{the hunter_&&the hunted

[tristan]

It began in Feras, the jewel of the Human race. Proof that not only could humans raise such a prosperous city, but also protect and keep it. Little did so many know that such dark deeds and dealings were hidden within the shadows of dodgy inns, pubs, and brothels. Such places were frequented by such a man as Oran Creed, whose entire life had been dictated by those who required the services of a man as subtle as he. And so, this story does begin within the inn of the King’s Crown. As highly stated a name, the establishment was far less sophisticated from within. The men that crowded it were loud, boisterous, and rather unruly, making the wenches that served them all the more listless for their lot drawn to have such a job. Oran enjoyed such places. It made having public conversations so much easier. None paid mind to two cloaked figured against the far corner when there were women to be harassed.

The ranger’s pale blue eyes gazed steadily from beneath the olive drab hood that shrouded his visage, eyeing his potential employer for appraisal. The man appeared older, as the lines of his face would suggest. His skin was ashen in places, blotched against the otherwise pale hue. His hands were thin, and he would wring them together from time to time, possibly from nerves. He spoke with a slight stutter during their initial introduction, and Oran wasn’t quite sure if it were his reputation that had drawn such a manner from the man, or if he were just touched in the head. Whatever the reason, the proposition seemed to be one of great import. One that would pay a great deal of gold for its completion.

“…There is a m-matter, ser, that I would entrust o-only to one of your esteem…I am a r-researcher, a s-student to all things that might forward understanding and b-benefit to humanity…What I need, however, w-will not be easy to obtain.” The hooded figure across from him continued to bow his head a little, hoping to earn some sort of favor with the payment of respect. “In t-this scroll is a d-detailed profile of your mark…” He slid a sealed parchment across the table, which Oran quickly took and discretely pocketed. “F-find her, and b-bring her back to the Imperial City. There, I w-will wait for you.”

It was not in a mercenary’s nature to ask questions beyond the possible risks, but Oran saw none. He was to obtain a woman-- a vampire-- and bring her securely back to this man. For whatever purposes, and why this one in particular was nothing of his concern. Find her, capture her, deliver her. That was what mattered. “What of my allotment in this?” The ranger asked coolly. The employer reached a hand into his sleeve, slowly withdrawing a tied-off satchel of a rather good size and he set it to the center of the table.

“Th-this is only h-half…There will be m-much more when s-she is delivered.”

The Bard grinned and weighed the gold in his hand. “It is well enough. You will have what you desire…”

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

That had been a mere week prior, and, since then, the ranger had set out as promised. His time had been spent in Odantton, gathering what information he could on his unfortunate target. It seemed that she was of a rather good bloodline, perhaps the very reason as to why this girl was chosen. Her house was a powerful sort, it seemed, holding a wide influence, her father having lived for several centuries…Oran had no fear of crossing vampires, and it had been clearly shown as he walked the streets of Odantton, undeterred, even as a few of the less intelligent creatures attempted to make a meal of him. After the first three had failed, it seemed best to merely let the ranger be.

Two nights prior, Creed had left for the only location to be known-- the falls of the Black Forest. Such a foreboding name, but the ranger did not honestly expect anything less from a decrepit race of night dwellers. He had no love for the creatures, no fondness, no sympathy, no apathy. They were a blight and stain upon that which was natural and decent. What “power” they may have been thought to have, Creed would make certain to prove them falsely accused of it. They would even go so far as to insist that humans were of lesser mettle, that they would kill easily to wound and disease and that their short lifespan could never bear the full potential that one man was capable of. If it were true, then why would it be that this particular human was sought and assigned for such a task as to skillfully capture such a vampire as Natalya Petrov?

The Bard carried himself on steps akin to an elf, so light was his grace. His senses carried him to the direction of the stream, his ears picking up the rush of the current for him to walk against. Oran kept himself far from any possible detection. Even the creatures that passed him by seemed to think better than to make an attempt at him. His bow was drawn, an arrow knocked and ready as it rested against the string. His hood was drawn, though left behind his shoulders, keeping his swords accessible to him. It was impossible to say whether this human was merely bold, crazy, or as skilled as all the stories told-- for it was impossible to know if this man truly was The Bard. No human would traverse these forests in their own right state of mind, nor sleep soundly in the beds of Odantton, nor possibly cross the Petrov House in an attempt to abduct the young daughter among them…And, yet, there was this human.

Oran holstered his bow as he came to a rather large oak. It perched itself proudly amongst the others, towering well above them and stealing what continued light it could. It was strong and sturdy, and, in the ranger’s eyes, made for the best point of observation. He was near. The roar of the falls had become within fifty yards of his ears, and that was distance enough to do what was required. He knelt down, taking two daggers from holsters concealed within his boots. He stood, stabbing them into the bark of the tree as high as he might and began to lift himself by them. One after another, Oran climbed the length of the trunk until he’d given himself room enough to settle onto the bough. Once there, his weapons were sheathed and his bow taken back to his hand. It was perfect. The spread within the branches left him with a window large enough that the basin below was in full view. It was…oddly beautiful, as he’d come to find.

The dark sky was alight of stars, the bright million of the glowing orbs looking down upon their world. The falls even seemed to shine against the light of the moon, which stood full and powerful among the heavens, lording in its late hour that it might yet rule over the sun for such a short time. A single deer and her fawn lowered their heads to the water’s edge, drinking carefully from its spring, and, for but a flickering moment, a smile crept to the man’s features. But it was hardly time to admire such scenes. Oran settled his back against the tree, knocking another arrow before letting himself rest, remaining ever watchful on the scene below him.

Slowly, he pulled his hood back, letting the thick strands of sandy-blond hair fall and rest over his shoulders. With his free hand, he brushed at his goatee, bemusing the possibility that this capture could be more bothersome than he desired. At the very least, it was necessary for him to immobilize the woman. The first two shots would need to piece an arm and thigh. After that, if she could still find the will to run, he’d piece her heart. Troublesome that only a steak could rightly kill a vampire, but an arrow would suffice for subduing her well enough. And, if need be, he could always greet her with the use of a sword. Whatever the case, it was now a waiting game. This night, Natalya Petrov would find herself with a little less freedom than to what she was accustomed.

