Swan Song [Lyonel]

[Blaize]

It was the fountain that never ended. Blaize was not even aware of the relaxation of the body that belonged to the wrist he took from. His swallowed and gulped, air hissing from his nostrils as the last urge to breathe caused his lungs to ache. But it was with one of those last pulls of precious oxygen that it started. The pain.

It went far beyond how he’d felt when his leg snapped. Even now when he released the wrist with a gasp and a gargled cry, blood spilling from his mouth and splattering over chest and leg and couch, dribbles of it dripping lazily from his chin, the pain in his leg only clarified the pain clamouring through the rest of him. Each breath he took felt like an anvil to the chest. It felt like he had suddenly developed gall stones, and kidney stones, and crippling cancer in all his remaining organs. Agony shot up through his teeth like a vicious, violent brain freeze and again he shouted, screamed as his whole body began to shake, skin growing cold with the sweat of a thousand fevers.

His body was fighting the infection regardless of its losing battle. Blaize’s teeth slammed shut, jaw tensed as he tried his best to still the seizure that threatened to take hold. Whatever high he’d been feeling mere moments ago was banished completely. He couldn’t even remember what it had felt like. He couldn’t remember a time before this furious torture.

When he reached for balance he grabbed at whatever he could. His whole world spun on its axis. There wasn’t even any room for fear, though he was sure it was there, somewhere. Fear that this had not worked. Fear that his body was going to reject the blood and all its glorious healing, immortal properties. Fear that he would die here, on this couch. Would it matter anyway? If he could not dance, was there a better alternative? His whole life would have been wasted. Hot tears stung his eyes as he forced them to stay open.

Even now, even when so defeated, he could not resist that natural instinct to survive. At all costs, he must survive.

[Lyonel]

The grip of death found the swan and shook him firmly. Fascinated with what he never truly witnessed to this extent, the killer thumbed roughly at the blood that was wasted around the dancer's mouth and licked the pad of flesh clean. It was a hell of a deal and he shook his head slowly as the show began. Blaize was strong, beautiful and so much so that it was a given that he should not be held back by the restraints of time and it’s effects. The man was a god with wings and soon he would rise.

Until then Lyonel was left with several options as to what to do while the process completed itself. Some were known to just walk away and leave it as is. Others would have bodies in the wings waiting to serve as minions and do their bidding. He glanced around as he came to the only conclusion based on his intentions with the broken swan. In the end he would keep his post vowing to himself to never abandon what he had claimed as his own.While the lithe body seized in an attempt to rebel against what was consumed Lyonel relaxed. Each hard knot and twitch was beautiful to witness. His celadon gaze kept watch closely while he brought the gnawed portion of his own wrist to his human blood stained lips. The cool swirl of his tongue closed the wound and effectively erased any sign that ever existed.

Satisfied he would be going nowhere for a while the took his seat across from the newest West in the making. His long legs stretched back out and this time his right arm found the back of the chair in a casual placement. Massaging the tips of his fingers into the edge of bone framing his jaw and face he tracked the ripples of defiance as the man on his sofa continued to squirm in the fight for life like a fish out of water. Slowly the desperate gulps for air wound down while blood jumped in random drops landing on his less than immaculate white leather sofa. Deep, ineffective and not nearly enough the sounds were reduced from gurgles to long death rattling hisses.

Truth be told it was not anywhere as attractive as the male was hours prior in flawless flight across the stage. So of the movements had the killer wincing while the limbs worked themselves out. Lyon was honest in the quiet assessment but determined as well. This was just as important, powerful as the timing of the leap that cost Blaize everything as he had known it to be in his brief life. All of it brought him what he had no idea he wanted or needed until the chosen one landed in his arms looking for a miracle. One that Lyonel West could deliver for the exchange of a blood bond that would never be broken. Soon he would inform Blaize, the dying swan, of this and so much more. Once those brilliant blues fixed with the final signs of rebirth he would tell the dancer everything he would need to know. It wouldn’t end there. He would not be given time to flit about and ponder if it was for him or not. It was what he would accept. The swan was about to embark on the tour of darkness that just became his world.

