Sequel: The Gin House Blues ›
Status: In progress :)
The Shadows' Child
A Quickening
The street was silent as dusk crept over the city and the sun sank below the skyline, bleeding red into the clouds hanging there. Tristan lingered in the shadows spreading steadily around him, snow falling in soft, white flakes that settled in his hair. The street light nearest to him flickered to life and cast a harsh orange glare over his face. The unforgiving glare glanced over his darkly handsome features, catching his high cheekbones and glinting eyes. Hands shoved in pockets, Tristan scented the air and closed his eyes. He was waiting.
The street light wavered again and dark eyes flickered open. With a sigh and an almost feline movement of his hand, Tristan plucked a cigarette from behind his ear and searched his pocket for a lighter. The light gave a feeble spark when he held it to the cigarette dangling from his mouth, then nothing. “Damn it,” he mumbled, shaking the lighter and trying again. Another sudden flash,then the flame sputtered and was gone. "Brilliant," he groused, thrusting the lighter into his pocket again, cigarette still trembling between his lips.
A low laugh rang out of the shadows. “Think fast,” came an amused voice. Without looking up, Tristan caught the box of matches in his left hand, the entire movement a mere smudge of quickly passing colour. He slid the box open gratefully and struck the match, lighting up.
“You took your time,” he said shortly as the smoke curled above his head. A short wave of his hand and the match went out, dropped to the pavement.
The woman in front of him shrugged, her dark red hair caught the breeze and licked her shoulders like liquid fire. “You didn’t have to wait on me,” she pointed out. Snow crunched lightly under her boots as she joined him under the street light. Tristan stuffed his hand inside his coat pocket as he took another drag from the cigarette.
“Smoking's disgusting,” she told him, wrinkling her nose delicately. “If you were human, you’d be taking years off your life, y’know.”
"If you don't smoke, then why do you even have a pack of matches on you?"
"Because," she smirked and held up three fingers in an jaunty salute. "I was a girl scout. Prepared for everything."
"So I see," Tristan snorted.
"Besides, your lighters never last; and you get bitchy when you don't get your nicotine."
Tristan quickly adopted a touched expression, pressing a hand dramatically to his heart. "Oh love," he exclaimed, " I didn't know how much you cared!"
His companion rolled her eyes at him.
Tristan's cigarette stopped half-way to his mouth, he gave her a long look and cocked his head. "Did you get caught in a wind tunnel or something?"
She scowled at him but automatically put a hand to her head and pulled a compact mirror from her pocket, leaning against the brick wall behind them. She fussed with her wind-ruffled hair and he watched in mild amusement as the moon reappeared from behind a cloud, its light leaching her reflection of definition until the only thing visible in the glass was the choker of black lace she wore around her pale neck. Frowning at her now non-existent reflection she snapped the mirror closed.Tristan took a final pull of his cigarette; he lifted his head and listened. With a contented nod he turned to the red head, an easy going smile dancing around his lips. “Hungry, Ceara?”
She grinned at him, revealing a row of straight, white teeth. “Famished.”
He flicked the cigarette butt to the ground and crushed it with his toe.
Ceara’s ears pricked up as she shut her eyes and she could hear everything. She felt out and listened to the low thrum of evening traffic far into the center of the city, the jittering buzz of the light above their heads, the whisper of snow collecting on the ground. The sound of softly settling snow was interrupted abruptly by a set of booted footsteps trudging through the alleyways. Tristan heard it too and his eyes snapped open, but Ceara was already gone, leaving him with nothing more than a ghostly chuckle and a snarling stomach. He gave a sigh and settled himself against the lamp post once more. “Women,” he murmured dryly, searching his coat for another cigarette.
Ceara sniffed the air and took another sharp turn into an adjoining passage, it was darker here compared to the alleys linking to the main street. She stayed close to the buildings out of instinct more than anything, the darkness was familiar, safe.The footsteps were getting louder now, nearer. Ceara’s needless breathing stopped completely as she leaned against the building, the shadows swallowing her whole as her victim rounded the corner.
She looked up to a see a man making his way past her. He was tall enough, only a head taller than her. His hair was a pale blonde colour that may have been darker once, but was now bleached near white by the sun that had already tanned his skin. He's attractive, thought Ceara, in a conventional kind of way. Just before he overtook her, she stepped out from the shadows, he stopped. She startled him, standing there in the half moonlight with hair blowing wildly in the breeze, snowflakes settling on her downcast lashes; the man was frozen, unable to look away. Glancing up at him, she noticed the flush high on his cheeks, the blood coursing under the thin layer of skin; pulsing, rushing, fluttering.