[natalya]

"You best not let the Sire or Misses know of your late little journey, young miss." Evanna, the servant of the Petrov House shook her head at Natalya with haste as she gathered the apples from the trees in the courtyard. "He's in a right fine fit tonight, if he finds you're out of your confinements it'll be a punishing." She warned, as she did every night, but tonight especially seemed more threatening. The soft eyes of her human face were dark with certain fear. As the ragged strands fell from their braid behind her hood, the woman didn't bother to shove them back into place. The vast estate of the Petrov mansion was indeed beautiful and the fact that Natalya had gotten out at all was astounding. Her parents, the Petrov Duke and Duchess were wealthy and had no sons. This was why their daughter, Natalya, was in their list of annoyances. They'd wanted a son, especially her father, to carry on the Petrov line. But Lucille Petrov had only given Peter a daughter, rotten Natalya, and since has failed to birth a child that was not lost before or during child birth. Peter was a power hungry man that liked his control on things, especially his wife and daughter. Lucille had grown accustomed to the treatment, accepted it as what was required. But Natalya had not, and thus far, created more of a problem than needed. Peter's fist was powerful, as well as his vampiric compulsion and the magick he had his servant socerers preform for him.

"Those damned seals on my walls and floor won't keep me in that room forever. I won't stay locked up like an animal, I'm not one." Her eyes flashed at Evanna before she shook her head with an apologetic smile. "I appreciate your warning, Evanna, but I know the risk when I leave the room." The night called to her, she needed it, needed to be a part of it or she'd go mad. All those years of staying in the basement, of being trapped in the dark, cold room covered in pentagrams to keep her in it was twisted. She wasn't allowed out of the room unless ordered, nor out of the house. She'd never even seen anything but the estate's land and only that was because she'd destroyed two of the eight or more pentagram seals that kept her trapped there. And it had been hard to do even that, the burns she'd taken from the garlic-induced spells and holy water sprinkled about the red paint to keep her there had caused her delicate hands to be scarred until she healed them slowly. They'd kept her weak, underfed and only gave her beatings when they spoke to her. The fact that her father was extra angry this eve meant little to her now.

"I worked this hard to get out and it's worked fine for this past few weeks, hasn't it? So what's to worry about?" Natalya plucked an apple from the tree and placed it in the basket Evanna carried.

A sudden crash in the house down the steep hill leading up to the courtyard made both Evanna and Natalya jerk. The following sound sent shivers flying up and down Natalya's spine, fear spinning her eyes into black, distant holes. Peter Petrov was absolutely, irrevocably, pissed off.

Evanna shook her head fast, "You best run fast, miss, I told you he's unnaturally upset." She gave Natalya a shove and the vampire tossed her last apple into the basket and nearly rolled down the hill in such a rush. If she didn't get to her room before he made his way down there to get at her, she was in trouble. He didn't know she'd found a way out, couldn't find an empty room, especially in this mood. He might really kill her this time. Peter was notorious for going into fits where he'd deprive her of blood for days to watch her grow near death as punishment. Once, she'd forgotten to pick her one blanket from the floor and she'd been forced to go without blood for so long that she couldn't remember what happened to the little boy that Peter had brought down for her. Natalya only recalled waking up with the boy's body in her arms, ripped to shreds and she covered in blood.

The one window in the basement that opened to the courtyard was no longer covered, he'd grown a new hatred for Natalya one day and ripped the cover off to ensure that she had no protection from the sunlight. "Maybe one day you'll rid yourself from me and I'll be free from such a pathetic waste of blood and fang." She remembered him saying before he'd slammed the door shut and she was left to stare at the gap. Magick kept her from crossing the threshold of the window, until she'd found a way to destroy the pentagrams enough to slip through.

Now, Natalya slid down the last trench before the crack of the basement window came into view. The light above on the first level was swatted to the wall with a terrible crash and she saw Peter's shadow move towards the mouth of the stairwell. Natalya lifted the wooden cross-pattern cover over the window top and slid in fast, shutting it and falling through the window just in time as Peter's steps thudded down the stairwell. She threw her deep crimson cloak to the bedpost and sat against the wall adjacent to the window just as Peter came into view around the corner.

He truly was in a great fit, his pale face, so drained of blood was sharp and his brows drawn down so low to his eyes they looked like crooked wings of a raven. His eyes were glowing red, beating a pulse at her, his fist clenched at his side and his other hand on the cement wall gripped the block so hard it began to crumble with the power of it. His aura spilled out like a tsunami against her senses, rolling hatred and utter fury so harsh it made her gasp.

"You think you're clever, don't you girl?"

Yes.

"You think you can spin one past me because you own the place, don't you?"

Yes?

"You were foolish to ever give into that notion." He stalked to her slowly, snatching up the blanket from the bed, neatly made- and tore it with one, swift flick of his wrist. Tossing the shreds to the side, he kneeled in front of her, his crooked nose so close to her small, button one that she felt the slow, cool air brushing from his lungs. "You are sorely mistaken to think you can achieve anything. You are pathetic, weak, small and useless. Your sex is a disgusting, putrid joke that makes my hand tighten to smack your thin little cheeks." He gripped her face tightly and jerked her from one side to the other. "You were a screw up, some sort of blip in the Fate's plan and now we are landed with something so beneath us to put up with. You were one night that should have been a night when my hands didn't lay upon your wench of a mother."

Natalya stared, she was a young woman, 23, and had heard this for years. It was nothing new, and for a long time, she'd believed him and he'd played her like a harp. But eventually, she found love from her servants when they scantly slipped her animal blood of creatures that were to be supper. It was how she'd stayed alive when her father deprived her. Slowly, she'd begun to understand love and care. If Peter Petrov ever found the stacks of books that the servants slipped her and she'd hidden in the walls to read- he really would have staked her and left her ashes to be forgotten.