[Blaize]

The support of the extra body was taken away and Blaize’s balance was thrown off-kilter. The pain that had started in his torso sent a fire through his lungs; up, and up it travelled, a gurgling mess of agony that then thrust a metaphorical knife into his heart. And then it felt like that heart was being crushed by the fist of a giant, and as Blaize rolled – what was he trying to run away from? – his body fell to the floor. His limbs shook as he tried to hold his own weight, to sit up, eyes wide while blood and spit dripped from a mouth open with shock, breath caught in a never-ending gasp. Stars danced behind his eyes before that agony came hurtling up his throat.

Everything that he’d eaten in the last twenty-four hours, all the water, the freshly beat juice, every last skerrick of anything that he not already been digested was expelled from his body. Vomit collided with flooring and Blaize’s eyes burned as the tears swelled and fell, crawling over his cheeks in rivers of desperation and regret.

For how long he half sat, half lay there in his own filth he didn’t quite know. It felt like an eternity. It could have been minutes or it could have been hours, but eventually the pain started so subside – and the dancer had remained awake through all of it. There’d be no more passing out tonight. He fought back the darkness. He was afraid that if he succumbed to it, he would be succumbing to death.

Eventually, he could suck air into lungs that, though dead, did not grieve him with expansion. When he swallowed, he could still taste the vomit on his tongue – a tongue that he used to explore the inside of his own mouth. Blunt teeth, but he could still taste blood where it had sunk into the crevices of his gums. When he opened his eyes the light was bright, and he sucked in another sharp breath of air. Trying to properly sit up, he found that he couldn’t. And he was reminded of his own crippled limb.

The whole reason for this torture had been that limb. Now that the torture was over, Blaize sat bolt upright and looked down at his leg. The bone was still protruding from skin, but the gash didn’t look as gory as it had before – as if the skin were trying to heal over or around the protrusion. Blaize cried out in dismay, hot bright eyes searching for the man who’d brought him here.

”I thought this was supposed to heal?!” he said, the tone accusing, the voice hoarse as his throat ached. It felt like someone had scraped sandpaper down the inside walls.

[Lyonel]

Lyonel watched the process with the patience of one who had all the time in the world to spend doing so. Understanding was the foundation of his current mood as he waited. Of course it was there. This was nothing new to him. He had been in the same position several years back. Up the swan went trying to take to his own feet. Lyon blinked and did nothing more. He was waiting for the inevitable. The wait was not long. Down the dancer went with all the grace of a dead man finally figuring it out.The sour remains of what was ingested before their paths ever crossed landed with a juicy chorus on the custom gray stone floor beneath. The killer looked at his shoes and didn’t bother to examine what could still be identifiable in the small pool of emesis. He slid them back just in time.

“It will.” The killer held a limited amount of empathy. His long legs pulled back tight to the chair beneath him and he leaned forward. A slight tilt of his head afforded him a better view of the injury that brought all of this about. “Part of this is you doing some of the work yourself. I can’t hand it all to you.” A thought came to him. He could see himself in a similar position and his eyes were on Wolfgang’s. Back then he wanted it all at once too. He was about to deliver the same lessons the Old Man did. “So, let’s start with the basics. You will find your pain tolerance is a higher than before so dry your eyes. All this is about to get real damn quick. The leg will be good as new soon enough. While that is happening we will go over the things you will need to know.”

Lyonel found his feet and stood tall looking down at Blaize. His swan would need a lift. He was a killer but he made sure wasn’t an asshole. Not to a man down by his own doing. A brief squat down had him collecting the dancer and rising upward. He moved around the mess left behind on the flooring and set the lame limbed ballet god back on the sofa.

“You will need some time to adjust to all that will now be a part of your routine. As much as you will feel stronger there will be things that will now put you at greater risk than you were at as a human. That leg of yours ranks a 2 tops on a scale of one to ten on the “Am I fucked” meter. I have had my legs chopped clean off while I was in a run for my life. I cleared several yards on the stubs of my knees. Then when I thought I was making ground I lost an arm while drawing my weapon. So I channeled Chuck Norris to use my teeth to hold the gun and my tongue to pull the trigger. All of this while the hand i had left pulled out my sword ready to roll.” there was no sign of amusement on the killer's face. “True story. So, yeah, ignore the leg. I have seen and felt far worse and so will you. We got bigger things to worry about right now.”

