Nyx sat at her vanity in her room, applying lotion to her legs. It wasn’t that she necessarily needed it, but there was something soothing about the cool feeling of it on her equally cool skin. Her hands moved up her leg to a part that was dangerously close to the black lace robe she wore, her hands moving in a sensual dance. Picking up the bottle, she squirted more onto her hands, before slipping her hand into the robe and rubbing it onto her chest.

It was about a week after Beltane, and there were still painfully stiff parts of her that reminded her of the fun she’d had that night. She didn’t mind stiff joint at all. In fact she quite enjoyed it. Her eyes closed as she focused solely on that. Her mind was remembering the naked bodies of the other coven leaders, the Ishak leader in particular. A slow grin spread on her face as her hand started to move down, lower, lower…

A knock at her door made her jump and snap out of her reverie. She glared at the door, slamming the lotion bottle on the vanity before rubbing it on her shoulders. “Come in!” Her voice was cold and angry, the threat quite evident. Her startling green eyes stayed focused on the door, and one carefully plucked eyebrow rose as one of her coven members walked in. He looked nervous, and that caused Nyx to frown. If he could have sweat, he would have been, and she unfurled her legs and stood up, walking towards him. “What is it?”

“You have a visitor,” he said, and the words seemed strained and forced out. There was something in his dark eyes. It wasn’t fear… but it was something similar. Unease, maybe? Whatever it was, she caught his lips move in what seemed to say, “I apologize”. Her frown intensified, wondering whom it could possibly be. Marcus maybe? No, why would Marcus be visiting her here? Then her Tarepha moved aside, and all was answered.

Had her heart still been beating, it would have stopped. Had her skin not been a preternatural white, one would have noticed an obvious pallor setting in. Her eyes widened and seemed almost to bug out. A small, startled gasp arose from her throat before she instinctively moved backwards, her feet fumbling over themselves. Trembling hands pulled her robe tighter around her, and her look was that of a deer that had just been spotted by a predator.

“Seneca…” The words tumbled out of her mouth before she could restrain them. Almost immediately, two fingers flew to her lips, as if to hold in whatever other words might come after.

The man that walked into her room was tall, standing at about six foot or more. A dark, weather stained cloak hung over his shoulders, the hood up and creating eerie shadows on his face. There was a long thin scar over on cheek, stretching up from under his chin to behind the blindfold that covered his eyes. Salt and pepper hair fell around his face, and a cruel smile stretched across his face.

“My dear Anwen. I’d tell you how lovely you still look, but unfortunately, you’ve deprived me of that.” His tone started out friendly, like an old friend come to visit, but quickly faded into cold rage. He took a step into the room, giving a dismissive gesture to the other vampire. “Leave us.” The vampire looked to Nyx, who gave him a sharp shake of her head, regaining for a moment her commanding presence. The vampire moved to do something, but a large hand picked up the front of his shirt and threw him outside. “Do not bother us. We have catching up to do,” said the vampire Seneca, closing the door. He turned back to Nyx, though there was really no need. “And Anwen, what have I told you about my name? You are to call me Master, and nothing else.”

“You’re no longer my master, Seneca!” she spat, her voice angry, though there was a tremble that had rarely been there before. She moved back, looking over her shoulder to see that she wouldn’t bump into anything. When she turned back, he was right in front of her, that same cruel smile on his face. “I’m the leader of a coven now. You have no power over me.” Her words were powerful, defiant, and yet full of something that no one in Demaitre had ever heard there before.

Fear.

One hand came around her neck, and though she needed not to breathe, the grip was so tight that she could almost feel her bones beginning to crack. Lifting her up so that only her toes were dragging across her hard wood floor, Seneca held her face close to his. “You’re wrong. You are mine. You will always be mine, and you will never be able to fully escape me.” His grip tightened and there was an audible crack from Nyx’s neck, though she did little than let out a small gasp.