"So what is it this time?" Her voice slipped out slowly, blandly. "You lost a human servant? Your meal escaped you? The wench at the brothel told you she didn't like your nose?" There had to be some reason why he'd exploded. It was too rare that he felt like beating her for no reason at all. Whims weren't Peter's way.

His lips turned up in a long, slow smile and the yellow teeth behind them released his rancid breath. "Oh no, my dear. You have slipped up finally, girl. You forgot to clean up after your little journey last evening..." He lifted his hand to slip out something from his coat pocket. It was a pressed flower, a rose that she'd been collecting from the back patch of rose bushes in the woods. She must have dropped one on her way inside and he'd found it.

Now, true fear spoiled her heart and froze the blood there. Her eyes focused on the gorgeous piece of nature, that flower had given her permission to take it home with her, to stare at it and stroke its soft petals. Now she'd left it to be found by her poisonous father. She could nearly hear the flower's weep of pain as his fingers touched it's delicate stem. Beauty in the clutches of such venom could do nothing but cry out in pain.

"Yes," Peter chuckled darkly, watching the pain and fear writhe in her eyes. "You misstepped, and you'll never see the light of the moon again..." His hand rose and quickly, his strike landed on her cheek so hard her head flew into the brick behind her head and she heard the sickening crack of her skull. That would take awhile to heal. He laughed darkly and went to land another blow when the echoing bells of the house tolled. Someone was at the door.

Peter stood and straightened, dusting off his coat and tossing the rose to the side. "Feleand, Guilivere, watch the little tramp and don't rely on the spells to keep her here." He slipped up the stairs to leave the two watchmen standing in their dark corners, watching her.

Natalya bit back her scream of fury, of pain. Her head felt like it had been split in two and her cheek screamed a bruise on the way. She lay on the cement floor, staring at the rose that had been crushed in Peter's hand then again under his foot as he'd left. It wept inside as she did.

[tristan]

The estate could be clearly seen, even through the veil of trees that attempted to hide it. The spacious courtyard led up to the stream, guarded by a high line of bushes that spanned and circled into an intricate design Oran would have almost considered a maze. It was as though they were trying to keep others out…or perhaps someone in? Whatever the case, Oran‘s scope of the mansion was vast and he took in the necessary details. Creed would have little trouble with his approach. None patrolled the perimeter, which was somewhat surprising, considering the family‘s wealth and influence. He‘d suspected a few guards. At this hour, though, he supposed their attention was drawn to the interior of the estate, meaning his time would be limited in his assault. Still, four minutes would be more than enough time to make the capture…

Oran slid from his high branch, landing nimbly on a lower one, then proceeded to descend until earth met his feet, once more. It was time to move. The ranger slipped upstream until he found a point in which he could cross. He approached the wall of vegetation and easily sought out the point of entry he‘d gathered from his roost in the great oak. The courtyard was simple in its layout. Nothing out of the ordinary, save for the one servant he‘d managed to spot from his point of observation. More to his joy, however, was that she was talking to none other than his intended target. The distance was far too great to hear any extent of conversation, but Natalya Petrov had left with swiftness. His eyes had followed her all the way to her window, which also gave him more than enough of a clue as to how he would enter…Perhaps that was just too simple, though? Why not leave an impression on the Petrov House?

With a silence most unbecoming of most humans, The Bard slipped through completely veiled by shadow. The servant was close. He could hear her steps growing nearer to him and Oran quickly descended further into the darkness. Once she‘d approached, his hands seized her, one wrapping about her mouth, silencing her as he pulled her out of sight. Her struggle was impressive, but Oran held fast to her, pinning her to the ground. He hushed her, putting a finger to his lips. He nodded to her, receiving another in understanding. He released his hold on her, still kneeling over the human maid. “Natalya Petrov,” Oran whispered, “where is she?”

“She is in her room, her father is in a rage the likes of which I have never seen…” As she spoke, Oran heard a rather nasty crash, then a rather explosive amount of shouts. “I do not know what it is you intend, ser, but…don‘t hurt her…”

Oran nodded slightly. “Do not fear. My duty is not in her slaying…” He responded vaguely. “Stay here…move, and an arrow will soon find you.” was his only command before he stood and quickly vanished.

The ranger made his approach, though his aim was not for the window. No, instead, Oran moved for the front door. He smirked slightly. A challenge was always something of interest to the man. The more risk involved, the more inclined he was to pursue that path. This would be an extensive test to just how far his unpredictable nature could take him. Oran stood a small height against the large oak double doors. He took a slight step to the right, angling himself for the door‘s initial opening. He readied his bow, knocking an arrow with it. With a firm knock, he rapt the door thrice. The shouting ceased. Oran pulled hard on the string, overdrawing the bow to its fullest extent. He would need to bury this arrow.

It took some time, but Oran soon heard the click of the door‘s latch open and it slowly creaked open. The thin, pale, deadly face of the Petrov patriarch looked to see just who their unexpected visitor was. Oran could have smiled to see the sudden change from venom to shock alight on his ghastly features just before the arrow was released, striking into his forehead, the force of the draw sending the shaft through the thick bone and embedding itself. The vampire slumped and fell to the floor. He would not be slain, only kept unconscious until his mind recovered and the would sealed. That gave Oran plenty of time to do what was necessary.

