Work Text:
Title: Such Fiery Beauty Pales
Author: Poodle
Rating: PG-13
Fandom: Forever Knight
Summary: Set in 1600's London, Nicholas and his companions ravage a young woman in an alleyway and suffer the consequences.
Disclaimer: Never owned them, never will.
Such Fiery Beauty Pales
By Poodle~
**(London 1600's)**
They cornered her in an alley.
Her heart raced wildly in her chest, breasts heaving. Sweat glistened across her supple flesh. Blood-scent filled the air.
Maddening.
Nicholas was the one who trapped her, pinned her against a wall. He deeply inhaled the aroma of blood laced bitter by adrenaline.
Intoxicating.
"The quarry is yours, by rights." Montague snickered from the shadows. "But there's no rule that states you can't share with your two friends."
The woman's eyes widened with terror.
Nicholas trembled in anticipation. "-Tis, true." He reached for her tender throat, strained taunt. "Fair lovely one, permit me to allay your fears. These gentlemen and I are but visitors from a distant place seeking shelter for the night."
The moon's glow caught his golden hair, and as the woman's eyes passed over his fair countenance, her breath grew steady. "Kind sir, allow me, if you will, to escort you to the inn."
"All in good time." His touch became a caress as he slowly stroked the ivory skin, trailing down to the rise of her generous breasts. "Have you a name?"
"Elizabeth. They call me Libby."
"*Consecrated to God.*" He chuckled at the irony. "Surely you could spare a kiss, Elizabeth?"
She swallowed hard. "I am but a barmaid, sir. Even so, such things..." She briskly shook her head; raven hair tumbled from its confines, danced across her shoulders. "I do not entertain the guests in such a fashion."
"Truly? There is profit to be made in such pursuits."
"My mother would lash me to within inches of my life. Please, kind sir, release me so that I may show you the way. At the inn, you will find handsome women more than willing to attend to the needs of a gentleman of your beauty and civility."
"It is not the others, I desire." His voice grew deep in anticipation of the taste of sweat drenched flesh.
"You would dishonor me?" Fear sparked in her emerald eyes. "Please..."
"Enough banter," a third voice shouted from the darkness. "Take her or I shall."
"She is mine by rights, Galen," Nicholas snapped. His hand rested against the base of her throat and his eyes locked on the supple slope joining the slender shoulder to the swanlike neck. "Such exquisite elixir pulses through your veins. Pure, untouched ambrosia. When you claim virtue, you speak the truth. Surely you could spare but a taste of your nectar."
Arousal spawned the erection of his canines that glimmered in the moonlight. He employed no method of delusion, but relished the terror his visage evoked. The woman screamed in horror, but her cries would go unheeded in the deserted London back way.
"Get on with it." Dark and regal, Montague stalked from the shadows, his hand on the hilt of his sword. Intense eyes coveted the woman from his finely chiseled face.
"This virgin flesh is mine to savor." Nicholas growled deep in his throat and seized the woman in his unearthly grasp. "Struggle as you will; it shall sweeten the conquest."
"I beg you..."
His eyes flashed amber in the dim and he sank his fangs into her neck. Lust shuddered through his body, tearing a moan from his throat. A taste of pure honey lingered on his tongue as he pulled away.
The woman saw the trickle of crimson on the sensuous lips and she lost all sense of reason. "What manner of demon are you?" she cried, blessing her chest with the sign of the cross.
Nicholas flinched and bared his fangs. "Your worst nightmare incarnate. You would have fared far better to sacrifice your virtue to those most willing patrons at the inn. I have no doubt their embraces, though hardly fulfilling, would be much more conducive to your continued well-being. Mine, on the other hand..." Again, he sought the tender flesh, biting, teasing, blood crying from the open wound.
The woman screamed in pain.
Intoxicating, it burned through Nicholas' veins.
"Please. I must go home, my mother will worry for my safety." The woman began to babble as if her words could hold sway over the three vampires who surrounded her trembling form. She burst into tears.
