Chapter 137: 137
If audio player doesn't work, press Stop then Play button again
Such loathing laces his words that I almost find myself taking a step back.
For someone supposedly lacking a heart, he shifts through emotions quicker than a drunkard drinks through beers. Then again, this is a centuries old vampire Prince we are talking about.
I smother a laugh.
"You hate your people that much, hmm? What a terror you are."
Soren bares his fangs a little, glittering with tints of red against the faint luminescence of the ghostly stars. Judging by the crimson tints in his eyes, I would hedge my bets my assessment has disturbed him somewhat.
He bats a hand dismissively through the air.
"I hate that I was them- and that I partially still am like them. That no matter what I do, I will always, somehow, find myself at the exact same place that I started- a bloodsucking monster who knows only terror and fear, that is what I am, even to you. And I hate it."
It takes me a full second to realise that his form is shaking, fingers curled into lumps of solid rock, his teeth clenched, visibly seething- but with grief or anger I cannot tell.
It wouldn't take a genius to realise that something within him is hurting, some fundamental aspect that even after these many months still remains broken. But as I reach out, try to still the turmoil of my lovers heart, I am only met with a wall of cold.
"Soren I-"
He puts up a hand. A dangerous red swirls in the depths of his eyes.
"Just, give me a second."
The Prince withdraws himself to regain his composure, slipping on that stone cold mask of unfeeling marble as his eyes simmer to a hardened amber. A part of me desperately wants to brush my fingers over his face, to quell the wretched heartache and heavy emotionless exterior that Soren exudes like a shield against his feelings- to kiss him and tell him 'it's okay' yet somehow knowing in my heart of hearts that this age old vampire would not be sated by the mere mutterings of affirmation.
But against all better judgement and the riotous fear of accidentally pushing him too far, I let my palm rest against his cheek anyway, soaking in the refreshing coolness of his skin that somehow no longer seems so bitterly cold- as if that blanket of frost and impenetrable ice has finally begun to thaw from the frozen depths of his wintry heart.
"You can talk to me, Soren. I owe you that much," I murmur soothingly. Soren leans into me, his voice an airless caress against the night sky.
"It's just, I hate," he continues, his throat working with the effort of keeping himself composed. "To even stand the notion of what they might do to you if they found out what you were. Especially-," he stops himself short, letting a crisp silence fill the air between us. The unspoken words whisper among the purple flowers that sway like melancholy spirits in the sullen breath of the night, spilling their secrets into the air so that even the nymph, whose figure almost never seems to stop its endless cycle of dancing in the far reaches of the lake, pauses to listen.
Especially Azrael
Whispers the darkness.
"Especially Azrael," I softly whisper at last, voicing the words he neither has the strength nor the willpower to let spill from his lips. Part of me debates asking over him- of whatever did happen after Soren so abruptly discovered that his tricksy white haired brother had a soul he was never meant to have in the first place. And if he realised at all that Azrael had been posing as me in the dungeons, or, if my dream like memory was to be trusted, doing something with the flame.
But having spent the last two days in a comma like stasis, I can hardly recall anything that has happened at all, and any events regarding his brother are practically null and void to me at this point.
Still, the notion certainly does make me wonder.
"Forget about him, darling, for my sake, please. I will deal with him- with everything- tomorrow."
I twiddle with my fingers fleetingly, half anxious to hear the news about his brother, and half inclined to let sleeping tigers lie.
Soren's words tell me enough. Something is obviously wrong. The silent implications of that alone are enough to send a wavering shudder throttle its way down my spine, but with a half twisted smile, I shake off the cares, dispelling them into the night in a simple act of foolish hopefulness.
"Alright," I agree at last, echoing Soren's own words. "Tonight I do not care."
Soren gives me a dizzyingly handsome smile.
"Good. Then let's forget about all this for now- let me show you your wedding present."
***
Soren pulls us into the darkness and a sudden uprush of air jolts my senses into life, sparking around my body in a million sparks of electrical impulses, a familiar feeling in my gut as the fabrics of my body pull apart and reform from the strands of never ending darkness. The motion leaves me nauseous and spinning like a whirlpool of water until the moment when our feet finally hit solid ground.