Lyonel gave that a moment to sink in. The great thing about the immortal side of the fence was you found multitasking impossible to resist. While Blaize got a few minutes to absorb what he just heard, Lyon disappeared briefly then quickly returned. With a sizeable black towel and a spray bottle in hand he kneeled down and went to work on the stinking puddle on the stone that required the solution in the bottle to clean it up as if it was never there. He stood up giving the towel a flip and roll so it was balled up. Again he disappeared then returned empty handed.

“Sun. You won’t be seeing it again for quite some time. You will become incredibly fatigued and pretty much useless as the day creeps up on you. So like Cinderella be ready to head for home or cover before that ever takes place or you are SOL. It will give you a burn that not only draws attention to what you are from those who are gathering around looking at your comatose and torched carcass but it hurts like hell when you finally wake up. I know curfews suck but this one will save you some misery. Trust me. Eventually you can become strong enough to walk in the sun but there is a catch there. You walk around with a smoldering effect lingering over you that does you no favors at keeping what you are under wraps. I don’t do it unless it needs to be done. Even then I limit it out of habit.” He paused in case there was any questions or comments coming.

[Blaize]

It will, Lyonel said, and yet Blaize could not see how. The bone was still protruding from the skin, and unless the leg suddenly got a mind of its own and went ahead to crack the bone back into place, Blaize wasn’t so sure he believed the other man. Lyonel, who went on to explain that limbs could grow back and rambled some fantastical story that, although claimed as true, the dance did not believe. A gun held in one’s mouth with a trigger pulled by a tongue would require a rather long tongue.

The words that Blaize heard, over and over and in between everything else that Lyonel was trying to tell him, was I can’t hand it all to you. He had to do the work himself. Which, he took to mean, meant the other man expected Blaize to set his own leg. Whether or not he could do it from the angle he sat, he did not know. He did not know whether it was possible for him to do it himself, from a logical point of view.

He said nothing as Lyonel left and returned to clean up the mess that Blaize himself had made. For all Lyonel’s attempts to make Blaize forget about the leg, the leg was all that the dancer could think about. Although his lungs felt useless and strange he sucked in the air like it was water. In, and out, as he prepared himself for what he must do, eyes wild and yet determined. He was concentrating on the mathematics of it – if he manoeuvred his leg to rest his foot against the table, and then twisted, just so, it should do the trick. The bone would slide back into place. But what fractures would be left to float? What if he failed to align the bone properly? Would it heal, malformed?

Even If limbs could grow back, it was entirely different to a broken one. A regrown limb is new and fresh. A broken limb still required mending. Right?

Lyonel kept talking and Blaize could only stare. Whether or not the words actually registered in his mind Lyonel might never know. The Swan’s eyes were unseeing, the cogs spinning behind them as his resolve slowly strengthened. There were still no questions asked, to words uttered. He sat in complete silence before he turned away, his grip tightening on his own thigh; he swung his foot around and balanced it against the table’s leg. Then he pushed and twisted and with a squelch the bone slid back through the skin.

Blaize’s throat was raw with the screams that had passed, and now it tore with one more. One that he bit back, that he tried to clamp down beneath clenched teeth. His fingers danced down the length of his legs, slick with blood, nerves on fire as he pushed and pressed, as he tried to decipher through the agony where the bone lay, whether it was in the right place. He stayed there, body slumped and arms stretched toward his foot.

”I don’t care about the sun,” he spat.

”I’m already exhausted,” he swallowed. ”My throat is raw. My whole body aches. You’re going to tell me this is normal?” he asked, turning a pale, hooded gaze in Lyonel’s direction, his white-blonde now a mess as it fell in lanky wet strands around his cupid face.