He scaled the grand staircase, his steps quick, but subtle. He holstered his bow, veiling himself with his cloak as he continued. His hands were wrapped about the hilt of his two shortswords, unseen as the fabric swept around him. He took an immediate left, marking the structure of the building from the outside in. He knew where he had to move. The room was not far, and his target was already visible. She was pale, her face vacant, a pained expression was held in her eyes, however. She was bruised, that much was clear. A strike was clean across her face. Why she did not move when Oran had distracted her father was not beyond his understanding. She was not alone in the room. He would move quickly, then…

With a bold step, Oran crossed the threshold of the room, his eyes lowered to the floor, the hood of his cloak concealing much of him. The two guards instantly regarded him, both taking a step closer to him. A stranger…in their estate? Their step had been one wrong step too many. Oran’s hands extended, the cloak thrusting out from around his frame, startling them slightly. Within his grasp were the two shortswords, which swept in a wide arch, his arms extending until they flowed behind his back. In their wake, two heads were severed, the bodies to which they belonged falling in a violent spray of blood. That deed was done, and the ranger did not even so much as flinch in doing so. The swords were sheathed, and the ranger took scope of his target.

Natalya Petrov was before him, though clearly disoriented. Upon closer view, a trail of blood trickled from the back of her head. For whatever reason it was caused, Oran did not care. It would make her all the easier to claim. She laid in the center of the cement floor. The human wasted no time. He knelt low, collecting her as he cradled her in his arms. With a quick few steps, Oran leapt from the window, carrying Natalya with him. He turned, keeping her above him, and, with a hand, he grasped his cloak and wrapped it around them just before they crashed into a small pile of bushes. He knew it must have racked her body more than what was preferred, but there was no time to escape out the front door, yet again. Instead, he had to take a quicker route.

Oran quickly collected himself, holstering the vampire in his arms before setting off at as best a sprint as could be managed with the light baggage he carried. It was time to leave. His impression had been made, and Oran would be long escaped into the forest before any search could be made for them, if they searched, at all. Regardless, the capture had been made. Now, it was time to secure distance between them and the Petrov House. He wound his way through the maze of decorative hedges and came back to the stream. Taking no time to rest, the ranger pushed onward, crossing over the natural lay of rock bed he’d used to enter. Finally, the forest greeted them, with Oran still having plenty of stamina to keep his run at its constant pace.

Finally, his eyes looked down to the vampire in his arms. The deed was done…

[natalya]

Natalya's eyes stared at the rose on the floor, it consumed her vision. She could see nothing else but the strewn petals, torn and crushed from the onslaught. Sound came to her, upstairs something landed on the floor with a thud and footsteps crossed the floor. Perhaps someone her father hadn't wanted to see while so enraged. A life must have been taken just for that, the wrong time to call upon a household. Then, the footfalls slowly grew silent down the stairwell, strange, as Peter was not one to care whether she heard him coming or not. But, Natalya figured it was to ensure she gathered more fear of him, at his nearing of her for more punishment.

She didn't care, she stared at the rose, all the beauty crushed away to leave a sad remembrance of what had been there. The footfalls halted and a soft swish tore through the air after the guards had moved. The smell of fresh blood bombarded her senses, driving her to find the terrible burning in her throat, the quick sharpness to her fangs for such a taste at that smell. Then, the heads of the guards rolled away and just as their bodies hit the ground, someone's strong, solid arms swept her up.

Her eyes finally left the rose to see the man responsible. He was tall and had a solidly powerful form, ripping biceps and a thick walls of a chest. His cloak hid the rest of him from her, but his face was clear from lack of his hood. The strands of sandy-blond hair hung dishevled from their tie and looked rather unkempt. The sharp angles of his face led to the set of pale blue eyes focused ahead as he leaped out the window with her easily in his carriage. Natalya's interest was lost and her eyes found the rose again just before her view of it was taken by the jump out the window. She could move if she'd wanted, she'd regained that ability minutes ago, but if this strange man had slain the guards and scooped her up- perhaps he was good enough to take her out of the estate and she could have her freedom. Besides, if Peter found her on foot outside, he'd be more inclined to punish her than if she were 'stolen away' by a stranger.

The wound on her head finally finished healing and she let her attention stray to take in more of her assailant. Normally, she might not have cared, but the powerful, alluring scent of fresh blood clung to his set of swords and that drove Natalya's senses mad. He was definately the one who'd taken out he guards. The forest's scent clung to his cloak and clothes, revealing that he'd spent much time out in the open with nature. But nothing over powered the strong, male, masculine scent of him. It was something entirely his own, just like every human had. A scent that marked them and none others. She would speculate on it more later.

Now, she was being carried over a small crossing of the river and into the deep thicket of the forest. She'd never gone this far before, had never managed to. This was farther even than her rose garden out by the owl's nest on the west side of the mansion. The unwillingness to move had gone on long enough, she decided. Her hand fell lightly along his hip as if it slipped from its cradle on her stomach. Her fingers wrapped around the hit of his blade and she used his arm as a footing, propelling herself into a backflip and landing on the ground a good fifteen feet from him, sword in hand.

"However you stalled him, it will not last long. When he is freed he will come for you and the rest of the guard will be sent. They're probably on their way now." Her voice was quiet, a little flat. She wasn't used to portraying much to her tone because of lack of contact with others than her father. The servants had never minded but that had been of courtisy.

In her hand, the blade sang its song to her, she felt the slightest vibration of a bead of still wet blood slipping down the steel. Slowly, keeping her eyes on him, she lowered the blade to the ground and took a few steps from it. "I'm not your enemy, human. Think nothing close to such. But I must know, why go to all the trouble of stealing me away? No doubt you hope the prize would pay off for your lonely nights..." Okay, the last part was harsh, but she couldn't help but feel animosity toward any one now. Peter had left too strong an impression on her to feel there were good people out there.

It was difficult to ignore the call of the forest to her, she heard every tree and plant speak to her. When silence had bombarded her senses for so long in the forsaken basement, she'd honed her senses to hear other things. Not only did she have an impeccable ability to hear every swish of cloth, brush of footsteps, pump of blood and echo of air into and out of lungs- but she learned she could hear the forest speak to her. It was strange, that they could produce images in her mind, give her their feelings to explain what they wished to convey. It certainly wasn't some sort of supernatural ability, she was sure, but Natalya rather believed it to be that she was just one of the few vampires willing to listen.

