Vampiris Sancti: The Elf (15 page)

Full of
self-importance he growled at her. “Who are you? How dare you
accost the Holy Knights of the Oric!”

She stretched
without concern her emerald eyes gleaming with amusement as she
rose and she remembered to use the full speech humans required.

“Hello, funny
humans with such accusing and bullying—is that friendly? Or have
you come to spy on demons that’d tear you apart and feed you to
their dogs for sport? Yet here you be full of threat for one that
can,” she paused and snapped her fingers together causing sparks,
“do this. You dress like children, act like scourge, and I am to
fear you?”

The soldiers
exchanged uneasy glances as if waiting for attack when a shift in
the atmosphere grabbed their full attention. She was not the least
bit worried about the clumsy humans because what compelled her now
was the approaching force that crashed against her like a wave.
Moments later the sound of a powerful engine slowing down on the
street had her put her finger to her lips. They all looked down to
see a sleek black Mercedes pull up beside the entrance. The car
door opened briskly and several Varkja leapt out to scan the road
before them. After a nod towards the car—the Druqe Afir exited, but
the Elf knew the source of energy was more than he was and soon
after the Martyc followed. The unexpected appearance of Dhaigre had
Zyre lay flat against the roof, a circumstance that didn’t go
unnoticed by the Oric. Vryn turned to face the buildings as if
sensing his audience and all held their breath as they waited in
apprehension of the Varkja suddenly springing into action. If the
Martyc knew of their existence he showed no sign and the entourage
entered the Centre leaving a couple of Varkja to watch the street.
Zyre sat up briskly, causing her human audience to fall back in a
defensive mode. Her kaleidoscope eyes merging between blue and
green were from a world that most believed existed only in
fantasy.

Giving them an
undaunted smile she said, “Go home, tonight this be no place for
human for the Martyc tis about.”

The stressed
soldiers looked toward their commander for instruction and he
decided to employ some of the bravado that fuelled him. “We know
what the Martyc is and we aren’t the ones hiding in the dirt on a
roof.”

The young man
either ignored his studies on addressing the magical or was
ignorant of the danger of annoying an Elf with changing eyes.
Emerald green was mischief, kaleidoscope was warning, teal meant
leave town, and sapphire blue meant potential death. If he had been
a demon she would have left him hanging off the tallest building
around. Though aware of the fragility of humans—she had no time for
gentle torments. The Seal of Sere was a particular spell created
for a particular reason, except at the time of creation Vampires
and humans had not been a part of the Reveal so they remained
outside of the protection. Zyre snapped her fingertips and the
spark hit the tip of the dagger poking out of his belt with the
force of a demon punch. The young man went down like a rock and his
friends ran over to see the damage, but her eyes were firm upon the
Varkja as some had splinted off to investigate.

Staggering back
to his feet the leader tried to save face by attempting to give her
a formidable glare. “For now.”

As he made his
cryptic utterance he didn’t realise that his audience was for the
first part in the start of a dissolve, in the second part
completely indifferent to his pronouncement. Zyre didn’t suggest
the humans remove themselves from any protective sense of care
because her motivations were far simpler. As delightful as the
humans were for entertainment when it came to the concerns of the
Reveal they tended to get in the way. Regardless of her wayward
nature, Zyre knew the Martyc was a creature of strategies and this
was another method of message delivery. He was out in the open
allowing her to see that he controlled all aspects of this world
reinforcing the knowledge of his status as reigning prince. So if
Dhaigre wanted an audience by turning everything into theatre who
was she not to reciprocate with a little theatre of her own? As
much a prisoner to the capricious whims of her magical nature as a
demon was to the violent urges of their own the Elf, instead of
leaving, was going to spend the evening irritating one Vryn
Dhaigre.

