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Blood Lust (Lady Bloody Ava & Erit of Eastcris)

Lady Bloody Ava

Gamer Geek
Staff member
Administrator
Joined
Jun 25, 2010
Location
Hogwarts
The candles flickered in the sconces upon the walls. The sound of shuffling feet and heavy boots hitting the hard wood floors seemed to echo throughout the estate. Cries and yelling from women and men alike. One woman in particular seemed to stand out amongst the people. The house was vast and servants carried buckets of water and random medical supplies in and out of rooms. Guards hoisted men over their shoulders or carried them between two by ankles and wrists. Every bed, bench, chair, and ample floor space was taken up by a body. Knife wounds, bullet wounds, and broken bones alike. Her kin and their kin all under one roof. Ebony locks cascaded about her bare shoulders. A simple gown with the petticoats removed from beneath, helping the thin attire with the maneuvering she had to do. This night was one of the worse. Rosalyn was unsure as to how many more people she could take in. The smell of blood hung thick in the air and it broke her heart that not all could be saved.

Ivory skin glistened with sweat in the candle light. The lanterns were all in the rooms with the patients as they were patched. Emerald eyes hazed over with weariness. The noble woman blended in with the servants and soldiers and enemies who lay scattered about her own home. Her generous bust heaved as the tension in the room mounted. Emerald eyes rested on a man upon the floor. One of the worst to have come in. The lithe female's soft and tender hands coated in blood. An enemy's blood. A cloth was dabbed at the male's chest as a single finger buried into a wound and a shard of glass was pulled out. A woman handed her a needle and thread and Rosa went to work, despite the groaning and the thrashing. Eventually he had to be held down until she was done. "Lady Beaumont!!" A young male bellowed from somewhere within her home.

"Lyonel!! In the study!!" The young lad hopped over bodies and dodged the servants to find his mistress and knelled over and panted before he could finally give her the good news. "They .... they h-have ceased the attacks for the time being. M'Lady." This bit of news elicited a massive sigh of relief. The emerald eyed female roamed the halls to take in just how many people she had taken in. At the looks of things, she could not take anyone else into this home. There was no other place to put anyone, save for her own bed and.... that had to be an extreme case. For the night her men would watch over the healing soldiers in a rotating shift. The last thing she wanted was a war starting up within the walls of her home. Her neutrality had been respected thus far, but who knew how long that would last. One of the maids had urged the noble lady to rest her head, but her adrenaline was pumping far too hard for her to lay her head to rest, just yet.

The subtle curves of her body clung to the breathing fabric of her dress. At some point her shoes had been long since abandoned. Rosa's poor petite feet were screaming from prolonged use. Blood was washed from her creamy skin, but flecks and blotches remained on the bust of her gown. A ruby hung from a gold chain and rested in the valley of her generous bust. Out of nervousness and lack of sleep, her fingers fumbled with the gem. A gift from her late father. This night had to come to an end and it never seemed to be anytime soon. Slender fingers raked through her raven mane. Eyes laden with fatigue as she her heart continued to race beneath her very bosom.

Unfortunately there was still the possibility that someone could walk through her door. Her brothers loved their sister. Ever since their father's death her brothers have been doing nothing but spill blood from the safety of their homes. Rosalyn had had enough of it and moved. Her brothers thought that her little neutrality would make no dent in their progress to eliminating the Lacceta. Rosa was bred with a distaste for the Laccta, but she didn't think that it warranted the cost of a life. Still there seemed to be little she could do, but wait the war out.
 
The sliver of the waning moon illuminated the vision of true hells, with carrion feeders enjoying their latest feast of free man and enthralled slave alike. Blood and gore marked this place, the stink of fresh butchery. It held a cacophony, a nightmarish blend of joy from the rats, ravens and vultures and frightened, agonized cries from the dying who saw not their salvation coming in the night. Through this silver-lit desecration of the earth a solitary, hunched figure travelled in a shambling, unholy gait, a hand clenched around the hilt of a sword long since lost in the melee. Aerin's vision was twisted and tired as he flickered in and out of awareness, seeing but not perceiving the reaper's field surrounding him. Many of these men had died following him or at his own hands, and the few survivors of his broken following had fled the moment they lost sight of the one they knew as their Prince of Shadow, their Lord Lacceta.

His breath was not to be heard, for a true Lacceta needed not to breathe. His unbeating heart held no pity or remorse for any of the many corpses decorating the once-green earth at his feet. He did not even notice when he caught his foot under a man's bottom half and fell to the ground. With ruby-red eyes that held no consciousness, he pushed his slim, graceful frame back onto it's ebony-booted feet with pale, delicate-seeming hands well manicured and uncalloused in spite of the decades spent lathered in the blood of mortalkin. His long, ravens-feather hair had escaped it's usual ponytail, hanging a little past his shoulders and a few locks fluttering in the slight breeze before his unseeing eyes. The breeze carried the scent of wasted lives, of potential wasted. His father and elder brother would be proud, and his sister would no doubt have leapt into his arms and rained kisses upon his conquest of their enemy.

A warm wetness at his chest brought him back to brief, fluttering lucidity, and as his hand went to the shredded black coat with golden embroidery lacing the sleeves and returned a hot, sticky liquid from one of the countless lacerations on his person, a word appeared in the forefront of his exhausted mind. Blood. Alongside the word, a question. But whose blood? Not his. No, it could't be his. He was the Prince of Shadow; the night was his mistress, his lover and his strength. When the sun hid from the land and wreathed it in darkness, a Lacceta was invincible. Supposed to be invincible. Airen Lacceta was too delirious with exhaustion to notice that he was so sliced to ribbons that a man would have died a hundred times over, and that it was a miracle even he still retained the strength to move. But the marionette's strings were once more pulled, and move he did.

There. His unseeing eyes saw something that his unthinking brain thought a sign of hope. The light of candles. A place of refuge from the ravages that would come at dawn. Like the corpse made conscious he was said to be, he lurched towards the lights. A door. Yes, must find the door; can't forget our manners. Find the door he did, and he only managed to raise his hand before falling heavily against it, his tired eyes finally fluttering closed and his mind surrendering to sleep.
 
A loud sound came from the other side of her door. Rosa, who had been tending to one of the men gasped. Her men ran to the door and upon opening it, they beckoned for their Lady, requesting orders. Lady Beaumont was kind. Sometimes too kind. Upon the sight she gasped once more and threw her own safety out the window as she got on her knees and check to see if he was still alive. So much blood. "He's alive! Ladies, take supplies up to my chambers. Lay sheets over the chaise. Men bring him to my chambers. Be careful. Very careful." She ran up the stairs and the men guarding her bed chambers opened up the double doors to the main room. This room comprised of a roaring fire beneath a mantle. Two armed chairs on either side of a plush sofa. Books shelve from floor to ceiling upon one wall of the room. A vanity and a door leading to her bed chambers upon one wall and a door to her lavatory and a tapestry on one wall. Upon the vanity her ladies laid out various supplies. A basin of water was filled and strips of linen rolled up.

The man's body was carried in. His wrists held by one man and his ankles by another. Upon the soft surface of the sofa he was laid. The fire directly in front of it proving for excellent light and Rosa feared the worst: that she may not be able to save this one. She knew that all of this blood could not be his. One look told her that he was one of them. "He's growing weaker." One of the ladies openly voiced. "The fact that he is a alive is a miracle in and of itself, tend to his wounds. Soak the linens in the solution and wrap it tight. You me may have to sit him up. We need to stop all of this bleeding." As she talked she worked in tandem with the other helping hands. It took an hour or two before she took a moment to breath. The coat was removed and anything else standing her way. Mainly anything above the waist. The wound was bandaged front and back. It almost looked as though all blood had been drained from him, but somehow, he lived. Twice his bandages needed to be changed.

Rosa remained seated in an arm chair at his side. Helping hands free to come and go which limited her ability to sleep, if at all. "He may be weak when he awakens, but at least he is alive." A brief glance at the window and dim rays of light seemed to peek over the horizon of the hills. "Daybreak." She sighed with a bit of relief. She found it a safe time to pass out. In the main chamber of her bed chambers, he laid. Her ladies free to come and go as they peeked on him. The Lady seemed dead to the world until the next evening arrived. The house was abuzz. Some people leaving, some simply walking around. Some had even walked to her main chambers to give her thanks. Of course Rosa was just waking up and getting prepared for another potentially crazy night.
 