Now though, the forests call was drowned away with the horrible ebb and flow of this man's blood. She heard the hot rush of blood, adrenaline-induced, give fresh color to stain his cheeks. The soft flapping of his heart's ventricles opening and closing to force new blood out, enriched with oxygen, and old blood in to be cleansed by the lungs offerings. The sound grew louder to her, echoing across her senses maddeningly. Her fangs sharpened to hard points that pricked her tongue and ached all through her gums. Her throat burned angrily for what was so close.

She was a weak vampire, her years of so little blood to feed on and when feeding, animal blood sustained. She feed too little and on the wrong kind of food. It was no surprise that a first meeting with any human not grown up round her had harsher attacks on her senses. It was different than when she was with Evanna or the others, this felt stranger. It was more potent that she heard him and needed to drink from him. But, it only made sense that he was both male and the ripe age for feeding that she'd want to feed...or that was what she reasoned it all to. If there was more, something deeper to her urge to sink her teeth into that soft neck and suck as his life's essence poured into her awaiting mouth, then she was unaware of what it could be.

Natalya knew he could see her newly sharpened fangs, see the tension in her body and see her eyes flicker to his neck. Apologetically, she lowered her head a moment. "Forgive me, I have not fed well in some time." At all, she added mentally. She hadn't ever been fed well. "Don't think I plan to taste you, I merely can't control the rush my body produces." To her, it was just that, how the vampire body reacted to a human when in need of sustenance.

It was only now that she remembered appearance was everything to someone who hadn't stared at her in the face with hateful eyes. She was a slender young woman, her frame thin yet somehow held soft curves though the proper nourishment had been not given at all to her for it. Her heavy fall of black hair, shinning a raven-wing blue in the light, cascaded along her shoulders and down to her mid-back. Loose strands hung in front of her face to draw attention to the riveting dark eyes. They were so close to black, it was nearly impossible to tell the difference. But they were, in fact, a deep blue as her hair. Too long without blood and little of it had kept them so dark without their color as well to the fact that they were wrapped so deeply in haunting fear that they could not longer find color. When she grew too hungry, they became empty holes, and past that, they became distant, smokey gray. When she was close to death without blood, that gray would claim her eyes where such a solid black had been. It gave the impression she was already dead just before the ashes stole away her body. Evanna had told her so many a time that she looked like death had swam by and stole all the color from her in readiness to take her.

Her body was clothed in a tattered, loose shirt and bagging pants. They were servants clothes, given to her through the crack of the door when Peter had begun to look at her naked body a little too differently as she'd grown and developed. Her slender curves could not be seen in the old clothing and did the job to make Peter less interested in what else he could do to her. Her feet were bare as they padded the soft ground. It was obvious she'd never traveled out of the house but by her own accord. She did not look presentable, nor did she even have any clue of what the world was. Not government, not people or races, she knew nothing. She was like an innocent child that had only just now stepped outside.

Her full, lower lip dipped behind her teeth as she bit down to steady her fangs ache.

[tristan]

They had not covered enough ground. Not nearly enough when he felt the woman in his arms grab the shortsword and agilely brace herself against him and flip away. Oran immediately paused, his back still turned to her. He so disliked it when things became this bothersome. Now, he had to decide what best to do. They could not waste time. Minutes were precious, and Oran did not wish to entertain the idea of being hounded by hungry bloodsuckers. A small sigh escaped the ranger’s lips and he turned to face her. What was the point? She was weak, thin, and in no condition to take on a man of his skill. There was no escape for her, and it meant only that she was stalling him. He so disliked being kept in one place for too long, and his patience was already wearing thin.

He was not blind. There was something entirely wrong with the lovely family picture. For being the only child and heir of the Petrov family, the woman before him wasn’t even dressed to the standards of a servant. She wore tattered clothes, her hair was as unkempt at his, her frame far thinner than what could have been considered healthy, and her skin was paler than what Oran would have expected. He could easily see the differences in coloration on her skin, which he supposed would be bruises. Not exactly the golden, pampered child he had expected. So, why, then, would she even wish to stay? In Oran’s eyes, his abducting her was almost equivalent to him freeing her. At least he had no intention of beating her.

"However you stalled him, it will not last long. When he is freed he will come for you and the rest of the guard will be sent. They're probably on their way now." Her voice was quiet, a little flat.

As she spoke, Oran un-holstered his bow. His eyes watched her, his expression vacant and empty. “Would you like to know how I stalled him?” He knocked an arrow and drew back hard on it, the bow bending against his strength. “I embedded an arrow in his skull. Would you like to know how that feels? I do not have time to waste over your pathetic attempts to escape.”

Oran’s eyes watched as she lowered the blade to the ground, taking a few cautious steps away from the blade, which made the ranger lower his aim, in turn. He slackened his pull on the arrow until the bow rested naturally. She was smart, then, to not let things get out of hand. "I'm not your enemy, human. Think nothing close to such. But I must know, why go to all the trouble of stealing me away? No doubt you hope the prize would pay off for your lonely nights..." Oran smirked, his lips curling at the edges of his mouth. What did she think of him? Some human would simply waltz through the Petrov estate so he could steal a wench to warm his bed?

“I am neither friend, nor foe, vampire. That decision is entirely to you to decide. I am but a mercenary, and it is to me to bring you to my employer. Waste further time, and I will be forced to harm you and take you, regardless. Let’s not make this more difficult than it need be…” He offered, extending a hand to her.

His lips soon lowered to a frown, however, as his eyes noted the woman’s fangs extend and sharpen. She thought him a meal, now, did she? His hand dropped and his pull on the bow drew back, again, though he did not aim it at her, just yet. The ranger’s eyes were on hers, his gaze sharp and deadly. He had no fear, no sense of urgency to him. He was calm, collected, unmovable as a weathered rock of a cliff on the coast. Oran watched her eyes follow to the base of his neck, and, intentionally, the man tilted his head to the side to expose the spot further. The action garnered her head to lower, seeming to apologize for some odd reason.