Before granting
him the blessing of her presence Zyre had to decide if she wished
to exasperate the Martyc, or engage in absolute aggravation. When
it came to mischief Elves were not well acquainted with restraint.
Their conception was that more was always better, so with this
mindset Zyre dissolved into a shop she had spied earlier. She
reappeared at the back of the room enveloped in a mountain of tulle
and satin as a rack of ready to wear wedding gowns fell atop of
her. A delighted Elf struggled to remove herself from the
voluminous mess of none too elegantly constructed gowns. The
shimmering Elf danced about the shop while trying on various veils
all at once. The security camera, set up to discourage thieves,
would have caught the strange sight of gowns appearing to prance
about on their own.

“La, la la,”
the magical borrower sang happily as she burrowed deeply back into
the pile.

A frothy
confection resembling a distorted marshmallow caught her attention
and soon the magical appropriator was draped within its meringue
splendour. If the Martyc wished union with an Elf then he could
enjoy a vision—human style—of what she did not intend to allow him
to acquire. As usual, the overwhelming urge for misbehaviour
overcame any logical tactics. So the Elf who should have remained
in hiding was the same deluge of tulle that glided past the
astounded Verkja doormen of the Centre.

Enjoying the
protection of the Centre Zyre did not attempt to hide since she was
well aware of the affect her attendance would have upon the
occupants. Once past the entrance, she watched the entire area of
the main reception go silent as demons from several universes
caught their first glimpse of an Elf. Her presence was not only
astounding to them, but her appearance in voluminous white
dissolving and reappearing gave her the manifestation of an
avalanche cascading across the room. Her Elf magic became a mantle
of exquisite bliss touching all those she passed and if any had
been in doubt of the power of the magical creature to entrance then
it was swiftly eliminated. Her kaleidoscope eyes searched the room
to meet those of an unaffected Goblin. She was not surprised he had
crossed the Reveal since the Nefarious One knew to keep their
malevolence off world. The Goblin’s sulphur eyes glowed and as she
added him to her list of annoyances her eyes melted into a stormy
teal causing her magical brethren to look away because Goblins
might be Goblins, but they were no match for Elves.

Zyre moved
throughout the room where it took but a moment for her to feel him
because his magnetic power pulsated in the atmosphere about her.
Knowing what she would find she turned to look straight into the
eyes of the being that would possess, curtail, and consume her
until she was but a part of his existence. She searched her memory
for him since surely she would remember such an imposing character
because he would have been hard to forget. The jet of his eyes
burned into hers, the ebony waves of his hair fell to his
shoulders, a dark prince in a world of light. If they had met then
why didn’t she remember the stern face before her? His eyes
revealed what his soul could not for the brush upon her lips was
the passion he exhaled—that she inhaled from the air between them
and she remembered why she needed to forget. Martycs loved Elves
and Elves, if they weren’t careful, would love them back. The
beings that would take them from freedom; lock them away and hold
them in the suffocating grip of ownership. Martyc emotion was
always about the possession of what they desired and if he had
control of the Elf then he had control of his Folly.

Alert to the
dangers of remaining suspended in the embrace of his passion she
moved towards his table, causing the Varkja to leap up as if the
cloud of white was a menacing assassin. Afir sat beside his master
with a blank face, but his aloof façade didn’t deceive the Elf
since one word from her and his life would be forfeit. The neurotic
response of the Varkja amused her as she imagined their
preparations had considered every scenario but this. Giving even
less information away than his Druqe the Martyc remained ominously
silent against a backdrop of excited whispers filling the room.
Zyre assumed it was up to her to make the first comment.

She fiddled
with her frothy skirt. “How do you like my dress? It has lots of
bits!”

The Druqe
blinked rapidly as if she had lost her mind, the Varkja looked at
each other uneasily as if waiting for the dress to transform into
an explosive weapon with only the Martyc remaining unperturbed.

“It is very
white,” replied Vryn dryly.