Pale, pink eyes, almost white, opened with an absolute silence. The youngest heir of Lacceta lay still, unspeaking and unbreathing as he tried to remember the last night's events. Of course, he remembered snippets, incoherent flashes separated by long periods of a static void, pieces of a puzzle long abandoned and since destroyed, but he did not truly understand anything beyond the beginning of the battle. It did not help that he was weak, and famished, bordering upon a true and final death if he dared let himself rest a moment more. Like any man, Aerin feared death, and would so do whatever he could to keep death at bay. So it was that he rose, slowly, staggeringly, faltering but not falling, driven to his feet by desperation tinted with fear. In jerking, halting, unsteady steps, his noble frame slouched and hunched for a lack of strength to hold his head high, he lurched and staggered and swayed away from the couch, his saviour and blood enemy mercifully unnoticed as he went in search of something, anything, from which he could draw the sustinence demanded by his body.

To his fortune, it found him. A man familiar yet forgotten to him opened the door, hobbling in on a pair of crutches after Aerin tore his leg off at the knee and clubbed another man to death with it. Whatever words had been in his mouth were swallowed and died when he saw the wretch his "enemy" had become, and shouting some nonsense about his staying away from Lady Beaumont he did a hobbling leap at the Lord Lacceta, swinging his crutches about like some demented windmill. Weak though Aerin was, a crippled and tired soldier was hardly more threatening than a kitten to him. It was with a savage ease that he snatched the man's throat, holding him aloft such that his solitary foot dangled a full inch off of the floor of the room.

"You ignorant fool," Aerin sneered in his rumbling, stony bass, a permanent tone of condescending mockery marking the speech as his, "there are no True Beaumonts anymore. Their bloodline is too tainted by base mortality to be of value to us." His lips quirked into a devilish smirk as he drew the man, whimpering now in fear and trembling ever-so-imperceptibly, closer to him, tilting the soldier's head to expose his jugular. The scent of the fresh, warm blood within him was enough to whet his ravenous appetite. "I vastly prefer bedding a pretty thrall before I eat, but a starving man can not afford to be picky. A mangy mutt like you will have to suffice."

And without further ado, he sank his fangs into the full, rich artery, digging deep and holding his meal steady as he fed. Such was his hunger that not a single drop of life's blood escaped his lips; he would have happily drained the man dry even if he did not need to feed, out of sheer principle to kill his enemy, but as it was he was certain he drained every last drop of crimson essence, and still he was not full. Oh, certainly, he was well away from danger of death now—though his skin still held it's usual ghostly pallor—but he was yet to return to his full strength. Gradually, but quite rapidly, the red of his eyes began to darken, that and his posture signifying his returning strength as they returned to their usual dark red shine and he was able to draw the strength to straighten his back. It was only after the man was quite dead and Aerin's throat quite damp that he threw the useless, empty husk to the floor, rolling his shoulders and sighing out a contented "Ah." All this in just under a full minute. A hungering man wolfed down his food quite readily.
 
Noise was common within these walls. The occasionally scream of pain was not unusual. A groan here or there and it only made Lady Beaumont hasten her pursuit to get dressed. As always her hair was left to cascade past her shoulders and to the middle of her back. A deep green gown clung to her torso and flared ever so slightly at the waist. The green matching that of her eyes. "YOU BEAST!!" She heard someone yell beyond her bed chamber doors, causing her to dash out of her room and halt at the sight laid out before her. One of the men was already on one bended knee at the poor man's side, only to confirm to his Lady that he was dead. All the while keeping his death glare on the blood sucker before him.

Her heart raced beneath her bosom and she had to calm herself a bit. Fear lingered there, as did anger, but she had to stay calm. "You're welcome. For me saving your life." The obvious noble woman walked forward putting her within striking distance. "You are in my home. You could have died. Maybe that wasn't a bad idea, but none the less, you're welcome. Continue on as such and you'll rip your wounds open again." A slender finger was pointed at his chest where there were bandages wrapped. Her gaze turned to look at one of her own soldiers. "Please have his body disposed of." There was so much death that they had been burning bodies rather than burying them. Two men took the dead body from the room and she turned back to the blood sucker that she had saved.

"To my dismay, we do have blood. Albeit, animal blood, but blood none the less. To sate that hunger and try and keep some sanity in your kind." Her lips were painted a crimson hue. The color contrasting greatly against her ivory skin. "Sit. You need your bandages changed. As long as you are within these walls, which harbor both Beaumont and Lacceta alike, you will be under my care and do as I say." She sighed and walked over to the vanity and grabbed the linen wraps and a bowl of mashed herbs formed into a paste. "Feel free to walk out on the battlefield as you are, maybe if you're lucky they will finish the deed while you're in such a weakened state. Now... please, sit." She said as she held the rolls for his wound in her hands. "My Lady..." The soldier that stood at her doorway persisted. "No, the sooner he is better, the sooner he can walk out of this house on his own to feet. Lacceta or not."
 
He looked at the woman before him with mixed bemusement and contempt, laced ever so slightly with respect. Emeralds met rubies, and after a drawn-out silence, Aerin relented, tossing himself back into the sofa, an arm reached over the back and one ankle resting on the other knee. "It would be prudent of you to note," with his other hand, he pulled down the bandages, revealing wounds already well past half healed, "that I am nothing like the ones you have dealt with in the past, Neutral." He practically spat the word, twisting it by voice alone into the gravest insult comprehensible to humans. "I am a true Lacceta. Simply give me one of my slaves and a change of clothes, and perhaps an hour or so of repose, and I will be gone."

He, his sister, his brother, and their father were the only true members of their race bearing the Lacceta name. The rest, from the highest soldier to the lowest servant, were half-converted slaves who lived only by the pleasure of their betters, existing to feed them at night and guard them by day. Aerin was the only one who took to the fray, and this was the first time he had ever been wounded so. Only because he had lost track of his slaves and thus his blood supply, needing to restrict his healing to conserve his strength. Of course, he had forgotten to alter his suicidal method of engaging to fit that constraint, and so had met the fate he had; being unconscious had allowed his regenerative abilities to as they pleased, hence his hunger upon waking. But now he was once more fed, and he would be well soon, especially with more blood. Of course, none would know all this without studying decades-old books on the matter, as the neutral house had only ever seen the cheap imitations of his kind.
 
A great weight seemed to have been lifted when he complied to her request. That didn't mean that her men were not on guard. She could see the desire for revenge in their eyes. Her jaw clamped shut as he spoke of being a true Lacceta. Like she would ever tell him that she was a true Beaumont. The she and her six brothers were pure Beaumont. Even her brothers held an enchanting appearance that their family was known for. Once in a while one or more of her brothers would come to visit, but never without sending a letter first. "You bleed. You can die. You feel pain. You are nothing special Lacceta. As seen by my own eyes, you are not invincible. Powerful and very lucky, but not invincible. Again... you're welcome." Rosa Beaumont was known for her kindness, beauty, sweet smile, and her lethal tongue.

"A change of clothes for the man and tell anyone under the Lacceta that their true Lacceta requires one of them. A few have gone home, but there are two or three in the library." One of five guards ran off to fulfill his Lady's orders. "If you think that you can walk out of here safely after that hour, then so be it." A smile tugged at one of the corners of her lips into a half smile as she looked from his healing wound to those red eyes. "Needless to say, I hope I never see you again, but I never turn away the wounded. No more killing of my kin within these walls, though. Lady, serf, and knight alike or I will leave you for dead at my door. It's the least you could do." She said as she sat up and stood before the fire. The dancing flames reflected in her eyes with orange, red, and yellow hues. The heat engulfing her form before she turned to face the man. "My name is Rosa, and... you are?" She asked with a casual tone as she sat at his side and boldly observed his wounds. Soft fingers caressing over the fading scar tissue where deep gashes once sat. Needless to say she found it remarkable.
 
He arched a quizzical eyebrow as she introduced herself, sat down beside him and was so presumptuous of her safety that she even laid her hands upon him. This woman made no sense to him; but, he supposed, not even his twin sister made sense to him sometimes. Like why she would ever allow their elder brother or father to bed her when she still had him. But, of course, the Lady's presumption was correct; she had brought him into her home and tended to him while he slept, however superfluously, and so she deserved a measure of respect from him that encompassed not causing her harm. "Well, Rosa, I will promise that I will not attack any of your men within your house, but you cannot ask me to let them attack me without repercussions."

A sharp-tongued woman to some, maybe, but to him she simply sounded certain of herself. Perhaps overly so. Beautiful too, perhaps, though Aerin still thought Aeren, his sister, a fairer mate. Himself, he shared in their angular, vaguely feline features, with sharp eyes and high, prominent cheekbones, faces unmarred by their centuries. "I am Aerin, Rosa." He gave her a small, polite smile, as a gesture to show he meant no harm, and simply allowed her to run her finger over the scar, fading noticeably even now. Truth be told, he had been fit to leave the moment he sat down, but a moment's peace was a gift he was loathe to dismiss. "I am curious, as well. Why neutrality?" He could not really comprehend why she might avoid taking her family's side in this feud. Or any side, for that matter. A perplexing woman, indeed.
 
