Open Chronicles Are You Here?

[Kerrick Vandergard]

Kerrick could smell the heat that still lingered between them even now just as well as he could the smallest drop of warm blood. Even with all that they'd done to one another, every desire that they'd indulged in, every pit of depravity and lust they'd allowed to soak their flesh the previous night, that fire in her eyes still beckoned him forth. Would it have been to forward of him? To set the meal aside and make her his once more? All of a sudden, he did hold such a desire to gaze upon the splendor of her trembling body in the sunlight that poured through their window.

The only restraint that held back the Vampire's lust for the beautiful elven woman was the notion that this bed was not the last they'd share. It was a foolish daydream, even by his standards, a creature of such vibrant life wishing to hold court with him for any more than a night. That she might become more than a bedmate, more than a kindred stranger.

A daydream... but the day had only begun. He would live in this dream for now.

"Even if you were a harlot, which is a title I'd never place upon you, you are anything but common, Maveriel." Kerrick muttered, an airy chuckle crossing his pointed teeth as he circles the bed to reach out and take her hand.

He pulled, lifting Mave from the bed and letting the sheet concealing her slide to the floor, revealing her beauty to his eyes all over again. There was no shame in his gaze, raking over the woman he'd reached rapture with again and again over the last hours.

"But if you are concerned, I have no qualms with taking you into the bed again after we've eaten and allowing you to buy me a drink on the way out. That would make us even, would it not?" Vandergard purred, pulling her by the hand into his embrace and stealing another salacious kiss from her lips.

She was intoxicating, more satisfying to his lips than even the red essence he fed on to survive. The clawed tips of his fingers dragged themselves lazily along the naked flesh of her backside, eager to elicit more from her, to stoke that fire she'd engulfed him with before the call of dawn.

In time, he pulled away, taking both of her hands and walking backward, leading her to the table as she'd so requested.

"Coffee." Kerrick answered finally, having not forgotten her question through the distraction he'd found once more in her kiss. Sliding into one of the seats, he poured them both a steaming cup, bringing the rim to his lips and washing out the taste of Mave's kiss with the bitter, dark drink. "It is one of the few things that retains its proper taste, even after you... 'turn'. It is a nostalgic drink for me."

Maveriel Valthoras

 

[Maveriel Valthoras]

Spoiler: Music OOC

Danger. Warning. Caution. It was like every fabric within Maveriel Valthoras’ body, every particle of her very essence, was beckoning her, pleading with her, to look away, to turn away, from him, but she didn’t. She wouldn’t. She couldn’t. Whether she should. She hadn’t the previous evening. Was this morning any different? Should it be?

Dangerous. He was. No doubt about it. No denying it. It was his essence. His nature. Despite his less than malicious presence, his politeness, his pleasant appearance, he was a vampire. Mave was an elf, yes, gifted by grace of race with endless days, with age for the ages, with power and strength, yet the vampire’s strength was in his death, his undeath. She was, in a way, his meal.

Oh…he made a meal out of her already…over and over again…in this very bed she was still lazily laying in… Her skin had been soaked in sweat. The sheets had been soaked, not in blood, for she had since been bled admittedly, and he did not bite her neck (well, hadn’t pierced the skin, anyway). Yet these sheets were soaked and stained in another kind of fluid that had slipped from the body.

So…what was this, then? Really? If, like a sentence stretched to become paragraphs that never end, like letters written on paper, pen on parchment, was this just a shallow moment stretched like fabric, time that was trapped in this chamber? Or were those very words the same nonsense as the thoughts in her head, the idea that the elf and the vampire could exist together beyond this room? Truly, what would time prove to be?

They were from different planes of existence. Different dimensions. They knew each other’s names, yes, but not each other. Time. Space. Both remained in this room. This was theirs. Their private chamber. Their escape. Their getaway. And, at this fragile moment that straddles the line, as the elf straddled the vampire last night, time that dances on the edge of a knife, well, whatever, Maveriel Valthoras would have it no other way. To hell with fate. This was her story. This was his. It was their island in an ocean that denied them. But Mave wouldn’t listen to its wind.

