by Kallysten
He wasn't sure whether she was aware she was doing exactly that—except that he wasn't even paying her for her help.
"Do you think,” he started, but she shushed him with a finger to her lips before pointing at a side alley. All he could see there were shadows, but he followed nonetheless when she angled her steps that way.
Almost immediately, people—vampires, Vincent's instinct told him—started emerging from the alley; Lilia came to an instant halt, as they did, looking bemused. One of them came forward; Vincent knew her, she was another of Nathanael's Childer.
"Lilia? Our Sire has been worried for you. Have you..."
She had briefly looked at Vincent when approaching, but she suddenly gave him a second look, and this time it was clear she recognized him too. Her eyes shifted back to Lilia, this time filled with incomprehension.
"He's here and you haven't killed—"
She was crumbling to ashes before she could finish. Lilia had jumped forward, pulling a stake from the back of her pants and using it with the precision Vincent had come to expect from her. What he hadn't expected was for her to start the fight—not when there were a dozen vampires in front of them from her own clan. Apparently, they hadn't expected it either, because she had killed two more before they started reacting.
What followed was an incredible mess. The remaining vampires seemed enraged by Lilia's betrayal and rushed on her all at once, hindering each other rather than working together. Vincent merely watched, dumbstruck, until her glare reminded him that helping her might be a good idea for his own sake. He joined in the fight and let instinct take over and guide his stake through one chest after another until there were only the two of them left standing, and a man who hadn't taken part in the fight.
Vincent realized he was human, trapped in a thrall judging by his faraway look, just as Lilia was literally leaping upon him, and his warning shout was too late. Caught in the heat of the battle, Lilia did not notice it wasn't a vampire she was staking until blood erupted from his chest as he collapsed.
It couldn't have been the first time she had ever taken a life, far from it, Vincent knew that; but by the way her eyes went wide when the man clutched his bloody chest, he almost could have believed she had never killed before. She started backing away as Vincent came to kneel by the victim, and by the time the man was dead, she was nowhere to be found.
* * * *
Three nights passed. Lilia didn't come back.
Vincent would never have thought he would actually miss her.
He would never have thought he would set out to see her for no other reason than he missed her.
She had shown him where her mausoleum was, one night, after they had fought near it, but he had never been inside it.
With one hand flat against the door of her lair, he paused and hesitated; thoughtlessly, he brought his free hand to his neck and the two silver scars there. They tingled and he rubbed at them absently, something that had become a habit in the past few months; it was something he did when he was troubled or upset, and he didn't dare question the comfort it usually brought him.
He heard the sound of metal on metal—a lock?—and then the door opened in front of him, revealing Lilia on the other side of the threshold. She was rubbing at the mark on her throat in a mirror image of what Vincent was doing. They dropped their hands at the same time.
"Jordan,” she said coolly. “Took you longer than I thought."
She turned her back to him and walked back into the mausoleum. Vincent followed, a little surprised by the semi-welcome, and raised an eyebrow at the sight of the empty bottles, most of them broken, littering the marble floor. Lilia picked a mostly full one from the top of a stone altar and took a healthy swig before noticing the look he was giving her.
"What?” she snapped defensively. “Can't have a last drink before you do it?"
He stared at her blankly. “Before I do what?"
It was her turn to stare, head tilted to one side, bottle seemingly forgotten in her hand. “Aren't you here to dust me?” she asked cautiously.
"Dust you?” Vincent repeated, not understanding what her point was. “Why would I? Other than the usual reasons, I mean. If I haven't done it so far..."
"Killed a human, didn't I?"
The quiet words startled him. They weren't repentant in the slightest, and yet Lilia was expecting death in return for what she was admitting.
"It's not like you intended to kill a human,” he pointed out, using the same words he had repeated to himself for the past three days.
He watched as, with slow movements, she brought the bottle back to her lips and took a long swallow of the golden liquid it contained; her eyes never left him.
"So, why are you here?” she asked after a few moments, quickly adding: “Not that I care, just ... wondering."
Unable to hold her gaze, he pulled his eyes away and took a few steps around the mausoleum. He had no good answer to give to her question. He had missed her, but he certainly wasn't going to admit as much, her laughter would have been too hard to bear.
"It's ... interesting what you've done with the place,” he commented with a slight smile, pointedly not looking at the bottles that littered the floor. Three large torches around the room provided sufficient light to read, and judging by the books piled up on top of the altar, Lilia seemed to read a lot. That and the bottles were the only signs she lived there however; he wondered where she slept. Surely not in one of the stone caskets?
Lilia didn't say a word while Vincent looked around, his curiosity unhidden, and when he glanced back at her, she was still observing him.
"So ... is that why you haven't been showing up during my rounds anymore?” he asked her. “Because you thought I would stake you?"
The small shrug she gave was the only answer he needed.
"Why do you do it anyway?” he continued, coming toward her as she crossed her arms over her chest, bottle still hanging from her fingers. “Patrol with me, I mean. That doesn't go so well with the vamp image."
She shook her head and laughed. “Because making courtesy visits goes any better with your image? Come on, Jordan. You know why. If you'll just admit it to yourself."
