Damien Night Ch. 06

I'm going to try to fix the next scene this week and post it. No guarantees. My life is so chaotic right now it's hard to find time to breath. If I don't fix it this week than I will just go ahead and post the rest of the story next weekend.

"The first draft of anything is shit."
― Ernest Hemingway

Damien lay perfectly still on the soft down comforter of his bed, a flawlessly preserved body in an elaborate mausoleum. The black lacquer of the enormous four posters stood out starkly against the prevailing snowy white. The contrast nearly smacked you in the face the moment you topped the stairs and Damien liked it that way. There were a few other black accents in frames on the wall and the end tables, but it did little to mute the effect.

Anyone walking in on him right now would be sure he was dead or a movie prop. He did not breath, he had no heartbeat, and he had no wish to pretend to be anything more than what he was at the moment.

He considered the last instants with Annabel. He could still smell the sweet perfume of her arousal, could still feel the heat from her core against his hungry cock. Jesus! She was his, and then everything went to hell. The cold that crept over him reminded him of that bastard in another time that felt the need to end his existence for no particular reason. The world turned to the consistency of goo and something coursed through him, an invasive invisible force stealing the ability to move, icing his insides as it moved through him. It wasn't the dark skinned priest from another culture long dead, but her...his siren. Apparently the ability to control other emotions, ergo the ability to control him, was gained naturally...at least in her case.

"Fuck!" He said the word out loud, enjoying the feel of it on his tongue. He always loved the curse words of any culture he latched onto. Technically he'd panicked which was different for him; though 'panic' wasn't exactly the right word. There was no racing heart or fast pace breath or cloudy thought process in which he did something thoughtlessly stupid. It was more of an overwhelming sense of self-preservation leading him to believe that giving into her at that moment was the best option.

It was time to give this chase up which killed him just a little bit. Curiosity, desire and the things denied were the very basis of sustenance for him. She could actually kill him though, which put a damper on the appetite.

Actually that last bit was only technically true. She was still missing one thing.

His eyes opened and flicked to the closet door. It was almost another room unto itself like the bathroom it sat next to. He rarely went in it though. It wasn't for clothes. A trick of the mind and he had any clothes he wanted. Shoes were moot as well. If he needed something more he had another world entirely to store shit in. But there were...things. As far as he knew he was the only one of his kind that had a certain propensity towards being a packrat. When you don't really belong in the world you roam around in it's not a very good idea to make a permanent residence there.

He did though. The leftovers of every life he'd lived, every lair he'd kept here, were set neatly in that closet. There were scrolls and books, odds and ends, and hundreds of small black vials labeled in a language no one in this world knew anymore. And, almost every item there was a relic from a civilization that no longer existed; destroyed in such a way that one would think it was done on purpose if you delved into the similarities between them. Nothing was left behind save what he had taken.

It was not locked, as far as anyone knew, but he wasn't stupid enough to lock it with conventional means. The door wouldn't open for anyone that didn't ask nicely courtesy of the wood he'd brought with him from Egypt. A tree whose name he'd known well before it and its kin were paved over by advancing civilizations. It was a beautiful violet hued timber that now had a smooth as silk feel from the millennia he'd carried it with him. It protected his little cache wherever he went.

There was one more thing in there; a blade of the same strange black glass as all those little vials he had. He'd taken it from someone with the same strange dark eyes as the girl he'd been obsessed with the last 4 days sometime after those eyes had closed forever. Someone who could do the same little trick she pulled back there that gave her more of an edge on him than anything else had in a really long time. If she got a hold of a blade like that she would know how to finish him too.

She was more powerful than the priest he'd once tangled with. That coldness that crept through him the first time was more a shock to the system. This time it crippled him. If she hadn't been overcome with something he would never have gotten a word out. He might still be sitting there.

And now that was over.