I never was very good with shadow shifting.
Soren's slender body appears from behind me, pressing himself up against my back in a mix of steady reassurance and flirtatious boldness, his breath tickling hotly against the outer shell of my ear as he whispers:
"Do you like it?"
For a moment, listening to the deep husky notes of his voice spilling over me in an erotic caress of honeyed words and low seductive growls, I struggle to fathom which exactly he means: him, or the room we are now in. Though after a moments indecision and a bout of logical thinking, I take it to presume he means the latter.
The air is thick with the intoxicating scent of roses. The string up like garlands around the room, all deep purple and spilling with a fanciful midnight fragrance that abates the senses into an unnatural calm- so poignant that one might be inclined to believe that is you so desired you could take a knife and cut right through it, breaking through that aura with one swift slash. It is a maddening smell, one of love and lust, and equal part melancholy misery. The perfect encapsulation of a Prince whose life of desperate solace and ceaseless cravings for blood has been filled with little more than the empty beat of his own, cold heart.
And Soren seems to sense it too- perhaps that was his intent- for as my eyes continue to graze over the expanse of the circular room, his hands tighten around me, his wintry breathes shallow against the cool of my skin, whispering low murmuring nothings against my skin that I neither can, nor try to hear. That low, caressing grumble of his voice persists, his hips coaxing me into a static sway, ruffling the pleated lace of my dress into an airy friction.
The air is cold, spiked with a familiar freshness of being high up. Yes, somewhere in the clouds, and away from the judgemental eyes of a council or crimson eyes of devils whose sinister smiles flash through the hauntings of dreams long into the night.
A large balcony extends out behind us, a huge pair of arching glass doors the only shield against the cold of the night, left ajar so that a whistle of the wind may occasionally creep through the cracks to stir up the garlands of purple roses into a rustling sigh. The room itself (or should I say rooms- as several doors indicate a passage to some other place that I am not yet privy to) is like an elven grotto- permanently spiked with the whimsical wisps of ethereal magic and shimmering with an air of ideality- as though the whole place is a pleasant dream. The walls of the circular room are carved out into all manner of structures, some book shelves, my clothes, other holders for corked bottles and the mysterious brewing's of a liquid that thrums with a persistent light, twinkling in and out of cognitive existence with each bat of an eye.
All of it is rather fantastical.
It is a large room, very large- plenty enough space for two angels to spread their wings side to side. There are a cabinets, larger than any I have seen before, presumably packed full with clothes or weapons or any manner of apparatus that a vampire would see fit. I can't imagine that many of the clothes would be to my taste if I were to indulge myself in a peak inside. But then again, Soren has surprised with with rather gorgeous clothes consistently, so perhaps I should give them more credit.
Strings of little yellow light twinkle high up in the eaves, dotting among the dangling purple wisteria and curls of roses that grow in a state of everlasting bloom- much like the immortal creatures that inhabit such a place. I ponder to myself whether the cold chill of the air may preserve them in such a state, or whether magic was the culprit of their everlasting life But soon enough I find myself quickly losing that particular train of thought as my eyes come to settle on the centrepiece of the room.
I should have expected, or perhaps should have known, that Soren's insistency on showing me such a marvellous place would come with an ulterior motive- albeit a desirable one. Spread under a canopy of flowers and silky veils and the thin spread of tiny lights that wink in and out of view above our heads lies a bed. Its velvety wine coloured sheets are spread out invitingly, creaseless and smooth, piled high with cushions at the headboard that offer the all to grand temptation to take one and see how hard it might hit. Of course, the action alone is certainly not a dignified one, but an amusing idea nonetheless.
"So you wanted to show me a bed?" I tease, smirking as I turn my head to one side, wings fluttering a little as Soren presses himself more firmly against my back to gently nibble on my lower ear.
"Keep up that attitude and perhaps I will decide not to give you the luxury of using it tonight either," he growls low against my ear, fingers sliding low to caress up and down my thigh with a deliberate slowness. "Now wouldn't that be a shame?"