He didn't know what she was hinting at, and he didn't like being in the dark like this. As usual when he was tense, he reached to rub his neck—and froze when Lilia nodded.
"That's it, exactly,” she said quietly, with a hint of resignation to her voice. “Can't help it. And believe me, I've tried. Tried to stay away from you. Tried to leave this fucking town. Tried not to—"
In a sudden, soul shattering moment, the pieces of a puzzle Vincent hadn't even been aware of clicked together, revealing a too familiar picture he had tried so very hard to forget.
"Mates,” was all he said, a murmur so quiet it barely passed his lips, and it explained everything. Why he had never staked Lilia. Why he was so incredibly lonely. Why she had joined his fight. Why they worked so well together. Why he had missed her presence in the last few nights. Why the scars that marred his skin were still so sensitive, and why his fingers were always so attracted to them.
It answered many questions, but it raised a new one, too. “So ... what happens now?"
* * * *
It felt strange, Lilia reflected as she watched Jordan walk around her mausoleum, to see him there, strange that he had come to her, for no reason she could understand. No reason he wanted to share, also, because when he talked again, he ignored her question, choosing instead to comment on her decorating abilities.
"It's ... interesting what you've done with the place."
Her first reaction to his words was embarrassment. The second, a strong rejection of the embarrassment. She didn't care what anyone thought of her cleaning skills, let alone him. Because, he hadn't said it outright, but the meaning of his words was clear. The mausoleum was indeed a mess; she had been drinking herself into oblivion since she had killed that human three nights earlier, and it showed.
It wasn't so muc
h remorse that motivated her; she had been so intent on killing all the vamps before they could report to Nathanael and tell him she was fighting alongside Jordan that she hadn't noticed the extra heartbeat before it had been too late. Still, even if it had been an accident, she had been sure that Jordan would find her, and dust her, as he had promised he would. Now, he had said he wouldn't.
Why not?
Was he afraid of the consequence staking her would have for him? Or was this his way of paying back the help she had been giving him in the past weeks?
"So ... is that why you haven't been showing up during my rounds anymore?” he asked, abandoning his inspection to look back toward her. “Because you thought I would stake you?"
She shrugged, unwilling to say the words, and crossed her arms in a barely conscious defensive gesture when he came closer to her.
"Why do you do it anyway? Patrol with me, I mean. That doesn't go so well with the vamp image."
"Because making courtesy visits goes any better with your image?” she laughed. “Come on, Jordan. You know why. If you'll just admit it to yourself."
He frowned under her expectant gaze, and his hand came up to rub at his neck. At the marks there. Even if he didn't consciously know it, his body did. She had watched him make this very same gesture dozens of times, since she had started stalking him. And every time he did, she wanted to replace his fingers with her mouth.
"That's it, exactly,” she nodded. “Can't help it. And believe me, I've tried. Tried to stay away from you. Tried to leave this fucking town. Tried not to—"
She stopped herself just in time from confessing a lot more than she was even comfortable admitting to herself. She hadn't wanted to believe it, in the beginning, had fought the feeling with all her strength. But if at first she had managed to convince herself she only followed him, night after night, to make sure he wouldn't get himself killed, it had soon become clear that it was more than that. Her step always quickened, when she knew he was close, and she was sure her heart would have, too, had it still been beating. Then, there were the dreams...
"Mates."
His word was a murmur, but it startled her as though it had been a shout.
Mates. For him, that was all there was to it. And it was already something big in itself; neither of them could deny the pull of it, not anymore. But for her, over the past weeks, it had grown into more than that. The unspoken and reluctant admiration she had developed for her adversary over the years had turned into something quite different as she had slowly gotten to know him by following him and then fighting with him rather than against him. And when the dreams had started, not simply memories of the night they had Mated anymore but full fantasies in which they were lovers, in love, it had been too late to deny it anymore.
"So ... what happens now?"
The question was unexpected, and Lilia delayed answering it by taking a long swallow from the bottle she had momentarily forgotten she held. Jordan seemed a little ... lost, as though he were surprised by what he had just discovered. Could he have been that oblivious? Or was it his denial that had blinded him?
"Nothing happens,” she answered in response to his question. “There's not a damn thing we can do about the Mating. It's going to last until one of us dies, and the other will follow to the grave soon after that. And honestly, from having seen what it does to a vamp, I hope I'll be the first one to go."
He shook his head. “No, I mean ... are you going to keep patrolling with me?"
She raised an eyebrow. “You want me to stop?"
It didn't really matter if he did. She wasn't going to stop. She wouldn't be able to. Simply staying away for three nights had taken all the resistance she had—and a lot of alcohol on top of that.
It took him a few seconds to answer, and when he did, he almost sounded surprised by his own answer.
"No. I don't want you to stop."
She relaxed ever so slightly and shrugged.
"I won't, then. Gotta spend my excess energy somehow. And at least that way I'm sure you're not going to get yourself killed stupidly."
He snorted at that, and, to her surprise, pulled the bottle of alcohol from her hand and took a swig of it. She chuckled at his grimace of disgust.
