Chapter 69: 69
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Who knew that diving headfirst into a pair of the leading, if not most terrifying, individuals in the castle is like hitting a brick wall. A tall, remarkably pretty brick wall, with a pair of needle-like fangs and the ability to get into people's heads at the mere flick of a whim. I stumble backwards, gripping the book a little tighter in my arms, quickly checking to assess that it is fully covered by the makeshift blanket of clothes I have stowed it in, anxious for my plans to remain hidden.
Though I suppose there is only so much you can hide from a vampire who reads minds almost as often as he drains blood.
Azrael glares at me, lips peeled back into a dissatisfied grimace. And I am sure, convinced, lady Mikhail would have done the same, had her eyes not been wet with tears, streaking her pale blue face the same way rain streaks the surface of a lake- fading back into the azure of her skin. A tear slides off her face and onto the floor, and I swear I can see the carpet sizzle for a moment. Then, composing herself, she wipes away the tears with the back of her blue kimono, wetting the silky fabric, and pulls her face into a hardened, practised frown, her crimson eyes flaring.
And then she slaps me.
And not a light slap either- (vampire's do not do anything lightly), one right across the cheek, the impact of which resounds through me, rocking my body in a way that makes me think I am lucky not to have my teeth knocked out.
"Bitch," she hisses, "I am Lady Delina Mikhail, not some fool to be made a mockery of. I hope you are happy with what you have done." and shoves past me, taking great care to knock into my shoulder, causing me to stumble backwards yet again, almost toppling until Azrael catches my arm in his cold grip, and I stiffen. I watch Lady Mikhail go as I rub the rising welt on the side of my face, following trailing the long drapes of her blue kimono like a torrent of tears, a picture of mourning and of heart wrenching sorrow.
I almost, almost, feel bad. Slowly, Azrael lets go of my wrist, smiling nonchalantly and swaying on the balls of his feet as I move back from him, all too eager to remove myself from his reach, and his sick, possessive hands.
"What a lovely way to start the morning," he chuckles darkly to himself, eyeing the red mark on my cheek with a grim satisfaction that can only ever come from a vampire who revels in the glory of pain and violence. Obviously, I ignore him.
But Azrael doesn't much like being ignored.
It isn't long before I can feel his power prodding at my mind, searching, checking, waiting to see what will arise from the dark depths of my thoughts if I will let it, what little morsels of information he can glean from me and steal away for his own keeping, or for blackmail.
My pendant throbs a warning on my chest like a ticking time bomb, emitting a slight ruby radiance and a tremor that pulses through me, the force of which is enough to cause the sly claws of Azrael's power to withdraw from the clutches of my mind. Silently, I thank myself for whatever powers my pendant possesses that is saving me from the icy claws of his grip- and having my mind scrambled. I don't let myself think about what he might have found there, if he found anything at all. The elixirs against him would be done today- I wouldn't have to fret over him any more, much to my relief. Slowly, I ease out a silent sigh of relief, and swivel myself round to face him.
His crimson eyes bore into me.
"Would you like to tell me why was Lady Mikhail crying?" I ask slowly with as much authority as I can muster, my voice low with suspicion, and heavy with my blatant mistrust of Azrael, and of most vampires in fact. Azrael opens his mouth, but pauses to glare down a pair of vampires scuttling their way down the hallway who- upon seeing his gaze, both blush, and walk faster at the same time.
A curious vampire indeed.
After the hallway is empty, he folds his arms stiffly over himself and gives me a slight smirk, raising his eyebrows in mock care- a blatant lie of course, Azrael could not care less about anything, or anyone.
Except maybe for sex, and blood.
"You didn't hear the news? I thought you of all people would have heard first," he says, tapping his fingers on the velvet of his waist coat, a slow-beated rhythm, perhaps a waltz, or some other popular dance for a vampire court.
It doesn't take a genius to realise he is toying with me, and what is more he is enjoying it. Dangling a gleaming carrot of information of a stick just out of my reach, waiting for me to lunge for it like he knows I will- manipulative and tricky, the pure epitome of a vampire encapsulated in a single, white haired being. I frown deeply, clenching my fingers around the hilt of my sword and lowering my eyes at him with a sickening distaste.
"Well I haven't so spit it out," I spit at him, but Azrael only leans in, forcing my chin up to face him with two fingers, and grins more broadly, like a shark before its prey. I almost take a leaf out of Delina Mikhail's book and hit him.