She tore her eyes away from the sight of his vanishing wound as he asked her about her choice of position in his war. "It's futile. A century old battle and no one truly knows what happened. What if neither of our families did it. What if it isn't even true! I believe that the actions of one shouldn't decide the fate of an entire race. My father was a proud man, but always thought of his people. He fought more for safety. With my parents gone they fight for fun. To simply see blood shed and feel what power they wield over so many lives." A light nod of her head signaled her disapproval and her eyes turned to the mesmerizing sigh of the flames beneath her mantle. "I do not wish to be a part of such a thing. So here I sit, healing all that will allow me, maybe hoping that I will live to see an end to this pointless feud. Though I don't hold my breath on it." Rosa held more slender curves to her features. A visible smooth softness to her skin and the occasional sparkle in her eyes.

Lady Beaumont didn't appear special. No special powers. A simple human being, or so many would presume. Yes, she was a true Beaumont, but she did not believe that her blood held special traits. Little did she know just how very wrong she was. How her family's worst enemy's ignorance was the only thing keeping his from tearing her to unrecognizable shreds. "And I must admit that... I am rather surprised at your... calm demeanor." With a shrug of her shoulders the lovely Lady Beaumont stood upon her own two feet and looked down at the fit being perched upon her lavished furnishings. "Well, if you are feeling better then please feel free to walk out of my front doors. For your sake, I hope to never see you again Lacceta." Her last words spoken with an unforeseen sweet smile. Since all of those associated with the Lacceta were gravely wounded before finding themselves in her care, that was the only other way that she would expect to see him again.
 
"Yes, well," He stood slowly as the door was opened and a pair of slim, wiry young men of a height between Aerin and Rosa entered. Twin brothers under Aerin's power, the one had a bandage over his left eye where his brow had been cut, the other had an arm in a sling, "I suppose if you meant to kill me you would have just thrown me out into the sunlight. Since you did not, I see no reason to view you as someone seeking my harm." he took the change of clothes the bandaged on offered and stripped to the waist to change; it would not do to bare his manhood in front of a woman he didn't intent to lay with, and so he did not, simply pulling off the bandages wrapped around his person to reveal well-sculpted muscles to match his somewhat feral, predatory allure to most normal women. Aerin and Aeren Lacceta were sometimes described as jaguars that walked on two legs, fittingly so. "Besides, you have no doubt saved many of my men from death in the past. I owe you a measure of my gratitude for that."

He rolled his shoulders after he put on the shirt and coat, looking slightly ridiculous in the deep maroons and royal blues while his midnight-black trousers were shredded and tattered, useful only as tinder now. He gave a small little bow with a flourish of his slim, elegant hands as he said, "Well, miss, I thank you for your hospitality, and I will also hope I need not so enjoy it in the future. And now I will take my leave to inform my kin that, miracle of miracles, there is a noble Beaumont yet gracing this world."

And with that, he left. A third slave, this one a vixen quite familiar to her Lords and Lady, leapt to her feet as they approached the exit, following with the playful, bouncing steps that the eldest Lord Lacceta, Aerin's father Emmanuel, had commanded her to make a habit, thinking his sons might enjoy the resultant spectacle. Lyceus, the elder male, naturally did. Aerin did not really notice, at least while she was dressed; when she was not, he sometimes watched. But he was not the kind to make her jog about uselessly, enjoying only what was offered or that he presumed himself entitled to. On this night, that amounted to taking the good wrist of the man with a broken arm and enjoying a brief, careful snack from the vein at his wrist; no need to drain his servant dry if he could avoid it.

The walk back to Sevenia, where the Lacceta family held most of it's power, was long in part due to distance and in part because Aerin had taken a stop in the trees to finish changing, which the girl had mistaken as a silent order and... well, he was without trousers for a pleasantly long while, and the girl had once again happily announced that she preferred Aerin's flavor to his brother's. When at last Aerin and his trio of followers arrived at the impressive, Gothic-styled mansion that housed the Lacceta and their favored servants, it was to the slow setting of the moon. Aerin did not need to knock or ask permission for entry to his own home, and so he simply strode in. He was, however, quickly thrown onto his back by something flying into him at great speed, raven's-feather locks long enough to cover her rump flying every which-way as Aeren greeted her brother with a special kind of relieved joy found only when the returning party had been presumed dead. He could not even exclaim in surprise, as she was quick to trap his tongue with hers as they fell. She held him like that for a while, time seeming quite irrelevant now as Aerin settled his hands on his sister's slim, rounded hips covered by one of the rich black silk skirts she so loved. The both of them quite liked the color, actually.

When she at last released the kiss, it was because she had noticed the presence of the others. "Leave us." She told them sharply, and once they were beyond hearing Aeren continued showering affections on the brother she'd thought lost, nuzzling his cheeks and pressing herself against him as though to make certain Aerin was really there. After a while, she finally bothered to address him with a choking, breathless exclamation of "Oh, Aerin, I'm so glad you're safe! When you didn't come home, Father and Lyceus assumed the worst and told me to move on, but I knew, I simply knew you wouldn't leave me!" She continued her ministrations while Aerin stroked her long, silken hair and tried to calm her with some gentle shushing, smiling at his twin and lover, saying "Aeren, Aeren, please. Have you so little faith in me as to believe me dead? I simply lost track of time chasing down some cowardly Beaumonts, and was caught out at dawn. I took shelter and started home as soon as I could."

She stopped her anxious affections, raising herself onto her hands to look him in the eye. Now she was a woman Aerin would call beautiful; soft, porcelain skin with a delicate frame that seemed it would break at a touch, though she shared in her brother's resilience. His same crimson eye color, hers sometimes a deep, dark garnet after she fed, her eyes like large, innocent-seeming pools of purest blood. Long, straight hair that fanned out behind her in bed, like rivers of night that contrasted beautifully with her bloodless pallor, and her lips painted a lovely shade of rose by either blood or cosmetics. Her dress was a kind of tempting modesty, the bodice concealing but emphasising her generous bosom, clinging to her slim waist and flaring over her hips, her skirts pooling slightly at her feet and her skin bare above the shoulders. He simply had to look at her and immediately her being his sister simply made her all the more beautiful. Of course, the price of immortality had made her quite infertile as well, so there was no consequence—and thus no wrong—in the twins sharing a bed and frequently spending many days wide awake and loving it. "I have absolute faith in you, Aerin. It is my other brother I distrust."
"And yet you lay back for him as readily as for me."
"No, I do not. If I were approached by both of you at a time, Aerin, I will always fly to your arm."

She let out a giggle, then, nuzzling his cheek again and whispering warmly into his ear with her gentle, lilting soprano voice, which always sounded as though she intended to break into one of her lovely songs that Aerin so loved. Of course, she loved to serenade her twin brother; that was one joy reserved only for Aerin, no matter what the others did—which was not much, as they feared the wrath of her brother if they dared harm her—and she made sure to flaunt it, sitting in his lap and singing for his ears alone, stopping when their elder brother or father drew near enough to hear. But that is a digression. "I suppose," she said softly, "you could start calling me your pet nightingale. Of course, I believe I'm much better at swallowing your manhood than any mere songbird~" She giggled again, pressing her hips against his quite deliberately, grinding against him and allowing herself a hushed, aroused hum. When the other men had thought Aerin dead, Aeren had been quick to barricade herself in their room out of fear and grief, and dove into Aerin's pillow to weep. Her typically hyperactive libido had been festering, ignorant of her sadness, for an abnormally long time, but now that Aerin was back she longed for him to use her like he usually did. She gave his earlobe a playful nip, whispering the single word, "bed", that she needed to for her twin to pick her up and hurry to their chambers.

The room shared by them was quite spacious, practically half a ballroom with high, vaulted celings. Everything in the room was their beloved black, being made of ebony or black steel or obsidian or black thread or leather. One wall was lined with bookshelves filled with vooks and parchments of all shapes, sizes, languages and types. The other was occupied by wardrobes, trunks, and the large ebony double-doors to their bathchambers, which were likewise all black. The twins, Aerin and Aeren, waltzed across the room to the humongous bed which occupied much of the third wall and dominated the room, undressing each other with a graceful ease born from decades of practice of the maneuvers. When the last of thr clothes fell away, Aerin scooped up his sister and tossed her into the bed, leaping after her. They were both quite aroused at this point, but Aeren spread her legs, holding her torso up on her elbows and petting her slit, smiling at her brother and he crawled to her. She knew what came next.