"As any mother would do well to do." Nicholas touched the scarlet, brought it to his lips, sighed with ecstasy. Galen was right. Such foreplay was beyond belief. He grabbed the woman's bodice and ripped, setting her breasts free; they tumbled into his hands. He dipped his head, bit deeply.
Her screams pierced the darkness.
How easy it would be to subdue her, make her swoon with ecstasy in his embrace...
How boring.
Passion seized him as the blood kiss took him, searing his soul as he fed. He broke the embrace, studied her luscious breasts stained crimson in the filtered moonlight -- so divine. Her ebony tresses, loosened, caressed the porcelain slope of her shoulders. The anticipation of the two vampires lingering in the shadows filled the air, enticing his senses. He turned to them. "Montague, nurse this exquisite creation."
No longer able to contain himself, Montague collapsed to his knees and buried his face in the scarlet trickle. He lapped at the trail as Nicholas watched, enthralled. "Galen." He urged his third companion to join the orgy. "*Boire.*"
Willowy and graceful, as pale as Montague was dark, Galen slipped from the darkness, and the three fell upon the woman, teeth piercing pliant flesh. Guttural sounds of passion emanated from their throats, almost drowning the woman's pleas.
The fire consumed Nicholas, burned through his veins, through the erogenous canines as he penetrated the woman again and again, drawing only a taste with each exquisite sip. Maddened with lust, he rolled in the flood, predator instinct to claim the kill. He relished the elixir as it painted his fair cheeks and corn silk hair.
At the sight, Galen cried out in ecstasy, lapped the blood from Nicholas' face, laughed, and sank his fangs into his shoulder. Nicholas should have been appalled, instead he returned the bite with a nip of his own, inviting the play, intoxicated by the flow of things he'd never dared.
The three dissolved into laughter, even as the woman waned, her essence lacing their lips, tingling their senses.
She murmured something, and Nicholas leaned near to catch the sound of a name. "Edric."
"Here." He pressed his lips against her ear. "I'm here."
Her eyelids fluttered, opened, stared blindly into the darkness. "My beloved."
"Here," he taunted softly. "My sweet Libby."
The others chuckled.
A smile whispered over her lips as her eyes closed a final time.
Nicholas moaned, clutched her to his chest, straining to claim the final vestige of her existence. The beast roared and his loins burned as they hadn't in centuries as he pressed himself against the length of her body, stroking in rhythm to his dark passion as he fed. Too soon the bloom would fade from the rose.
The sound of their feasting echoed through the alleyway, dissolved into the night, carrying her soul into eternal rest.
~*~*~*~*~*
Shadows embraced the silent form that stood immobile in the darkness. A sentinel.
As passion waned, Nicholas looked up from the jumble of arms and legs entangling him. His cheeks flushed warm with color when he sensed the presence of a fourth vampire.
LaCroix drifted forward, his expression unreadable.
At the sight of the ancient one, the other vampires scrabbled to their feet and hastened to depart.
"Later, mon ami."
In a whisper, both were gone.
Nicholas greeted the interloper with a lustful grin.
LaCroix beheld the sight; his Nicholas, the golden mane tousled into disarray, splashed crimson in the moonlight, angelic cheeks kissed a ruddy hue. Ancient restraint held at bay the primal instinct to steal the lingering trace of scarlet from the generous mouth with his own. Blood-scent beckoned, leaving LaCroix to question which held the greater allure, the blood, or this -- his exquisite creation?
The master's face held no expression, betrayed nothing of the temptation, while the younger vampire's face beamed self-satisfaction.
LaCroix's eyes traveled past his child to rest on the crumpled remains of the broken rose; her swanlike neck twisted in eternal repose. Despite the tattered dress that lay around her, shadows painted the carnage of her tender form into an image of false serenity.
"Your solitary pursuits bring you pleasure, *vrai?*" He broke the silence.
