When Blood Runs Cold - Chapter 251

There is a small kerfuffle for a minute as we all strive to attach the packages Lilyana has prepared to it to our belts or bags, stowing them away for later use or when desperate measures are called on us. Although there should be enough resources to last us a week, I cannot help but wonder if we might be needing more than that. Who knows what the Enchanted Forest will have in store for us? That place is no more a forest than it is a labyrinth of wild, riotous creatures and a thick atmosphere of death.

One might presume that given that information, it would be the perfect atmosphere for a vampire to live in, recluse and cut off from the world, a place were we could feed and dance and wreck terror in relative peace. But vampires, as destructive as they may seem, are rather social creatures- largely for the benefits to our diet and trade routes the rest of the Faey Folk have to offer us. But the Folk of the Enchanted Forest are most certainly not.

“You always did know how to prepare us well,” Fangorn muses, plopping the ornately wrapped collection of materials on the ground beside. Wiping away a strand of hair from his face, he fumbles before himself before holding out the set of shining metallic wings in front of him. There is a moment of confusion that passes through the group as they stare at this strange hunk of intricately woven metal, until Fangorn shakes it out to Lilyana, beckoning her to take it.

Interest sparks in Lilyana’s eyes as she creeps forward to assess what Fangorn has for her, a mock surprise playing on her features- perhaps to humour him into thinking she didn’t know.

“Elris has a gift for you.”

Her brows raise further.

“A gift, now that is interesting. I will have to go and thank Elris myself for that one. How very generous,” she muses, taking one of the metal wings between her fingers. She fiddles with it for a moment, before cautiously stretching out one of the flawless metal wings between her fingers. Beckoning lightly, she gestures for Fangorn to hand them over, which he does with a perceived reluctance.

“-Heavy,” is all he mutters, but Lilyana is not the Queen of the angels for nothing. Hoisting them over her shoulder, she gives us all a beaming smile, shaking out the ringlets of her dark hair. Above her shoulder, her new wings jingle like the voice of a frost fairy.

“Thank you, all of you,” she nods, giving us all a gracious bow.

“The thanks are all yours. We couldn’t have done any of this without you, Lilyana,” I point out, gesturing to the people down in the city, right to the large gazebo that protrudes behind her, concealing the flame within it.

She smiles warmly.

“I never thought peace would be possible in my time, and here we are. Now, you better all be off, no dallying remember?”

“Yes mum,” Kal mutters with a good humoured grin as Ithuriel gives him an exasperated look, his wings shaking out in the breeze. Far off in the woods, an owl calls out with haunting cries at the sight of the sun dying over the horizon, the first signal that night time has almost begun. Lilyana nods in affirmation.

“Good, good. Don’t forget to ask about Serena- and the enchanted wall surrounding Azrael’s supposed location. They might know some other methods on how to break it. Surely our only option can’t be a key?”

“We won’t,” I assure, patting her arm lightly before pulling away to stretch out my wings in the clearing around us. It has been a while since I have put them to good use.

“Ready everyone?” I ask, ensuring enough time for them to gather their packs and their weapons in a flurry of adrenaline. All three of my friends stand to attention. Kal’s arm’s grip around Fangorn’s, preparing himself mentally for what happens next.

“Alright then,” I nod with a grin. “Let’s fly.”

***

(Serena’s perspective)

“Right,” mutters Azrael stiffly, his brows plucked firmly together to furrow on his forehead.

Ever since Soren’s powers had leaked their way into Azrael’s court, the whole atmosphere has been disrupted.

For two days Azrael has been entirely silent, mulling over something or anything without a single word of rhyme or reason to me or the rest of the court. Two whole days and he has been wedged up in his room, plotting and scheming and twisting out the answers to the experience that had come over us two days prior.

The experience that had shaken me had shocked him almost as much as it had me at the time. There could be many reasons for this, of course but the most likely is because it opened Azrael up to the prospect that Soren might know the whereabouts of his hideout. Either that or more simply that the white haired vampire is utterly paranoid, but regardless he has not been quite right since. Listless, is the word. Azrael is entirely listless.

Now, however, he just appears tired and completely exasperated.

Taking a long swig from his cup of blood and grimacing with dissatisfaction, he looks sternly at Asocrates from across the table, and with no one else in the room, the Faery King can hardly look away. Taking one last sip with a brooding reluctance, Azrael curls his fingers around my waist from under the table cloth, drawing me to him.

I try my very best not to let him feel me squirm.

“Ascorates, have you any further news on the soul?” he asks, almost bored, if it weren’t for a sharp distaste that rises in  his upper lip. Ascorates, bless his soul, is not a well versed in hiding his bodily emotions as I, and visibly shifts at Azrael’s words, sucking in his cheeks.

“No, my Lord. The guards have not seen any sign of her near the palace grounds. She has not taken up any of your offers, it would seem she is avoiding us,” he says, swallowing loudly before adding: “But not for long, my Lord.”

“But she has not escaped, and yet you still can’t find her!” Azrael insists, slamming his fist down on the table, rocking the sturdy wooden appliance beneath him as though it were little more than a paper boat.

“The wall around us hold firm, and will be doing so for a very long time! She has not escaped because she cannot- you are just useless at your job!” He roars.

With Azrael’s anger so evident in the tones of his voice, I decide it is in my best interest to subdue him where I can, for Ascorates sake and my own. I know that the soul of death is smart and certainly not naïve enough to be wandering near the palace grounds with Azrael so hot on her tail, so divulging some false rumours about the situation will not serve to hurt anyone.

“Azrael,” I murmur seductively, leaning my body back against his chest, my hips pressed against the swell of his abdomen. The effect is immediate. Gone is the stiffness of Azrael’s body, replaced with a wanton looseness as his fingers curl like talons at my waist, across my skin, as though desiring to take my flesh for his own. Gone is the bitter hatred that burns and coils at his gut, now sporting a hazy look of lust and love as he leans down to trail his lips against my cheekbone. His fingers swim down to my stomach.

“What is it, love?” he sighs, clearly more interested in my body than what I have to say. Well, dressing in a set of rather raunchy matching clothing certainly is one way to grab Azrael’s attention. In fact, for the past few days that is all I have been doing, allowing myself the privilege of dressing in outfits that are far too daring to be comfortable, and slipping into a dissociated and entirely falsified affection for the monster that has kept me imprisoned here. Reshma had even been so kind as to help me pick out exactly what outfits would contain Azrael’s attention the most, and posted as an excellent standby for when Azrael became too rowdy for even me to handle. Although she rather disproves of the plan I have so hurriedly brewed, she is good enough to help me sustain it:

Steal the key from Azrael’s room by seducing him into security. Free the soul of death from this prison of darkness before Azrael finds her, and lead Azrael’s men on a wild goose chase while I do. All the while, I will continue to send Soren’s wolves out with notes of my progress and pray they will find their way to Soren- I am not sure how much of this I can realistically stand. After spending in a palace pretending to be a lover to the man you want to murder is certainly arduous to say the least. But I put myself here, so until Soren has found the other soul, I must lay in wait.