When Aerin slid up to her, he stopped with his head between her thighs. He nipped at her fingers, which were feverishly stroking her sex and very moist with her arousal by now, and replaced them with his own. A shudder went through Aeren as she felt her twin spread her opening, slowly inching the tip of his smooth, soft finger into her. A quiet, impatient moan escaped her lips as he started to stretch her entrance, then an exasperated sigh as he withdrew before his tongue came to play. She shivered as she felt his tongue—which was quite long, hanging just short of an inch past his chin; Aerin had very badly ruined cunnilingus for her with any other man, though he was the only man who gave it to her—begin to lightly stroke her tembling, sopping womanhood, before he brought his lips to her and began drinking in the arousal from her wet channel that ached for something, anything to fill it, so long as it was Aerin's. Preferably his member, which she knew to be iron-hard and hot, just the right size to fill her the perfect amount and always taking her with a rough, bestial savagery that pounded her, screaming, to orgasm after violent orgasm. She whimpered, biting her own lip as her sex quivered from the thought. She would start begging soon if he kept teasing her so, and though they both ultimately loved it when she was humiliated such it was always something she was reluctant to do. So she whimpered and whined, her ample breasts heaving from her pants of arousal, the soft pink buds at the tip of each standing on end, as she silently prayed he would enter her soon. Almost as though sensing her thoughts, though, the moment she did she felt his tongue snake itself into her and begin writhing and twisting within her sex, which clamped down and conformed to it, soaking it and making sure that he got a very good taste of his sister's "forbidden" lust. The strength left her arms and she fell to her back, moaning and panting and sometimes screaming in beloved ecstasy as Aerin ate at her pussy, her raven locks splayed out under her pale, arching back, darker than even the deepest midnight of their sheets. She writhed and bucked her hips, holding his head in her hands and twining her fingers in his hair as he encompassed her engorged clitoris in his lips, sucking and licking and ever-so-gently-pinching with his teeth and tongue as her eyes rolled back and she pressed him against her, silently begging him for more, more, more and offering her everything for him in exchange. He obliged, his tongue curling within her to stroke and prod that particular button within her that made her throat constrict and kill the sound of her would-be piercing scream as everything that was her clenched, flooding her womanhood with her orgasm. She held him there still, her muscles frozen iron, as her brother drank her climax dry, greedily gulping down her pleasure and only growing harder from the rich, heady taste.

When she finally relaxed, she fell limp, panting as though she were a mortal who just ran twenty marathons while fighting a war single-handedly. Aerin was the only one who could so exhaust Aeren, and she loved him for it amongst many other things. Lyceus was always tired just when she was begining to have fun, and Emmanuel simply used her, with a kind of uncaring roughness that one might associate with offhanded rape, until he was satisfied before throwing her out, undressed and unhappy. But Aerin always made sure they both slept deep and smiling.

She smiled as she relaxed, her eyes fluttering closed as he gave her the respite he always did, fiddling with her brother's hair as he slid up, purposefully rubbing his body against hers until his head rested on her bosom. She pressed him into the soft, fluffy mounds, smiling down at him and giggling softly when he arched his back and she felt the heat of his manhood near the folds of her channel. She released him, and then he took her wrists and pinned her before rushing himself in to the hilt. Her breath hitched and her moan caught in her throat as she was suddenly filled by the same member that had taken her innocence and made him a true man so long ago, seemingly designed for her as a key for a lock. And unlock her he did, grinding their hips together as she arched her back, trying to press against him but pinned by the wrists and adoring it. Then he began to thrust, at first slowly and gently, but gradually gaining in alacrity and savagery, beginning to jolt her body and rock the great bed upon which they commited a taboo they so often commited, accompanied by the chorus of his soft, sighing grunts of pleasure and her panting and moaning. Aeren loved to make noise for her brother, vocalising just how much she wanted him to take her and make her his, and Airen preferred to keep silent, which worked to emphasise that he was always the one in control between the two. Aeren was not usually submissive at all, being the one in charge during her trysts with Lyceus and treated as little more than a sex toy by Emmanuel. For her twin brother though, who she was senior to by two and a half minutes, she was but putty in his hands. Neither knew exactly why, and neither would change a thing about it for the world; Aeren would readily bend over backwards to make Aerin happy, and Aerin would jump through hoops to see Aeren smile. Both would rip anything that harmed the other into indistinct, innumerable, minute shreds before turning around to their treasured sibling and lover and doing whatever it took to make everything right as rain. Whatever the others thought, Aerin fought only to keep Aeren safe, and Aeren only allowed the others to bed her so she could better perfect and practice the arts for Aerin.

As Aerin's continual pushing and pulling of his throbbing hardness grew faster and more urgent, so too did Aeren's panting and moaning, her hips rising to meet his every thrust and her body undulating in time with his motions, their incestuous lovemaking a long-ago mastered dance between two who were one. To say he fucked her would be an insult to the beauty of it; each was entirely focused on the other, their deep red eyes lost in each others' gaze and their tender smiles mirror images of each other, they were at their most synchronous then, as both neared their joint climax that made the effort so worthwhile. Then, as a pair of identical fanged livers are wont to do, both bared their necks and gently dug their fangs into eavh others' flesh, unpiercing. And then they tensed, and both at a time they climaxed, Aerin's member swelling before pumping a gout of his seed deep into his sister's womb, Aeren's channel clenching and unclenching in waves along his hot erection, guiding her brother's pleasure deeper into her body. They were still, then, teeth at each others' necks and panting through their identical small, narrow noses as each enjoyed the fading twitches of the other's orgasm. Finally, they parted and Aerin withdrew, his sister's slit glistening slightly with their mixed pleasure and her body beginning to accrue a sheen of sweat. But neither was quite satisfied, and while they enjoyed making love both liked it more when they did things along the lines of what came next.

They smiled at each other, words being superfluous to them then, as Aeren shifted, rolling over onto her front and rising slightly, presenting her hips to him. His still-hard length glistening with their mixted fluids, he pressed the tip of his manhood against her rear entrance, gathering her hair in his hand and smiling at her, Aeren returning a sheepish smile before she bit her lip, closing her eyes as her brother suddenly slid his member into her bottom, which had been made clean after she turned and stayed so since, as Aerin pulled roughly on her long, inky locks. He exhaled heavily through his nose as she wriggled slightly, lowering her front before he began to take her from behind, her hips bouncing off his own and his grip on her hair always pulling her back, her tight, but not too tight, bottom massaging and stroking his arousal, which slide smoothly in and out of his sister's soft, shapely rump as she bounced away and was dragged back, her nipples dragging against the velvety covers and sending little electric tingles through her with every motion, making her whimper softly as her bottom was filled by a foreign yet familiar hardness. Something she wished she could reserve for Aerin alone. But she only really enjoyed it with him; she didn't orgasm without stimulating herself, but it was fun and felt good in a different manner from what her brother was enjoying; she enjoyed being dominated in this manner, being made to please him without trying to as she was pushed away and dragged back by his hips and then his pulling on her hair. She stopped biting her lip and let out a long, low moan as she started to fondle herself, toying with her slit while Aerin stuffed her with his erection, briefly wishing he had two before reconsidering. She would get tuckered out long before he was done if he had two cocks she needed to take, stroke, suck and otherwise lavish attentions on to make him happy. As she slowly worked herself to orgasm though, Aerin pulling her hair further to make her raise herself up, bouncing her on his length faster and harder, the small portion of her mind not overcome with a burning need to climax just one more time figured she would still tucker herself out, just for Aerin. She smiled, panting softly as she felt his hard member swell and burst, his hot load pouring into her in a much more fulfilling manner than Emmanuel could ever manage.

Shortly after, Aeren let out a satisfied sigh as her brother reached around, still with his lusting member inside her other channel, to fondle her large, well-shaped breasts. It was around this time that Aeren's efforts bore fruit as she masturbated herself to orgasm, quietly except for a happy little whine as Aerin pinched her rosy-pink, sensitive nipples, tugging gently before flicking the pads of his fingertips against their tips, then cupping and taking their weight into his hands. She leaned back, grinding her hips slightly to try and pleasure him more while he still violated her rump as he played with her breasts, squeezing and massaging them in ways he knew she liked them to be toyed with, both smiling as they gave each other little bits of pleasure before they drew this session of theirs to a close. Then, he slapped them with a rough playfulness that made her yelp and giggle as he at last pulled himself from her bottom, then laid on his back. Now was when Aeren repaid Aerin for the beautifully powerful orgasm his tongue had given her that evening, and she smiled at her brother as she bent down to show him her gratitude and love.