With a sudden burst of rage, she plunged her finger into the spot where the eyes of Seneca should have been. He dropped her more in surprise, but she took it to her advantage and started towards the door. The man however had regained his composure and grabbed her by the arm, twisting it until there was another crack. This time Nyx did cry out, but it was not from pain. She tumbled to her knees, and glared up at the man with the utmost hate.

The blindfold had fallen off his face, revealing two empty eye sockets staring back at her. “You know, Anwen, I’m surprised at the coven you lead. You were so sweet and innocent when I found you in my garden.” He ran a finger down her cheek, and Nyx tried to bite it. The result was a backhand across the face, resulting in a broken nose and a small cut on her cheek. Still, she stared up at him defiantly, her fear there, but trying desperately to be masked. “I’m also surprised at what I hear about you. New partners every night, eh? I always knew you were a slut.” He pulled her into a rough kiss, and she bit his lip, his blood mingling with hers on her face, before she spit it back at him.

Her other hand came to claw at his face, but he caught that one too and threw her against the wall over her bed. Eyes clenching shut in pain, she slumped onto the bed, trying to get off the other side despite the obvious broken bones in her body. She would not let him have her, not again. Her body was no longer his. Her feet touched the cool floor before she was yanked back and pinned to the bed. Screaming out in fury, hate and fear, Nyx struggled against him, but he merely held both her wrists with one hand before going to undo his belt. Her legs flailed helplessly under his heavy body.

He was hard when he had pulled his pants down enough. With his other hand, he ripped off her robe, leaving her naked under him. One hand ran its way over her breasts, before running over her genitals. If he had had eyes, the look of utmost lust would have been in them. “I missed you, you fucking whore.” His mouth decended on her breasts, his fangs biting into it, causing Nyx to scream out in rage again and continue to fight.

There was no fucking way she was going to let this happen! Even as she thought this, tears came to her eyes, but they were angry tears.

His head snapping up, he frowned at her. “Little bitch. I thought you would have learned better manners by now.” Reaching over, he broke off part of the wooden frame of her bed, the end a perfect point, and jammed it into her heart. A pained gasped escaped her, as her eyes widened. Blood poured over her body, which Seneca eagerly lapped up. Nyx couldn’t even fight him anymore. All she could do was watch as he prepared to enter her, paralysed.

When he did, it was painful. Normally she liked pain, but this pain was all too familiar. Her eyes glassed over as she remembered a similar scene, only the smell of yeast was in the air from the bakery that had been next door. She squeezed her eyes shut, tears escaping the sides. She knew what would come next. It always came next.

“I love you, you fucking bitch,” he groaned as he shoved once again into her. His mouth came down next to her ear. “Say you love me.”

Back then she would have complied, but not now. She would not be the weak Anwen anymore. She was Nyx of the Tarepha God damn it! Mustering all her strength, she glared defiantly back up at him. “No.” Her voice was only a whisper, and the words were spoken under strain. There was a sound of pure anger from him, and he hit her again, her head snapping to the side. As the darkness encompassed her, she knew that her neck was broken…

*********

The first thing she felt was a great deal of pain in her head. Opening her eyes, Nyx forced her head to look up. What she saw was her room, empty. She tried to get up to murder the bastard, but heard a jangle. Looking up, she saw that she had been chained to her own wall with her own shackles. A harsh sob escaped her. She yanked on them again, bruises forming on her wrists. The stake had been removed, and that meant she could move, but her strength had been severely depleted. There was still a wound where it had been…

Standing up on shaky legs, she decided that she was not going to stay here and endure this. Not again. There was a table next to her, and she knew there was a key on it. The shackles dug into her skin as she reached with one arm, struggling to grasp the small silver key. Nearly weeping with joy when she felt the cool metal, she pulled it forward and undid her chains, not massaging her arms. It hurt too badly.