"What's the rush, little girl? Got somewhere to be?" he grins, and I rattle my sword with the tips of my fingers, a warning that has enough force to it to send him taking a step back, dropping his hand from my face, much to my relief.
My silver sword has been a lifeline these past few weeks at the palace, enough to send weaker vampires scurrying from you without conflict, and stronger ones to at least reconsider a confrontation; it is my final resort when all else fails, when scheming and tactics are simply not enough to buy myself out of a bind.
Yes, this sword must have saved my life at least a dozen times by now.
"Just tell me, or I may be so inclined to ruin your chest with yet another scar," I hiss, raising the silver weapon from its sheath to glint ominously under the half light of the corridor. Unsurprisingly, this seems to piss him off. Equally unsurprisingly, I don't care.
"Soren announced this morning that he has found and decided on a mate." Azrael states, his voice lowering to the flat, cold, chill of a vampire who has seen far to many deaths to still be alive. "You can imagine the outcry when he announced it wasn't a vampire, but a little elven Queen. I hear some vampires are out for your blood now, might want to watch your step," he adds, leaning in to send a whisper shuddering through my body, before offering a grin that tells me that is the exact reaction he is seeking. I can't decide whether or not he is trying to confuse me, toy with me, or whether he is actually telling the truth- vampires have always been tricky and manipulative creatures, Azrael least of all. Either way, I'm not sure which one is worse.
But the brief panic over that is quickly undermined by the large weight that drops on me, a thought that quickens the breath in my lungs, races with the rising beat of my heart, and the never ending turmoil of my mind.
Soren announced me as his mate.
I have even less time than I thought.
I need to find the flame, and fast.
The skittering of claws around the corner interrupts the panic of my mind, cutting through my worries as smoothly as a hot knife through butter. Both Azrael and I snap our heads around in swift unison, searching for the source of the noise that quickly races around the corners, small sachet wound around its side, scroll coiled tightly in its mouth. My heart leaps.
The white woodfox races to my side, curling itself around my legs, antenna glowing ominously as it bares its fangs at the white haired vampire through its grip on the yellowing scroll.
Azrael hesitantly lifts his deadpan stare from the fox, peering at me through thick white eyelashes with a mild disinterest.
"I see you have a guardian. Fascinating," he says, a phrase from him I have come to deduce means something is entirely not fascinating at all. Now it's my turn to fold my arms over myself, sinking into a cold, wintery stare that is enough to make a vampire sink right back down into the rotten ground they came from. It's a practised stare, one of a Queen, and a warrior.
Azrael's eye twitches a little as Ithuriel's slanted fox eyes burn holes into the white haired vampire, and with each passing second, Azrael's demeanour becomes more and more uncomfortable, his foot tapping irritably on the floor, fingers scratching at the fine embroidery on the hem of his sleeves.
He looks like he would like nothing better than to disappear into thin air.
And it is a feeling I am all to happy to induce....
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Who knew that diving headfirst into a pair of the leading, if not most terrifying, individuals in the castle is like hitting a brick wall. A tall, remarkably pretty brick wall, with a pair of needle-like fangs and the ability to get into people's heads at the mere flick of a whim. I stumble backwards, gripping the book a little tighter in my arms, quickly checking to assess that it is fully covered by the makeshift blanket of clothes I have stowed it in, anxious for my plans to remain hidden.
Though I suppose there is only so much you can hide from a vampire who reads minds almost as often as he drains blood.
Azrael glares at me, lips peeled back into a dissatisfied grimace. And I am sure, convinced, lady Mikhail would have done the same, had her eyes not been wet with tears, streaking her pale blue face the same way rain streaks the surface of a lake- fading back into the azure of her skin. A tear slides off her face and onto the floor, and I swear I can see the carpet sizzle for a moment. Then, composing herself, she wipes away the tears with the back of her blue kimono, wetting the silky fabric, and pulls her face into a hardened, practised frown, her crimson eyes flaring.
And then she slaps me.
And not a light slap either- (vampire's do not do anything lightly), one right across the cheek, the impact of which resounds through me, rocking my body in a way that makes me think I am lucky not to have my teeth knocked out.