Aerin laid back onto the pillows with his hands behind his head, smiling back at Aerin as she leaned down and began to lap at his member, licking their mixed juices from his length and making his toes curl slightly as her tongue rasped against him and her warm breath enveloped him. His sister had been right about that; she knew better than anyone how to use her mouth when it came to men's pleasure. After lapping off their fluids, she flicked her tongue playfully against the tip, her full, soft breasts falling against his thighs and groin and making him shiver. She giggled at him, then, and he reached down to stroke her hair as he felt her warm, fluffy cleavage envelop his manhood, Aeren humming softly as she rubbed her breasts against her brother's erection. She was proud that he was still so aroused for her, which he never was for any other girl, and she wanted to make sure his unspoken compliment was rewarded as she began to bounce her warm, round mounds up and down his member, craning her neck to lap at the tip like a dog would lap a faucet. After a while, he let out a soft sigh as she switched gears, taking the head between her lips and slowly sucking his member into her mouth, then her throat. She did not gag—she had long ago lost that reflex from pleasing her brothers and father—but she hummed softly, a thing she only did for Aerin, as she began to bob her head up and down his length, sucking fiercely and lathering it in her saliva as her tongue played around the hot, thick member she so readily swallowed. His scent was heavy, and made her head spin, but in a good way. His hand on her head let her know when he wanted it faster, or slower, or shallower or deeper. She smiled as she felt it get hotter and hotter in her mouth, beginning to drag her fangs lightly along her brother's most sensitive part, nibbling gently on the tip, before she took him to the hilt and greedily swallowed his seed as he swelled and burst in climax once again. She giggled around his cock, continuing to play with him as he at last began to soften, sucking him it to make certain she had every last drop. When she was certain she couldn't entice anymore, she let him go with a soft *pop!*, licked her lips and sat back with a fake frown of disappointment on her face as she groaned out an "Aw. Are you already done playing, Aerin?"

He chuckled as she crawled up to snuggle against him, wrapping an arm around her shoulders as they slipped beneath the covers together, stroking her cheek. "Don't 'aw' me, Aeren. You know as well as I that you're done for the moment." He kissed her as she smiled, cuddling up and resting her head on his chest, and they simply laid there in silence for a time.

Then Aerin heard the soft clicking of the door latch, and saw their brother poke his head in the door. Aerin waved him away in a shooing gesture, which Lyceus took as invitation to enter. Aerin frowned, growling "Piss off, Lyceus. This is our room. If Aeren wanted to pounce on a rat she'd go to you." He really did not like their elder brother, who truth be told wasn't even really their brother. Aerin and Aeren were the only "true" Laccetas who were related to each other by blood; they and Lyceus and Emmanuel were only related because Emmanuel had been the one that turned them all. Lyceus, thus, did little to resemble the twins who lay curled together in bed. Aerin's chosen insult was in fact an apt description of the elder heir to the Lacceta clan, who quite resembled a tall, scrawny drowned rat that had lost much of it's fur, with yellowing buck teeth that made his speech a bit funny and unkempt nails to match, the only reason Aeren even let him think of her disrobed were to ensure he wouldn't try to harn Aerin, and in the name of keeping her skills sharp for Aerin's pleasure. Though neither twin could say with a straight face that they were happy with such an arrangement, and continually hoped for a chance to lock their brother out in the sun one day. Lyceus frowned, not bothering to hide his displeasure at Aerin's perpetuated existence, saying "Ah, the prodigal fon return." His voice was a touch screechy, as though cracking on every syllable. Aerin had, thankfully, had a quick transition from adolescence to maturity, never enduring an inconsistent pitch he did not intend for. "What newf from the front, then, brofer? Why ftay out fo long?"

"It's not the business of a rat what a panther does, unless that rat happens to be dinner."

"And I inquire about the houfcat that was missing all of laft eveningnand returnf unannounfd tonight. Befidef, I want fome time with—" He reached out to point at Aeren and was cut off as Aerin let out a hissing growl, holding his sister close and curling his shoulder over her protectively. Aerin did not bare his fangs lightly, and Lyceus knew enough of this to take a step back before he wished he'd never been turned. "You," Aerin said, "will not take her from me. She is spent for now. If she wants to degrade herself by letting a wretch like you even see her skirts above her ankle, she will come to you. But now, she stays. Can you underfand that, brofer?" He took on a mocking tone, mimicking the squeaky, drawling headache that was Lyceus' speech, before the eldest turned to leave in a huff. After, Aerin nuzzled his sister's neck, then settled down to sleep with her as, outside, dawn came, and within the mansion Lyceus viciously bent over the girl with a bouncy step and tore into her ass with enough savagery to ensure she would not sit easily for a few weeks. Not that she minded, being a half-sentient slave to the whims of all the nightstalkers of the Lacceta; to hear Lyceus tell it, she may have even orgasmed more than once from the ordeal.

Eventually, they awoke, though the sun still cast shadows; it being spring, the blood-drinkers found themselves confined to their house longer and longer with each passing week. A possible downside to having immortality that immolates upon exposure to ultraviolet radiation. But it was easy enough not to mind being cooped up when one shared a house—or better yet, a bed—with a coterie of people willing to serve one as they pleased. It was all the better when you had a devoted sister willing to go to bed with you just after waking up. Though Aeren spent much of her time spoiling Aerin, rarely going anywhere if she wasn't at his heels singing for him or in his lap showering affection upon him. She was certainly happy to know he was alive, for though it was her usual routine to lavish him with her attention whenever she got the chance, she did so now with such dedication as to ignore the wants of her other two men. It would not be far off the mark that Aeren had built her entire world around her brother soon after they were turned, and she had been quite shaken when that foundation had almost slipped away. Days came and went while Aeren rarely flew to anyone's call but Aerin's, until all too soon the messenger pidgeon arrived. It carried a rolled piece of paper inside a silver tube, and the paper was marked only with a shield and the word "sunset". Their spies within the house of Beaumont had learned when the mortals intended to attack. And Aeren was not happy in the least about the news.

"Oh, why can't you just stay home, Aerin?" She pleaded as her brother buckled on his sword belt, from the left hip of which hung the carved ebony hilt with silver leafwork of his new sword, his old one having never been recovered from the last skirmish. The blade itself was a shiny, almost silver steel that the smith had called "celestrium". He sighed as she asked the same question in different words for the umpteenth time, "And leave the thralls to handle a full Beaumont attack alone, Aeren? No, I need to go." He smiled at her, hugging her lovely frame close as she held her hands against his chest, burying her face in his coat. "Please, Aerin, I'll do anything. I'll stop listening to Father and Lyceus, I'll sing better, but please don't leave me again!"

He frowned when he felt a strange wetness leaking through his coat. She was crying, and to his dismay this was one hurt he could not destroy for her. He remembered, then, what it felt like to be helpless. He sighed, stroking her hair slowly as she began hiccupping as she cried, mewling into his coat. "Aeren," he smiled down at her, cupping her chin and making her look him in the eye, crimson to maroon, "I will be fine. I will go out, best our enemies, and return to my hero's welcome, just like I always have. And always will, until I need not leave again. Mm?" He chuckled as she calmed down, then kissed her, saddened by the salty taste of her lips. "Now. Dry your eyes and wait for your brother to return, my nightingale." She smiled, then, scrubbing her eyes with the heels of her palms, while he left as the last sliver of the sun vanished and the land once again became his domain. The Lacceta thralls had already departed, and no doubt there would have already been bloodshed as the two sides once more collided, but Aerin was swift in his departure, and the night was barely an hour old when he arrived to the fray.

It was chaos, as expected. The Beaumont soldiers more or less matched the Laccetas in number, but many of them held more experience, and thus the Beaumont forces held an advantage, for every one of them that fell, three more did of Aerin's forces. The field was filled with the groans of the dying, cries of the wounded, and the shouts of the fighting, the sharp ring of steel-to-steel everpresent and dominating the air. It stank of blood and sweat and pain, and no doubt by the end of the night this place would be in a similar state to how it had been before; a hell of nightmares. With a long, slow exhalation, Aerin drew his own sword and leaped into the fray. He needed no battlecry; he simply set about him, his steel flicking and flashing in the light of the heavens and the odd torch carried by newer blood to this endless war, here piercing a heart, there slicing a throat, once or twice eviscerating a man unfortunate enough to lack armor. Not that one could readily protect against a true Lacceta, whose strength was such to cleave tree trunks in twain with a bared hand. The servants of his house rallied to him wordlessly, and slowly but surely the odds became more even, as they always did, and the servants of the Beaumont name started to die in numbers. His thralls sought merely to dispatch the enemy, be they dead or wounded; Aerin struck to kill, a soldier of fortune among those who fed on the blood of men.