Please report us if you find any errors so we can fix it asap!
Such loathing laces his words that I almost find myself taking a step back.
For someone supposedly lacking a heart, he shifts through emotions quicker than a drunkard drinks through beers. Then again, this is a centuries old vampire Prince we are talking about.
I smother a laugh.
"You hate your people that much, hmm? What a terror you are."
Soren bares his fangs a little, glittering with tints of red against the faint luminescence of the ghostly stars. Judging by the crimson tints in his eyes, I would hedge my bets my assessment has disturbed him somewhat.
He bats a hand dismissively through the air.
"I hate that I was them- and that I partially still am like them. That no matter what I do, I will always, somehow, find myself at the exact same place that I started- a bloodsucking monster who knows only terror and fear, that is what I am, even to you. And I hate it."
It takes me a full second to realise that his form is shaking, fingers curled into lumps of solid rock, his teeth clenched, visibly seething- but with grief or anger I cannot tell.
It wouldn't take a genius to realise that something within him is hurting, some fundamental aspect that even after these many months still remains broken. But as I reach out, try to still the turmoil of my lovers heart, I am only met with a wall of cold.
"Soren I-"
He puts up a hand. A dangerous red swirls in the depths of his eyes.
"Just, give me a second."
The Prince withdraws himself to regain his composure, slipping on that stone cold mask of unfeeling marble as his eyes simmer to a hardened amber. A part of me desperately wants to brush my fingers over his face, to quell the wretched heartache and heavy emotionless exterior that Soren exudes like a shield against his feelings- to kiss him and tell him 'it's okay' yet somehow knowing in my heart of hearts that this age old vampire would not be sated by the mere mutterings of affirmation.
But against all better judgement and the riotous fear of accidentally pushing him too far, I let my palm rest against his cheek anyway, soaking in the refreshing coolness of his skin that somehow no longer seems so bitterly cold- as if that blanket of frost and impenetrable ice has finally begun to thaw from the frozen depths of his wintry heart.
"You can talk to me, Soren. I owe you that much," I murmur soothingly. Soren leans into me, his voice an airless caress against the night sky.
"It's just, I hate," he continues, his throat working with the effort of keeping himself composed. "To even stand the notion of what they might do to you if they found out what you were. Especially-," he stops himself short, letting a crisp silence fill the air between us. The unspoken words whisper among the purple flowers that sway like melancholy spirits in the sullen breath of the night, spilling their secrets into the air so that even the nymph, whose figure almost never seems to stop its endless cycle of dancing in the far reaches of the lake, pauses to listen.
Especially Azrael
Whispers the darkness.
"Especially Azrael," I softly whisper at last, voicing the words he neither has the strength nor the willpower to let spill from his lips. Part of me debates asking over him- of whatever did happen after Soren so abruptly discovered that his tricksy white haired brother had a soul he was never meant to have in the first place. And if he realised at all that Azrael had been posing as me in the dungeons, or, if my dream like memory was to be trusted, doing something with the flame.
But having spent the last two days in a comma like stasis, I can hardly recall anything that has happened at all, and any events regarding his brother are practically null and void to me at this point.
Still, the notion certainly does make me wonder.
"Forget about him, darling, for my sake, please. I will deal with him- with everything- tomorrow."
I twiddle with my fingers fleetingly, half anxious to hear the news about his brother, and half inclined to let sleeping tigers lie.
Soren's words tell me enough. Something is obviously wrong. The silent implications of that alone are enough to send a wavering shudder throttle its way down my spine, but with a half twisted smile, I shake off the cares, dispelling them into the night in a simple act of foolish hopefulness.
"Alright," I agree at last, echoing Soren's own words. "Tonight I do not care."
Soren gives me a dizzyingly handsome smile.
"Good. Then let's forget about all this for now- let me show you your wedding present."