[Lyonel]

Lyonel watched the Blaize perform the attempt of making the injury go away with the creative position change of the damaged limb. He was already putting in the effort with the limited knowledge he had to work with on how things went with their kind. Obviously it proved to be a bit slower than the dancer expected given Lyon’s words. Perhaps this was the time to break the news yet again that not everything is done in the blink of an eye just because the one cleared of an expiration date wants it to happen. This was going to be a challenge in getting the point across. It already was proving to be that while the scent of blood and rise of self-inflicted pain rose in the room. Both clawed at Lyon's appetites but he continued to keep them in check. Willpower and time earned disciplined were still holding his favor.

“Healing time varies on each of us.” He shook his head as he observed that the progress on healing was slow going for the newly turned before him. “It hurts less, right?” Lyonel looked at the swan displaying a rather unsatisfied reaction with the results of his current state. “Once you quit doing that of course.” He pulled at the blanket resting over the back of the seat he was holding down. With a casual toss the luxurious gray fabric floated towards the open wound and opened as it settled down over the leg shielding it from further viewing and remaining a distraction. “Sure it looks like hell right now and you feel like **** but it won’t be an issue in a few nights. You just all but died, man. Cut yourself some slack. You beat some serious odds.”

Lyonel found his participation would be needed in this or they would get nowhere past the bloody proof that they crossed paths. Blaize had a lot to learn and it was apparent it would not be happening until something improved with his leg. Another brief disappearing act had the tall killer returning with an air cast that just so happened to be in a closet containing similar medical props to conceal injuries. The blanket was going to be a failure the more he thought about it when he spotted it where he tossed it.

“We can slap this on there if that is what it will take but first let’s see if you catch on to what I am talking about.” He kneeled down beside the sofa. “Focus on the break. Clear your mind and get in close and watch the layers of the wound. May need to look so close your face is nearly in it to get my point. Hell, I will find you a magnifying glass if you want. Pretty sure Eva has one of those around here.” He glanced over his shoulder in the direction of where he could claim one if needed. “Your vision should be finely tuned to see it without one.” His cool hand pulled the blanket free and tossed it to the side. A hand slid under the leg to lift it in hopes that Blaize’s attention would follow the cues given. “I have watched my wounds heal. It was of the first things that made me a believer that what my sire told me about being vampire was true. Seeing is believing right?”

Lyonel knew it would also take more than a few layers of flesh coming together in a time lapse effect to get the pessimistic dancer to come around. It was his role as sire to make sure his creation absorbed the possibilities and potential now within his power if he chose to make the most of this embracement. His long fingers itched with the mere desire to transform into lethal war worthy claws. The dark sharp disfiguring lengths were imposing around the pale skin. One moved gently pressing the sharp edge next to the open wound. It was healing. Lyonel’s top view of the inside of what makes up a leg was reducing even as the seconds ticked by. He was unphased by the condition of his own hands. He was waiting to see how Blaize reacted.

[Blaize]

When Blaize stared at Lyonel it was with a mixture of wonderment and incredulity. The former because this stranger was now considered a ‘sire’, whatever that entailed. They were connected forever, for eternity. What did that mean? In how many ways would Blaize’s life change, now that his whims had been seen to, and indulged? The latter, the incredulity, was seconded by a kind of disbelief. It was as if they were having issues with communication. Though Blaize was somewhat calmed by the explanation of the healing process, it might have helped in the beginning. If he’d known the leg would straighten itself rather than heal at a permanently crooked angle, he’d have left it alone.

He didn’t have to watch the layers heal, he didn’t have to be made a believer. He’d already seen it happening. He’d already seen the skin healing around the bone that was still protruding from it. The healing had already initiated before he’d attempted to straighten the leg.

The blanket was useless, yes, but the temporary cast that Lyonel brought back out from God knows where would do the trick. It would help to keep the leg straight and at the right angle, and if the leg didn’t heal properly … well, Blaize would probably blame his sire. There were always doctors, right? Couldn’t he find someone to professionally re-break it and set it in the proper position? And yet, Lyonel was making out like it didn’t matter. It wouldn’t matter. Time would heal the wound, and Blaize should just relax.

Which he was going to attempt to do, once the cast was in place, except his hand jerked back upon suddenly noticing the state of Lyonel’s own appendages.