"Forgive me, I have not fed well in some time. Don't think I plan to taste you, I merely can't control the rush my body produces."

Oran’s gaze moved from her, falling over her shoulder and out to the distance. Whatever the case may be, he was in no position to be lingering any longer. Finally, his bow raised, again, the tip of his arrow aiming between her eyes. The ranger did not seem to hesitate, nor would he. If it must be done, he would feel no remorse. “Last chance,” He said quietly, “Come with me, now, or make an enemy of me. The choice is yours…” Oran could hear shouting in the distance. Clearly, the elder Petrov had been found, and the hunt had started. The ranger was prey to no one. He was the hunter, as they would soon come to find, and neither territory, quarter, nor berth would be given to anyone who wished to make him otherwise.

[natalya]

Natalya bit her lip. She was free, thanks to this man. But freedom was only half-gained. They were coming for the two of them. She could hear the creak of his bow as he lowered it. He had a heart then, somewhere in his tough exterior. The heavy footfalls of the guards were clamboring through the forest after them. Time was past short.

Slowly, she nodded and picked up his blade, approaching him slowly with soft eyes. Standing as close to him as she could get with his hands on his bow, she slipped the sword home in its sheathe and nodded again. "Time is short, I understand this." Her hand found place over his and she tried at a smile to comfort him. Willing him to understand that she was surrendering in a way, it was more difficult than it should have been. She couldn't portray emotion as she needed to. But she guessed he could understand her enough.

"You are in charge here. Do what you must, Mercenary." He hadn't given her his name, but she understood why. He wasn't comfortable with it, a lone wolf in his nature. She didn't need to know it, it wasn't her place to ask. He knew about her, as it was his duty. Besides, it wasn't as if Natalya had a place in the world, really. She was so set back from it that there was no or little point in making herself an act that changed the world.

She stood in such a way that said he was free to pick her up again, distance in her eyes again. "I will slow your efforts by trying to keep with your pace, even as a human. I give no offense towards it, but I am weak and if you wish to escape with efficiency, carrying me is the only way. I am sorry for the inconvenience." Her eyes stared at the forest floor. The breeze whistled through the trees' leaves, told her they were getting closer. They could track her scent easily being who she was. And, distantly, she could hear Peter's angered voice cry out through the forest after her.

Natalya did not wish to return to such a hell, even if it meant the hell she was facing was worse. It at least, wasn't this one.

[tristan]

Oran wasn’t quite sure what sort of disheveled mission he’d been sent on, but it was clear that his expectations and his preconceptions of what it meant to deal with vampires had been misled. He had not planned on such a strange target. He had expected the woman to be fair and spoiled beyond imagining. He suspected her to be almost equivalent to a princess in her treating, and that Oran’s invasion would have been taken as a grievous threat and insult to her way of life. Clearly, however, this was not the case, nor was she inclined to fighting him. She merely needed to know reason, which, for the purpose of a hasty retreat, he would give it to her (though he was certain an arrow to her direction was reason enough). He watched as the cogs slowly began to tic in her mind. Natalya was no fool, nor did she wish to be rescued. If anything, Oran’s actions had rescued her, and it would with him that she left.

She nodded to him, though Oran’s aim on her remained steady. His fingers, however, were locked firmly on the arrow’s feathers. It would never leave the bow. He watched as her hand wrapped around the discarded sword and she stepped close to him, the point of his arrow nearing her face. Natalya slipped the sword into its sheath as her free hand covered his own delicately. Her eyes spoke more than what her awkward smile could. It was time to leave. She had understood.

"Time is short, I understand this"

The ranger submitted to her hand, his bow dropping until the arrow would have done nothing but strike the ground at his feet. His pull on the string submitted and the arrow rested harmlessly against it. Oran quickly returned it to its quiver, quickly collapsing the bow as he did. He holstered it beneath his cloak. “You are in charge here. Do what you must, Mercenary." And Oran intended to.

“…Thank you.” He said quietly, removing his cloak from around his shoulders. “Come here.” He motioned her closer to him. As his command was obeyed, she angled herself to him, though to collect her had not been his intention, just yet. They would follow her by senses, and Oran could not have her smelling any differently than he. Anything familiar would be found and sought after. He wrapped the thick cloak around her, the brooch that had once belong to his mother clasping to hold the thick cloth around her as Oran pulled the hood over her head. To the very least, the woman needed a legitimate set of clothes. Anything that could keep the chill of the night from her. Weak as she was, sickness would not go along well to help Oran return her to the Imperial City within the time he wished it.

The two shortswords on his back were exposed, along with the collapsed bow that was holstered between them. The longsword hung down his thigh, the sheath held in place by a short, black belt that wrapped around his brown linen pants. His hauberk was exposed, though it only extended over his chest and back, cutting off just as the muscle of the arm required its freedom. An off-white tunic was exposed, as well, the sleeves keeping tight on his arms until they met the bracers around his wrists. Though Oran was somewhat tall, he was still very broad, and could be seen as even more so when compared to Natalya. The cloak he had worn had enveloped her completely, with possibly even more room for her to be buried into. At the very least, it made for a fitting blanket, for it swept down to her ankles.

"I will slow your efforts by trying to keep with your pace, even as a human. I give no offense towards it, but I am weak and if you wish to escape with efficiency, carrying me is the only way. I am sorry for the inconvenience." Her words were lost on him. Oran’s eyes had seen but a flash of movement and nothing more. Someone was close, but he could not decide where the figure had vanished to. Not until the arrow had flown. The mercenary wasn’t quite sure if the archer had been a poor shot, or if Natalya had truly been the target, but the arrow would never had hit him, had he not done as he had done.

With an urgent strength, he gripped the cloak and pulled her to him, then turned with her pivoted against his body. The arrow flew, piercing into the back of his left shoulder, which caused the man to cry out briefly before he could stifle the pain into a grunt. He wasted no time. His arms placed under her back and behind her knees, lifting her easily from the ground as he started into a sprint. Each step send a painful shock through his shoulder as the pulse from the impact moved through his body. Oran only wore a pained grimace.

