lost on the vampire. But Lutin's unpredictability was a challenge.

  Twice Lutin managed to land a blow, slicing Michel's arm, then chest, with the tip of his very sharp fey sword, purely because Michel had not been able to anticipate where Lutin would next be. The gashes had drawn blood and although they didn't hinder Michel, they were dripping and would in time be a problem I was sure, because they also were healing slowly. Maybe helping Avery had taken more of a toll than I realised.

  I held my breath and concentrated on the injuries the Fey Prince had received at Michel's hand. They were more numerous, but they were healing much faster. Each gash, each scrape, was healing quickly and from the look of it, easily before my eyes. So far, it looked like Lutin had the upper hand, but Michel is five hundred years old. Experienced in swordsmanship and quite capable of using every asset he had to win. His character alone would not let Lutin have an easy go of it, but the vampires' number one mantra, survive at all costs, was also part of Michel's DNA.

  Some ten minutes had passed and both Lutin and Michel were holding their own. If I hadn't have had my heart in my throat watching my kindred battle, I would have appreciated the glorious sight before me. They were so evenly matched. Michel's skill perhaps slightly better, but Lutin made up for the deficit with style. It was a dance of sorts, intricate, intimate and deadly. The metal of their blades catching the lights of the street lamps and casting spectacular flashes of white around the space we were in. Many times I had to close my eyes from the brightness of the blades in the lights or risk momentary blindness.

  It was truly beautiful, but it was taking too long. Without magic to aid them they were simply too closely matched. I could only hope that Michel's desire to protect me would be deeper than Lutin's desire to have me as his elska. Lutin had barely known me for a week. Michel was my joined kindred Nosferatu, we were Bonded, shared Sigillum and considered husband and wife. We may have been through a lot lately, but we always came back to each other, no matter what. Michel would dig deeper than Lutin, I told myself. Michel would win.

  But as the minutes turned into an hour, then two hours passed and then the sun began to creep over the horizon and lighten the darkness around us, I began to have doubts. Lutin still looked so fresh, bloodied, but still healing. Whereas Michel was losing ground fast. His cuts and gashes had become numerous, too many to count and still slowly healing. Blood soaked his once white shirt and although harder to see in his near black trousers, they were clinging to his muscled legs, as though heavily wet, soaking. I knew it was all blood, some sweat too no doubt, but mainly blood. His blood.

  He was pale and the Michel from a few hours ago, the one who had sat on the armchair in Samson's front room after aiding Avery, was back. Gaunt, tired around the eyes, almost too white to be alive. His lips were in a firm thin line, his eyes had bled all other colour save magenta, and I knew his desire to use his powers, his Sanguis Vitam, was almost too much to deny. A vampire must survive at all costs and right now he was denying himself the one tool in his arsenal which would end this, save him and take out his opponent once and for all.

  A part of me suddenly worried that Michel would not be able to maintain his control and would forfeit the fight with a slip of his hand and a dose of his powers. I fingered my silver knife inside my jacket and toyed with the idea that I'd make that decision for him. Save him the guilt and forfeit the fight on his behalf, before it got too far. All I could see was him losing, Lutin claiming me as his and my life as I knew it over. If the fight was to be forfeited, then I'd make damn sure that Lutin no longer existed to take his prize.

  I hadn't even realised I'd taken my knife out of its hidden sheath inside my clothes, but it caught the light of a nearby lamp and made me look down at my hand. My knuckles were white where I gripped its handle too tightly. I tried to loosen my hold, but my hand would not obey. Panic had started to wash through me, uncontrolled, wild and destructive. My heartbeat was pounding in my ears, my breath coming in short bursts and my throat was so dry I could barely swallow.

  Michel was starting to stumble, losing his precision of earlier, now relying on strength alone to make his blade sing. It looked messy for him, but I was sure if you didn't know how beautiful Michel's sword could be, you wouldn't have really noticed. He was still fending off most of Lutin's strikes, still able to land the odd graze or nick to Lutin's flesh, but he was tiring. I knew he wouldn't normally have been, even with the amount of blood he had lost. I had caused this weakness in him, when I had forced him to heal Avery from the effects of my stake. This was all my fault.

  I stifled a sob at that thought, shifted the knife in my grip and prepared to throw it when the opportunity arose. I'd only get one shot, I had to make it count. Part of me was aware of the risk, part of me just didn't give a damn. My need to protect my kindred outweighed all reason now.

  Unfortunately, Michel's stumbling steps had taken him to exactly where I did not want him to be. His body now stood between me and Lutin. I could not get a clear shot without shifting. I began to move along the pavement I was standing on, trying to get a clear sighting of the Fey Prince, but as I stepped sideways, Michel shifted in response. Every single time I made a move to gain a better viewpoint, Michel just happened to move in time to stop me from releasing my knife. Eventually, I made it to the other side of the street, having made no progress in my positioning at all.