"Bitch," she hisses, "I am Lady Delina Mikhail, not some fool to be made a mockery of. I hope you are happy with what you have done." and shoves past me, taking great care to knock into my shoulder, causing me to stumble backwards yet again, almost toppling until Azrael catches my arm in his cold grip, and I stiffen. I watch Lady Mikhail go as I rub the rising welt on the side of my face, following trailing the long drapes of her blue kimono like a torrent of tears, a picture of mourning and of heart wrenching sorrow.
I almost, almost, feel bad. Slowly, Azrael lets go of my wrist, smiling nonchalantly and swaying on the balls of his feet as I move back from him, all too eager to remove myself from his reach, and his sick, possessive hands.
"What a lovely way to start the morning," he chuckles darkly to himself, eyeing the red mark on my cheek with a grim satisfaction that can only ever come from a vampire who revels in the glory of pain and violence. Obviously, I ignore him.
But Azrael doesn't much like being ignored.
It isn't long before I can feel his power prodding at my mind, searching, checking, waiting to see what will arise from the dark depths of my thoughts if I will let it, what little morsels of information he can glean from me and steal away for his own keeping, or for blackmail.
My pendant throbs a warning on my chest like a ticking time bomb, emitting a slight ruby radiance and a tremor that pulses through me, the force of which is enough to cause the sly claws of Azrael's power to withdraw from the clutches of my mind. Silently, I thank myself for whatever powers my pendant possesses that is saving me from the icy claws of his grip- and having my mind scrambled. I don't let myself think about what he might have found there, if he found anything at all. The elixirs against him would be done today- I wouldn't have to fret over him any more, much to my relief. Slowly, I ease out a silent sigh of relief, and swivel myself round to face him.
His crimson eyes bore into me.
"Would you like to tell me why was Lady Mikhail crying?" I ask slowly with as much authority as I can muster, my voice low with suspicion, and heavy with my blatant mistrust of Azrael, and of most vampires in fact. Azrael opens his mouth, but pauses to glare down a pair of vampires scuttling their way down the hallway who- upon seeing his gaze, both blush, and walk faster at the same time.
A curious vampire indeed.
After the hallway is empty, he folds his arms stiffly over himself and gives me a slight smirk, raising his eyebrows in mock care- a blatant lie of course, Azrael could not care less about anything, or anyone.
Except maybe for sex, and blood.
"You didn't hear the news? I thought you of all people would have heard first," he says, tapping his fingers on the velvet of his waist coat, a slow-beated rhythm, perhaps a waltz, or some other popular dance for a vampire court.
It doesn't take a genius to realise he is toying with me, and what is more he is enjoying it. Dangling a gleaming carrot of information of a stick just out of my reach, waiting for me to lunge for it like he knows I will- manipulative and tricky, the pure epitome of a vampire encapsulated in a single, white haired being. I frown deeply, clenching my fingers around the hilt of my sword and lowering my eyes at him with a sickening distaste.
"Well I haven't so spit it out," I spit at him, but Azrael only leans in, forcing my chin up to face him with two fingers, and grins more broadly, like a shark before its prey. I almost take a leaf out of Delina Mikhail's book and hit him.
"What's the rush, little girl? Got somewhere to be?" he grins, and I rattle my sword with the tips of my fingers, a warning that has enough force to it to send him taking a step back, dropping his hand from my face, much to my relief.
My silver sword has been a lifeline these past few weeks at the palace, enough to send weaker vampires scurrying from you without conflict, and stronger ones to at least reconsider a confrontation; it is my final resort when all else fails, when scheming and tactics are simply not enough to buy myself out of a bind.
Yes, this sword must have saved my life at least a dozen times by now.
"Just tell me, or I may be so inclined to ruin your chest with yet another scar," I hiss, raising the silver weapon from its sheath to glint ominously under the half light of the corridor. Unsurprisingly, this seems to piss him off. Equally unsurprisingly, I don't care.
"Soren announced this morning that he has found and decided on a mate." Azrael states, his voice lowering to the flat, cold, chill of a vampire who has seen far to many deaths to still be alive. "You can imagine the outcry when he announced it wasn't a vampire, but a little elven Queen. I hear some vampires are out for your blood now, might want to watch your step," he adds, leaning in to send a whisper shuddering through my body, before offering a grin that tells me that is the exact reaction he is seeking. I can't decide whether or not he is trying to confuse me, toy with me, or whether he is actually telling the truth- vampires have always been tricky and manipulative creatures, Azrael least of all. Either way, I'm not sure which one is worse.