”What the **** is wrong with your hands?!” he asked, tone sharp. ”Is this some kind of parlour trick? I believe already. I asked for this, remember?” he said. But then, he couldn’t remember. Had he? He vaguely recalled asking to be taken to a vampire. Maybe it hadn’t been heard and this was all just some miraculous coincidence.

”I’m sorry if the fixation on my leg is bothering you. But it’s my life, okay?” He swivelled the leg away from the grotesque hands, yanking the cast around his shin and securing it with a wince. His other questions hadn’t been answered. His skin felt like it was crawling, and he felt like he was on some form of crack. Blaize had never done well on speed. It only made him irritable and fidgety. Everything seemed too bright and too dark at the same time. Too loud and too quiet. It took him a while to figure out that his skin was crawling only when he moved; it was the air brushing across the miniscule hairs upon his skin, setting his nerves alight.

He appreciated Lyonel’s help. But he couldn’t help his snappiness.

He couldn’t figure out whether he was thirsty or hungry or both. His jaw continued to throb, inflammation swelling beneath the gums like they were trying to break open but couldn’t. His head threatened to split in two. All he wanted to do was get up and pace the room and shake the restlessness from his limbs but he couldn’t. His leg prohibited him from much movement at all.

[Lyonel]

Had this been what Wolfgang found when he sat in front of him all those years ago? It couldn’t have been too far from what he was witnessing now while he studied Blaize. He too was disheveled and bewildered at the world around him. Lyonel was no swan but he had his own moves to make him a worthwhile contender. Instead of the high priced stage with a polished audience in attendance waiting to watch the beauty of human flight he was in front of a different crowd closer to the streets than perhaps Blaize had ever or would ever land long enough to appreciate. The leather clad, denim adorned spectators were waiting for a fight and the blood that would spill. In the end they all got what they came to see and paid for. The wise street kid from New York had met his match and then some. He would never forget the feeling of someone coming in and getting the best of him while eyeing the one who gave him a couple shiners that were swelling up faster than he could blink away. An ever so slight hook of the left corner of his lips rose. In that moment the Old Man became everything to him that anyone else failed to be. A legend that could never be matched. Yet there Lyonel West was looking at a head of gold and chilling blue eyes giving it his best damn shot at coming close. Time would tell if he would succeed.

“Nothing is wrong with my hands unless you are the one I have an issue with.” No more than his words ended did the claws sink into the space where his fingertips seemed to be as they were before. “See…” He held up his hand,the length of his fingers wiggled and spread apart for him to view no signs remaining of what was there only a second ago. “Your leg will take longer than the blink of an eye to heal but it is pretty much the same deal. You won’t have to worry about an residual effects. Hell, I was a total mess of pulverized skin and bone when I turned. Do I look like I was beat within an inch of my life?” He rubbed the bottom of his own chin before standing up. “Because I was and it was the best thing that could have happened to me.”

Lyonel eyed Blaize while contemplating what he was about to do. The signs were there and common sense told him that Blaize would be feeling the thirst yet again. He wasn’t in the shape to be introduced to hunting at the moment but eventually it would need to be addressed. The best option was the one that gave Blaize an understanding of the process without the risk for trouble. He had to get his teeth wet sooner than later and there was a source he had at his fingertips as they worked out a text.

-See you in two minutes- The message was on it’s way as the device slid back in his pocket.

“The first lesson is paramount in your continued survival. You can learn about how to access blood packs and those that sell them later. I want to make sure if that is not out there and available that you will be capable of meeting your primary need without the shops or what is currently on hand in the places I will eventually take you to.”

Lyonel glanced at his watch. It was more out of habit for appearance’s sake in front of new eyes than to truly know how much time passed. He knew that it had been a little over a minute that was between the moment he sent the text and the arrival time of the one he warned. He looked at where Blaize was sitting on the sofa and decided the closer the better for the next parlor trick. He dropped briefly to sit and nudged the wounded leg over a bit.

