Chapter 41: 41
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The voice I hear is a voice that I neither want to, or care to bother to face. Silence passes between us, drowned by the deafening chords of a violinist and a cello, playing music in some far off corner of the ballroom. I stay solemnly silent. An exasperated sigh resounds from my side.
"Come now, surely you cannot hate me so much you can't bear to look at me?" Turning my head slightly, I make sure to give the tall, white haired vampire a long, grisly frown.
Azrael looks better than ever, considering he had his neck snapped only days ago. His white hair is groomed back past his long pointy horns, and he wears a velvety red suit spotted with swirling black leaves that compliment the colour of his dangerous crimson stare- hidden under a white raven mask. A prince, maybe, but I remember I am in no position to trust him, especially considering what he tried last time, about what Soren told me. Then again, I think slowly, I shouldn't really be trusting the word of the Scarlet Prince either. Especially with that little trick he pulled on me.
"How long did that take you to heal?" I ask coldly, gesturing with my chin to his neck, partially out of spite, and partially for reference in case I ever needed to snap a vampire's neck myself. He narrows his eyes at me, but smiles anyway, an icy, thin smile that perhaps could be considered handsome. To some, that is.
"About two days," he shrugs, flinging open the front of his top a bit which is purposefully unbuttoned, exposing the solid pack of muscles under his skin. I hear some vampire girls behind me giggle, swooning in the peripheral of my vision.
I almost spit on the ground out of pure disgust. Perhaps if I had been a little bolder, I might have thought about spitting at him too. Azrael shoots a good natured wink at them and mimes something vulgar over to them, and one of them screams with delight, fanning herself. Disgusting.
"Are you always so vile?" I ask, folding my arms now as I take a lingering step towards him away from my perch on the archway. The vampire's eyes shoot back to me, offering up another disgustingly sweet smile. His teeth glitter with remnants of red.
"You mean to say I am the vile one, but my brother is not?" he pushes, taking an equally large step towards me. Fire crackles through my veins. I push up my fox mask, stepping aside for the dancing bodies that swoop past me, bringing an icy cold with them.
"Oh your brother is certainly a hedonistic bastard, but he knows when to stop. And as cruel as he may seem, he is a heck of a lot nicer compared to you," I spit. I'd given up trying to be nice to these creatures the moment one of them had tried to undress and bed me, prince or otherwise. Azrael only laughs.
"Oh I can see why he likes you, little girl! So candid, so unafraid! Fortunately for you I am not too keen on having my neck snapped again by brother dearest, otherwise I might have just had your tongue out for that," he whispers, his words hissing past my ears. I purse my lips.
"I would like to see you try," I hiss back, watching as Azrael's crimson eyes glower under the mask with a raw rage that seems to consume his very being with a flaming aura. His eyes flicker black for a moment, his jaw clenched and fingers flexing, as though he might consider slapping me, then he pulls back, replacing that anger with a cool, unbothered look.
"Dance with me," he states, an order, no, a command. "Do it or I will just glamour you instead. I am sure you would hardly resist then, hmm?"
Now it is my turn to consider slapping him: right across his stupid pale face, or kicking him where it hurts. There is no way in hell I would ever willingly want to dance with Azrael. Or do anything with him for that matter- especially as my mind flickers back to exactly what Soren had said about his own brother. I give him a long look up and down, surveying him, the prince, with such disdain that it practically radiates off me. In fact it does radiate off me, in an angry golden glow, just for a second, before it recedes quickly back into my skin, sucked into a vacuum of calm.
A part of me panics at the sudden glow of my skin- for one, I should not be glowing this much. Another part of me worries what the vampires would make of it if they saw it- likely they would try to butcher me, or drain me- try being the key word- I wouldn't let them get anywhere close. Nonetheless they seem to be rather fond of those particular activities.
If Azrael notices the faint glow encompassing my form, or even cares at all, he doesn't say, but his eyes trace me, cold, hard, and dancing with a wicked light. I shudder, hoping that he did not, in fact, see anything at all.
"Fine," I reply at last in a particularly snide voice, realising with a drop of my heart that it is not like I have much choice in the matter at all: Dance with Azrael willingly and endure his loathsome presence, or choose not to dance with him and have to endure him all the same.