"How can you bear to drink that?” he coughed, returning the bottle to her.
"That's nothing,” she replied with a grin. “The real question is, how can I bear to live on cow's blood. Believe me, there's nothing as disgusting as that. Whoever said that blood was blood obviously never tasted it."
He grimaced again, this time going as far as to make gagging noises, and she laughed, the fleeting thought crossing her mind that it would be easy to get used to that beginning camaraderie he seemed willing to share with her.
Chapter 8
Things became a bit simpler after Vincent had talked to Lilia and finally understood why she had joined his fight. Now that he didn't have to worry anymore about her motivations, he could more easily accept her presence, and her help.
It meant that more vampires were staked each night, to the point that the police officer who received Vincent's semi-monthly kill report and invoice, himself a vampire, started asking, none too subtly, if he was maybe staking vampires on sight without proof that they had killed anyone. That would have been illegal, of course, and Vincent truthfully denied it under oath. The thing was, he didn't need proof if the vamps attacked him first, and since he had back up, he had started patrolling into areas of town he knew were more dangerous, which upped his chances of being attacked. He could have kept the extra money, but an edge of guilt demanded that he share it with Lilia. After all, he tried to rationalize, he would have paid any other partner he might have found; it was only fair. Moreover, if it meant that she could buy some of the more higher end animal blood rather than complain about how cow's blood was barely edible and left her stomach rumbling ... well, he definitely wouldn't mind that bit of over sharing to stop.
Understanding her motives also meant being more relaxed around her, and even though he usually tried to hide it, he was growing fond of her humor. She had a knack for coming up with the cheesiest, lamest jokes in the middle of their fights, but the matter of fact way she delivered them usually confounded her adversaries enough to facilitate her task. Not that she needed any help. He had always admired her fighting skills, even when they were used against him, and he was determined to ask her, one of these nights, when things were slow, if she wanted to spar with him. He had a feeling they would both enjoy it.
The only aspect of the whole thing that wasn't easy was Don's reactions to the situation. He hadn't been thrilled to discover that Vincent had let Lilia leave without dusting her and had reminded him repeatedly that she was the one who had killed Peter. Vincent knew that all too well yet he refused to go down that line of thought; the guilt at not fulfilling his promise was still present. So Don had changed his approach, and every time Vincent needed magic performed, he would bring up again how dangerous it was to trust Lilia, how she would certainly turn against Vincent at the worst possible moment, how he could have found another partner, a human one, if he needed the help that much. He went as far as to introduce him to a friend of Jeanie's who was considering becoming a Special Enforcer. Vincent took one look at the guy, suppressed his laughter and politely explained that he already had a partner and didn't need the help. At least, Don had never said a thing where Lilia could hear. They had barely talked to each other the few times they had met, limiting themselves to strained greetings. He supposed that Don was too wary of her to want to talk to her, and he could imagine that Lilia wasn't too pleased herself with Don's responsibility in her Mating to Vincent.
A couple of times, Vincent had come close to simply admitting why he believed—no, why he knew—that Lilia would never do a thing to endanger him. Admit that they were Mates, for better or for worse, and that they were trying to make the best out of it. However, despite being tired of hearing the same arguments over and again to dissuade him from working with Lili
a, he had managed to keep quiet about that. He didn't particularly like hiding things from his best friend, but this would have been too complicated to explain. Especially when he didn't know anymore how much the Mating influenced him. He and Lilia fought quite well together; it could have been because of the link they shared, or it could simply have been a result to having battled so often in the past that they could predict each other's moves with pinpoint accuracy.
Then, there was the matter of the dreams. He had had flashbacks of his night with Lilia, of their Mating, ever since it had happened, but the dreams had become more vivid since they had started hunting together every night. He had tried to tell himself it was due to the amount of time he spent with her and the particularly depressing state of his sex life; but if it had only been a matter of being horny, wouldn't any other woman have had the same effect on him? It was her image, and her image only, that helped him reach orgasm whenever the need became stronger than the embarrassment of having to face her again knowing what he had done. Was that another effect of the Mating? Or was his libido just obsessed with the beautiful, sexy woman he worked with, as it had once been obsessed with Emma, and ignoring the fact that she happened to be a vampire?
Things were simpler, yes. But at the same time, they could hardly have been more complicated. Certainly, Lilia wasn't doing anything to help, quite the contrary in fact. For one thing, not a night passed without her making some kind of innuendo, and sometimes it seemed she was trying her best to embarrass him. For another, she had fallen into the habit of touching the marks on his neck whenever she pleased; Vincent was practically sure that, like the innuendos, she only did it to unnerve him, and he tried the best he could not to react and give her what she wanted, it would have only encouraged her. But it was difficult to pretend nothing was happening when with a simple touch of her fingers she could set the nerves of his body on fire. Difficult, also, not to let her see how hard he sometimes got when she did it too often during a slow night. His jacket was his best ally when that happened, as it was just long enough to hide his crotch, but he suspected that she knew. He would have to say something, one of these nights, and make her stop. Whether she was aware of the effect her touch had on him or not, things simply couldn't continue like this, or he wouldn't remain sane for much longer.