“Damnit…” He muttered as trees began to blend in front of him. His direction had been lost in his haste, which meant a new point of reference needed to be found. Oran knew where they needed to be. A large climb of rocks that became the waterfall’s leading wall had a series of hollowed out tunnels, which he had suspected were once used for trade, though nearly all of the passages had long since been collapsed. It would serve for both protection and a place to keep Natalya away from the light of the sun while she recovered enough for them to move on. First, Oran needed to locate the remote path that led to it.

“We need to find the--AHH!” Just as Oran had begun to explain, a second incredible rush of pain struck through his back, causing his arm to almost falter under Natalya’s back. He hugged her to him, securing her against his chest as he made a quick recovery. A second arrow had pierced not four inches to the bottom right of the last. This shot had been deliberate. Whoever fired those shots had no intention of killing Oran. They wanted him to abandon Natalya-- and not for the purpose of returning her, as the first arrow had suggested. They were after her.

Adrenaline was pumping freely through the man’s body, now, which numbed the pain somewhat. The arrows did not embed themselves deeply. They had too long a time to fall against the resistance of the wind and his thick leather armor had assured that they would not have to cut the heads out with a knife, which saved him a greater time of recovery. A long, hard tug would be enough to rid him of them when the time came, if all luck held out. His shooter had to have been at least fifty yards away, which Oran commended for his accuracy. It also meant that Oran had time to lose him, and he quickly tore to the left, moving into the deeper underbrush of the forest.

He could no longer hear the footsteps of the vampires’ pursuit, but that still left the mysterious marksman. Regardless, there were far too many trees and tall bushes blocking his arrows, now, and the distance between them was too great to draw close without Oran having range enough to draw a sword or throwing knife to him. That did leave him with a bit of room to breath and he took the opportunity to slow his pace. A few minutes passed and Oran heard neither footstep nor felt the sting of arrows. It seemed, for now, that they had escaped.

With his voice sounding no louder than his own breath, he told the woman in his arms, “There is a cave…I found it on my way through this forest…It is on the far eastern edge, against a path that leads to the falls. We will stay there until next moon fall.” He did not envy the idea of spending more time than necessary so close to the Petrov mansion, but Oran would not be much use in a fight with only one good arm and something in his gut told him that tonight would only be the first of his injuries…

[natalya]

Natalya flinched with each grunt of pain that the Mercenary emitted. "We don't have such an arrowsmen. I don't know who that is." Natalya felt them slow and she poked her head out to see his wounds. She reached up behind them and felt the tips of the arrows in the man's back. "I can withdraw those easily." She murmured. "I am assuming that you thought picking up the daughter of the Petrov Household would have been different." She said nothing more but removed herself carefully from his undoubtablly aching arms.
"My father seems all to eager to have me slain rather than returned." Peter was a simple yet complex man. But Natalya didn't have to know more about him than the fact that he hated her.

"There is a cave…I found it on my way through this forest…It is on the far eastern edge, against a path that leads to the falls. We will stay there until next moon fall.” He spoke so lightly, just breaths from his ragged lips. He needed rest and soon.

She nodded once, "I know this cave you speak of. We are not far from the path, come, we must hide there before they grow close. Your ears may not hear them, but mine do, as well do I feel them. Peter's guards are sending out a sensory to find my signature." She began walking up a nondescript path through a field and up the mountain side. "The path starts just up here, I am sure of it."

[tristan]

Oran had clearly noted that whomever was placing arrows to his back, it was no vampire. It was far too accurate, and the placement of the shots were too exact. They could have easily killed him, if they so desired, but that clearly wasn't their intention. Still, they would find Oran's will to give up his prize much the unclimbable wall. He would sooner be lying on the forest floor deprived of breath than to willingly set the woman to their hands. He so disliked vampires...Nothing but a troublesome breed...

He finally let Natalya slip from his arms, his eyes slowly closing as she ran her hand along the feathers of the arrows. Oran reached his good arm over the opposite shoulder, taking hold of the first bolt. He gave a hard pull, and it freed itself easily. The next was slightly more difficult, but Oran managed it without much additional pain. He discarded the projectiles, only glancing at the bloodied tips briefly in distain.

"I know this cave you speak of. We are not far from the path, come, we must hide there before they grow close. Your ears may not hear them, but mine do, as well do I feel them. Peter's guards are sending out a sensory to find my signature." She began walking up a nondescript path through a field and up the mountain side. "The path starts just up here, I am sure of it."

Oran followed closely behind her, ensuring that she only outpaced him by a few steps while his eyes held to the forest floor below. The path let them climb higher, the shadow of the rock face falling over them to conceal them. A few minutes passed with Oran trying to work his shoulder back into movement. It was nearly useless. He wouldn't get the mobility to swing a sword, but the pain was dulling, thankfully. Some of the muscle had been torn through, which would heal with time.

Oran almost skipped a step as his eyes caught the dark outline of three figures at the base of the treeline. His garb would be more easily seen with the off-white tunic. Instantly, his good hand reached out, gripping Natalya's arm. He spun her to him as he placed his back against the face of the rock. His arm slipped into the cloak, wrapping about her back as he held her to him. Before she could speak or rustle, Oran placed a finger gently over her lips, cooing her with a gentle hush.

"Three of your guards...Be still..." Oran's face was close to hers, the hood of the cloak concealing them both. His body held fast against her own, the mercenary keeping steady assurance that nothing could be seen of them and that they blended into the shadow of the rock. "Oran..." He whispered quietly to her. "You asked for my name, and, now, you have it."

Oran reached a hand to the fabric of the hood. He pulled it aside briefly, his eyes scanning the forest floor, again. They were almost moved on, but Oran was not yet comfortable with continuing up the path. As Oran's arms held around her thin frame, he could feel just how weak she was. "Listen..." Oran breathed quietly. "You need to feed. Strong blood will do you good...Take mine, and be quick about it..." He told her, which came out to be more of a command than a suggestion.