But the brief panic over that is quickly undermined by the large weight that drops on me, a thought that quickens the breath in my lungs, races with the rising beat of my heart, and the never ending turmoil of my mind.
Soren announced me as his mate.
I have even less time than I thought.
I need to find the flame, and fast.
The skittering of claws around the corner interrupts the panic of my mind, cutting through my worries as smoothly as a hot knife through butter. Both Azrael and I snap our heads around in swift unison, searching for the source of the noise that quickly races around the corners, small sachet wound around its side, scroll coiled tightly in its mouth. My heart leaps.
The white woodfox races to my side, curling itself around my legs, antenna glowing ominously as it bares its fangs at the white haired vampire through its grip on the yellowing scroll.
Azrael hesitantly lifts his deadpan stare from the fox, peering at me through thick white eyelashes with a mild disinterest.
"I see you have a guardian. Fascinating," he says, a phrase from him I have come to deduce means something is entirely not fascinating at all. Now it's my turn to fold my arms over myself, sinking into a cold, wintery stare that is enough to make a vampire sink right back down into the rotten ground they came from. It's a practised stare, one of a Queen, and a warrior.
Azrael's eye twitches a little as Ithuriel's slanted fox eyes burn holes into the white haired vampire, and with each passing second, Azrael's demeanour becomes more and more uncomfortable, his foot tapping irritably on the floor, fingers scratching at the fine embroidery on the hem of his sleeves.
He looks like he would like nothing better than to disappear into thin air.
And it is a feeling I am all to happy to induce....
Who knew that diving headfirst into a pair of the leading, if not most terrifying, individuals in the castle is like hitting a brick wall. A tall, remarkably pretty brick wall, with a pair of needle-like fangs and the ability to get into people's heads at the mere flick of a whim. I stumble backwards, gripping the book a little tighter in my arms, quickly checking to assess that it is fully covered by the makeshift blanket of clothes I have stowed it in, anxious for my plans to remain hidden.Though I suppose there is only so much you can hide from a vampire who reads minds almost as often as he drains blood.Azrael glares at me, lips peeled back into a dissatisfied grimace. And I am sure, convinced, lady Mikhail would have done the same, had her eyes not been wet with tears, streaking her pale blue face the same way rain streaks the surface of a lake- fading back into the azure of her skin. A tear slides off her face and onto the floor, and I swear I can see the carpet sizzle for a moment. Then, composing herself, she wipes away the tears with the back of her blue kimono, wetting the silky fabric, and pulls her face into a hardened, practised frown, her crimson eyes flaring.And then she slaps me.And not a light slap either- vampire's do not do anything lightly, one right across the cheek, the impact of which resounds through me, rocking my body in a way that makes me think I am lucky not to have my teeth knocked out."Bitch," she hisses, "I am Lady Delina Mikhail, not some fool to be made a mockery of. I hope you are happy with what you have done." and shoves past me, taking great care to knock into my shoulder, causing me to stumble backwards yet again, almost toppling until Azrael catches my arm in his cold grip, and I stiffen. I watch Lady Mikhail go as I rub the rising welt on the side of my face, following trailing the long drapes of her blue kimono like a torrent of tears, a picture of mourning and of heart wrenching sorrow. I almost, almost, feel bad. Slowly, Azrael lets go of my wrist, smiling nonchalantly and swaying on the balls of his feet as I move back from him, all too eager to remove myself from his reach, and his sick, possessive hands."What a lovely way to start the morning," he chuckles darkly to himself, eyeing the red mark on my cheek with a grim satisfaction that can only ever come from a vampire who revels in the glory of pain and violence. Obviously, I ignore him.But Azrael doesn't much like being ignored.It isn't long before I can feel his power prodding at my mind, searching, checking, waiting to see what will arise from the dark depths of my thoughts if I will let it, what little morsels of information he can glean from me and steal away for his own keeping, or for blackmail.My pendant throbs a warning on my chest like a ticking time bomb, emitting a slight ruby radiance and a tremor that pulses through me, the force of which is enough to cause the sly claws of Azrael's power to withdraw from the clutches of my mind. Silently, I thank myself for whatever powers my pendant possesses that is saving me from the icy claws of his grip- and having my mind scrambled. I don't let myself think about what he might have found there, if he found anything at all. The elixirs against him would be done today- I wouldn't have to fret over him any more, much to