As he pulls me in, I find his touch is much rougher than Soren's: a man with an experienced hand, who gets what he wants when he wants and only ever for his own pleasure. There is none of the strange, soft comfort, the hesitation, that Soren gives- the grip on my waist is dominating, though I expected nothing less.
"Dancing with me? Don't you have someone better to annoy?" I huff, trying to look anywhere but him, my attention drawn to the beautiful flowing ballgowns that move like a ripple in the water, and their pirouetting hosts, who grace the ballroom with slender limbs and enchanting eyes.
Azrael, however, doesn't seem too keen on that. In fact, he seems positively irritated.
"Strange, and here I was thinking dance partners were supposed to look at each other when dancing. Do I have to make you do that as well?" he says coldly, the icy chill of his words sending shivers cascading down my spine like a waterfall. With a stiff and practised smile, I turn back around.
"No need," I say curtly, and flash him another tight lipped smile, as he pulls me in closer to him, lifting me up with the rise and fall of the sombre music. The feel of his hands on me is foreign and heavy, and his touch alone sends my gorge rising uncontrollably with the thought of what else those hands might have done.
"Funny enough, I don't hate you, little lady," he says, peering down at me through his white hair, the mass of which covers his eyes in a handsomely shaggy mess.
"Though I will admit the fact my brother is so taken with you does annoy me. Him and I have never been on the best terms, you see. But you seem to have made him more intolerable than he already is. He is infatuated with you, it would seem."
Azrael peers down again, as if to assess the damage his words might afflict on me. But I remain silent, pondering over the meaning of it all. At last, the induced silence between us becomes unbearable even for me.
"So," I say slowly, working my words in my head as not to seem suspicious, or too eager to get to know him. "Soren has an incredible array of powers. If you are so great, what are yours?" I keep my eyes away from him as much as I can as I talk, away from the hard line of his mouth, the piercing black kohl around his eyes, instead focusing on the pretty mortal flush of a pixie who had had a little too much wine, and on the white fox surveying me from the opposite end of the room.
There are better ways to do this, Serena. It tells me.
I look away.
"Oh so he told you about himself, now did he?" Azrael laughs, pulling my eyes back to him as he pushes back his head, hair rolling around his face. I scowl. "Well, Soren isn't much of a sharer, especially not about his powers, but I doubt even he will keep you alive long enough to remember, so so be it," he adjusts his hand on my waist and pulls at the buttons on his crimson waistcoat, pushing them aside with long, careless, finger.
I go rigid when those fingers start playing on my waist. A shame I didn't have my sword, or I might just have taken his hand off. "Aside from that boring shadowshifting nonsense, my powers are developed in the... mental field." My head shoots up and I narrow my eyes sharply at him.
"Mental field?"
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The voice I hear is a voice that I neither want to, or care to bother to face. Silence passes between us, drowned by the deafening chords of a violinist and a cello, playing music in some far off corner of the ballroom. I stay solemnly silent. An exasperated sigh resounds from my side.
"Come now, surely you cannot hate me so much you can't bear to look at me?" Turning my head slightly, I make sure to give the tall, white haired vampire a long, grisly frown.
Azrael looks better than ever, considering he had his neck snapped only days ago. His white hair is groomed back past his long pointy horns, and he wears a velvety red suit spotted with swirling black leaves that compliment the colour of his dangerous crimson stare- hidden under a white raven mask. A prince, maybe, but I remember I am in no position to trust him, especially considering what he tried last time, about what Soren told me. Then again, I think slowly, I shouldn't really be trusting the word of the Scarlet Prince either. Especially with that little trick he pulled on me.
"How long did that take you to heal?" I ask coldly, gesturing with my chin to his neck, partially out of spite, and partially for reference in case I ever needed to snap a vampire's neck myself. He narrows his eyes at me, but smiles anyway, an icy, thin smile that perhaps could be considered handsome. To some, that is.
"About two days," he shrugs, flinging open the front of his top a bit which is purposefully unbuttoned, exposing the solid pack of muscles under his skin. I hear some vampire girls behind me giggle, swooning in the peripheral of my vision.