Snow crumpled under her feet as she approached him. He made no attempt to move, simply choosing to stare at her dumbly. She kept her eyes on her feet until she stood before him. Eventually, she heard him swallow thickly and finally looked up. His eyes connected with her's and he became lost, swimming in silver grey steel; a jolt of fear shot through him before his face went slack. Raising one pale, slender finger Ceara beckoned to the man and his knees buckled instantly at the movement.
He slumped helplessly to his ground, the thick blanket of snow muffling the sound of his knees hitting the tarmac. Ceara crouched beside him and rested a finger on his neck. His eyelids flickered closed and she laid him on his back. She felt it then, the steady thrum of blood flowing through him. Thick, rich, fast. An instinctive feeling of euphoria overtook her and she hummed in contentment at the scent of blood radiating from beneath his skin. Snow continued to fall around them in soft clumps and when Ceara pressed her mouth to the fair haired man’s neck, her lips trembled at the heat and vibration of the pulse running under them. She trailed the tip of her nose against his throat, softly, the smell of whiskey was seeping through his skin.
She could almost taste it as she breathed him in. Ceara found herself threading a hand through his hair and it was softer than she thought it would be. Her teeth grazed the skin once, twice; blood beaded on his neck, then she sank her teeth. A quickening flutter whispered against her heart as she caught on to his pulse and changed its pace, letting it fall into time with hers; steady but slower, much slower.
Blood flooded into her mouth, hot and sweet. It caused an involuntary snarl to rip from her chest while she swallowed greedily; the still warm liquid running down her lip, dripping onto the snow. Red on white, like a warning. It was soft thump beside her that broke the spell. She stopped drinking and her head lolled back; gasped desperately for unnecessary air. Her glazed eyes began to clear and her pupils returned to their normal size as she came back to herself.
“Tristan." It was nothing more than a whisper. Not feeling the need to turn around, she eyed the prone form in front of her and tucked her scarf inside her coat.
“Nicely done,” came her companion’s calm, deep voice. He approached the unconscious man lying in the snow at Ceara’s feet and nudged him with the toe of his shoe. Ashes sprinkled onto the man’s chest and into his hair as Tristan finished a cigarette and sent it flying neatly into the snow.
“Thanks,” Ceara smiled at him, her full, blood stained lips stretching into a smile while blood dripped darkly from her chin. He grinned at her as she wiped the blood from her mouth and looked up at him. “You eaten yet?”
“Nope,” he brushed some snow from her hair.
“Hungry, Tristan?” she teased, her eyes flashing mischievously.
He gave her a wolfish grin. “Famished.”
Without a backwards glance they turned and were taken by shadow, leaving no trace behind them except the lingering smell of cigarette smoke.
The street light wavered again and dark eyes flickered open. With a sigh and an almost feline movement of his hand, Tristan plucked a cigarette from behind his ear and searched his pocket for a lighter. The light gave a feeble spark when he held it to the cigarette dangling from his mouth, then nothing. “Damn it,” he mumbled, shaking the lighter and trying again. Another sudden flash,then the flame sputtered and was gone. "Brilliant," he groused, thrusting the lighter into his pocket again, cigarette still trembling between his lips.
A low laugh rang out of the shadows. “Think fast,” came an amused voice. Without looking up, Tristan caught the box of matches in his left hand, the entire movement a mere smudge of quickly passing colour. He slid the box open gratefully and struck the match, lighting up.
“You took your time,” he said shortly as the smoke curled above his head. A short wave of his hand and the match went out, dropped to the pavement.
The woman in front of him shrugged, her dark red hair caught the breeze and licked her shoulders like liquid fire. “You didn’t have to wait on me,” she pointed out. Snow crunched lightly under her boots as she joined him under the street light. Tristan stuffed his hand inside his coat pocket as he took another drag from the cigarette.
“Smoking's disgusting,” she told him, wrinkling her nose delicately. “If you were human, you’d be taking years off your life, y’know.”
"If you don't smoke, then why do you even have a pack of matches on you?"
"Because," she smirked and held up three fingers in an jaunty salute. "I was a girl scout. Prepared for everything."
"So I see," Tristan snorted.
"Besides, your lighters never last; and you get bitchy when you don't get your nicotine."
Tristan quickly adopted a touched expression, pressing a hand dramatically to his heart. "Oh love," he exclaimed, " I didn't know how much you cared!"
His companion rolled her eyes at him.
Tristan's cigarette stopped half-way to his mouth, he gave her a long look and cocked his head. "Did you get caught in a wind tunnel or something?"
She scowled at him but automatically put a hand to her head and pulled a compact mirror from her pocket, leaning against the brick wall behind them. She fussed with her wind-ruffled hair and he watched in mild amusement as the moon reappeared from behind a cloud, its light leaching her reflection of definition until the only thing visible in the glass was the choker of black lace she wore around her pale neck. Frowning at her now non-existent reflection she snapped the mirror closed.Tristan took a final pull of his cigarette; he lifted his head and listened. With a contented nod he turned to the red head, an easy going smile dancing around his lips. “Hungry, Ceara?”