He sat up. The next moment he stood before the closet door, moving through his own world which sat in an interesting juxtaposition to this one. If people could see what he saw it would like cosmic rats had chewed little holes in reality here and there. His kind referred to them asplanebreaks.

He ran a finger over the carving on the violet plain; Egyptian hieroglyphics and a carving of his likeness. This was the only remnant of his first life, and the tree the wood once belonged to was the first name he'd ever learned from the scrolls that had rested in the great library of Alexandria eons ago. The words on the door were the Egyptian translation of that scroll.

Whispering the old name, the door opened for him. He'd had it modified so there were dozens of drawers in cedar, another name he knew, lining each of the four walls and a table in the center. The table, draped in deep blue silk embroidered with the same runic symbols that tattooed his very essence, held the largest of the objects he'd collected during his extensive lifespan. In the center sat the blade.

He neared the black glass with caution. Its appearance belied its strength. This glass would not shatter and it was nameless. EVERYTHING that existed had a name in a tongue older than the universe; the name that brought it into this world. The language had no sound since sound came with the universe, but it was there and he could speak it however someone on the receiving end of that knowledge might want to take that. The unique language of his own kind gave him an advantage, but it wasn't beyond the ability of humans. In a more primitive time the knowledge was theirs as well or Damien would not know it now. This material, however, was not created. It existed before creation and continued to exist now. If one looked at it long enough they would notice a slight distortion around it, as if it bent reality just a little. Other than that there was nothing particularly interesting about it. Most wouldn't even look long enough to notice the bizarre warped space that hovered less than a centimeter from its surface. Sharpened as it was now, it only meant a nasty cut to most living creatures.

But the creatures he referred to as hunters, because once they did hunt his kind, were not most living creatures. They're ability to control the emotions of others gave them the ability to control those like him, and that blade had a knack for destroying things under the users control. So much so that an unfortunate recipient of a death blow from a hunter holding a blade like that not only died, but ceased to exist entirely.

Damien often wondered who the hell his predecessors had pissed off badly enough to warrant that much vengeance. Or maybe it was just a really tenacious human. They could be a bitch sometimes.

In his hands the power might be nearly unlimited. The names he knew gave him the power to control the things he named, but human names were harder to come by. He could go wipe out the existence of a grove of trees or something which would be weird. Still, who knew what that grove of trees might have done? Who knew what he would change?

He found he was able to manipulate the material using fire from his world, and that's how he came by his little trade. What destroyed also captured and protected things that, by the standards of this world, were only ideas. Shit still made him uneasy though.

He turned around, closed the door, and went back to the bed to sit, mentally shooing away the odd emptiness that crept up on him now. What was he? Curiosity, passion, danger, desire...but not this. He knew the edges of it. He'd collected loneliness before. It shouldn't be a problem, but there it was. Part of him wondered if this was the beginning of the end. Maybe he was breaking down and would one day soon fade into nothing...back to where he started.

It was a thought and that was that. He shrugged and moved through the house thinking of hot showers and new distractions and ways to relieve an itch he could not scratch.

On the screen behind Annabel Chris Pine's character took a hell of a beating from a group of assholes dressed in crimson uniforms, but her mind was elsewhere. She recalled a passionate one night stand that ended in nothing when her would be lover lost interest a few moments after she did.

She sat down on the empty couch considering the bastard ex that the few friends she had at the time warned her about. He managed to convince her he understood and accepted her until the day he came at her with raised fists and fire in his cold blue eyes. The fear and anger rose inside her and washed straight through her. With a serene calculated countenance she watched the blond headed man in a business suit advance on her until everything flipped. One moment there was no doubt she wasn't walking away from this with anything less than a black eye, the next his fists dropped to his sides and he calmly walked away with a confused look in his now cooled blue eyes.

For the longest time she thought people just had a tendency to act bizarre around her. Damien's revelation put a huge piece of the puzzle in place. Her heart beat little faster with just a hint of excitement. She started wondering if she could make people feel whatever she wanted. Her eyes lit on the door. It wasn't that late and the book store was still open. She grinned like a little kid with a new toy, and stood up looking for her keys.