I almost spit on the ground out of pure disgust. Perhaps if I had been a little bolder, I might have thought about spitting at him too. Azrael shoots a good natured wink at them and mimes something vulgar over to them, and one of them screams with delight, fanning herself. Disgusting.
"Are you always so vile?" I ask, folding my arms now as I take a lingering step towards him away from my perch on the archway. The vampire's eyes shoot back to me, offering up another disgustingly sweet smile. His teeth glitter with remnants of red.
"You mean to say I am the vile one, but my brother is not?" he pushes, taking an equally large step towards me. Fire crackles through my veins. I push up my fox mask, stepping aside for the dancing bodies that swoop past me, bringing an icy cold with them.
"Oh your brother is certainly a hedonistic bastard, but he knows when to stop. And as cruel as he may seem, he is a heck of a lot nicer compared to you," I spit. I'd given up trying to be nice to these creatures the moment one of them had tried to undress and bed me, prince or otherwise. Azrael only laughs.
"Oh I can see why he likes you, little girl! So candid, so unafraid! Fortunately for you I am not too keen on having my neck snapped again by brother dearest, otherwise I might have just had your tongue out for that," he whispers, his words hissing past my ears. I purse my lips.
"I would like to see you try," I hiss back, watching as Azrael's crimson eyes glower under the mask with a raw rage that seems to consume his very being with a flaming aura. His eyes flicker black for a moment, his jaw clenched and fingers flexing, as though he might consider slapping me, then he pulls back, replacing that anger with a cool, unbothered look.
"Dance with me," he states, an order, no, a command. "Do it or I will just glamour you instead. I am sure you would hardly resist then, hmm?"
Now it is my turn to consider slapping him: right across his stupid pale face, or kicking him where it hurts. There is no way in hell I would ever willingly want to dance with Azrael. Or do anything with him for that matter- especially as my mind flickers back to exactly what Soren had said about his own brother. I give him a long look up and down, surveying him, the prince, with such disdain that it practically radiates off me. In fact it does radiate off me, in an angry golden glow, just for a second, before it recedes quickly back into my skin, sucked into a vacuum of calm.
A part of me panics at the sudden glow of my skin- for one, I should not be glowing this much. Another part of me worries what the vampires would make of it if they saw it- likely they would try to butcher me, or drain me- try being the key word- I wouldn't let them get anywhere close. Nonetheless they seem to be rather fond of those particular activities.
If Azrael notices the faint glow encompassing my form, or even cares at all, he doesn't say, but his eyes trace me, cold, hard, and dancing with a wicked light. I shudder, hoping that he did not, in fact, see anything at all.
"Fine," I reply at last in a particularly snide voice, realising with a drop of my heart that it is not like I have much choice in the matter at all: Dance with Azrael willingly and endure his loathsome presence, or choose not to dance with him and have to endure him all the same.
As he pulls me in, I find his touch is much rougher than Soren's: a man with an experienced hand, who gets what he wants when he wants and only ever for his own pleasure. There is none of the strange, soft comfort, the hesitation, that Soren gives- the grip on my waist is dominating, though I expected nothing less.
"Dancing with me? Don't you have someone better to annoy?" I huff, trying to look anywhere but him, my attention drawn to the beautiful flowing ballgowns that move like a ripple in the water, and their pirouetting hosts, who grace the ballroom with slender limbs and enchanting eyes.
Azrael, however, doesn't seem too keen on that. In fact, he seems positively irritated.
"Strange, and here I was thinking dance partners were supposed to look at each other when dancing. Do I have to make you do that as well?" he says coldly, the icy chill of his words sending shivers cascading down my spine like a waterfall. With a stiff and practised smile, I turn back around.
"No need," I say curtly, and flash him another tight lipped smile, as he pulls me in closer to him, lifting me up with the rise and fall of the sombre music. The feel of his hands on me is foreign and heavy, and his touch alone sends my gorge rising uncontrollably with the thought of what else those hands might have done.
"Funny enough, I don't hate you, little lady," he says, peering down at me through his white hair, the mass of which covers his eyes in a handsomely shaggy mess.