Flinging her closet door open, Nyx grabbed a coat that was long. It had several rips in it, and was soiled with blood. Looking at her clothes, she realized that they all were bloody and torn. Judging by the smell of it, she’d been out at least a day, if not more. Slipping on a pair of shoes, she opened her door quietly and stole into the hallway. There was a window in the back, and it took several attempts to pry it open when it should normally have only taken one. Looking down, she knew it was only a storey, so she put one foot on the windowsill and jumped.

She felt her leg break upon impact, again, something that should not have happened. She had to bite her bottom lip until it bled to stop from screaming. The heel on that shoe had broken, and angrily, she whispered, “Fuck! Don’t I have any fucking shoes that don’t have heels?” But it didn’t’ really matter to her. Even with her broken leg, she began to run, far and fast. Not as fast as usual… Mortals could still see her slightly, but she didn’t care. Fuck the mortals. Fuck the Amman and their fucking rules. She’d deal with them later.

Finally coming to a street that looked vaguely familiar, though she couldn’t tell why, she stumbled into an alley, her leg finally giving way. Nyx fell to the ground with a thump, her head hitting the hard cement, causing her to pass out, unaware of the blood gathering around her chilling body.

Wearily, two very pale, very bright eyes were revealed to total darkness. The owner of the diamond like orbs sighed, and sat up in his bed, ash blonde locks plaited into a thick braid down his back. Anton Vladimir – vampire, leader, and disgruntled lover, had been having a very good dream. But as the sun set, and evening awoke his senses, it was all washed away. In his fantasy, he had been in the very place he truly was – his bed. But within the realm of dreams, he hadn’t been alone…and he hadn’t felt so empty. In his mind’s illusion, he had been with Nyx, the Tarepha leader. And yet, she was so much more.

Climbing out of bed and stretching as if flexing wings, Anton called his servants. Before he had met Nyx, he had desired his women – almost every night. But now they were genderless in his eyes, dull, useless. The new blonde arrived first, stack of folded linens in her arms. She was smaller than Daisy, he predecessor, but also better endowed. Supple chest notwithstanding, Anton still hardly noticed her. She merrily set about changing his sheets, and straightening the curtains around his bed. In the mean time, he dressed himself.

Though he would usually have chosen something a little less dressy to simply catch some teeny bopper, he planned something else, post-hunt. He had resolved to go and see Nyx, and tell her how he felt about her. Even if he would either be ridiculed or insulted – or both – he was certain that it would be worth it. Donning simple black dress pants and a loose, but cuffed white shirt, Anton set off down the stairs. Passing the nule post, he slung a thick black cloak over his shoulder. It was an object of pure flourish, and most definitely unneeded. Anton adored those kinds of things.

So his hunt was uneventful. Little girl who thought she was a witch wanted a vampire boyfriend. Easy kill. So it was with a new spring in his step that Anton giddily headed for Nyx’s upstairs abode. Passing down the sidewalks, the air had begun to chill, and he breathed in for the novelty of it. But rather than just icy air – he caught a most startling scent. Blood. Normal. Pain. Good. Nyx. Very, very bad. If he had possessed a pulse to quicken, Anton’s would have. Feet barely touching the ground, he followed the metallic scent of Nyx all the way to her location. There, his heart fell.

For a moment, he could not bear to look. The sight of his, even if unrequited, love laying blood-spattered on the cold ground made him wince. But he regained his senses quickly, and knelt beside her. He could sense her energy, however faint, and she was still alive. But she needed blood, and time to heal. And that he could provide. Sliding his arms beneath her as gently as possible, Anton lifted the redheaded beauty from the ground. Her cool body was limp in his arms, without even a stirring of the Nyx he knew. With a forlorn sigh, Anton softly kissed her forehead, brushing a few strands of blood crusted hair out of her face. As an afterthought, he wrapped his cape around her – like a swathe for the dead. He didn’t like the stares she was getting uncovered.