Empty.

He was nowhere near her and she suddenly felt his lack of presence more strongly than the odd dissonance that clanged throughout her body every time he showed up. Concern and loneliness pounced on the little bit of excitement she felt. In four days her life had become a comical tragedy. She learned she could control other people's emotions, but suddenly not hers.

"What the hell?"

Maybe it was just nice to be needed even if the need was odd. But it held heated promises and banked a hunger inside her she thought was dead. The unwelcome feeling of missing him coupled with his warning that there was no coming back from that coldness put caution in her steps.

She hated being numb. Life seemed so pointless from this vantage point. She'd never been hurt either, but everything was so cold. Maybe Damien was wrong. Maybe she was already past that breaking point. Maybe the desire she felt around him was just death throws.

Fuck it.

Ruminating to herself wasn't going to give her any answers. It was time to go test this little trick; to hell with the consequences.

She made her way to the book store, though not the best idea after dark in late autumn in this part of town. At least she was wearing jeans. She also put her hair up in a tight bun and covered it the in the pretty copper cage she'd bought at some art show years ago. Now she stood under florescent lights among dark wooden shelves lined with thousands of books. She stepped across the deep colors of the carpet discreetly surveying the population, hoping she wouldn't have any unnatural encounters, and feeling like a huntress.

Annabel smiled to herself thinking Damien might be doing this very thing right now, though their reasons differed completely. She shook off the jealousy that hit her a second later, laughing quietly to herself at the silliness of the human heart. Well, maybe it wasn't that silly. He looked drop dead gorgeous and they could most likely talk forever without running out of things to say. He had five thousand years of experience he could impart to her.

"Focus, girl." She whispered to herself, eyeing a pretty woman standing in travel section.

If she was going to test this she needed to incite the least likely emotion she could, and what better way to do that than with a girl who appeared to be looking for a guy.

Maybe.

These times could be so confusing.

"Hi there. You haven't seen any books on Ireland have you?"

Blue eyes turned toward Annabel as her target passively shook her blond head 'no'. Definitely gorgeous. Annabel could see her in a bikini on the cover of some sports magazine, her hair picking up the sun with halo like qualities while the camera man followed every perfect curve of her bronzed skin. What did she do, find an angel for her devil?

"Are you traveling there soon?" She asked in a sweet voice while focusing on a book titledBack Roads Italy.

The girl seemed completely disinterested in Annabel which made her confident she could rely on the results of whatever happened next. Now, to figure out how she did this shit.

"No, not soon, but I'm hoping to eventually. Italy is nice, though."

"You've been?" She flashed a bright smile at Annabel; pearly white teeth and perfectly plucked brows. Her pale pink lipstick looked wet, glinting in the dull light from above.

"Yes. Senior trip years ago," Annabel laughed.Before I officially gave up on people,she mentally added. "Beautiful country though the cities can be...interesting."

"So I've been told." She commented halfheartedly before setting the book back.

Annabel started scrambling. She seriously had no idea how she was supposed to do this. Then she thought of that cold place. She let the numbness seep into her focusing on the angel that now turned to walk away. The girl stopped, running her French manicured fingertips across her bare upper arms as if a blast of cold air had just hit her.

Great! I can make people cold.

She barely had emotions of her own. How the hell could she control others'? But then maybe that was the point.

Annabel moved casually towards the unknown girl trying to think of something sexy when a set of fiery green eyes slipped into her mind. She went with it, letting her wayward thoughts go places she'd tried to banish them from. The first time she saw him molded itself firmly in her mind, his strong pale chest cut like etched marble with sharp angled markings that looked as if they'd been drawn with a charcoal pencil. She hadn't seen them since that night, but the desire to touch those runic symbols had never left her. The form he held was different. He would be tanned she guessed; the lines and ridges of his body looking almost airbrushed.