"Though I will admit the fact my brother is so taken with you does annoy me. Him and I have never been on the best terms, you see. But you seem to have made him more intolerable than he already is. He is infatuated with you, it would seem."
Azrael peers down again, as if to assess the damage his words might afflict on me. But I remain silent, pondering over the meaning of it all. At last, the induced silence between us becomes unbearable even for me.
"So," I say slowly, working my words in my head as not to seem suspicious, or too eager to get to know him. "Soren has an incredible array of powers. If you are so great, what are yours?" I keep my eyes away from him as much as I can as I talk, away from the hard line of his mouth, the piercing black kohl around his eyes, instead focusing on the pretty mortal flush of a pixie who had had a little too much wine, and on the white fox surveying me from the opposite end of the room.
There are better ways to do this, Serena. It tells me.
I look away.
"Oh so he told you about himself, now did he?" Azrael laughs, pulling my eyes back to him as he pushes back his head, hair rolling around his face. I scowl. "Well, Soren isn't much of a sharer, especially not about his powers, but I doubt even he will keep you alive long enough to remember, so so be it," he adjusts his hand on my waist and pulls at the buttons on his crimson waistcoat, pushing them aside with long, careless, finger.
I go rigid when those fingers start playing on my waist. A shame I didn't have my sword, or I might just have taken his hand off. "Aside from that boring shadowshifting nonsense, my powers are developed in the... mental field." My head shoots up and I narrow my eyes sharply at him.
"Mental field?"
The voice I hear is a voice that I neither want to, or care to bother to face. Silence passes between us, drowned by the deafening chords of a violinist and a cello, playing music in some far off corner of the ballroom. I stay solemnly silent. An exasperated sigh resounds from my side."Come now, surely you cannot hate me so much you can't bear to look at me?" Turning my head slightly, I make sure to give the tall, white haired vampire a long, grisly frown.Azrael looks better than ever, considering he had his neck snapped only days ago. His white hair is groomed back past his long pointy horns, and he wears a velvety red suit spotted with swirling black leaves that compliment the colour of his dangerous crimson stare- hidden under a white raven mask. A prince, maybe, but I remember I am in no position to trust him, especially considering what he tried last time, about what Soren told me. Then again, I think slowly, I shouldn't really be trusting the word of the Scarlet Prince either. Especially with that little trick he pulled on me."How long did that take you to heal?" I ask coldly, gesturing with my chin to his neck, partially out of spite, and partially for reference in case I ever needed to snap a vampire's neck myself. He narrows his eyes at me, but smiles anyway, an icy, thin smile that perhaps could be considered handsome. To some, that is."About two days," he shrugs, flinging open the front of his top a bit which is purposefully unbuttoned, exposing the solid pack of muscles under his skin. I hear some vampire girls behind me giggle, swooning in the peripheral of my vision.I almost spit on the ground out of pure disgust. Perhaps if I had been a little bolder, I might have thought about spitting at him too. Azrael shoots a good natured wink at them and mimes something vulgar over to them, and one of them screams with delight, fanning herself. Disgusting."Are you always so vile?" I ask, folding my arms now as I take a lingering step towards him away from my perch on the archway. The vampire's eyes shoot back to me, offering up another disgustingly sweet smile. His teeth glitter with remnants of red."You mean to say I am the vile one, but my brother is not?" he pushes, taking an equally large step towards me. Fire crackles through my veins. I push up my fox mask, stepping aside for the dancing bodies that swoop past me, bringing an icy cold with them."Oh your brother is certainly a hedonistic bastard, but he knows when to stop. And as cruel as he may seem, he is a heck of a lot nicer compared to you," I spit. I'd given up trying to be nice to these creatures the moment one of them had tried to undress and bed me, prince or otherwise. Azrael only laughs."Oh I can see why he likes you, little girl! So candid, so unafraid! Fortunately for you I am not too keen on having my neck snapped again by brother dearest, otherwise I might have just had your tongue out for that," he whispers, his words hissing past my ears. I purse my lips."I would like to see you try," I hiss back, watching as Azrael's crimson eyes glower under the mask with a raw rage that seems to consume his very being with a flaming aura. His eyes flicker black for a moment, his