Aro sees Jane and is determined to make her his. There is only one problem, her brother Alec. Jane One-Shot Challenge
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He saw her standing in the sun and she glittered. Her skin sparkled brighter than any vampire he had ever seen before. Draped all in black he felt almost sinfully old, perverted. She couldn’t have been more than thirteen in her little white frock and sparkling skin. Nobility no doubt, and yet he was the king of the entire city. He knew immediately then that he wanted to turn them, later he would think of justifications, the sparkling likely indicated power. But for that moment he wanted her, as a daughter. He moved slightly trying to get a better angel on observing her face. He let out a sigh.
Wide blue eyes, blonde hair the color of moonlight, not sunlight. Why the little girl yearned from the night. Her little hands twirled above her and she was dancing and perhaps it was singing. He darted to another corner, closer. No, and a smile broke across his face, she was laughing.
He wondered what she would taste like. Would she taste like the sunshine she had spent so many years soaking up, or would it be moonlight that coursed through her veins. He closed his eyes, composing a symphony of sensation in his imagination. She smelled good, but it would be wise for him to restrain himself. He knew immediately that he wanted to sample her face for eternity. And if that were the case patience would be required.
“Why good sir,” her voice belonged to sunlight that much was certain it was just as musical as her laugh, soft and demure, “why doth thou pause so in the shadows?”
“Perhaps,” he drawled not removing himself from them, “it is shadows that have paused within me. Tell me, my dear, how doth thou fancy eternity?”
“Is that a line from a play?” She smiled quizzically. “For it is a fancy turn of phrase my lord.”
She spoke so precociously, yet another sign she yearned for sophistication. Knowledge he would be only to happy to provide. “My thanks young lady.” He emphasized the word young, drawing himself once again to the shadows. Too young, there were some laws universal to this world, ones he could not break.
One day though she would be his queen, he swore darkly. Noticing with a mixture of satisfaction that as he took her leave her she grasped about as if blind. Good, he thought savagely, best to wean her away the mortal world and to him as soon as possible. Such was the cruel irony of fate; to find her so young he had assured her devotion to him, but also his own suffering. For every moment were she toiled in mundanity was a moment that she could not be with him.
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A fortnight from the first twilight he had bet her, he saw her again at the square. This time the clouds had gathered enough over the sun so that it was safe for him to stand out in the crowd. Although rain looked to be emanate the vendors had yet to pack up. One particularly persistent peddler was shouting obnoxiously in his direction. “Sirrah! Sirrah! A penny for a pomegranate, best this side of Florence, grown under the orchard of the gods.”
Ah, he stepped closer. Irony was his shadow, or perhaps he it. Sometimes the world was so interchangeable he couldn’t tell night for day, and it could turn upside-down for all he cared. He drew one long finger over the leather skins of the pomegranate. It was obviously not drawn from the orchard of the god, or gods. “This fruit looks made of mortal stuff to me,” he said disdainfully.
“Oh this batch is My lord,” she bowed low her shifty eyes narrowing at his perceptiveness. “But I doubt you’d have the stomach for the true elixir.”
He laughed, and it was as cruel as every deed he had ever done, or would do. “You are quite correct; any elixir once drunk leads to yearnings for different tastes. No,” he amended, “it is for a friend.”
Effortlessly and with a speed that the old woman could not even sense he pulled out a single gold coin. He took the woman’s warm weathered hand and wrapped the coin in-between her painfully hot fingers. “If you would please.”
She stuttered under his gaze, quickly producing the fruit, he put it in his pocket easily and turned away from the woman without a word of thanks or parting, for he had smelled the light scent of lavender, the scent of his angel. It was feint so she must have been a good couple of blocks away. He made a high effort of strolling leisurely until he was once outside of the garden, but in reality he probably went to fast. Aah, Marcus and Caius could deal with such matters. He was scouting new talent.
The girl had his back turned to him, so easily he dissolved the lock on the garden fence between his fingers. For his own amusement he brought the iron powder and blew it to the wind. Some of the dust caught in her hair and sparkled wickedly. Ah delicious. But patience, he reprimanded himself, he would still have to wait a year or two yet. But she was so fresh.
“You have broken into my garden Sir.” When she pouted she looked so silly he couldn’t help the Smokey smile that breezed across his face like scotch down his once human throat. Though he couldn’t remember the memory he had touched many a human who had, before he drunk their blood of course.
She took a step or two back away from him. “And you are wearing a hood so I may not see thine face. It tis’ rude,” she protested.
“I offer you a gift,” he whispered and he smiled as despite herself the girl leaned forward. She had not a chance. So quickly that it must have looked like magic to the girl, like the fruit had simply appeared in his hand, he pulled it out.