Annabel noticed her target looking frazzled as she approached an end cap and grabbed some random book. The girl had come to a stop, resembling something like she felt at that moment. Her tanned skin flushed and she moved her hands from place like she didn't know where to put them; or more to the point the place she wanted to put them wasn't there. There was no proof some strange supernatural ability had caused this though.

"Is something wrong?" Annabel asked softly as she approached from the side, the book still held tightly in the blond girl's hand. This whole emotion controlling thing wasn't going to work if she was going to get sucked down with it every time.

"No...is it warm in here to you?" the flush in the blond girl's cheeks was very obviously more than just the blush.

Her lips parted slightly and the slight rise and fall of her chest was faster than it should have been. She was pretty enough to tempt even the straightest woman, or a woman that had sworn off sex in general. Annabel found herself wondering what it would be like to taste those soft lips. They lacked Damien's wicked smile, but the wet gloss definitely had an appeal.

"A little. Would you like to get a drink?" Annabel smiled, drawing a few wayward strands of black behind her ear.

Shit, am I trying to seduce some random strange woman?

There was no doubt that she looked like a complete dork. She wasn't wired for this, but curiosity always got the best of her.

"Yes." The angel answered without thinking and then began backtracking, a confused look in her eyes. "I mean...I didn't mean to give you the wrong impression...I'm not..."

Annabel's quarry rubbed her hands together close to her heart rooted to the spot where she stood. The look in her averted eyes suggested she knew she needed to leave, but not a single bone in her slender body wanted to.

'Must be interesting.'Annabel mused to herself getting a little twisted satisfaction out of turning this poor girl's world on end...if she did.

"You're not?" She prompted, slipping too easily into this role perhaps.

"Inter...ested." The uncertain girl answered.

"In getting some water?" Annabel continued with a frown. "I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable. You just look a little frazzled, and I thought you might need some water or something from the-"

"Oh god, I'm so sorry." The girl started quickly making Annabel stifle a wicked smile of her own. "I don't know what's wrong with me..."

She continued talking but Annabel wasn't listening. She leaned in, cool finger tips brushing a pale slender throat making her prey catch her breath. The blond hair shivered when the girl tried to pull away in a kneejerk reaction, but Annabel's touch at the nape of her pretty neck stopped her and, honestly, she wasn't trying that hard. Their lips touched with no regard for any audience, and the raven haired huntress trembled with excitement as the woman surrendered completely to her.

This is it! I did this!

Annabel's eyes flew open the next second when an unfamiliar alarm rang threw her. Abruptly breaking contact left her strange tryst confused beyond repair, but Annabel concentrated on searching the area around them ignoring the little predominately male audience that had gathered. She barely got a glimpse of the cause of her apprehension before it disappeared. This one had the look of a man like Damien, but he was softer and seemingly transparent. His hair was a striking light blond, almost white, with eyes the eerie color of blue arctic ice. He looked nothing like Lash, but he was no less out of place in this world.

Annabel felt human eyes on her; blue with heavy black liner. She returned the glance and shrugged awkwardly.

"Sorry, gotta go."

I really gotta plan this shit out better.

She headed out into the night leaving a speechless audience behind her.

Water ran down his form, beading in some places. It was quiet except for the sound of droplets connecting with tile as Damien stood under the copper faucet. It was starting to chill alerting him to the fact that he'd been standing there a good long while.

Is this what it's like to get old?

He stood straight then, the air around him changing with the ethereal notes of a familiar annoyance. His name in his language felt so weird to him.

"Fuck, Bes! If you plan on continuing to break in the least you could do is respect my desire to hear words." He announced, his voice echoing against glass and granite.

"Your obsession with that word is comical. And why do you insist on calling me 'Bes'? You know my preference." That quiet timbre coming from the doorway to his left was easier to take, but Damien still growled inwardly at the intrusion.