She grinned at him, revealing a row of straight, white teeth. “Famished.”
He flicked the cigarette butt to the ground and crushed it with his toe.
Ceara’s ears pricked up as she shut her eyes and she could hear everything. She felt out and listened to the low thrum of evening traffic far into the center of the city, the jittering buzz of the light above their heads, the whisper of snow collecting on the ground. The sound of softly settling snow was interrupted abruptly by a set of booted footsteps trudging through the alleyways. Tristan heard it too and his eyes snapped open, but Ceara was already gone, leaving him with nothing more than a ghostly chuckle and a snarling stomach. He gave a sigh and settled himself against the lamp post once more. “Women,” he murmured dryly, searching his coat for another cigarette.
Ceara sniffed the air and took another sharp turn into an adjoining passage, it was darker here compared to the alleys linking to the main street. She stayed close to the buildings out of instinct more than anything, the darkness was familiar, safe.The footsteps were getting louder now, nearer. Ceara’s needless breathing stopped completely as she leaned against the building, the shadows swallowing her whole as her victim rounded the corner.
She looked up to a see a man making his way past her. He was tall enough, only a head taller than her. His hair was a pale blonde colour that may have been darker once, but was now bleached near white by the sun that had already tanned his skin. He's attractive, thought Ceara, in a conventional kind of way. Just before he overtook her, she stepped out from the shadows, he stopped. She startled him, standing there in the half moonlight with hair blowing wildly in the breeze, snowflakes settling on her downcast lashes; the man was frozen, unable to look away. Glancing up at him, she noticed the flush high on his cheeks, the blood coursing under the thin layer of skin; pulsing, rushing, fluttering.
Snow crumpled under her feet as she approached him. He made no attempt to move, simply choosing to stare at her dumbly. She kept her eyes on her feet until she stood before him. Eventually, she heard him swallow thickly and finally looked up. His eyes connected with her's and he became lost, swimming in silver grey steel; a jolt of fear shot through him before his face went slack. Raising one pale, slender finger Ceara beckoned to the man and his knees buckled instantly at the movement.
He slumped helplessly to his ground, the thick blanket of snow muffling the sound of his knees hitting the tarmac. Ceara crouched beside him and rested a finger on his neck. His eyelids flickered closed and she laid him on his back. She felt it then, the steady thrum of blood flowing through him. Thick, rich, fast. An instinctive feeling of euphoria overtook her and she hummed in contentment at the scent of blood radiating from beneath his skin. Snow continued to fall around them in soft clumps and when Ceara pressed her mouth to the fair haired man’s neck, her lips trembled at the heat and vibration of the pulse running under them. She trailed the tip of her nose against his throat, softly, the smell of whiskey was seeping through his skin.
She could almost taste it as she breathed him in. Ceara found herself threading a hand through his hair and it was softer than she thought it would be. Her teeth grazed the skin once, twice; blood beaded on his neck, then she sank her teeth. A quickening flutter whispered against her heart as she caught on to his pulse and changed its pace, letting it fall into time with hers; steady but slower, much slower.
Blood flooded into her mouth, hot and sweet. It caused an involuntary snarl to rip from her chest while she swallowed greedily; the still warm liquid running down her lip, dripping onto the snow. Red on white, like a warning. It was soft thump beside her that broke the spell. She stopped drinking and her head lolled back; gasped desperately for unnecessary air. Her glazed eyes began to clear and her pupils returned to their normal size as she came back to herself.
“Tristan." It was nothing more than a whisper. Not feeling the need to turn around, she eyed the prone form in front of her and tucked her scarf inside her coat.
“Nicely done,” came her companion’s calm, deep voice. He approached the unconscious man lying in the snow at Ceara’s feet and nudged him with the toe of his shoe. Ashes sprinkled onto the man’s chest and into his hair as Tristan finished a cigarette and sent it flying neatly into the snow.
“Thanks,” Ceara smiled at him, her full, blood stained lips stretching into a smile while blood dripped darkly from her chin. He grinned at her as she wiped the blood from her mouth and looked up at him. “You eaten yet?”
“Nope,” he brushed some snow from her hair.
“Hungry, Tristan?” she teased, her eyes flashing mischievously.
He gave her a wolfish grin. “Famished.”
Without a backwards glance they turned and were taken by shadow, leaving no trace behind them except the lingering smell of cigarette smoke.
♠ ♠ ♠
FINALLY rewritten. Hopefully I'll more stuff up here in coming weeks. I've finally fallen back in to my old writing style, which I kinda lost sight of for a while :/Anyway, hope you all like, reviews make me feel all warm and fuzzy...so yeah.