A dream maybe but let it be a sweet dream. Let me not wake. Live in the present time. Leave the past behind.

She japed of herself being a harlot. He commented that she was anything but common. But, whatever his own amusement, was she a harlot? Was it just lust? Just depravity? How could it be love so early? How about you stop thinking, silly girl, and keep dreaming?

What was equally silly was the way she gazed into his dreamy eyes like grey seas. Followed them with her own. His movements made her eyes shift until she had to incline her head as he circled the bed and ended up on the other side, hand extended. Good. It was just as she had beckoned. And the only way she would get out of this bed where last night’s unrestrained lovemaking still stained the sheets between her bare thighs.

Eyes never left his. Eyes into eyes. She didn’t blink her ambers. They didn’t become fire. But they burned. They burrowed. They buried. At first, instinct took over her as she climbed out of bed, the kind that had one hand on her sheet like a dress, clinging to a garment, to a veil of time unspent.

Then, as hand grasps hand, she let her arm of modesty vanish, and relinquished her body to her naked flesh all over again. The sheet slid lazily away, revealing everything, and even as Kerrick Vandergard’s eyes might venture, might roam over her with a passion unbridled, not once, not once did Maveriel Valthoras take her eyes off of his face, like she could pierce his very brain the way his teeth could sink into her skin.

Oh, you bastard. He was teasing her. Vandergard purred, but Valthoras was the one ready to pounce on this man. He spoke, he joked, but she was as silent as the sea in his eye. He led her by the hand as if to dance, and his arms did wrap around her, but the dance they both had in mind was one where you don’t stand, but you lie. Well, not quite. He could stand. Her legs could wrap. No. Not yet. Deny it. Savor this moment. Savor the time.

That meant more than the bed. That meant breakfast. That meant conversation. And the only wind Mave would listen to was the one that blew in from the curtain; those drapes that waved lazily like her sheet had as it had slid away.

Thoughts raced like a plague in her mind. Feelings weighed as heavy as an anvil in her heart. And damn this man for being the hammer pounding on her. Wow. That was not a thought she wanted as his lips met hers, as she was lost in his kiss, wondering all over again how a dance on the tavern floor had led her upstairs, behind closed doors, from the ocean to this island of blind, blind bliss.

Ale was intoxicating. Kerrick was…well, he was something else. He stirred her more than the fire in her ambers. Made her purr as his fingers explored her, cheekily, teasing, eager to elicit more from her only to tug her toward the table. Taunting. Terrible.

Coffee followed. Harlot? No. She didn’t feel like one in his presence even as he sat in clothes and she was still so very naked. Not just in flesh. Her person was exposed to him. If it wasn’t, well, whatever conversation followed might just show it.

No sugar. No cream. No milk. Mave took her coffee black, like the heart of a vampire. No. This man’s heart was grey, right? Like his eyes. She sipped her coffee, savored the taste: bittersweet; earthy; hints of chocolate; notes of berries; spicy. She licked her lips and, yet again, not once did her eyes break away from his own gaze.

Ah. And so it begins. The turn of conversation. The mention of the ‘turn’. Yet evidently Kerrick had some sentimentality indeed. That meant something. That was evidence. And damn some racist drunken patron who claims this man and his race are eternally damned. At this moment, this was Mave’s man, and this was their moment.

She was about to offer an appropriate response but offered a chuckle. Beside the pot of coffee was their breakfast: eggs, bacon, spinach, sausages, the works. Fruit too. Mave picked up a knife and sliced a fruit in half. The color on the outer edge of the circle matched her eyes. What was inside was red.

“Blood orange, huh? Cute.” She lifted it to her chin, brushed it over her tongue, sucked on the juice, licked her lips. Sentimental…but sensitive? She would find out with her genuine question. “Did you…do you…wonder over turning me, maybe?”