***
Soren pulls us into the darkness and a sudden uprush of air jolts my senses into life, sparking around my body in a million sparks of electrical impulses, a familiar feeling in my gut as the fabrics of my body pull apart and reform from the strands of never ending darkness. The motion leaves me nauseous and spinning like a whirlpool of water until the moment when our feet finally hit solid ground.
I never was very good with shadow shifting.
Soren's slender body appears from behind me, pressing himself up against my back in a mix of steady reassurance and flirtatious boldness, his breath tickling hotly against the outer shell of my ear as he whispers:
"Do you like it?"
For a moment, listening to the deep husky notes of his voice spilling over me in an erotic caress of honeyed words and low seductive growls, I struggle to fathom which exactly he means: him, or the room we are now in. Though after a moments indecision and a bout of logical thinking, I take it to presume he means the latter.
The air is thick with the intoxicating scent of roses. The string up like garlands around the room, all deep purple and spilling with a fanciful midnight fragrance that abates the senses into an unnatural calm- so poignant that one might be inclined to believe that is you so desired you could take a knife and cut right through it, breaking through that aura with one swift slash. It is a maddening smell, one of love and lust, and equal part melancholy misery. The perfect encapsulation of a Prince whose life of desperate solace and ceaseless cravings for blood has been filled with little more than the empty beat of his own, cold heart.
And Soren seems to sense it too- perhaps that was his intent- for as my eyes continue to graze over the expanse of the circular room, his hands tighten around me, his wintry breathes shallow against the cool of my skin, whispering low murmuring nothings against my skin that I neither can, nor try to hear. That low, caressing grumble of his voice persists, his hips coaxing me into a static sway, ruffling the pleated lace of my dress into an airy friction.
The air is cold, spiked with a familiar freshness of being high up. Yes, somewhere in the clouds, and away from the judgemental eyes of a council or crimson eyes of devils whose sinister smiles flash through the hauntings of dreams long into the night.
A large balcony extends out behind us, a huge pair of arching glass doors the only shield against the cold of the night, left ajar so that a whistle of the wind may occasionally creep through the cracks to stir up the garlands of purple roses into a rustling sigh. The room itself (or should I say rooms- as several doors indicate a passage to some other place that I am not yet privy to) is like an elven grotto- permanently spiked with the whimsical wisps of ethereal magic and shimmering with an air of ideality- as though the whole place is a pleasant dream. The walls of the circular room are carved out into all manner of structures, some book shelves, my clothes, other holders for corked bottles and the mysterious brewing's of a liquid that thrums with a persistent light, twinkling in and out of cognitive existence with each bat of an eye.
All of it is rather fantastical.
It is a large room, very large- plenty enough space for two angels to spread their wings side to side. There are a cabinets, larger than any I have seen before, presumably packed full with clothes or weapons or any manner of apparatus that a vampire would see fit. I can't imagine that many of the clothes would be to my taste if I were to indulge myself in a peak inside. But then again, Soren has surprised with with rather gorgeous clothes consistently, so perhaps I should give them more credit.
Strings of little yellow light twinkle high up in the eaves, dotting among the dangling purple wisteria and curls of roses that grow in a state of everlasting bloom- much like the immortal creatures that inhabit such a place. I ponder to myself whether the cold chill of the air may preserve them in such a state, or whether magic was the culprit of their everlasting life But soon enough I find myself quickly losing that particular train of thought as my eyes come to settle on the centrepiece of the room.
I should have expected, or perhaps should have known, that Soren's insistency on showing me such a marvellous place would come with an ulterior motive- albeit a desirable one. Spread under a canopy of flowers and silky veils and the thin spread of tiny lights that wink in and out of view above our heads lies a bed. Its velvety wine coloured sheets are spread out invitingly, creaseless and smooth, piled high with cushions at the headboard that offer the all to grand temptation to take one and see how hard it might hit. Of course, the action alone is certainly not a dignified one, but an amusing idea nonetheless.
"So you wanted to show me a bed?" I tease, smirking as I turn my head to one side, wings fluttering a little as Soren presses himself more firmly against my back to gently nibble on my lower ear.