"*Vraiment!*" Nicholas grinned. "I've never felt such rapture. My achievements should please you."
The ice-blue eyes grew cold. "You would claim that I have taught you, thus?"
"Aren't you pleased?" He frowned in confusion.
"That you are running amuck with hooligans, gang raping maidens in back alleys. This should please me?"
LaCroix's words coldly doused the passion and anger flashed in the young vampire's eyes. "Must you disapprove of everything that I do? You would claim self-righteousness? That you have never done such things?"
LaCroix stood immobile, silently absorbing the tirade.
"You, who taught me the thrill of the hunt, the ecstasy of conquest, would dare to judge me?"
"What I dare is what I dare. It is not for you to question," he replied softly. "Indeed, I taught you the thrill of the hunt. We hunt, we kill, to survive."
"And females swoon in your embrace that we may survive." Nicholas countered sarcastically.
"To claim a maiden is quite another matter. In such pursuits we give as well as take, Nicholas. The ecstasy we infuse is unlike any other. Such passion can hardly be compared to the torture inflicted upon this broken creature."
"And *you've* never tortured!" The words wrenched from his throat in outrage. "My experience alone belies such farce."
LaCroix absorbed the onslaught without expression. "Discipline is a necessary evil, my wayward one, and can hardly be considered torture."
"Discipline." A snarl twisted his lips.
"I have not taught you, thus," LaCroix repeated softly. "You would do well to consider the consequences of those with which you choose to associate."
"So that's what this is about, your disapproval of my companions. Isn't one pack as good as another?"
"One's family is not a -pack'."
Nicholas snorted in anger. "Damn your feigned piety, LaCroix. I'll do as I please with whomever I please, and you can go to hell."
"Mark my words, Nicholas, such blatant atrocities shall, in time, be their undoing, and yours, as well, if you choose to retain their -friendship.'"
"I don't need your advice, and I don't need you!"
He turned and vanished into the shadows that rose to claim him, fleeing the music of LaCroix's laughter that taunted in his wake.
~*~*~*~*~*
"-Twas a demon, it was. I know they blame wild dogs. Preposterous! Wild dogs roaming the streets of London? -Twas a demon, I tell you." The woman clutched her breast in anguish. "That's why I come to you."
Dark eyes stared up at the woman from an ancient face. A roadwork of lines crisscrossed the mahogany skin into the caricature of a hag. "So finally you need ole Corona, after all these years."
"The past is not important."
"To you, maybe." The dark face hardened. "You had ole Corona removed from the house, and ole Corona never forgets."
"If it's vengeance you desire. None of your demons from hell could have delivered worse." The woman's face held a haunted look. "I wouldn't come to you of my own accord. -Tis for my Libby that I come."
The wrinkles slightly softened around the dark eyes, and Corona sighed. "Sweet Libby. A summer bloom in the sun, she was."
"Can you help me?" The woman implored, anguish twisted her face.
Darkness descended over the old woman's features. "Aye," she rasped. "For sweet Libby."
~*~*~*~*~*
Someone was weeping.
The sound reached Nicholas' sensitive ears mere seconds before those of his two companions. The three stopped, drifted into the shadows of the alleyway, became one with the dark.
"Fair game," Montague hissed as he used his senses to discern the source. "That way!"
The three dashed into a darkened alley in pursuit of the sound.
An old woman lay crumpled in a heap on the doorstep of a building barred against her. A vagrant, no doubt. Her clothing hung in tatters, her hair matted into clumps of dirt. Her frail shoulders shook beneath the exertion of her silent tears.
Silent to all but the three creatures watching from the shadows.
A grin brightened Galen's face and he poked an elbow into Nicholas' ribs. "Appear to her," he whispered beneath the level of human hearing. "Offer her shelter as a good gentleman would."
Nicholas hesitated. Something in the sound of the woman's private anguish disturbed him on a level he didn't understand. "We should leave this place."
