Categories > Books > Meredith Gentry > The Vast Indigo Of Night

The Consort Wills It

by musicalwraith 0 reviews

Edith is saved... for now. (rated because Edith's injuries are still kind of nasty)

Category: Meredith Gentry - Rating: PG-13 - Genres: Fantasy,Romance - Warnings: [V] [?] - Published: 2008-02-01 - Updated: 2008-02-02 - 1985 words


Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters in the following fanfiction, except for Eddy. Pretty much it's all property of Laurell K. Hamilton and I am simply entertaining my own fantasies (in the mildest sense). I also apologize for any OOC's, for I am merely an LKH fan and not LKH herself.


Chapter Eleven

The slashes across Rhys's face gave a throb as they entered the claustrophobic corridor of the decrepit building. He received the same omen as he gazed at the door at the very end.

"In here," he said quietly, directing Mistral and Abloec forward. The wound was no longer painful, but it throbbed as though it had a heartbeat. It beat louder as he walked towards the door, putting his hand around the knob and twisting.

The cheap door creaked ominously as he thrust it open, revealing a room bathed in pitch darkness. He stepped inside, expecting her to leap out of the shadows. As the heart beat faster and faster, he began to wonder if it was hers, thrumming frantically inside his head.

The light from the hallway cast little illumination on the inside of the room. Rhys groped the wall for a light switch. Finding it, he flipped it on. The room became white-washed in the florescent lights, revealing that he had led them inside ablack bedroom. Edith's body was on the floor.

"Holy crap," he muttered, stepping over to the bleeding mass that was once a vampire assassin. She was lying in a pool of her blood, which had soaked into the dark carpet and made it a saturated maroon. The red liquid had escaped her body through wounds that gaped like open mouths on every inch of her white skin. There were crescent-shaped gashes along her shoulders, arms, and inner thighs. Round stab wounds punched through each side of her chest and parts of her abdomen. Her palms had slits down the middle of them, matching the ones on her face and the largest one across her jugular. The handprint on her wrist glowed brightly with fresh blood. And all across her body were scratches and scars, nips and cuts.

Mistral and Abloec observed the scene from where they stood in the doorway. The three guards didn't know what to think. Was she dead? Were they grateful for her death?

The girl began to move, lolling her head around to face Rhys. Until they had made eye contact, the pounding heart in Rhys's head had become almost unbearably loud. But seeing her made it possible to think once more. As she gazed at him, he noticed her pupils were not fully dilated, but they had shrunk down obediently to rest in the center of eyes so blue they seemed violet.

The wound in her throat kept her from speaking, but she said so much through those unusual eyes. Her eyes held strength, a kind that said, Look at what has happened to me and see that I am still alive before you. Yet there was a sense of vulnerability, or rather, she was admitting it and asking for help.

"We need ahealer." Rhys's voice came out, and yet he didn't feel it was himself saying those words. He looked at the two other men and said, "If she is not kept alive, we have lost any chance of identifying who is trying to kill the princess."

Abloec turned awary glance at Mistral, who nodded. "He is right. She does not have much longer to live if we leave her in this condition."

An earthy smell began to fill the room. It was as if someone unseen had stepped in, and they had just come back from working in the garden or the woods. It was the aroma of fresh soil, of an immense forest of huge trees that went for miles and miles. The three men exchanged glances, feeling the presence of the Consort.

The heart in Rhys's head gave another throb.

"Wait," he said. His voice was deeper. It sounded far away and near at the same time. It was not his voice. "She will die if we wait any longer."

"What shall we do?" Mistral asked.

"I was once a god of death. I could summon vast armies from the grave. My powers are not the same, but I may still bring about death with a touch." Rhys spoke for himself, compelled by the God. "Death may come and go as I please. The Consort wills it."

Energy began to fill the room as the arboreal fragrance grew stronger. The power began to move through each of them, causing their clothes and hair to stir as if there was wind in that little room in New York. Rhys glowed as though a candle had been lit beneath his skin.

The heart in his mind beat slowly as he kneeled down to Edith, who lay on the thin line between life and death. He could see the fear in her eyes. She didn't know who the Consort was or what Rhys's powers were or why the room smelled like dirt. All she knew is that she was going to die and finally the agony she had been through would be over.

"Do not be afraid," Rhys murmured to her, brushing her hair back with his fingers.

With that single touch, the life vanished from her frightened eyes. Her spirit left her through afinal breath, leaving her body still and cold. Her violet orbs stared blankly at the space behind Rhys.

The power had evaporated from the room. The heartbeat in Rhys's head had stopped completely. The three men were left in the unnatural florescent light. All was silent. The smell of forest was gone.

"What did you do?"Mistral's voice was low in his throat, like approaching thunder. He did not value the girl's life, only a clue as to who dared threaten the princess. It enraged him to think that Rhys, with no command, brought death to her.