The man brought his hands close to his chest, his fingers fishing for the small throwing knife concealed within his bracer. Oran settled the blade across his palm and gripped it. He slid it only a few inches, ensuring that the cut would not be too deep, but enough that Natalya could be satisfied witht he flow. Oran's eyes found hers, and he nodded to her. "Don't let it go to waste."

[natalya]

Natalya stiffened in his arms, her gray eyes stolen to the wound he'd cut. The gray washed away, a cloudy, black stealing her eyes in hunger. That hunger in her demanded release, it needed the blood to get strong, to be powerful. Of their own accord, her hands took his cut one and brought it to her lips, her nose intaking the scent of blood.

"You should not have cut yourself with them so close." Her voice didn't sound like her anymore, it was ragged and deep, a husky, feminine tone that rang with compulsion- something she did not do on purpose. It was almost an instinct, to try and lure the man to her, to let her have his blood, his essence. "They are vampiric and will smell such a thing if they are downwind." As such, she should get rid of such a risk, should she not? And the man, Oran, as he had told her, had almost ordered her to drink.

Her tongue darted out slowly and swiped the length of the cut, letting the hot, fresh blood slip down her aching throat. Her gums began to burn, her jaw aching for the blood so close to her. She let out a little whimper and suddenly pressed his hand to her mouth, tongue swiping the wound and mouth sucking the blood from him fast as her hand pulsed by squeezing his wrist, urging more blood to spill into her mouth. Natalya's eyes rolled back as her lids swept down and she moaned at the taste of him.

He didn't taste like any other she had fed from. Somehow, he tasted more right for her, a perfect blend of spicey hotness that blended with a slow, sweet tang, driving her senses mad. Every person-tasted differently. Their blood was their essence, and so they had their own taste. Some were better than others, but this...this was maddening. He tasted so perfect, like he'd been forged specifically for her somehow.

Natalya drank deeper...

[tristan]

Oran’s eyes watched the vampire’s steady reaction to his blood. It was almost amusing, and, in any other instance, or had it been any other, the mercenary would have been horrified to think that he would willingly let another drink of his blood. His dislike for the race ran deeply, though not enough to truly breed into a hatred. Oran merely was not so fond of them as to think that he would actually be giving his own lifeblood to keep one of them strong. Still, what must be done, must be done. Natalya was no exception to the rule that a mission was assigned to him, and the man would see that mission to its completion, no matter the cost. And, yet, even as he watched the vampire delicately draw his hand to her lips, Oran could tell there was something altogether different concerning her. Oran was not fool enough to think that all vampires were alike, but he had hardly met one that seemed to give as much thought towards humans as this one. Perhaps it was just circumstance that it had been a human that had “rescued” her from the confines of Petrov Estate, or merely that it was now a human that was willing to feed her.

"You should not have cut yourself with them so close." Oran shook his head slightly, a faint smile taking to his lips, "They are vampiric and will smell such a thing if they are downwind."

“Hush, and drink…You will need what strength can be returned to you.”

Oran was almost surprised. She refused to bite him, it seemed, which he was grateful for. She still maintained a level of control, no matter how fresh and new the taste of blood must have been for her. Oran could still visibly count the number of attempts that had been made at his neck from encounters prior with such creatures as this, but none had ever succeeded. In truth, Natalya was the first to ever enjoy the fruits of Oran’s very life. A part of him wasn’t even at all perturbed that he had parted with it. As he watched the woman gratefully drink from his palm, he somehow knew that he was doing more than what could ever have been expected of him, even in her eyes.

“Natalya…” Oran whispered to her ear when he felt the rush of a fair amount of blood leave his body. “It is enough, for now. You will have more later, but, now, we must move.” His opposing hand took to her wrist, slowly bringing his own out of her grasp. When his hand had been freed, he reached into the small bag at his waist, withdrawing a white linen cloth. He quickly wrapped it about his hand and slipped away from the rock’s face. “Come…we lose time. The sooner we find the shelter of this cave, the better.”

Oran would hate to ever admit to it, but the man needed rest. Not even to mention that he needed to treat the two wounds on his back, he also needed to recover enough of his blood that Natalya could continue to restore herself. It would take a few nights, at the very least. Both would need to be at their strongest to continue the journey, especially if Oran expected to get her out of Odantton alive…That city would be crawling mad to see him escorting another, and Natalya would become the target of great interest.

The ranger pressed up the slope of the path, the sound of the falls nearing them, again. They would be close, now. If he remembered correctly, the cave rested behind the veil of the waterfall, nestled securely within the rock’s face. The stream would prevent their scents from being traced, and a backwards movement would surely confuse their pursuers, who, by now, would think them to have reached the forest’s edge. In any sense, this cave was the one location granted to them that they might find reprieve long enough to let the idea settle in that Natalya Petrov was stolen away and gone for good.

[natalya]

Natalya nodded, swiping her lips for the remnants of his gift to her. She felt the power flood her body from it, though it would never be enough to keep true power in her body nor to replace what she needed for a regular feed for a vampire so weak, but it was power in its own right. She swiped his wound with her tongue one last time, the healing agent in her saliva healing the wound almost immediately as if there were never a cut there before. She took his wrist and ushered him up the path, rounding a large boulder topped with trees before the splashing of the water fall could be heard.

"Come, it is this way, we are close." She paused, eying the landscape for guards and sensed it empty save for a fox and owl. She rushed out into the open, the puddles splashing at their feet as they raced over the earth near the small river flowing from the mouth of the water fall. "The cave is behind the veil of water, trust me in this." She locked eyes with him, letting go of his hand and bidding him to watch her carefully. "If you mistep, you will lose your footing and be washed away. Do watch carefully." Natalya stepped up the side of the rocky face, feet placed in select potholes and branches of strangely grown out trees in the face of the small mountain. She climbed higher, near the water fall's edge and vanished behind it.