“Hang in there and sit tight. We are about to get some company. She may be a little out of sorts at first so let me handle it.” He nodded slowly then pointed to the minimal space on the sofa between them. “Her name is Jolie. Feel free to say hello to her.”

Lyonel didn’t take the time to read the expression on Blaize’s face. Instead he focused on the space between them and summoned Jolie who appeared as expected. The scent of fresh lavender soap and ...cupcakes? His brow lifted more in question about the last scent flooding the space with her own. It was met with a less than pleased expression that he knew all too well. He had seen it many times over the years.

“Seriously?” The tone was giving all kinds of hints that she had other things planned. “You said I was free for the night.” Jolie popped up from the sofa and all but ignored Blaize. “This is how we have problems, Lyon. You say one thing then poof and here I am.” Her face slowly scrunched with displeasure. Finally her dark eyes floated to find the one she saw earlier. “You did it?” She sighed. “Let me guess…” Her hands found her bathrobe covered hips. The plush petal pink terrycloth sank and ultimately flattened under the press of her dark fingers.
“Do you mind handing it over for a few minutes? I think he has been through enough without tossing and turning on the floor for another several hours of torture.” Lyonel’s hand stretched out to her without question as to the fact soon his palm would be holding the weight of the relic in his hand.
“My cake burns and you…” Jolie was actively placing the Sanguivore`s Bane when he cut her off.
“Will buy you another stove. Besides the fact it is rigged so it will actually shut off before burning down the place thanks to the timer I had installed on it. The last two you toasted made it necessary. It’s amazing what is out there. Anyways, Jolie is obviously here for this lesson. Actually it is about two that will come in handy for you. Better now than later.” He stood up and took the empty seat across from the sofa. “Jolie is here to lend a wrist or neck briefly. She will need to get back to where she was shortly so we shouldn’t take up too much time.” His eyes stayed on Jolie as she calmy settled back on the sofa close to Blaize. “She knows she is safe while I am here so whenever you are ready to start feel free.” The relic went back and forth slowly between his hands while he waited.
“Wrist or neck?” She looked to Blaize with her left wrist already in the air for offering. Her right hand gathered her dark waist length ringlets and tucked the bulk of her hair over her right shoulder. “I have about fifteen minutes before a great cake goes into overtime.”

[Blaize]

Lyonel was right. The dancer looked the man over, distracting himself with other things. He definitely did not look like he had been beaten to within an inch of his life, nor pulverised to boot. Blaize did his best to swallow and to nod, to try to relax. It was hard to do when his whole life had been irrevocably changed, and all because of a damned rose that should not have been thrown to the stage. A rose and a whim, and now here he was, dizzy with the aches and pains that overtook him. And he knew why. As soon as Lyonel mentioned blood, he knew what was wrong with him – besides a broken leg.

At the mention of blood, Blaize’s sense memory kicked in. Every papercut, every graze that he’d ever sucked came back to him, that tangy, coppery taste. Blood. He already knew what it tasted like. Memory told him that it wasn’t a particularly good taste, but it was a human taste. It was a natural taste, like instinct telling him that it was his own, that he had nothing to fear from it. Now, the memory of that taste sparked a fire, his lips curling back to reveal… nothing. No miniature fangs, no ordinary fangs. Gleaming white teeth, of course, but they were still flat and blunt, with gums a healthy, if not inflamed, pink.

In time, Blaize might think that this was the best thing that could have ever happened to him. For now, however, he had his doubts. And there wasn’t even any room for those.

Lyonel’s second major show of power should have dumbfounded Blaize. And, for a while, it did. Whatever mundane conversation the human and her master were having went straight over Blaize’s head. It was fuzzed, muffled. All he could hear was the beating of the human’s heart. All he could feel was the heat radiating from her. His body was tensed, his eyes afire. His attention was fixated upon the woman, who no longer looked like a woman, but a meal.

The dancer fought with his reason. It was telling him that this was wrong. When all the attention was finally turned on him, when the woman offered her wrist or her neck, all reason was quashed. Pure thirst fuelled his haste. All weight was shifted to his good leg as he lurched upward. He clutched at Jolie’s shoulder for balance, to hold himself upward. Lyonel had suggested Blaize say ‘hello’, and in a perfect world, Blaize might have. He might have acquainted himself with his meal beforehand, might have apologised, might have double-checked to see how he should go about it.