"Keep up that attitude and perhaps I will decide not to give you the luxury of using it tonight either," he growls low against my ear, fingers sliding low to caress up and down my thigh with a deliberate slowness. "Now wouldn't that be a shame?"
Such loathing laces his words that I almost find myself taking a step back.For someone supposedly lacking a heart, he shifts through emotions quicker than a drunkard drinks through beers. Then again, this is a centuries old vampire Prince we are talking about.I smother a laugh."You hate your people that much, hmm? What a terror you are."Soren bares his fangs a little, glittering with tints of red against the faint luminescence of the ghostly stars. Judging by the crimson tints in his eyes, I would hedge my bets my assessment has disturbed him somewhat.He bats a hand dismissively through the air."I hate that I was them- and that I partially still am like them. That no matter what I do, I will always, somehow, find myself at the exact same place that I started- a bloodsucking monster who knows only terror and fear, that is what I am, even to you. And I hate it."It takes me a full second to realise that his form is shaking, fingers curled into lumps of solid rock, his teeth clenched, visibly seething- but with grief or anger I cannot tell.It wouldn't take a genius to realise that something within him is hurting, some fundamental aspect that even after these many months still remains broken. But as I reach out, try to still the turmoil of my lovers heart, I am only met with a wall of cold."Soren I-"He puts up a hand. A dangerous red swirls in the depths of his eyes."Just, give me a second."The Prince withdraws himself to regain his composure, slipping on that stone cold mask of unfeeling marble as his eyes simmer to a hardened amber. A part of me desperately wants to brush my fingers over his face, to quell the wretched heartache and heavy emotionless exterior that Soren exudes like a shield against his feelings- to kiss him and tell him 'it's okay' yet somehow knowing in my heart of hearts that this age old vampire would not be sated by the mere mutterings of affirmation.But against all better judgement and the riotous fear of accidentally pushing him too far, I let my palm rest against his cheek anyway, soaking in the refreshing coolness of his skin that somehow no longer seems so bitterly cold- as if that blanket of frost and impenetrable ice has finally begun to thaw from the frozen depths of his wintry heart."You can talk to me, Soren. I owe you that much," I murmur soothingly. Soren leans into me, his voice an airless caress against the night sky. "It's just, I hate," he continues, his throat working with the effort of keeping himself composed. "To even stand the notion of what they might do to you if they found out what you were. Especially-," he stops himself short, letting a crisp silence fill the air between us. The unspoken words whisper among the purple flowers that sway like melancholy spirits in the sullen breath of the night, spilling their secrets into the air so that even the nymph, whose figure almost never seems to stop its endless cycle of dancing in the far reaches of the lake, pauses to listen.Especially AzraelWhispers the darkness. "Especially Azrael," I softly whisper at last, voicing the words he neither has the strength nor the willpower to let spill from his lips. Part of me debates asking over him- of whatever did happen after Soren so abruptly discovered that his tricksy white haired brother had a soul he was never meant to have in the first place. And if he realised at all that Azrael had been posing as me in the dungeons, or, if my dream like memory was to be trusted, doing something with the flame. But having spent the last two days in a comma like stasis, I can hardly recall anything that has happened at all, and any events regarding his brother are practically null and void to me at this point.Still, the notion certainly does make me wonder."Forget about him, darling, for my sake, please. I will deal with him- with everything- tomorrow."I twiddle with my fingers fleetingly, half anxious to hear the news about his brother, and half inclined to let sleeping tigers lie.Soren's words tell me enough. Something is obviously wrong. The silent implications of that alone are enough to send a wavering shudder throttle its way down my spine, but with a half twisted smile, I shake off the cares, dispelling them into the night in a simple act of foolish hopefulness."Alright," I agree at last, echoing Soren's own words. "Tonight I do not care."Soren gives me a dizzyingly handsome smile."Good. Then let's forget about all this for now- let me show you your wedding present."