  It was at that time, when I found myself standing directly opposite where I had been before - now looking at the front of The Genie's Bottle, rather than having it at my back - that I realised Michel had been doing it intentionally. He did not want me to interfere. To forfeit the battle on his behalf. I took a slow breath in. If he was lucid enough to act in this manner, to thwart my attempts at intervening, then he must have still been in control of himself. I had to trust that he had this in hand.

  I sunk down to the ground, a building at my back and pulled my legs up to my chest, wrapping my arms around them. I rested my head on to
p of my knees and concentrated on breathing. In, out, in, out. All the while holding onto my knife as my fingers would simply not obey my commands to release.

  I watched in dull horror as Lutin landed another blow, then in ever increasing terror, watched as Michel's eyes changed from magenta, to a dark, dark mauve. A colour I had not witnessed on him before, but the Darkness in his eyes, I had. I lifted my head at the sight of that Dark, so familiar, usually so unwanted and let myself sink into the nothingness I use to seek. I found his Dark signature, so solid, so bleak and yet also so strong as though it sucked in all Light around it, consumed all the good and pulsated with just Dark.

  Michel was not using a power, but he was using a vampire's natural leaning towards the Dark to fortify his reserves. I have fought with Dark streaming through my soul before. It is a worthy tool. It takes every emotion, every sensation you feel, whether they are good or bad and recycles it, reuses it, in whatever way it can to meet its end goal. It is an economical warrior. The Light is stronger, but the Dark has found ways to use what it has to its best advantage. I had been appalled and equally intrigued when I had fought with Dark instead of Light. Its strength was not inherent, but learned. Did that make it better or worse when fighting for your life?

  I had feared that the Dark would consume my soul when I had used it in that fight. But I have more Light in me than most and when the fight had been won, my Light banished the Dark and righted my soul. Michel does not have as much Light as me. When this battle is over, would he be able to banish the Dark on his own? Could he fight it and stay sane?

  I didn't have a chance to contemplate those questions, because Michel used the formidable strength of his Dark then and breached Lutin's defences, slicing a wound down his torso, opening his chest to bone. The gash was from chin to navel and when Lutin jumped back, gaped open like a torn sack. I could see his internal organs, his rib cage, his intestines. Blood, muscles, tendons, bones, all of it on display, all of it so grotesque I couldn't breathe for fear of what I would smell.

  Time seemed suspended as Lutin looked down at his stomach and chest, his sword fell from his grasp and clattered on the asphalt of the road, as his hands came up trying to force his internal body parts back inside his gaping flesh. Michel took a step closer, Svante raised enough to threaten. His hand clasped so tightly around the hilt that I could see the whites of his knuckles, just like mine on my still firmly held knife. I wasn't sure if he was going to land a killing blow, I think he intended to, but it didn't matter. Lutin knew he had lost and invoked his fey magic to disappear. His Light sprang out around his body and the fallen sword, and within seconds he and the sword popped out of the air. A small acrid smell of ozone was all that was left in his wake with a hint of peaches on the air.

  Neither Michel nor myself moved for a moment and then he slumped to the ground in a pile of soaked material, blood, skin and bones.

  Chapter 29

  Hunger

  I ran to Michel's side, gathering my Light inside me ready to blast his Dark as soon as I reached him. His hand came up and grasped my arm, painfully tight, as I fell to my knees at his crumpled body. The shock of him moving at all, after what he had been through, surprised me enough to make me lose hold of my Light. I struggled to pull more Light together but Michel's hoarsely whispered command distracted me again.

  “We need to get out of here. The ghouls are gathering.” His hold on my arm intensified as I struggled to look about me for approaching threats.

  I couldn't sense the ghouls he could, I couldn't see them either. But, I trusted he knew what he was talking about, so slipped a hand under his arm and helped him painfully to his feet. Leaning the bulk of his weight on my shoulder he managed to hobble to the Rover. I helped him in through the rear passenger door. Falling on top of him as he collapsed across the entire length of the back seat.

  He was out cold. No response as I lay flat on top of him, feeling the wetness of all that blood seeping into my T-Shirt and Jacket. I hastily pulled myself back and off him, grabbing his feet as they dangled over the end of the seat and out the door, and shoving them inside the car so the door would close behind him. As I raced around the front of the car I stripped off my jacket, now covered in Michel's blood and chucked it onto the passenger seat next to the driver's, as I slid in the front door.

  I frantically started the car, my hands shaking and so very cold, but the sight of ghouls rounding the rear of The Genie's Bottle with intent looks of hunger gracing their harsh faces, had adrenaline pumping through me. The engine ignited and I accelerated away from the marauding ghouls. Half a dozen chased after us on foot, but none were thinking clearly enough to chase in a vehicle so they soon all fell behind.