Kerrick Vandergard

 

[Kerrick Vandergard]

There was something about the flicker in Maveriel's eyes that brought goosebumps to his skin, the way she raked them over his visage like an animal barely holding back the instinct to pounce. For all of the experiences that Kerrick's long and admittedly sinful life had brought him, to see another crave him with every breath, to see the desire in ever rise and fall of her bared chest as he dared kindle her passions once more in his arms.

It was almost a game, a cat-and-mouse affair to see who would break from the pretense of pleasant morning conversation and seek to drown in the other's bliss once more. A night of passion had done little to temper their attraction for one another, and with every kiss, every touch of skin against skin, they played a dangerous game that would lead them back into the twisted sheets, would lead him back into Maveriel's warm, welcoming embrace,

Valthoras resisted; she did not yield and melt into his arms, and likewise, Kerrick did not fall victim to his own desires. Their bodies would remain, the opportunity to indulge in one another was far from past-tense. It was the possibility of something beyond that called to them now, an expedition into what could be, what connection could be formed beyond that of their bodies joining.

Was this lust? Or was it a level above? That was the meaning of this meal, this conversation, this... attempt at normalcy between two souls that so desperately wished to meet each other once more.

Kerrick's lips curled into a smirk as the beautiful elven woman sitting across from him runs the orange across her swollen lips, a chill running down his already cold spine as he recalls the sensations her mouth had blessed him with only hours prior, a reminder he was certain was intentional; some small payback for his blatant attempt to tease her on the way to sit.

“Did you…do you…wonder over turning me, maybe?”

The gentle grin on Kerrick's face melts away a bit, and his grey hues flicker up to meet Maveriel's once more. Was her question one born of fear? Was being turned into one of his kin something she held some desire for? Or was this mere curiosity? Every possibility brought some level of fear, some unknown that he wasn't sure he was prepared for.

Regardless of her intent, he knew well his answer.

"No. I don't do that anymore. And even if I did..." Kerrick raised his cup to his lips, taking a long and comforting sip of the dark and bitter drink. The warmth as it crashed down his throat and into his stomach was the comfort he needed. "I could not to you. The vibrance in your voice, the fire in your eyes, the heat of your skin... To take that away from this world would be a crime beyond measure, a sin too far for the foulest of creatures.

Maveriel was not an exception. Kerrick had renounced that way of life, preying upon and turning innocents. All of the life that he'd taken weighed upon his shoulders, upon the conscience he should not have. He would not have turned the man who cursed his existence the night before, let alone this picture of life and energy that sat in front of him, this strange woman who now made his heart feel human again with each move she made.

"Tell me truly, Maveriel. Were you convinced that I might? When I had my teeth upon your neck, right as you cried my name to the sky? Did some part of you believe that I would steal away that life inside of you then and there?"

Maveriel Valthoras

 

[Maveriel Valthoras]

If only she knew. If only she knew whether her very own question was one borne of fear, of curiosity, of morbid fascination, of a subconscious desire to become a vampire, or even of some diversion from conversation where her perverse nature wanted to just further explore Kerrick from his skin to his lips that very moment; in that bed, on this floor.

Had she shown it with her own lips? Beckoned him in yet again simply by teasing him with that blood orange? Maybe. Maybe, in the end, amidst all this nonsense, her words didn’t matter, his answer wouldn’t matter, and nothing else mattered except the knowledge that last night happened, they made it happen, this man and this woman, and it could so easily happen again…if they wanted it.

Regardless of her reason, he answered.

He doesn’t do that anymore.

Was she disappointed? Of course not. That would have been stupid. No, he reassured her.

But…aren’t you stupid, Maveriel Valthoras..?

She remembered, in that instant, even as Kerrick continued to speak and she listened to him, eyes into eyes, she remembered last night. That one line.

“In a different place, in a different time, maybe I would be the monster they think me."