my relief. Slowly, I ease out a silent sigh of relief, and swivel myself round to face him.His crimson eyes bore into me."Would you like to tell me why was Lady Mikhail crying?" I ask slowly with as much authority as I can muster, my voice low with suspicion, and heavy with my blatant mistrust of Azrael, and of most vampires in fact. Azrael opens his mouth, but pauses to glare down a pair of vampires scuttling their way down the hallway who- upon seeing his gaze, both blush, and walk faster at the same time.A curious vampire indeed.After the hallway is empty, he folds his arms stiffly over himself and gives me a slight smirk, raising his eyebrows in mock care- a blatant lie of course, Azrael could not care less about anything, or anyone.Except maybe for sex, and blood."You didn't hear the news? I thought you of all people would have heard first," he says, tapping his fingers on the velvet of his waist coat, a slow-beated rhythm, perhaps a waltz, or some other popular dance for a vampire court. It doesn't take a genius to realise he is toying with me, and what is more he is enjoying it. Dangling a gleaming carrot of information of a stick just out of my reach, waiting for me to lunge for it like he knows I will- manipulative and tricky, the pure epitome of a vampire encapsulated in a single, white haired being. I frown deeply, clenching my fingers around the hilt of my sword and lowering my eyes at him with a sickening distaste."Well I haven't so spit it out," I spit at him, but Azrael only leans in, forcing my chin up to face him with two fingers, and grins more broadly, like a shark before its prey. I almost take a leaf out of Delina Mikhail's book and hit him."What's the rush, little girl? Got somewhere to be?" he grins, and I rattle my sword with the tips of my fingers, a warning that has enough force to it to send him taking a step back, dropping his hand from my face, much to my relief.My silver sword has been a lifeline these past few weeks at the palace, enough to send weaker vampires scurrying from you without conflict, and stronger ones to at least reconsider a confrontation; it is my final resort when all else fails, when scheming and tactics are simply not enough to buy myself out of a bind.Yes, this sword must have saved my life at least a dozen times by now."Just tell me, or I may be so inclined to ruin your chest with yet another scar," I hiss, raising the silver weapon from its sheath to glint ominously under the half light of the corridor. Unsurprisingly, this seems to piss him off. Equally unsurprisingly, I don't care."Soren announced this morning that he has found and decided on a mate." Azrael states, his voice lowering to the flat, cold, chill of a vampire who has seen far to many deaths to still be alive. "You can imagine the outcry when he announced it wasn't a vampire, but a little elven Queen. I hear some vampires are out for your blood now, might want to watch your step," he adds, leaning in to send a whisper shuddering through my body, before offering a grin that tells me that is the exact reaction he is seeking. I can't decide whether or not he is trying to confuse me, toy with me, or whether he is actually telling the truth- vampires have always been tricky and manipulative creatures, Azrael least of all. Either way, I'm not sure which one is worse.But the brief panic over that is quickly undermined by the large weight that drops on me, a thought that quickens the breath in my lungs, races with the rising beat of my heart, and the never ending turmoil of my mind.Soren announced me as his mate.I have even less time than I thought. I need to find the flame, and fast.The skittering of claws around the corner interrupts the panic of my mind, cutting through my worries as smoothly as a hot knife through butter. Both Azrael and I snap our heads around in swift unison, searching for the source of the noise that quickly races around the corners, small sachet wound around its side, scroll coiled tightly in its mouth. My heart leaps.The white woodfox races to my side, curling itself around my legs, antenna glowing ominously as it bares its fangs at the white haired vampire through its grip on the yellowing scroll.Azrael hesitantly lifts his deadpan stare from the fox, peering at me through thick white eyelashes with a mild disinterest. "I see you have a guardian. Fascinating," he says, a phrase from him I have come to deduce means something is entirely not fascinating at all. Now it's my turn to fold my arms over myself, sinking into a cold, wintery stare that is enough to make a vampire sink right back down into the rotten ground they came from. It's a practised stare, one of a Queen, and a warrior.Azrael's eye twitches a little as Ithuriel's slanted fox eyes burn holes into the white haired vampire, and with each passing second, Azrael's demeanour becomes more and more uncomfortable, his foot tapping irritably on the floor, fingers scratching at the fine embroidery on the hem of his sleeves. He looks like he would like nothing better than to disappear into thin air.And it is a feeling I am all to happy to induce....