To the others
present, being waylaid by a naughty Elf appeared to have no
discernable effect upon the Martyc. Nearly overwhelmed by agitation
the desire emanating from him was a truth he couldn’t hide from her
because they were bound in a struggle that had no tangible points.
She sat down without invitation and his eyes spoke a universe of
longing that his body couldn’t acknowledge in public. She shifted
the huge dress so she could manoeuvre herself and her legs free
from the heavy volume of fabric stretched out under the table. As
he waved his staff away to another table the association of Elf and
Martyc became the focus of the entire Centre. Zyre put her chin in
her hands while staring impudently at her companion and her eyes
changed from teal back to a clear emerald—with depths any male
could lose himself in for an eternity.

“So we finally
meet. You must be the great Vryn Dhaigre.”

The Martyc
corrected, “Not finally—we meet again Zyre.”

The Elf creased
her brow while memories rushed through her as she struggled to
recall their first meeting. How could she, why would she, forget
this particular Martyc? The thread of a recollection, the lost echo
of an emotion crossed her mind and the sweet whisper of leaves and
bark slipped from her lips.

“
Chiyzy.”

He watched as
she sorted through the flashes of recollection while trying to
place him. She didn’t remember the circumstances of the demon
pastry, but did recall the danger of the moment. Mistaking her
murmur for a request Vryn demanded the pastry from a server who
explained in a fearful voice they only served the local human
delicacies. Vryn’s face grew dark with discontent and Zyre not
wishing to dwell upon a memory that started his obsession
interrupted the babble of the server.

“Éclair,”
demanded the magical diva.

Deciding that
their conversation held a decided lack of torment Zyre continued
with her reckless path as she discussed her dress.

“Did you know
in this world this type of dress is worn by females during the
union ceremony between humans?”

Her demon
companion to all intents looked completely relaxed as he sat back
in his chair with one hand flat upon the table. Zyre could see what
eluded the others, the flesh of his knuckles white and strained as
he pressed against the surface with all his concentration.

“I am familiar
with the protocols of this world when a man takes a woman.”

Her eyes
flashed teal at his Martyc skew upon her message and she corrected
him briskly.

“When a woman
gives herself don’t you mean? Free and of her own will—without
those to make her?”

The message
given she waited in anticipation of having to do an immediate
withdrawal because Martycs, despite their fierce control, could get
angry. Vryn was not so easily baited, nor was he about to
relinquish the habits of a lifetime as the Empire believed in
patience—with patience all things endured. Vryn smiled, causing the
room to hush in astonishment for a smiling Martyc surely would only
mean death for someone and in this case that someone appeared to be
an Elf. Zyre held upon the moment of hush separating each emotion
from the atmosphere, their startled audience, the Druqe concern,
the Varkja alert and the Martyc intensity. Not finding the ambiance
of violence she picked up an éclair appearing unconcerned at the
turmoil before her and took a hefty bite.

Vryn seemed to
have a message of his own to impart and he folded his arms while
the smile remained fixed upon his face. “Unless the woman has a
duty to uphold the edicts of her people.” He said with an arrogant
superiority that made her snort.

It wasn’t that
Zyre was incapable of engaging the Martyc in a battle of obscure
threats. It was more that she had difficulty focusing when a plate
of pastries required eating. Like most magical creatures she took
the easy way out.

“I dunno, been
travelling don’t know nothing, nothing at all.”

Her reply
didn’t anger the Martyc because often the magical response to
adversity was denial until forced to address the issue.

He countered
her lie. “Didn’t a Fairy find you and speak of problems?”

Her eyes
flashed briefly at his knowledge and she briefly considered zapping
the chair out from under him. Knowing that would have her tossed
from the Centre she shrugged as if the Fairy was of no consequence.
Unable to contain his displeasure at her refusal to acknowledge the
truth he stretched his long legs under the table without realising
her legs were already occupying the space. His legs suddenly
surrounded hers and she felt an electrified tension as the brush of
fabric crossed her skin. Quick to seize the opportunity Vryn closed
his legs tightly around hers before she could withdraw them back
under the dress. Bliss flecked his dark eyes with gold as they met
bright emerald and for a brief moment the waves of his intensity
overcame her. There was none of her present as she was swept away
drowning in his need, his desire, his determination and she
struggled to assert herself before she also succumbed to his
passion.