Mave didn’t smile. Didn’t grin. Her gaze never wavered from his all the same. That blood orange gripped beside her chin, not even beneath it, as if to mask the lower half of her visage. Poetic? In a sense. Ironic. Given that, like this vampire, Maveriel Valthoras wore her own mask every second. In a sense. Yes, this elf wasn't so innocent either.

“You do have a way with words…vampire…”

To hear him speak of the heat in her skin, that a man like him could not allow it to turn pallid, turn frigid; to allow the fire in her eyes to die, the light to go out; the vibrance in her voice, that elven accent of Falwood, such as it was, to become twisted, perverted, bad from good.

Was this a vampire, in the end, the husk of one, some remnant of a man who once was, a vampire who one becomes, back to a man or…what the heck…that was nonsense no less…

Maybe he was simply a man.

A man who had stolen a woman.

“Was I convinced?” Mave lowered the orange, lowered her gaze, as one takes a sip of coffee to think, to delay a response but, honestly, she’s simply listening to the beating of her heart. Remembering those moments in his arms. In bed, yes, but also on the dance floor, to the music, to the bow gliding on the violin, to the drums, to the unbidden blood, to the breath on her unbitten neck in those forbidden moments.

Mave lifted her head just then, took this next moment to stare at him, no, to stare into him, embers into grey seas again, burning, drifting, floating into his soul like some lost swan on an ocean. He was bold. He was so bold. But not so evil.

“Yes.”

She finally said.

Kerrick Vandergard

 

[Kerrick Vandergard]

How many? Kerrick tried to do the math in his head, but the number came out different every time he silently added things up. Mave hadn't been the first he'd swept off their feet in a maelstrom of booze and music, hadn't been the first he'd whisked up to a bed and ravaged into the morning to satisfy his needs. He'd never lie and claim himself so chaste, and after what the two of them had done, she wouldn't believe him even if he did.

For so long, though, those trysts all ended the same way: With his teeth embedded in their neck. Their blood soaking his lips and tongue, sliding down his throat and giving him life and energy he needed to continue his cursed, inhumane existence. Kerrick had thought nothing of it; He was a Vampire, and this is simply what they did.

The longer he continued to live that cycle, that sinful routine that allowed him to thrive at the expense of others, the less fulfilling it became. He would see the consequences of his ravenous hunger; mourning loved ones, children without mothers, important roles left vacant so that he could have a meal. Kerrick looked at himself and no longer saw a man, but a monster.

So he'd left. Sworn off of wanton preying and mindless sin. Surely, he'd thought, there had to be more to his existence than surviving? Was a Vampire only good for drinking blood and seducing the helpless? No, there was some piece, buried deep inside of him, from before his own turning, that yearned to be more.

Perhaps, that the beautiful creature sitting across from him had thought for even a fraction of a second that he would prey upon her and drag her into this rueful state of being should have irked him. Maybe he should have felt offended or put off by Maveriel's confession. But could he blame her? To any sane person, to warm the bed of a vampire was synonymous with a death sentence. No, Kerrick would have been more concerned had Maveriel not worried about the possibility.

"When I was first turned, I found it exciting. The lifestyle of a predator, the thrill of drinking away the life of another, the high it gave me." Kerrick stared down into the blackness of the coffee in his cup, allowing the earthy fumes to clear his nostrils and warm his chest. "I was a young man, such little experience in life. Suddenly, I'm nearly ageless. Irresistable to many, with the might of several men. I have the freedom to do whatever I desire with whomever I wish. Being given that kind of power... it changes you. Especially that young."

He brings the cup to his lips and takes a long drink, the tense muscles in his shoulders relaxing, the warmth reaching places nothing else could reach within him. As he brings the mug back down to the table, Vandergard shakes his head.

"And I was coping, too. I'd just more or less perished from my first life, and been forced into this one. I sank into the depravity, reveled in it. It turned me into something ugly, for a long time. When I looked into your eyes last night, when I felt your lips on mine, your flesh against mine, your body wrapped around me... It was the first time I've felt normal in a very long time. In that moment, I didn't feel like a vampire anymore."