"Nonsense," Montague interjected. "Do it."
Without further protest, Nicholas moved stealthy from the shadows toward the bedraggled creature. "Good woman." He broke the silence, and she looked up, startled. "What ails you?"
Fear contorted her features and she cringed from him.
"I mean you no harm." He allowed the light to catch his face, knowing the radiance of his appearance would soothe the fears of even the most bereaved of females. "Permit me to assist you."
Her eyes grew round as she beheld him, a vision forged in alabaster against the backdrop of darkness. "I know what you are."
Nicholas stopped cold.
The vampires in the shadows shifted with unease.
"An angel! Come to deliver me," the woman croaked before a fit of coughing seized her.
Nicholas was struck speechless. His angelic qualities won him countless conquests in the past, but never had he been mistaken for such a heavenly entity. A sense of unease passed over him, and he moved to withdraw when Galen spoke from the darkness.
"Yes! Angels who've come to deliver you into the hands of peace."
His words had a mesmerizing effect on the woman. A smile softened her lips and she repeated, "Peace."
Nicholas took a step back as his companions moved forward.
"God's sweet messengers," Galen whispered in hypnotic tones as he reached out for the woman.
"Leave her to her god," Nicholas rasped beneath his breath.
"The god you once embraced," Montague taunted, joining them. "I see how well he has sustained you in his infinite mercy."
Nicholas hissed and would have bared his fangs had it not been for the woman.
"God has sent you to me," she interrupted.
"Truly." Montague smiled a radiant smile and thrust forward a reluctant Nicholas. "Behold, the Archangel of the Annunciation, Gabriel."
The woman lifted up her hands as if seeking redemption. "Take me."
Nicholas stood frozen to the spot.
"*Take her.*"
Chin held high, the parchment flesh of her throat pulled taunt, the old woman's eyes, clouded with years of pain, beseeched him for release.
The sight of her vulnerability drew him, and he found himself moving toward her, sinking to his knees, taking her fragile arms into his hands. "It is eternal peace you seek?"
"Please." She closed her eyes in serene acceptance.
He swallowed hard...
"*Take her.*"
...And sank his teeth into the paper-thin flesh of her throat. Her life's blood filled his mouth, burned through his veins. His mind swam with that familiar ecstasy unlike any other. Then...
Something seized his senses, pulled him down in a way he'd never experienced. His head began to whirl and the passion contorted, screamed into a blinding pain that fought to drag him deeper into the darkness.
He staggered free from the woman and shoved her away, gasped for breath, for reason. Reality blurred and he stumbled to his feet.
His companions rushed to his side in confusion.
"Something's...wrong."
Galen's pale face blurred before his eyes.
The ground slipped away and he tumbled to the cobblestones. He saw, through a haze, the old woman glaring from the shadows.
"God has indeed sent you to me," she hissed. "Delivered you unto my vengeance -- demon!"
He fought for reason as the woman rose to her feet, something gripped in her hand, and aimed it at his chest.
"Galen!" He found his voice and shouted the name, but no reply reached his befuddled mind. Poison. Somehow this infernal creature had managed to poison him without harming herself. "Montague!"
She towered above him, arms held aloft, something aimed at his chest. "This is for my fair Libby!"
His thoughts began to fade as darkness fought to claim him...
"*Woman, fer the love o' God, what manner o' madness possesses ye*?"
A deep voice cut the quagmire of his mind.
"LaCroix?"
He struggled to open his eyes, failed, surrendered to fate's embrace...
~*~*~*~*~*
"Here. Ye be needin' this."
Strong, callused hands held his shoulders, helped him to sit up, placed a cup to his lips.
Nicholas sputtered and shook his head, rejecting the offer. Where was he?
His vision blurred as the room swam into focus around him. The bed he lay on was meager but cozy; homespun quits cocooned him beneath their warmth.
"When a man believes he's seen it all, -long comes such a sight as never I thought to behold."