The usual walk home was more of a run – and even more of a sprint. Arriving back at his mansion, Anton shifted Nyx’s lithe body to one side to allow him a free hand to unlock and open the door. Once inside, he called out harshly for his servants. The new girl, Dandelion, arrived on the scene first, followed in short order by Petunia, Violet, and Rose. Ordering the redhead, blonde, and ebon-haired girls to prepare a bath, he was left with only Petunia. Her rich dark skin shimmered in the faint candle light, and her night-black hair was woven into so many braids. She smiled, and waited for Anton’s command. She didn’t have to wait long.

“Petunia…I need you to find something for her to sleep in. And…bandages.”

“I could make her something right quick…”

“Then do. Comfortable. Light.”

And with that, Anton left her presence, hearing only the sound of her narrow feet on the stairs as he departed down the hall. In little time he was within his bath chambers, still bearing Nyx carefully in his arms.

The chamber was extravagant to say the least – after all, it was an indoor Roman bath. Marble arches divided the cooler and warmer sections, and mosaics lined the bottom of the pools. The stone it was all comprised of, right up to the walls, was a beautiful polished marble of caramel amber with black and silver veins. Though steamy, Anton found the atmosphere truly relaxing. With his attendants already naked and in the warm water, ready to bathe him, Anton tenderly laid Nyx down on a massage table situated by the water’s edge. After he was undressed, he disrobed her as well, and took her into the water.

Although the three women approached to help him, Anton bade them off. He wanted to clean her himself – if only as a symbol of loyalty. Yes, she would probably kill him upon waking. But that didn’t matter at the moment. The Ishak leader focused instead on running a soaked cloth over the unconscious girl’s body, ridding her of the dried blood on her flesh until only bruises were left. Even so, she didn’t look herself. Anton took special care to cleanse her face and her hair, two things he knew her to take pride in. Then, he called Dandelion to his side. The blonde happily swam to meet him, leaving her former position where she had been gossiping with the other two women. As she left, they grew silent. They knew what was to come.

Anton promptly drained her. Her young blood filled his mouth – and he resisted the urge to swallow. Instead, he pressed his lips to Nyx’s, allowing the blood to fall down her throat via gravity. And thus, the mythical vampire’s kiss was shared between them. A few mouthfuls later, the young woman grew cold, and Anton rose out of the water, the cherry-haired girl still held tight to his chest. Petunia was waiting.

Once again, the Tarepha leader was laid upon the massage table. With tentative, practiced fingers, the cocoa-skinned woman wrapped all of the vampire’s wounds. Anton stood by, arms crossed, and supervised. Once he was satisfied that his love had been properly bandaged, he scooped her up in his arms again, with the utmost care. Petunia then presented what she had found for Nyx to wear: a robe. But not plain, as Anton was involved. The garment was long and pure snowy white, with lace borders and small silken ties in the front, like a corset’s lace up bodice. The neck and sleeves were adorned with white rabbit’s fur, and the whole of the piece was elaborately embroidered with small flowers. Anton smiled – it was something Petunia had made by hand – long ago, for Daisy. Never worn once.

Bare skin beneath, the robe was softly draped around the fallen leader. Her hair was woven up into two braids, with white silk ribbons tied in. Anton couldn’t help but imagine a Russian princess from a time long, long before.

So, dressed and wrapped, Nyx was carried upstairs, by Anton. He allowed no servant to come into the room as he laid her in his bed, inset into the marble floor. She was tucked in among the silk and gossamer sheets, and Anton drew the curtains around the bed tight. Sitting at her side, he could only wait.

The breeze in the city was cool this evening, and it tossed Anwen’s hair about. With an annoyed look, she shoved it behind her ear, even as the first of the tears fell from her eyes. Only the slight shake of her shoulders would demonstrate the fact that she was crying. She’d learned long ago not to cry loudly in his presence. He found it annoying, but quiet tears excited him. A hand wrapped around her chest, grabbing her breast painfully. She clenched her eyes shut painfully as his mouth came to her ear.