***Soren pulls us into the darkness and a sudden uprush of air jolts my senses into life, sparking around my body in a million sparks of electrical impulses, a familiar feeling in my gut as the fabrics of my body pull apart and reform from the strands of never ending darkness. The motion leaves me nauseous and spinning like a whirlpool of water until the moment when our feet finally hit solid ground. I never was very good with shadow shifting.Soren's slender body appears from behind me, pressing himself up against my back in a mix of steady reassurance and flirtatious boldness, his breath tickling hotly against the outer shell of my ear as he whispers:"Do you like it?"For a moment, listening to the deep husky notes of his voice spilling over me in an erotic caress of honeyed words and low seductive growls, I struggle to fathom which exactly he means: him, or the room we are now in. Though after a moments indecision and a bout of logical thinking, I take it to presume he means the latter. The air is thick with the intoxicating scent of roses. The string up like garlands around the room, all deep purple and spilling with a fanciful midnight fragrance that abates the senses into an unnatural calm- so poignant that one might be inclined to believe that is you so desired you could take a knife and cut right through it, breaking through that aura with one swift slash. It is a maddening smell, one of love and lust, and equal part melancholy misery. The perfect encapsulation of a Prince whose life of desperate solace and ceaseless cravings for blood has been filled with little more than the empty beat of his own, cold heart.And Soren seems to sense it too- perhaps that was his intent- for as my eyes continue to graze over the expanse of the circular room, his hands tighten around me, his wintry breathes shallow against the cool of my skin, whispering low murmuring nothings against my skin that I neither can, nor try to hear. That low, caressing grumble of his voice persists, his hips coaxing me into a static sway, ruffling the pleated lace of my dress into an airy friction. The air is cold, spiked with a familiar freshness of being high up. Yes, somewhere in the clouds, and away from the judgemental eyes of a council or crimson eyes of devils whose sinister smiles flash through the hauntings of dreams long into the night.A large balcony extends out behind us, a huge pair of arching glass doors the only shield against the cold of the night, left ajar so that a whistle of the wind may occasionally creep through the cracks to stir up the garlands of purple roses into a rustling sigh. The room itself or should I say rooms- as several doors indicate a passage to some other place that I am not yet privy to is like an elven grotto- permanently spiked with the whimsical wisps of ethereal magic and shimmering with an air of ideality- as though the whole place is a pleasant dream. The walls of the circular room are carved out into all manner of structures, some book shelves, my clothes, other holders for corked bottles and the mysterious brewing's of a liquid that thrums with a persistent light, twinkling in and out of cognitive existence with each bat of an eye.All of it is rather fantastical.It is a large room, very large- plenty enough space for two angels to spread their wings side to side. There are a cabinets, larger than any I have seen before, presumably packed full with clothes or weapons or any manner of apparatus that a vampire would see fit. I can't imagine that many of the clothes would be to my taste if I were to indulge myself in a peak inside. But then again, Soren has surprised with with rather gorgeous clothes consistently, so perhaps I should give them more credit.Strings of little yellow light twinkle high up in the eaves, dotting among the dangling purple wisteria and curls of roses that grow in a state of everlasting bloom- much like the immortal creatures that inhabit such a place. I ponder to myself whether the cold chill of the air may preserve them in such a state, or whether magic was the culprit of their everlasting life But soon enough I find myself quickly losing that particular train of thought as my eyes come to settle on the centrepiece of the room. I should have expected, or perhaps should have known, that Soren's insistency on showing me such a marvellous place would come with an ulterior motive- albeit a desirable one. Spread under a canopy of flowers and silky veils and the thin spread of tiny lights that wink in and out of view above our heads lies a bed. Its velvety wine coloured sheets are spread out invitingly, creaseless and smooth, piled high with cushions at the headboard that offer the all to grand temptation to take one and see how hard it might hit. Of course, the action alone is certainly not a dignified one, but an amusing idea nonetheless. "So you wanted to show me a bed?" I tease, smirking as I turn my head to one side, wings fluttering a little as Soren presses himself more firmly against my back to gently nibble on my lower ear. "Keep up that attitude and perhaps I will decide not to give you the luxury of using it tonight either," he growls low against my ear, fingers sliding low to caress up and down my thigh with a deliberate slowness. "Now wouldn't that be a shame?"