The white knight only curled up one side of his smile, knowing what the Consort had intended.

The girl suddenly sucked in a huge breath, disrupting the grave silence in the room. Her back arched as life filled her body, flowing into her lungs, her limbs, squeezing her heart until it began to beat again. He could hear it, beating away between his temples like a drum. All the lesions on her body had sealed up, leaving her skin smooth and white once more.

She sat straight up, touching her hand to her throat.

"Thank you," she said, gazing at the man that had healed her. She felt utterly confused, for she did not know the power of the sidhe.

"You're welcome,"said Rhys, smirking.

She smiled back at him, but was reminded that she still felt like passing out. She wavered, feeling herself fall back to the floor. Rhys caught her with one arm behind her shoulders.

"She's lost a lot of blood," Rhys said.

Mistral kneeled down on the other side of her. "What do you suggest we do?"

"You are not going to... feed her, are you?" Abe asked, cringing.

Rhys stared at her, and then looked back at them. "I might have to."

"This is madness,"Mistral growled, voice rumbling like thunder. "You are doing a great deal of service for this creature. She is a danger to the princess. She's not even asidhe." He glared down Rhys, who held Edith in his arms. "Revive her and ask her of who intends to bring harm to Meredith. Then we shall leave her be."

Rhys blinked his eyes, feeling uncertain. Why had he cared so much for this night walker? The scars had healed, but she mattered nothing to him. If he had been in her situation, she probably would have left him. However, he felt as though the God and Goddess had other plans, but what they were he could not guess.

"Rhys." Mistral got his attention. "Ask her."

The white knight looked at the girl in his arms. Her head was lolled backwards but her eyes focused faintly at the world around her. She was weak, but she had not yet blacked out. Rhys put one of his arms around her torso, and used the other to prop her head up. Her eyes no longer held hatred, but the eternal thanks that he had put her out of her misery.

"Edith," he said softly.

"Yes?" she answered.

"Who hired you to abduct the princess?" he asked carefully. Her heart beat inside his head at apainfully slow pace.

She swallowed and said, "The Prince. Prince Cel."

The three guards were not surprised. Rhys cast a glance at Mistral, not knowing what to do next. Were there more questions to ask?

Mistral shook his head. But as he did, the smell of forest began to fill the room again. It was faint, but it was there.

"She needs to live, Mistral." The God spoke through Rhys's lips. "She lives for you." Rhys knew the Consort was not referring to Mistral, but to himself.

Rhys shifted so that her head could rest in his lap. He had one hand behind her head and held the other towards her face. He pulled back his sleeve and held the soft flesh of his wrist to her.

"What are you doing?" Mistral said, rage in his voice.

"The Consort wills it," Rhys said determinedly.

She held open her mouth to his pressing skin, biting down with a hiss escaping Rhys's lips. As the blood flowed, she grabbed onto his arm, grasping it as she drank. Her tongue moved against his wrist, lapping and sucking the blood. He held the back of her head, tangling her soft ebony locks between his fingers.

For a moment he felt it was a most unpleasant sensation, as though he was being eaten. Then aplacating feeling washed over him, a kind of peacefulness that made him forget that his blood was being drained. The tranquility poured from her mouth into his veins, pumping through to the core of him. As it went lower, the numb serenity turned into a different kind of pleasure. It squeezed and twisted things inside him he knew no woman could reach. It brought gasps from his throat, causing him to lay back his head and crush a fist full of her hair in his fingers. Soon, the approaching orgasm turned back into the dull stillness, and then into nothing. All he could sense was a slight stinging in his wrist and the feeling of her licking the skin she had punctured.

He sighed, realizing his heart had been beating furiously inside his chest and that he was giving off a soft radiance that shined dimly against the low budget lighting.

Rhys looked at his fellow guards. Mistral looked even angrier than he did before, and Abe's eyes had widened.

"That was amusing," said the guard with black and white stripes of hair.

"I was not aware that night walkers had glamour," Mistral said, jaw clenched.

Rhys smirked. "I wasn't either." He looked down at Edith, who seemed to have fallen asleep in his arms. Her lips were still clasped around his wrist, making her look as though she had been reduced to a suckling baby. Rhys couldn't help but laugh at the sheer irony. Just an hour ago she had him pinned against a wall with her teeth and claws bared, and now she was slumbering serenely like a child.

"Let us take her to the princess," Mistral grumbled as he got to his feet.

Abloec stood up with Mistral. Rhys took his hand away from Edith, placing the arm under her knees. He shifted his legs out from under her and lifted her as he stood up.

"The Consort should be pleased," Rhys said to himself as they left the tiny room in New York.
Sign up to rate and review this story