She looked at him in wonder picking up the fruit. He waited so craving to see her eat, to feast. For it would trigger the most delightful premonitions of he and her, his dark queen plunging their fangs into flesh. Her innocence not corrupted but bent, sunlight transformed into moonlight. Instead she rolled it around in her hand. “How did you do that?” she asked suspiciously.
“If I were to tell you my lady I would have to tell you other things, things that would not be as pleasant to thine pretty ears,” he turned away about to leave when he heard another voice, a light tenor.
“Jane! Jane!” The tenor belonged to a little boy who looked just as angelic as his Persephone. He skidded to a halt when he saw Aro, standing at the gate dressed all in black hand still outstretched. “Who are you,” he lifted his nose imperiously.
Aro was about to offer a scathing retort when the lightest of summer breezes breathed a scent his way. Aah, now that was a glorious vintage. The smell was so fresh, so fruity; it took him a minute that the beautiful smell was indeed coming from the thing that was holding onto his beloved so protectively.
The wind blew another blast and he lost all control. In a second he had pinned, broken really, both of the boys arms behind him, and plunged his fangs into his arm, the wrist. The blood was warm and sticky and so welcome. He had spent so much time on his little project he hadn’t fed in at least. The sweetest ambrosia, he felt his head spinning.
In the background he heard screams. First from the little boy, that was of course to be expected and he almost delighted in them. The little boy had dared to touch what was his so while his punishment wasn’t metered out logically it made some kind of sense. What screams he couldn’t bear were that of his beloved.
Then the true tragedy of the situation hit him. Now she knew, now he would have to change her. But it was too soon; she was yet on the cusp of womanhood. It was not right, not fair. Slowly he lifted his mouth still dripping with his brothers blood and wiped it away daintily with his sleeve. “I’m quite sorry for this my dear,” he said politely advancing on the startled girl with an easy infinite quickness.
She did not scream, but merely cried, long thick tears leaving salty painful scratches down her cheeks. Her blood wasn’t as sweet as her brother’s and for this he was glad, it was that much easier to stop. Pain contracted her brother’s features as he screamed and screamed. Aro made a face of distaste, and kicked him in the ribs quietly. The boy didn’t even notice the blow, for the pain in him came from another source. Aro was almost sorry. Begrudgingly he picked up both the boy and the girl as if they were two little dead birds and he a sadistic schoolboy.
Night began to descend.
“Bring the boy to the throne room.” Aro’s palms were flat against the armrests of the chair and he stared blankly ahead. He did not want to kill the boy, but the girl could have no vestige of her earlier life to hinder her. To mix the two was to tempt fate even farther than he already had. That blood had tasted of talent, he thought almost regretfully.
The boy entered some time later, head held much to high. His eyes bright red and oh so piercing. “What is your name boy?” Aro commanded tightly.
“Alec.” The boy gritted out. “Where is my sister and what hell is this?”
Aro raised an eyebrow and smiled, “There is more in heaven or earth than is known by your philosophy.”
The boy squared his jaw and a took a deep stuttering and completely unnecessary breath. “Where is my sister.”?
“All in good time.” Or no time at all. “First boy come touch my hand.” He held it out to him.
Alec took a step forward. “And then you will tell me where my sister is.”
“Why of course,” Aro lied smoothly waving his hand softly, “now please if you would.”
The boy walked like the liar he was, his bravery was so obviously feigned. Aro was still impressed; he should be doubled over from the thirst by now. As the boy approached something startled Aro. The bravery was not feigned, the boy actually, thought, no expected to get out of this alive. He should have killed him in the garden, but his curiosity to learn more about his beloved was too strong. He wanted to see her life, and through whose better life than her devoted little brother.
And then the boy’s hand was touching his. The first surprise was how cold it is, coldness usually increased with age, but this boy’s hands were exponentially colder than his own. He moved to pull it away but he felt a sudden numbness fill his mind blankness. And a thought more powerful than anything Aro and had ever felt. Leave her alone. Leave her alone. Leave her alone. Leave her alone!
Disturbed but more curious Aro tried to pull his hand away but found he couldn’t find it within his own mind. Now that was interesting. He tried to search his own memories first for ones of Marcus and Caius and then as he grew desperate for Jane, but nothing came. Panic ran through him like wildfire.
And then the numbness was gone. He turned to reprimand or ask the boy, but he found that the thick river of hate that he had harbored was gone. In fact all of his emotions were, as if a stopper had been put on a heart.
His heart, his lovely little piece of innocence. But when he thought of her face now he saw only a young girl and a bit of a brat at that. He sighed. Perhaps that was his punishment. In trying to turn sunlight into moonlight, in trying to freeze a flower he had ended up frozen himself.
Ah, well he sighed, looking at Alec through shrewd eyes. At least he would be useful.