The battle wore on, it's pace shifting and flowing in waves and eddys much like the tides of a river, much like war. Where there once was green, now there was red; where once there was grass, now a lifeless husk. Aerin fed when he could, sometimes from a slave set aside for such a purpose, other times from an unfortunate enemy that let himself be captured. As the moon rose high, however, something strange happened. The circle of slaves surrounding him as he took a moment to drink began to distort, bending inward more and more. He looked up from his meal and shouted, drops of blood falling from his lips, commanding them to hold the line. And the line was not held; as the words left him, it in fact broke. A soldier—an officer, by the looks of his armor and the tasseled spear he swung around with so little apparent effort—leaping into the circle and striking for Aerin without ceremony. In a hurry, he fled the man he had been feeding from and leapt back. Too slow; the sound of cloth tearing to the soldier's battlecry met Aerin's ears and his eyes shot wide open as a hot, sticky wetness poured out of his side. The wound would heal, of course, but Aerin had quite liked that coat.

Diving away from the officer, the Lord Lacceta hit the ground in a somersault, drawing his sword as he slid a good two meters before his boots found purchase in the blood-soaked earth that had been churned into a thick mud. During his theatrics, it seemed his slaves finally noticed their master under attack and had divested the man of that pesky lance before being smote by his longsword, a dull grey steel, in some spots black with bloodstains. He charged his most hated enemy and Aerin met him with bared fangs and a predatory hiss, their duel begun. In a matter of moments, it was done, their blades flickering back and forth like slivers of the moonlight before both fell, Aerin to his knee, the other into pieces.

After what seemed an epoch but was really only a couple of hours, it was over. The Beaumonts turned back and retreated, the Laccetas took their wounded to the Lady and left. Among those wounded was Aerin, who had several parts of him hanging on by just a few threads and had put himself into a tranced sleep while he healed, two of his slaves carrying him in by his shoulders and knees. Bad luck, to twice take to this house in as many battles.
 
Rosa sat upon the window bench of her library. Her eldest brother, Vincent, had sent word by messenger of an impending attack upon the Lacceta. A warning for her to be on her guard. Locks as black as the darkest nights cascaded around the smooth curve of her neck and down the front of her right shoulder. Tied of with a deep blue ribbon in a ponytail of to the side. As she relaxed the manor was tended to. Those well enough to leave were sent on their way. Few remained, since the battle had taken a slight pause. Supplies were collected. The food supply, checked. Rallon Granger would be the one leading this attack. The right hand man of Vincent Beaumont. A man that Vincent insisted his sister wed. As charming as the man was she wanted no part of him. It would do more than sweet words to worm ones way into the gilded cage that housed Lady Beaumont's heart. Warm pink lips parted in a sigh as she sat up from her perch and a pool of blue silk and tool fell down to her feet. The dress cupping at her modest bust with lace overlapping the silk and it cascaded from there and to her feet. The soft and seemingly flawless skin of her shoulders was exposed and the warm flames beneath the mantle rid her of any chills.

The short lived peace was soon broken. The cries and scream were heard from miles away. The sound of metal clashing against metal tore through the air. Already the bodies were arriving. Some crawling or stumbling in, while others were carried. Rosa was weary and yet her stubbornness prevailed in doing what she could to save these lives. One, two, three had died of before she could get to them. Various bodies strewn about her home. She was disturbed by how the news of Rallon's death saddened her so, but she still had other matters to tend to. Her hands were covered in blood of different people as she oversaw some of the wound care. Her ladies were well versed in healing, as was their Lady. Just as Rosalie thought that the day could not get any worse, he shows up. "You stupid fool." She sighs as she wipes the blood from her hands. "I have every mind to have you carry your precious master all the way back to his own home." She threw the blood cloth in a pile of other soiled linens. "Lay him in my chambers. I can keep a better eye on him there."

One more round through the house was made to check on the status of others. "The moment someone can walk out of here safely, encourage them to do so, no doubt there will be more." She spoke to her head Lady before walking back to her bed chambers. The clicking of her heels sounding upon the stone floor. "You two stay here for your master, just in case he needs to feed. If he kills another person in my house I'll personally see him dead myself." She remembered the 'almighty' Lacceta from before. How could she not? He made quite the impression. Though whether it was good or bad was still on the fence. "You and my brothers are more alike than you may think. Stubborn." she cleaned up what blood that she could and had one of her own serf feed the flames to keep the warmth in the room. Upon the floor, she sat, next to the sofa where her lay. A rag and a basin of water being dabbing at his wounds as she watched in silence as they heel. "You know, we really should stop meeting like this. You certainly, must have a death wish." The fire light gave her skin a little glow. The sound of crackling flames could be heard when she was not speaking. She saw something buried in his flesh and, almost happily, dug her finger into the wound to pull it out. Not even thinking about the pain that it may cause.A smile actually tugging at the corner of her lips as she succeeded in pulling out a shard of metal. Not a small piece, either. "There, now that can heal properly." Almost voicing why she had to do it, other than the fact that she wanted to.
 
Tranced sleep was certainly a wondrous thing, a blessed thing that was likely what saved Rosa a deal of trouble. Aerin had long since lost his capacity to feel pain except through immolation, but he would not have taken at all kindly to her insults. Particularly to being likened to a Beaumont, which he likely would have killed her for had she been awake to hear it. Unbeknownst to Rosa, the piece of metal she'd dug out of him had in fact been there for quite a while longer than she'd even been alive, being a barbed steel arrowhead that had lodged itself in his ribcage when some fool archer missed his heart by a good deal—entirely wrong side of his body, in fact. It had been providing Aerin with no end of discomfort in lifting his right arm, thus why he had trained himself in being left-handed. Now that Rosa had removed it, though, he would prove quite potently ambidextrous, and in effect had just given her brothers' enemy an advantage in the battles to come.

As his wounds healed, the two slaves that had been told to stay by their gracious hostess regularly fed their master, pricking their wrists on his fangs and allowing their lifeblood to drip into his mouth to ensure he would not awaken ravenous like last time. Both did so eagerly, a look of purposeful rapture spreading over their otherwise placid neutrality as the toxins coating his fangs gave them pleasure not far removed from an orgasm. So it was that, when Aerin awoke a little over an hour after arriving, he was in a much more agreeable mood than when he first awoke in this house. Once more, his eyes opened silently, and he frowned as he slowly sat up on the sofa, looking around. "I suppose," he said after a long moment, "that I owe yet more thanks to the would-be Lady Beaumont." He looked down as the rather considerable hacks and slashes that had marked him continued to heal scarlessly. "Damnable spearman. What was he thinking, trying to duel me just after I'd fed?"
 
Rosa was just walking out of her bed chambers as he spoke. Hearing every word. "You are welcome, though you should have listened the first time, Lacceta. Do you get off on nearly dying?" She asked as she knelled beside the sofa where he lay. Again the green of her eyes watching as his flesh healed itself. Looking as thought it were almost reversing time. Again her fingers helped themselves to the feeling of his healed flesh. Feeling the smooth skin where the deep gashes once were. "I pulled something out of you. Here." The noble woman had it rinsed off and placed on the side table. The small object was placed in his hand before she sat herself upon the nearest arm chair with her legs crossed, looking well worn and weary." This war was going to drain her of what little life she had, and she wasn't even on the battlefield. Rosa had more than enough time to watch his body heal itself. Taking full advantage of his trance. "Feeling much better?" She asked as one of her ladies retrieved the goblet of wine that she had asked for earlier.

The silver metal pressed to her lips, to feel the sweet liquid as it raced past her lips. She could feel the warmth as it ventured through her body. "You certainly have a guardian angel on your shoulder. Near death, twice and no one there to deal the final blow that would end your life. You cheat death rather well." She said with a lax smile. Rose was taking full advantage of this moment to relax. She had been on her feet all day and all night. "Mistress..." One fairly round lady spoke in a mousy voice." Lord Beaumont has sent word to be on guard for...them. He fears that they may send someone to hold you for ransom. They send men from their armies to protect the estate and are ordered to kill on sight." Rose stood upon her own to feed. "I be DAMNED if they think that they can seize my home and use such an excused to make this a base for their own gain. I will not stand for this. While their worry may be slightly true, they know I am more than capable of fending for myself."

The fluffy lady framed in the doorway simply nodded in her head in agreement. "You archery skills are finer than that of your brothers. As they always have. You slayed that one Lacceta soldier that tried to kill you after you healed him. "The woman visibly shuttered at the thought. Her mistress could be ruthless when her life was at stake or those who fought in her name. Her name, and her name only. The woman then gasped and clamped a hand over her mouth when she forgot that there was a Lacceta in the room with her mistress. She blanched, fearing that her words may cost her mistress her life. "Relax Mabel, for the few I've slain, he's slain countless of our kin." Her voice monotone and questionable. A heavy sigh sounded from her lips and she waved Mabel off. "Excuse her. Her heart is in the right place. So... my brother's men are headed this way, what will you do?" Her home would not be a battle ground. "They are none of your concern. They will leave. On my order, or else." She did not know how she would make that happen without shedding her own kin's blood. Making her no better than the Lacceta sitting close to her. There had to be another way.
 