Nicholas looked up.
The giant of a man who'd spoken the words possessed a rustic attraction in spite of his size. His appearance befitted the modest warmth of their surroundings. Long auburn hair flowed past broad shoulders, clear blue eyes studied Nicholas with concern.
"What happened?" His voice sounded distant to his ears.
"I think ye'd best not be knowin' what the lady intended." The man shook his head in disbelief. "Daft, she was; but you're safe now."
"I have to go." He struggled to rise; nausea swam through him and he lay back, exhausted. In all his years of immortality, such vulnerability had never claimed him. The experience was unnerving. His eyes passed warily over his surroundings. A mortal's dwelling. He needed to flee, to seek the darkness.
"Ye'd best relax, friend. You're welcome to remain. -Tis almost nightfall, and ye won't be wantin' to wander the streets in yer condition."
Almost nightfall? How long had he lain unconscious? Defenseless. His fate had rested in the hands of this mortal throughout an entire day. He shuddered at the thought. "You...saved my life?"
"-Twas nothing; a neighborly act. Though few men seem neighborly in this infernal city." The man moved near and sat on the edge of the bed. "I'll nary understand how King James could come to a land like this and call it his. I miss the hills o' home."
"Home?" A wave of dizziness claimed him and he closed his eyes.
"Aye. I'm not from these parts, but I lived here several months before goin' off to sea. Been gone six long months, I have. Was just returnin' from the docks when I found ye in the alleyway."
He could sense the roughness of a nightshirt against his body and he reopened his eyes. "My things..."
"They be safe." The man gestured to the clothing piled neatly on a chair. "I removed them."
This mortal had actually touched his body as he lay oblivious. He trembled with unease.
The man mistook Nicholas' expression and responded in defense, "I'll no lay claim to yer virtue, man; nor pilferage yer belongin's. I be a man o' honor, who lays only wi' women."
"No...I meant no offense. It's just that..." How could he possibly explain the way he felt? Centuries of shadows rose to shroud his emotions. To this mortal's gaze, how must he have appeared? The pale ethereal limbs, smooth alabaster skin. He never allowed himself to be espied by humans *sans vêtements,* even by the mortal lovers he'd claimed. "I know you're a man of honor," he said, strength returning to his voice. "Only a man of infinite generosity would have preserved me, thus. Forgive my disorientation."
"-Tis understandable." The man regained his composure. "Ye be welcome to rest here. My home is yer's; such as it is. I'll get ye a bit o' bread to break yer fast." He started to rise, but Nicholas grabbed his arm, preventing him.
"No. Thank you, but I couldn't...really. The nausea..." He used it as an excuse, but it was not entirely untrue.
"Poisoned ye good, did she? After yer gold, no doubt. This place is a cauldron o' evil. If I hadna come along when I did..." He allowed his words to trail as he settled back onto the bed. His serene blue eyes slowly passed over Nicholas. "The sooner I be gone from this land, the better. Home beckons."
The lyrical rhythm of the man's rounded syllables produced a soothing effect that bewildered Nicholas. He hadn't felt comfortable in the presence of a mortal in...
The years were too numerous to count.
"You're going home soon?" He surprised himself by slipping into conversation with the man. For some reason, he found himself actually interested in this mortal's life.
"Aye, soon." He crossed his callused hands in his lap and settled back, a smile on his lips. "My bride and I. We'll make our home there; far from the grime and violence o' this city. My family hasna met her, but they'll adore her, as do I."
"Your wife?" Nicholas warmed to the topic, and for an indulgent moment he allowed himself to be transported by the other's dreams into a sense of normalcy. His eyes traveled past the broad shoulders to fall upon a portrait adorning the wall; a striking beauty with fiery hair gazed down upon the room through clear blue eyes.