“Tell me you love me.”

“I love you master.”

Nyx’s head twitched violently as this memory played within her mind. She frowned, and an angry sob escaped her. Even asleep the tears began to flow from her eyes, staining her white cheeks. So innocent she looked, and yet corrupted as well, like a china doll with a cracked face. Her hands clenched the blankets around her so hard that her nails began to dig into her palms.

The first stirrings of mental movement took place. Was she dead? No, no she wasn’t. She could still feel the pain all over her body, in her lower regions in particular, and so that ruled out nightmare as well. Her second observation was that she was on something soft. A jolt of fear ran through her. Had Seneca taken her back to her room? Had he found her? Was he just pampering her before hurting her again? A visible shudder ran through her, and she almost didn’t want to open her eyes to find out. Then, she smelt a familiar smell, and it wasn’t Seneca. Confusion. Why would she smell Anton?

Her eyes cracked open, and this unleashed a new flow of tears. For a moment, all she saw was the dark ceiling above her. She blinked a few moments, trying to summon the strength to move her head. Surprisingly, she was not as weak as she had been, and this was accompanied by the aftertaste of blood in her mouth. Had she fed? No. Even the thought was absurd. She’d been passed out in an alley for fuck’s sake. There’s no way she could have gotten up and fed without remembering it… or gotten up at all. Seneca knew just what it took to break her in the exact way it would take for her to be completely helpless.

With a small wince, she turned her head to the side, her green eyes widening. Despite the smell, Nyx had never imagined that the face of Anton of the Ishak would greet her. Through the tears, there was utter confusion. Why would she be with him? A thought that threatened her sense of pride occurred to her. Had she passed out in front of his house? Oh god, she hoped not. That would take the fucking cake, and she wouldn’t know whether to hurt him, thank him, or kill herself. At the moment, all seemed very logical responses.

Instead, she went with, “Anton? Where am I? Why are you here? What am I doing with you?” The tone in her voice was harsh, but it wasn’t just because of her emotions. Her throat was still healing. Putting her hands flat on either side of her, she tried to push herself up. On the first attempt, it didn’t work, and a look of pure helplessness crossed her face, before stubborn determination took over. On the next try, she managed to lift herself into a sitting position. She turned to face Anton again, but as she did so, she caught sight of what she was wearing.

It was a white nightgown.

Something inside Nyx snapped and her tears turned into full fledge sobs. Glaring at him, she almost screamed, “White?! You dressed me in fucking white?!” Her fingers trembled and almost immediately flew to the ornate gown she was wearing, tearing at it with a savageness that she rarely even displayed when killing. The gown was reduced to shreds, but Nyx didn’t seem to notice, and kept scratching at it with her fingernails.

Blood stained the sheets, and she threw them off, ripping off the bottom part of the gown. Shreds were around her, but they were rapidly becoming red from her self-inflicted wounds. She bit her bottom lip as she rocked back and forth, her eyes filled with some crazed look, like someone who’d been trapped in a box with no windows. Upon rocking, one of her braids fell forward.

Her rocking stopped as she stared at it, and anyone looking on would almost be able to see the wheels turning inside her head. She looked up at Anton through her lashes, looking innocent, before, scrambling off the other side of the bed. She gave out a small scream as her legs failed to support her and she fell to the ground. Still, she scrambled back up and ran to the mirror. Without even a pause of thought, she smashed it, and took the piece of glass to her hair, sawing at the bottom of the first braid. No thoughts of her hair came to her in this state of mind. It was pure hysteria and adrenaline.

Well, Anton thought to himself, he should have known better. He should have known that he wasn’t allowed to fall in love, and he wasn’t allowed to just be happy. Every time he got close to either, some mysterious, cruel force took it all away from him. And he had been an idiot to think it wouldn’t strike again. He watched his beloved Nyx sob with rage and some emotion that had never shown itself in her eyes before. He would have joined, but from simply living his death, he had no more tears left to cry. So instead he looked on, with the deepest, darkest sorrow growing in his eyes. Perhaps, he considered, perhaps this curse was the consequence of his centuries of sin. Not just his work and his vampiric nature, but his disregard of those around him. Yes, that must be it. So there, sitting in the bed with his red-headed beauty, he made a silent promise to himself.