He did not stir at the woman's words of a Beaumont slaying his men. A fundamental rule of the family was to show gratitude for gracious hospitality, and there was none more gracious than the kind offered by the Lady Beaumont; thus, any soldier fool enough to try attacking her after she saved their life had been lucky Aerin had not been there. Whereas Rosa had simply killed them, Aerin would have made them suffer for their insolence before destroying them such that there would not be enough left to bury. "Before all else," he said, groaning slightly as he sat up, "I would like to assuage any worries about my family and my subordinates. You have earned favor from me, and as such this house of yours will not be a battleground if we can avoid it. Any Lacceta who attempts to break this promise, will be truly protected by divine Providence if I don't get to him before you or your men."

He stood, slowly, rolling his shoulders and looking down at the fragment of metal she had given him before tossing it into her lap. A token of his respect, now, rather than a hindrance to his flexibility. "Next, I think it high time I repay some of my debt to you. For sheltering my men and I. If you will let me, I can easily waylay those soldiers of your brother's, and perhaps even let most of them live to tell the tale. They have to pass through some heavy woods if they take the path I suspect they will, and it will be simple enough to turn them back with a bit of smoke and mirrors." He swept a small bow to her, smiling cockily. "Now, if you don't mind, I would like to be done with this soon enough to return home to my darling sister tonight." The thought of Aeren made his expression soften, just a little. She was probably lying in their bed at that moment, snuggling up to his pillow and craving him. A naughty, horny little seductress, that one, and he was anxious to be home so they might lounge in each other's arms.
 
Rosa's dim demeanor picked up a little with a smile tugging at one corner of her lips. "Thank you, Lacceta." Not once had she called him by his first name. There was no need to get too comfortable. One thought did toss in her mind, but it was pushed aside as her guest spoke. "That would indeed, save me a great deal of time and work. I would be very grateful were you to do that. I know that not everyone can be saved, but your effort to spare as many lives as possible is eerily nice." The tone of voice in which he spoke of his sister sounded very affectionate. Little did she know what relationship with duo had. "Off with you then. No need to keep her waiting." She said with her arms crossed and an amused smile on her lips. "Oh!" She chimed before he could leave from her sight. "If you insist on showing up at my doorstep, then you need not be on the brink of death. Simply knock and I will let you in." She laughed and teased at the same time. "Now off with you, Lacceta." Waving her hand in a shooing manner.

When the man was finally gone, she stood up and decided to do one more round before she would retired for the next few hours. Around the manor, she walked. Peering into every rom and checking the the status of each patient. One, on the side of the Lacceta seemed to not be doing so well. He was fed animal blood, but he seemed to very slowly recover. No where near as well as Aerin. She almost thought that she would lose him. The emerald eyed woman brushed her hand over a parchment an thinly cut on of her fingers. She expressed a slight pain, but that was all. One of the ladies gasped as the wounded solider sat up right with outstretched arms and eyes shot open. Her men jumped the man who bared his teeth at the woman and he had to be pinned to the floor. "No! Don't kill him... get him more blood. Keep him pinned until he settles down. I'm heading to my bed chambers." Up to her she ran. Tending to her finger. Stripping off her clothes and sliding beneath her warm, thick blankets. The sound of fire crackling being the only noise in the room. The same thing happened when she had to kill that last solider. She had bled and he seemed to go mad. A yawn escaped her lips and she was soon fast asleep.
 
If Rosa thought his offer eerily nice, Aerin thought her offer perplexingly so. At the end of the day, she still supposedly numbered amongst his worst enemies, and he hers. Why, then, had she not only sheltered him twice, but now offered him free entry to her house? But that was of little concern to him at that moment, really; he had a bargain to uphold. So, with her leave—which irked Aerin to no end, as he did not like it to seem as though he was obeying her—he left at a brisk jog, leaving the house and heading for the woods. He went straight into the thick brush beside the higgledy-piggledy dirt track of a road, treading softly and being thankful for the new moon casting the world into oblivious shadow. He stopped, then, when he heard the sound of marching feet and hooves, alongside the faint rattling of armor. A moment later he saw the gleam of steel in torchlight; Aerin suppressed a snort at the mortal's lack of his night vision. He slid back into the dark, and waited.

After about half the mediocre force had passed by, he deliberately stepped on and snapped a piece of deadwood. The soldiers nearest him immediately stopped and brandished their polearms and hand-axes and shields, peering into the darkness. One of them, idiot that he was, took a torch and trudged into the darkness, passing Aerin by close enough to kiss him. Then, swift as a tempest wind, the Lord Lacceta swept up from behind him, knocking the torch out of the soldier's hand and hoisting the both of them into the branches of a nearby tree, clamping a hand over the mortal's mouth to stifle him as Aerin sank his teeth into the man's waiting neck. But he did not drink; rather, he cut his own tongue and forced some of his own blood into the man's body. A moment later, after it reached his heart, the former Beaumont went still, his eyes gaining the usual half-glazed, placid look as he was turned to a slave of the Lacceta, gaining a thrall's typical black eyes. Aerin took his mouth away, that job done, and gave a simple order; don't let yourself be found until the given signal.

And so he continued, luring in, surprising, and converting six more soldiers while the rest of the force had stopped, trying to investigate the sudden vanishing of their fellowmen. And then, Aerin gathered his new thralls and bade nine of them to gather up the road, and playing dead. The other three he gave rather different jobs. Then, he lured in one final soldier—the eighth—and drained that one dry just in case things went awry, then sat hide himself near a branch that hung over the road. It was some time before the main force finally resumed their march, and Aerin smiled as he heard them approach his little trap, gasping and muttering prayers to themselves as they saw some of their friends, apparently dead. One went to check on them, and then the plan began to bear fruit as the first thrall did his work.

There was a halting scream as one of the Beaumont soldiers was yanked into the darkness, a second later his mangled corpse being thrown into the pile of "dead". "But first," the slaves intoned, their voices identical and seeming to come from everywhere, "on Earth, as Vampire sent..."

A second, the tenth loss, was taken and chopped apart before his dismembered body was strewn about the pretenders. "Thy corpse shall from it's tomb be wrent..."

The thralls playing dead began to stir, rising up slowly, jerkily, like puppets on invisible strings held by an unskilled puppeteer. As a nightmarish choir, they spoke. "Then ghastly haunt thy native place..."

An eleventh and twelfth were torn from their ranks and flung into the air, landing on a branch overhanging the road. The branch upon which Aerin now stood, his dark garnet eyes glittering like fresh blood in their torchlight. He stepped off, landing lightly amidst the front line and cleaving a thirteenth in two. He alone spoke the last line of the mantra. "And suck the blood from all thy race."

It worked. They stood, shocked silent, for but an instant. And then they began to shout, and turn and trip and scrabble away, screaming in fear as they fled back to where they had come from. Aerin waited until they had long since vanished, then allowed himself a bit of half-mad cackling while his seven newest troops assembled behind him. "Well, now," he sighed, "I haven't done that in quite some time." He smiled, then turned on heel and started back. It was only an hour until dawn; not enough time for him to make it home, but time enough to return to the Lady's house. He knocked, rapping his knuckles against the wood seven times in rapid succession, then waited.
 
Lady Beaumont was done for the evening. The fair skinned woman had taken a nice bath and slipped into a gossamer red gown that hung from straps from the creamy skin of her exposed shoulders. Her hair hung down and about her shoulders in tousled ebony tendrils. The emeralds of her eyes more prominent in the glowing light emanating from the fire beneath the mantle. A silk robe was thrown over her shoulders, but not tied off as she roamed her own abode, which had calmed down considerably throughout the night. As she walked near the front doors, a knock sounded. With a nod she signaled for one of the guards to open up the door. A smile crept upon her lips as it was revealed to be the Lacceta. "Back so soon?" She teased. Where the mild humor came from. she wasn't entirely sure. With the given time, she safely assumed why he was back and knocking at her door. "Well, you seem to be intact, that's a start. Let him in."

She noted his new minions and their familiar wardrobe and shook her head before she sighed and rolled her eyes. They weren't dead. Rose always looked at the positive, for the most part. "Unfortunately all of the rooms have wounded people in them, save for mine, so back to by bed chambers with you." Her tone with a hint of humor. "Maybe you can send someone to your home with word of your safety so your sister does not worry." Bare feet were warm and walked upon the crimson rug upon the stone floor of her home. The sofa took center stage of the room that the Lacceta had become very comfortable with. A thick fan of lashes lifted as she over looked him. When she first me him her nerves were through the roof. Thinking that he would use these opportunities to strike her down. It seemed that she had grown quite soft around him.

