Beneath the Skin [Lyonel]

[Blaize]

That was that, then. Blaize’s rejection of the invitation was accepted. Lyonel did not push. There was some small part of the dancer that was disappointed, but the disappointment was soon quashed by pure determination. Little did Lyonel know that the raincheck offered was one that might never be revisited. Or, if it was, it would again be rejected. Where Lyonel might have been proud of Blaize’s work ethic, his devotion to his art, it truly was unhealthy. Blaize would dance until his toes broke from the exertion and he left a trail of blood in his wake.

And yet, on the surface he appeared calm as an ocean with no breeze. His feathers were unruffled, even if beneath the surface there lingered the urge to spread them wide and leap from a cliff, like Icarus tumbling to his fate. They were feathers that first appeared strong but, beneath all of it – even beneath Blaize’s own knowledge – they were not as strong as he would like.

It looked as if Lyonel were about to leave, but instead he scrutinized Blaize who felt like a microbe beneath a microscope. His jaw hardened and his eyes were sharp. The question was asked and the hardness remained – a muscle in the swan’s jaw twitched before it was loosened, and a smile spread over pale lips. These were lips that, upon first meeting Blaize, Lyonel would know could be full of plump colour. Now they were thinner than usual, and lacking substance. But still, they smiled. He spread his arms wide as if to say look at me, do I look like I need replenishing? Blaize was lying to himself as much as he was lying to Lyonel. He honestly did think he looked the top of his game. He certainly felt it.

”Of course,” he said, letting a few seconds pass. ”Dance, and music replenish me,” he said with a laugh. He was fine. He was more than fine. That’s what he was trying to convince Lyonel.

[Lyonel]

Lyonel didn’t give the display of the swan’s wings too much notice. Not with the mood that was settling over him rather quickly. It would not serve the purpose of what he decided was his best course of action given that Blaize was in denial. A denial that seriously insulted both of them as he allowed it to sink in. He doubted that the one he was eyeing would have taken the appropriate time to rest if it weren’t for the pull of what a young vampire had no control over taking him hostage during the daylight hours. A small measure of relief for that found it’s way in but it was not enough to curb his concerns for what he was seeing more clearly as the seconds passed. As far as he was concerned Blaize tried to wave it all away like it was that easy. It never was and that was Lyonel’s responsibility to get the message across.

“Sure they do.”

Celadon orbs bounced from the far wall while the hands that were patting the surface beneath jumped off dropping in the air on either side of him and went with the rest of his tall body towards Blaize. The movement was smooth and fluid like a massive predatory cat stepping confidently over the ground it held claim to. All of which the killer did then and there. Sometimes it came down to not giving choices. They weren’t always an option in cases like this and Wolfgang taught him as much more than once what would happen if the right one wasn’t made. Once he was close enough to the platinum headed mystic that he could smell the sweat that would have coated his body had he still been human he sized him up pausing when his eyes found the thin line of his mouth. So much power over the simplest things was available and yet he was looking at one who was still battling with acceptance or not.

“But just in case…”

Lyon left the unspoken words at the back of his throat and opted for a non-verbal demonstration of how things would work if the one he turned would continue to struggle with it all. In the silence between them a shifting of energy worked its magic leaving Lyonel a bit weaker for the transfer. It was a reaction that he expected. It didn’t last long for the response to kick in to bring back what he was missing. He compensated for the blood loss that was unseen beneath his flesh with the training he acquired in the bridged necromancer path. The telltale subtle charge that went with everything balancing back out to what it had been for him was detected in his ease of his bare feet carrying him out of the room. Nothing was said as he exited the room Blaize was left standing in while he made his way into the adjacent hall.

[Blaize]

Blaize stood his ground as the much taller killer crossed the floor toward him. Anyone else might have backed off, but Blaize had no reason to fear Lyonel – he was far more curious than anything else. The distance closed, Lyonel stood almost silent, his eyes resting on Blaize’s lips – lips that parted to take in air that his lungs did not need. If it weren’t for the strange energy that generated in the small space between them, Blaize might have thought that his sire was going to try kiss him. This was a ludicrous thought that was dismissed as soon as he felt the magic enter his blood stream.

The breath was released from Blaize’s lungs in an expression of awe. It was like a sudden hit of caffeine, or one of those performance and focus drugs he sold on the black market to the students who wanted to continually pull twenty-four hour days. The molecules in his veins expanded and spread, they multiplied and fattened. The swan could feel his skin tighten and fill out, could feel his muscles drink in the new blood greedily, thirsty for the nourishment.

Now he knew that Lyonel knew. Blaize, whose fangs had never developed and whose taste for blood had been equally stunted, had not been able to pull the hood over his sire’s eyes. As his own eyes closed, revelling in the rush of wonderment, he waited for the lecture. Lyonel wouldn’t agree with Blaize’s practices – the way he held back until he could bear the thirst no longer, and only then did he go to the shop for the blood bags he needed. Only then did he slurp them down one after the other as quick as possible, not even knowing how best he’d get his blood fresh from the source without the incisors to do so. It was a secret shame that the dancer wished not to share – but here they were. And Lyonel knew.

But no lecture came. When Blaize opened his eyes again it was to see only Lyonel’s ankle as it disappeared into the hall. Lyonel was gone. His sire was gone. Blaize took two steps forward as he felt that strange sensation, that tug at his soul that he couldn’t quite figure out. The urge was there to race after Lyonel, to say Hey, changed my mind. But he didn’t. His jaw clenched, and he turned on his heel. Three swift steps took him to the stereo; he pressed play. The music started – and Blaize, for the hundredth time that night – took up first position.