"Nary a fairer lass did ye ever see." The man's eyes did not follow Nicholas' gaze, but softened with adoration. "She's why I went to sea; to make my fortune, to bring back something o' substance." A smile brightened his face. "And a trinket or two, ye understand."
Nicholas nodded. Even in the darkness of his reality he could comprehend such things. In over three centuries, how many baubles had he pilfered from the throats of ladies fair to adorn the neck of his Janette? Too many to remember. Yet somehow the purity of this man's intentions only proved to illuminate the darkness of Nicholas' own.
"Ladies must have such things," the man continued. "It befits the gentility o' their gender. When I left, I had only my love to offer. Gentle lass that she is, she claimed it was sufficient. But now..." A smile washed over his face. "-Twill be a fine home I'll be given' her."
"I've no doubt," he whispered, in awe of the sentiments such words evoked. Marriage. Family. Home. Once such things appeared mundane and commonplace. No more. He studied the man who'd saved his life when his "friends" had scattered like the wind, and found himself wondering; in a different reality, could they have become friends?
His thoughts transcended the moment, carried by a flight of whimsy...
Laughter before a roaring hearth. Kegs of ale. Friends gathered for an evening of camaraderie. Wives and children settling into laps, balanced onto knees...
"Ye be welcome to attend the weddin'."
"Wedding?" The words pulled him from his fantasy.
"I didna kew many people in this place." The large man shrugged. "Shipmates and such. And most o' them be heedin' out on the -morrow."
"She's your fiancée, then?"
"Aye. But I havena seen her in all these long months. Do you kew what it is to be alone, truly alone, as I was when I came here? Bereft o' human touch?"
He squeezed his eyes shut. *Bereft of human touch.* How well he knew such things.
"I was like you when she found me, set upon by robbers in the alleyway. A vision o' light against the darkness o' my night, my reason for livin', she's become." He sighed deeply. "Be ye wed, lad?"
He thought of his Janette and reluctantly shook his head. He was naïve enough to actually broach the subject once, only to be laughed into humiliation by the raven-haired beauty. Creatures such as they had no need for such *absurdité.*
"Pity. -Tis more befittin' a man to till his own garden and plant what he may, than to scatter his seed to be torn asunder by the wind."
He envied the uncomplicated philosophy of this good man's life. "You'd invite a total stranger to such an intimate affair?" His senses heightened at the thought. Dare he even consider such a thing?
"I'll invite who I will and none dare challenge it." He slapped Nicholas on the shoulder. "From the look of yer possessions, ye be a gentleman o' fine standing. That I should have such an acquaintance--" He laughed full-heatedly, "--Will astound her family."
Gentleman? Appearances could be so deceiving.
Friends. Family. The warmth of an intimate gathering to honor the joining of two earthly souls. He smiled at the thought, but shook his head as the sound of distant laughter echoed though his mind. *How little you know the beast you have allowed into the tranquility of your haven.* "I'm sorry, but I can't."
"As ye will. The offer stands."
"I must be going." With dusk descending, the rejuvenation of his limbs invigorated his senses and he rose to gather his belongings. "I appreciate all you've done."
The large man nodded. "-Twas but a neighborly act."
"Truly, it was much more than that..." He trailed to silence as he studied the man, the comfort of his meager dwelling, the light of warmth reflected in his eyes. Brief as it had been, this encounter made him feel almost...human. He allowed the sensation to wash over him. "Thank you again...friend." He offered his hand.
The man took it into his callused palm. "Come again, if ye will."
He hesitated as the irony of the moment struck him. LaCroix only *thought* he disapproved of Nicholas' friends. He found himself smiling. "Perhaps I shall at that."
"Soon, then, for an evening o' ale? Before we head for the Highlands."
"You're a lucky man." Nicholas' eyes returned to the portrait of the red-haired lady whose presence graced the simple room. "She's lovely."
"Aye, she was. -Tis my mother. But such fiery beauty pales--" The man's expression brightened with warmth, "--before the radiance o' my sweet Libby."
the end