  I watched the rear vision mirror for the next few kilometres, taking one turn then another and another until I had absolutely no idea where I was or where the hell I was going. Nothing looked familiar, no famous landmarks to give me reference. Just street after street of houses and shops and office buildings until the neatly tended façades changed to ugly uniform terraces and then proceeded past functional to down right worn-out and tired. Litter graced the streets, graffiti spread across every surface and stray dogs roamed the footpaths.

  It was at the time of feeling totally lost and almost beyond the ability to think clearly, that I realised the sun had risen and was now glaring in the front of the vehicle and touching Michel's skin. A burnt biscuit smell started to fill the interior of the car. Michel is a level one Sanguis Vitam Master vampire, he can handle a little sun for a little time, but I was guessing his reserves were at an all time low. Or, he was so close to the final death that the sun was merely doing its job and releasing him from his torment.

  I scanned the area for somewhere to hide. A warehouse, an abandoned building. Even someone's empty garage would have helped, but no one seemed to have garages in London. All their bloody cars parked out on the streets, clogging the roadways and getting broken into at night. The houses were so close together, the buildings all boarded up in this neighbourhood and quite frankly, exiting the car right here did not seem like a good idea.

  Finally I started spotting taller buildings, slightly better maintained streets and pavements. A library. A community centre. Then, thank Nut, a multi-storied car park. I took a hard left across two lanes to enter the car parking building, cutting off a black cab and a motorcycle courier, but avoiding a collision at the last moment due to their superior driving skills, not mine. Horns beeped, fists waved and more than a few choice words were thrown my way, but I didn't care. Darkness enveloped our vehicle as I grabbed my ticket at the booth and began the slow trek down level after level until we were several metres below the earth.

  I parked in a far corner of the garage and turned the Rover off and just listened to my heart beating. It sounded so loud, like the thundering hooves of an approaching stampede of horses. Not even the loudly ticking cooling Rover engine managed to breach the sound of my heart. After a few minutes of concerted effort to calm myself I was finally able to turn my attention to Michel.

  I climbed between the two front seats into the rear area where he lay face first on the back seat. I struggled to right him onto his back. The small enclosure actually aided, rather than hindered my efforts though. I was able to use the back of the driver's seat as leverage against my body in order to force him over onto his back. He wasn't breathing, but then I hadn't expected him to. His body had shut down in an attempt to heal himself. I was unsure if it was, he was still bleeding profusely, all over the brown leather seats and the cream coloured floor of the car. The metallic smell of blood filled the air and made me choke back a sound of disgust. Blood might be an aphrodisiac for the Nosferatu, but their fairer kin, the Nosferatin, were not so inclined.

  I had to stop the bleeding, but I didn't have a first aid kit. Well, as far as I was aware, maybe Range Rovers come with something in the boot, but it would hardly be enough for this if it did exist. I only had my jacket and what we were wearing and that wouldn't have bee
n enough to stem the multiple gashes and slices to his body. No mundane medical treatment I could perform would make a blind bit of difference. Michel needed to heal himself and to do that he needed blood.

  I knelt down in the gap between the back of the driver's seat and the rear seat where he lay and placed my hand under his neck, lifting his head up off the padded bench. Then I gently lay my wrist above his mouth in an effort to get his attention and hoping he would just latch on like a baby vampire and suckle at my vein. Nothing happened. He was not responding to a thing.

  I called his name. I shook him. I tried to blast him with a shot of my Light, but even that didn't make him stir. With all this blood about you'd think he would be foaming at the mouth, fangs down, glow on, ready to devour a free vein when offered.

  Then it hit me. It was all his blood, no one else's. His body wouldn't respond to that, other than to shut down and try to heal the cuts. I removed my hand from behind his neck and took my knife out of my jacket. A quick breath in and a slice across my wrist and blood began to well at the cut. It smelled like all blood smells to me, metallic. No different from that which already filled the enclosed space of the car, but Michel stirred.

  I returned my hand to behind his head and moved my wrist above his mouth, turning it so the blood began to drip down onto his closed lips. I thought nothing was going to happen again, but then his tongue came out and licked up a drop of my blood. So quickly, almost like a lizard catching a cricket that ventured too close to its hiding spot. His lips peeled back, revealing lengthening fangs. I watched, mesmerised as they continued to extend, longer than they would normally. And so slowly, as though it took more effort than he had to make them come out and down.

  Another drop of my blood landed just inside his mouth and a low growl-come-purr came up from the depths of his throat to fill the quiet of the car. I smiled at that sound. His vampire knew what I was offering, even if Michel wasn't quite there.