When Blood Runs Cold - Chapter 247

“I have changed my mind,” Azrael announces hungrily, letting his wet lips drag across the skin of my neck with a boldness only he would have. In a matter of seconds, Azrael’s hands have gone from placid touching, to greedy feeling, groping, and all manner of actions that are suggestive of a vampires hunger. In fact, he seems hardly in conrtol of any of it, as though his hunger is the leash on which he is dragged around the world.

It seems like such a sullen existence.

“Alright,” I murmur softly, pushing aside my hair further with the added eagerness that I have seen with all his victimns. He gives a low murmur of approval. Whatever it is that I am doing, it appears I am doing it well.

I myself- aside from when I was first turned, never had this… base instinct desire to feed like all the other vampires did. It wouldn’t drive me wild like them, and I could easily find myself going several days without so much as a drop of blood. Maybe that is because I am a hybrid, and normal food is capable of sustaining me also. Or maybe its simply because the thought of most blood- except someone in particular, absolutely disgusts me. But that is neither here not there.

The painful slice of Azrael’s fangs across my skin jolts me to attention.

“Azrael?” I say quickly, enough that he is suprised enough to raise his fangs momentarily from my skin. His cold breath pangs across my neck, sending shivers aching through me. Inwardly, I grimace. Disgusting.

Blood and arousal. That is all I can smell from him.

Finding myself with enough nerve, and rather fearful of him hearing the rush of my blood I ask:

“Aren’t there other, much more beautiful women you would like to drink from, Azrael?” It is as much an interrogation as it is a curiosity, for Azrael is certainly spoilt for choice in this palace of beautiful and largely unclothed Folk. I am sure there are numerous temptations he comes across daily strutting down the halls or frolicking in the gardens, and yet to my knowledge, he has only dared to indulge himself in… well, I don’t even know if he has indulged himself in anyone other than me.

“I am not very pretty, really. Why do you interest yourself in me?” I murmur, my voice thick with that narsastic moroseness that I hear all the other women speak with around him. It seems almost pitful, really. The way they act, biding for his attention which he will give in the form of blood and sex. Why anyone would ever want that is beyound me, though the tales he throws around himself proclaim he is the best in his feild.

Not that I intend to find out.

I am hoping that whatever Soren has done to me will deter him long before that.

But perhaps for once in his life Azrael has been focused on something other than blood or sex, because for once he opens his mouth to speak. Not that his hunt for souls and the destruction of Faey is any better, but conversing is a start.

“Your blood is addictive,” he murmurs, pausing for a moment before letting his fangs slide into my neck. A painful twang jitters down my nerves, but for the most part, I largely conceal it, content to stare at the broken glass littered across the floor- not that it is much of a distraction. Between huffing gasps of breath, Azrael sucks deeply, his lips pressed against my skin with a murmuring fit of passion.

I never did get used to the feeling of Azrael’s fangs in my neck: like a foreign object jutting out of a wound. It takes every ounce of self control in my body not to take hold of his head and rip him off me, for that measure would be awfully counter productive. But ever since Soren ignited that mark of tattoos across my skin, the thought seems ever more prominent. Where his fangs enter me, a burning sensation trickles across my skin, like flames running down a trail of alcohol. It takes everything I have not to recoil and cry out in pain.

I know Soren is trying to protect me, but if I want to get Azrael to trust me, I will have to endure it. Just for a bit.

“Addictive how?” I ask again, straining to hide a wince as a trickle of blood escapes down my neck in a stream of crimson red. Then realising my voice is a little too harsh to be mindwiped, add: “What about Virgin’s blood? Is that not what you crave?”

Drawing back at last, Azrael runs his tongue over the opening on my skin, lapping up the blood as the wound seals over. The red flush that dusts his cheeks tells me he is satisfied with his fill.

“It was once,” he murmurs thoughtfully, bringing himself off me and dusting his hands. As quick as that, he merely takes what he wants, I think bitterly to myself. But I already knew that.

Sweeping away broken shards of glass with his foot, he adds: “But I found something better: A souls blood, and the soul of heaven no less. Its quality is… unparalleled.”

Im not sure whether to take that as a compliment or otherwise. Eitherway, Azrael does not give me time to speak as he says:

“Go get changed and meet me in the court room in half an hour. There are some issues I need to address regarding my brother.”

He pauses for a minute to survey his broken room.

“I think it is time we started combing this place for the soul before my brother decides to.”

***

(Soren)

Practically overnight Sezeria has been turned from the capital of a vampire association obsessed with fashion and the fleeting passions of the night to a military war ground. Where the streets once were lined with pop up shops and carts of fresh fruit and produce for the mortal visitors who decided to swan in, now they are lined with temporary forges, tents and all manner of broth pots to feed the hungry angels, who I since learned have a vivacious appetite.

Strolling down one such street where vampires mill, doused in thick protective equipment, their faces blanched by the heat of an array of forges, I catch sight of the man who I have been hoping to find all morning.

Waving him over, I give him a small smile.

“Any lead on where the other soul is located?” I call out to Fangorn, tucking in my wings behind me to slink past a couple of vampires. The huddle of vampire ladies promptly blush, all at once realise how awfully little I am wearing in comparison to everyone else. Alas, the fighting gear around here is very… sparse.

Swivelling around, Fangorn lifts his visor as he plucks out a fine silver shard from the forges with his thick gloves, wincing a little as the radiation of it leeches from his skin. Next to him, a burly man with metal wings looks on in silence. He doesn’t appear to be part of this group, simply quietly assessing as he fiddles absently with the buttons on his apron. A strange contraption dangles out of his pocket. It appears to be half completed.

“No news yet, aside from the one you know of, my Lord,” Fangorn nods with a low bow to the waist, setting aside another silver arrowhead. Puffing out my cheeks, I allow myself a minute to recline beside the forges.

“My hell hounds found the death soul a day before Azrael did,” I mull over, repeating the information mostly for myself than anyone else. “And have since informed me that Serena has also located the position of the death soul. They are currently awaiting further news. Assuming both the soul and Serena unwilling or unable to join us at the current period, it is now our main objective to find the other one. But Azrael has given no clues onto its location, it is almost like he realised we’ve been listening in.”

In the forges, a little black dragon puffs out a breath of fire, igniting the forges with a renewed flame and a blistering, blazing heat that causes the bronze winged angel to scuttle from his position. Nevertheless, he doesn’t look entirely bothered by it, and judging from the tattoo on his forearm and the charred tan of his skin, he has likely worked in this industry before.

No thanks to the angels, our production has greatly improved.

After some silence and a period of fishing around for scraps of metal, Fangorn adds with a small chuckle:

“Well, I would not be entirely surprised if he did know, My Lord. A soul’s magic is very powerful and liable to leave traces. Even your hellhounds would deposit some residue onto the earth. He might even realise you have been trying to extend your magic to Serena. And,” he continues, discarding his gloves now as he dusts of his hands. He comes to lean beside me. “If it is as you say and he has an entire faery palace trapped, there is no question as to whether or not he has sensed your presence. His eyes and ears will be numerous. The ancient Faery walls will be up, I don’t think even you will be able to get through that. This is Serena’s battle, but I know she can handle it.”