Finally, he met her eyes again, a small smile pulling on his lips, relaxed, laid-back even. It was such a silly, sentimental thing, what he wished to say. There was simply no other way to state it, even if it was so cliche, to a woman he'd only shared one heated night with.

"I enjoy being with you, Maveriel. This life is one that doesn't afford us much happiness. One thing I've learned in all my years is to chase what light you can see, to seize it before it is too late. If I please you, and you I, then I'm inclined to hope we might make this happiness between us last for as long as we can."

What exactly was he asking her? To consider herself in a relationship with a vampire? To simply stay in this room with him? To be travel companions? Even he wasn't sure. That was one of the things he enjoyed most about the elf, though. He was never sure.

"And please... call me Kerrick."

Maveriel Valthoras

 

[Maveriel Valthoras]

Vampires. Murderers, many would say, and many would not be wrong when it came to Mave. In a way, sitting before this man, naked and exposed to his gaze, despite the previous night, was dangerous. Even offensive. To many, his kind was killers by nature, by design, by intention or perversion or whatever, yet here a creature of purity and forest trees sat before him as if he was a fireplace or a well to the elf.

Kerrick Vandergard, whatever his crimes, whatever his life as a vampire, what did he deserve? A blade across the throat, from across the table, for the murder, for the hurt? Those were questions for someone else to answer. This elf, Maveriel Valthoras, was not to be Kerrick’s judgment or punishment. She had shared his bed, their bed, and maybe that was punishment enough for both of them.

Maybe those words were wind, worthless, did not suffice to describe the way that Mave felt, and maybe that was expected. Who could truly put those emotions into words? Maybe poetry would do it. Perhaps Mave would make a poem out of all this nonsense. Though, thoughtless was what she wanted to be at that moment and just listen to Kerrick.

He described that life as a high and, while at first Mave was as curious as concerned, an instant later it seemed like the best way to describe it to someone who had never experienced it. A drug. A disease, maybe. Vampirism was a gateway to power; a seduction all on its own as Kerrick surely knows.

Everything he said reflected a man in torment yet, if this was a test, an interrogation disguised as a table conversation over breakfast, maybe Kerrick was passing Mave’s. Ugly was the deceptive truth of the vampire. Dangerously beautiful creatures in their own way, but one need little to imagine what lurked beneath the surface.

Eyes. The word was stuck in her mind as he mentioned theirs. They had exchanged more than one look last night. Upon the sheets slick with sweat, as fingers curved over eyebrows, over her curved figure and his muscular structure, when Mave had gasped and made Kerrick look into her eyes as they both arrived on their island at the same time.

Was there truth in his eyes now? If this elf had given this vampire the first time in a long time, a moment of feeling greater than, of being higher, was that enough for her? A number of questions, a lesser number of answers.

Amid this mystery, within this hidden dimension between a man and a woman, morning shine crept into their chamber, slivers of warmth like fingers on skin, soothing as hot coffee, whispering rumors of silent seas and violent storms, but the future was hers.

“Kerrick…” Mave addressed him simply, no grin on her lips, almost expressionless, a lone finger grazing the rim of her cup as if it may sing but it didn’t. “What happened between us…” She paused to look up from her cup into his eyes, into each one, daring those cold seas to defy her fires like a dream before reality.

Was a mistake. Wasn’t a mistake. Was intended. I meant it. Sharing a dance, sharing a bed, and the bliss that came with.

Yet she said none of this from her head. Instead, Mave simply stared at Kerrick another moment, at a loss for thought, for words, before she rose from her seat. Never taking her eyes off of him, the elf paced over beside the vampire and took his shoulder into her grip.

Other shoulder, other hand, as she swung a leg over his seat to straddle him, wrapping her arms around his neck, leaning her lips into his. She knew he wouldn’t resist but, if he tried to speak, she would promptly shut him up with her tongue.

Kerrick Vandergard