Instead, instinct took over. He needed to feed. To feel better, he needed fresh blood.

And yet, when his teeth found skin there was nothing there to pierce it. The skin of a person’s neck was not easy to bite through without help. But Blaize did his utmost. Oh, he felt like a monster while doing so, but that feeling wasn’t enough to stop him. He’d broken skin, though he hadn’t yet reached the vein. And that tiny taste of blood only encouraged him to bite harder, the muscles of his jaw locking. He was no doubt causing the woman a significant amount of pain. But the blood – oh, the taste of it --!

He could not stop.

[Lyonel]

There was nothing about what happened next that shocked the tall business man who just so happened to be fresh in the role of sire. His attention fixed on the two across from him. One was possessing blood warm enough that he could count the pumps of the chambers that pushed it through her body. The other was remarkably cool yet alert and it was his own doing that brought it about. He sank back in his chair stretching out those long legs that never failed him and set his hands on each of the armrests on either side of him. Hands curled slowly at the ends while eyes watched the movements made. Despite the focus he invested he managed to inspire Jolie to remain strong, assuring her that she was absolutely safe. The temporary wound that would come from the interaction would easily be forgotten once Blaize was finished.

The brilliance of crimson rising and seeping over mocha flesh was the first sign that progress was being made. The fresh healthy pink that briefly showed before the pale petal pink lips closed reminded him he was low a few pints and could use a bite himself. The wincing of a face so familiar to him was the next hint that Blaize would not refrain from replenishing himself with the sustenance that would continually fuel him. While the killer sat as a witness to the scene he made no effort to send the weight of his body upward. The brief travel of his tongue delivered a sensation of cool relief over the itch setting in predictably beneath his gums. The rest of his body was just going to have to ride out the mild effects where it was planted.

“Fangs…” The rush of her warm breath was candy sweet with the chaser of mild concern as she announced what was first noticeable. “Use…” The familiar pull of her own blood shifting routes tugged her into what might as well have been a whole other realm altogether. It found little to no resistance. After a few years in Lyonel’s hands she learned to go with it when it came calling. She was the lead in the repetitive scene of the bewitcher in need.

“Yessss.”

The drawn out hiss left her lips relaxed and parted as the sound eventually drown into the sedation that took over. Celadon eyes pinned on the face and watched as the color in her cheeks lost the blush of her inner fire that had arrived with woman when she was first summoned. It hit everyone a little different. Jolie’s body grew weak like some shot of anesthesia was finally in her system deep enough to take hold. The whites of her haunting eyes rolled back in their sockets while her hands found the contrast of his hair between her fingers. The bathrobe acquired a small almost unnoticeable spot that would dissolve with a drop or two of peroxide. Jolie’s answer to everything from an abrasion due to an recent grad nail esthetician to the random drop that was wasted on clothing.

Patience and discipline were always abundant within Lyonel. Unfortunately the average human blood supply had fragile limits. He could easily watch all night what was in front of him. Surely the rewards were revealing themselves within the broken swan as he drank in the promise of the heightened existence recently introduced to him. He also knew what was taking hold outside the haze working through the salon and spa owner under Blaize’s bite. Death was possible if he didn’t intervene. Any other would really be considered a lost cause. Jolie had been promised and so far he had kept his word.

Lyonel leaned forward and rose to his full height. This was the part that was about as pleasant as pulling apart a lion on its first kill in a week. It was a good way to lose more than a few fingers even on the likes of the killer who had no choice but to call it good where it was. Even the young fledglings were not to be underestimated when it came to their hunger and needs. Survival was rooted in all and something about the swan from first sight on the stage said he was going to against any odds.

His hand capped the shoulders of both participants and applied pressure to divide them slowly. Despite the limp state of Jolie there still was the matter of convincing Blaize to retreat. "Enough for now." He said it while delivering a firmer insistence to respond with the expected pause. “She needs to be released.” Again he spoke while his hands stretched in an attmept to make it happen.