jaw clenched and fingers flexing, as though he might consider slapping me, then he pulls back, replacing that anger with a cool, unbothered look."Dance with me," he states, an order, no, a command. "Do it or I will just glamour you instead. I am sure you would hardly resist then, hmm?"Now it is my turn to consider slapping him: right across his stupid pale face, or kicking him where it hurts. There is no way in hell I would ever willingly want to dance with Azrael. Or do anything with him for that matter- especially as my mind flickers back to exactly what Soren had said about his own brother. I give him a long look up and down, surveying him, the prince, with such disdain that it practically radiates off me. In fact it does radiate off me, in an angry golden glow, just for a second, before it recedes quickly back into my skin, sucked into a vacuum of calm.A part of me panics at the sudden glow of my skin- for one, I should not be glowing this much. Another part of me worries what the vampires would make of it if they saw it- likely they would try to butcher me, or drain me- try being the key word- I wouldn't let them get anywhere close. Nonetheless they seem to be rather fond of those particular activities.If Azrael notices the faint glow encompassing my form, or even cares at all, he doesn't say, but his eyes trace me, cold, hard, and dancing with a wicked light. I shudder, hoping that he did not, in fact, see anything at all."Fine," I reply at last in a particularly snide voice, realising with a drop of my heart that it is not like I have much choice in the matter at all: Dance with Azrael willingly and endure his loathsome presence, or choose not to dance with him and have to endure him all the same.As he pulls me in, I find his touch is much rougher than Soren's: a man with an experienced hand, who gets what he wants when he wants and only ever for his own pleasure. There is none of the strange, soft comfort, the hesitation, that Soren gives- the grip on my waist is dominating, though I expected nothing less."Dancing with me? Don't you have someone better to annoy?" I huff, trying to look anywherebut him, my attention drawn to the beautiful flowing ballgowns that move like a ripple in the water, and their pirouetting hosts, who grace the ballroom with slender limbs and enchanting eyes.Azrael, however, doesn't seem too keen on that. In fact, he seems positively irritated."Strange, and here I was thinking dance partners were supposed to look at each other when dancing. Do I have to make you do that as well?" he says coldly, the icy chill of his words sending shivers cascading down my spine like a waterfall. With a stiff and practised smile, I turn back around."No need," I say curtly, and flash him another tight lipped smile, as he pulls me in closer to him, lifting me up with the rise and fall of the sombre music. The feel of his hands on me is foreign and heavy, and his touch alone sends my gorge rising uncontrollably with the thought of what else those hands might have done."Funny enough, I don't hate you, little lady," he says, peering down at me through his white hair, the mass of which covers his eyes in a handsomely shaggy mess."Though I will admit the fact my brother is so taken with you does annoy me. Him and I have never been on the best terms, you see. But you seem to have made him more intolerable than he already is. He isinfatuated with you, it would seem."Azrael peers down again, as if to assess the damage his words might afflict on me. But I remain silent, pondering over the meaning of it all. At last, the induced silence between us becomes unbearable even for me."So," I say slowly, working my words in my head as not to seem suspicious, or too eager to get to know him. "Soren has an incredible array of powers. If you are so great, what are yours?" I keep my eyes away from him as much as I can as I talk, away from the hard line of his mouth, the piercing black kohl around his eyes, instead focusing on the pretty mortal flush of a pixie who had had a little too much wine, and on the white fox surveying me from the opposite end of the room.There are better ways to do this, Serena. It tells me.I look away."Oh so he told you about himself, now did he?" Azrael laughs, pulling my eyes back to him as he pushes back his head, hair rolling around his face. I scowl. "Well, Soren isn't much of a sharer, especially not about his powers, but I doubt even he will keep you alive long enough to remember, so so be it," he adjusts his hand on my waist and pulls at the buttons on his crimson waistcoat, pushing them aside with long, careless, finger. I go rigid when those fingers start playing on my waist. A shame I didn't have my sword, or I might just have taken his hand off. "Aside from that boring shadowshifting nonsense, my powers are developed in the... mental field." My head shoots up and I narrow my eyes sharply at him."Mental field?"