‘I’m not who I was, all those years ago. Nor will I ever be again. If damned I am for loving her, then damned I shall be. For…eternity.’

True, she couldn’t hear him, but he could. Standing, he slowly crossed the room to where Nyx stood, sobbing, and rapidly sawing away at her gorgeous crimson locks. Softly, and with as much care as he could, Anton held her arms to her sides. He stood behind her, and bent his neck to whisper into her ear. He could feel her shaking…feel her cool form wracked with sobs. It wrenched at his insides like nothing ever had before. Ah, the pain of love.

“Nyx…please…hush…It’s alright now, Nyx. I won’t let you be harmed again. Please…Nyx…I….”

For the first time in a very long time, perhaps since he had found Dima in such an intimate tangle with his wife, Anton had no idea what to say. After all, how could one mend such a broken heart? Especially such a novice at love. Even having been married several times, and bedded even more, Anton was finding as he became more and more involved with Nyx that he knew next to nothing about love. It wasn’t just understanding, it was caring. It wasn’t just compromising, it was willing to give it all up. And for once…the Russian vampire was completely ready to do just that.

By the time that Anton got to her, the once long crimson locks had been sheared and they littered the floor around Nyx’s ankles, droplets of blood soaking parts of them. Her hands were shaking now, more so than they had when she had been in the bed. That wasn’t the only thing that had changed. Her hair now was shorter than she could ever remember it being, even in the twenties. It was shorter than her ears, and was so roughly cut; anyone looking on could tell what had happened. This, of course, didn’t matter to her at the moment. Her image had already been irreversibly ruined. What was a small haircut going to do to tip the scale?

She heard him drawing close before she felt him. When he took her wrists, she fought, images of Seneca’s hands around those same wrists. This caused her to wince in pain at the bruises that still lay around her thin wrists, giving him the advantage. He brought them down to her sides, Nyx tried to twist out of it, causing her only to cry out in pain again. That not working, she resorted to shaking, but it was obvious that he was not going to let her go.

Why? Why wouldn’t he let her go? What the fuck did he care about her? No man cared about her! She was the equivalent of a cheap whore to most of them. She had been since she’d been shipped off to Rome nearly two thousand years prior. The thought made tears come to her eyes and her sobbing continue.

Still, his words soothed her, and she didn’t know why. Besides the first time she’d met him and Beltane, she’d had little contact with him. Why would he care about her? Why not want her dead? It was only natural that with her gone, he could get a majority of her coven members while they were scattered and leaderless. It didn’t even occur to her that he might be doing this for any other reason besides that he wanted something from her, but that didn’t mean that his presence wasn’t comforting. It was, and maybe that’s why she did what she did.

Somehow, she managed to turn around, looking up at him with bleary eyes and tear stained cheeks, the hurt and – dare it be said? – innocence in her eyes surprising. For a moment, he wasn’t a rival coven leader, a sex partner, but a comfort, her only comfort. Her trembling hands grasped his shirt tightly, and they were the only things holding her up. Then she spoke, her voice almost inaudible, and containing just a spark of the young girl that had been abducted from everything she knew to be forced into a life of sexual slavery.

“Don’t leave me. He’ll find me. I took his eyes, but it wasn’t enough. I should’ve killed him, but… I didn’t know how. He thinks I’m still his… but I’m not!” She gave a childlike shake of her head and started biting her lip again. “I’m not. I should’ve taken more than his eyes, but I just wanted away. How could he find me?” Her grasp on shirt tightened, and she laid her head on his chest, tears staining his shirt. “Don’t leave me Anton.”