Not too soft, of course. "So, how did it go? Well, I assume?" She asked as she sat upon one of the arm chairs on either side of the sofa. Her slender legs crossed with her silk robe open the the gossamer fabric of her gown leaving little to the imagination. The hem riding up her thighs as she sat. It was late, or so she assumed, for him. Sun up was a calm time for her. But also she occasionally slept at that time. It had been quite the crazy day for her. She was a little tired, but not before she rounded up her role as hostess to the Lacetta that would most likely be sharing a room with her. With one hand she kneaded at the curve of her neck. It felt a little tense and she couldn't seem to get rid of it, but she didn't voice her annoyance. Why would she? So she just kneaded at he neck a little. The occasional wince of pain, visible upon her face.
 
The nightgown caught his eye for a moment when the Lady Beaumont first appeared, but he wasn't one to be very easily distracted by mortal women these days. With a nod of thanks and a mocking smirk to the guard, as if to say "You can't touch me, nyeh", he sent two of his older thralls—ones not dressed as Beaumonts—to accompany the newer ones to the Lacceta house. Sending them alone in their present attire would have been a death sentence for them, which wasn't exactly ideal, thus company was needed. Her humor and almost-flirtatious manner drew a raised eyebrow from him, but not much more; Aerin Lacceta was a fairly stable person when it came to women, and it was rare to find him thunderstruck by any particular occurrence.

As they passed through the house, a strange sight caught the corner of his eye; one of his men seemed to have been stricken with a frenzy, being bound hand, foot and head to a cot and the restraints showing some fraying, as though he'd put up one hell of a fight against them. A deep, focused breath let him catch a strange, unfamiliar scent in the air, though; something that tickled his mind and made his blood itch. It smelled good, but it couldn't exactly be compared to anything a human would know of. It bothered him, but he pushed that particular buzz into a corner of his mind to be puzzled at later.

Her chambers were quite familiar to him at this point, but walking into them was not. "A first time for everything..." he muttered as he stepped over the threshold on his own. "Mm?" He perked up as she spoke to him. "Ah. Well enough. If nothing else, they won't be bothering you today. Should they try again, well, you always have someone here who can reach me." He gave her a small smile, not bothered in the least that he himself was growing very lax around someone meant to be his enemy. He'd be dead if not for her intervention, so she evidently had no intent on killing him.

Her kneading he didn't really pay attention to, but the wincing caught his eye. "Need some help with that?" He leaned over her, not looming but simply getting a closer look. He smiled, half-joking, "Perhaps you just need to be drained a little, mm?" His fangs were just visible between his lips, shining softly in the firelight. Of course, Aerin knew the human body quite well for the times, particularly the neck, and unless he missed his guess could solve her particular crick with a few well-placed fingers.
 
Rosa was so focused on the crick in her neck she had hardly noticed when he was so close to her. So she was startled for a second. She listened and rolled her eyes with a slightly amused half smile. "Ha Ha." She said sarcastically, "But if you think that you can rid me of this ever annoying pain, then please, do try. Just don't accidentally kill me in the process." Making fun of his powers and abilities. As she stood, she removed the bandage from her finger and tossed it into the flames. The little cloth wrapping soaked in her blood. It needed changing, but the little wound was no longer bleeding fast enough to be in a hurry. Lady Beaumont knew that a little blood would turn him into a heated frenzy. At least... not normal blood. The vampire had assumed that there were no pure blooded Beaumonts walking this earth and seemed very overly confident about that.

She'd believed the tales, to be just that... tales. Her brothers had never been bold enough to walk onto the battlefield so no vampire had ever gotten a whiff of their blood. Rosa was usually very careful, but this time she had slipped up. Her eyes closed as she waited for the pain to be remedied. The sound of the crackling filled the air as the fire beneath the mantle burned and the heat licked at her exposed flesh. The little dot of blood welling up upon her finger and filling in the short line where the parchment had cut her. The index finger of her right hand remaining still, unsure as to how the Lacceta planned to remedy her ache.

"Well I safely assume that you leave the next night, Lacceta. Your sister will no doubt still worry in your absence." She pointed out and she would not be surprised if he had sent word with someone to reassure her. "One of your servents went made earlier, but it's nothing new. Hand to bind him, but he should be good by the next night. Why do they lash out so? A sickness? I ruled out deprivation since they're usually pumped with blood, but it's only a rare case."
 
He caught a whiff as she removed the bandage, a strange but almost imperceptibly faint sense of... not euphoria, but more a memory of it came over him. As though he was having the sensation descrived to him in rather vivid detail, a scent he might equate to honey and fresh bread. His pupils dilated slightly, ever so slightly, but he very easily ignored the sensation, slamming it into a muted buzz at the back of his attention as he swept up behind Rosalyn. Contrary to what might be expected, he had no intention on feeding from her unless she specifically, in no uncertain terms, offered it to him; Aerin was rather picky on the use of language, and always got annoyed when people danced around the issue at hand, speaking much but saying nothing.

So he laid a hand over her neck, where she had been kneading at it before, and felt for whatever the problem in question might be. "It is not known. At least, not to me; I've never really heard of such things. Perhaps my father has more familiarity than I, but I cannot say for certain."

He began to prod, gently, exploring the curve with the tips of his fingers until he found a likely suspect. "Although... I cannot say I blame him if it was for the reason I think it is." He smiled, a hint of laughter intruding on his voice, "After all, your scent, or that of your blood, is very... intoxicating." And then he found a knotting in her muscles, and started to work at it a little, forcing it to flex and stretch itself. "This may hurt a little, just to warn you."
 
She felt his hand as it cupped and caressed at the smooth curve of her neck. She winced as the source of the ache was discovered. Though he couldn't see it she wore an inquisitive look upon her gorgeous face. Curious as to what reason he had in mind for why one of his kind would go into a heated frenzy out of no where. She heard the smile in his voice and the laugh, which only flared her curiosity all the more. So her assumption was correct. Rose trapped her lower lip between her teeth as he began working on the spot and the warning was nice, but she was already braced for it. She gasped and then groaned. Her hand reaching up and kneading where the new pain throbbed and slowly dissipated. "Oh my..." She turned her neck a little and stretched it a bit. No longer feeling that aching pain.

"Thank you, and I thought that might be it, but was never sure." She turned and pressed a kiss to his cheek in thanks."And you said that there were no true Beaumonts walking this earth."The smile in her voice could be heard. "You think you know everything Lacceta, when in truth... you don't." The young noble woman retrieved a another bandage from a drawer and patched up her finger once more. Slender fingers raked through her dark locks with a heavy sigh. "Oh that feels so much better." Clearly the ache plagued her more than she had let on earlier.

"Or do you not believe me?" She asked with a lax smile. "Do you believe the tales?" She asked as she stood before the fire. The fire's light piercing through the thin material of her gown revealing the slender curves of her body underneath. Her eyes went back to the dancing flames before her. "The tale of your family feeding from mine. Through the veins of these human beings flows liquid gold. Protection and peace in exchange for their blood." Just the retelling of a tale once told to her as a child. Her heart raced beneath her bosom. The blood racing through her veins within reach of the prime person who could drain her blood for the ultimate prize that it was.
 
"I never claimed to know everything," he replied, her comment baiting him into a verbal sparring match he had no intention on avoiding, "I simply know enough to hazard a guess at the rest. That I'm many decades the senior of any scholar certainly helps." As she re-bandaged her own wound, a strange sense of indignation tried to well up inside him, quickly quashed by his knowledge that this woman owed him nothing. A strange sense that her hiding the blood somehow was denying him his birthright. Perhaps he was simply more peckish than he thought, a problem easily rectified if it persisted.

"I believe only what my instincts tell me when it comes to that question." He averted his gaze from her, leaning onto his arm in a pose of self-assured calm bordering on arrogant boredom to look into the fire as well, seeing past it. "Unless every living Beaumont is countless generations inbred, the bloodline should be so diluted as to be indistinguishable from any other." There was a long second that hanged there before he spoke again, "Though I suppose, if the tales are true, then the Beaumont line does not abide by the usual rules of progenity." He smiled, then, turning his gaze to the curve of the woman's neck. "Though if you truly wish to test the truth of those stories, I would only need a few droplets of your blood. It would be an interesting experiment."

Of course, he doubted anything would come of it. From the stories he'd heard, there were two things unique to true Beaumonts; their blood gave his kind powers supposedly one hundred fold what they already possessed, and it rendered the Beaumont immune to being turned. Whether they simply were unaffected or were killed by the attempt was unsaid, however. But those were mere stories; like as not her blood would give him the closest thing he could get to indigestion, or perhaps kill him sure as sunlight.
 
She chuckled softly as he spouted his logic of how the direct bloodlines of the Beaumonts would have to either be inbred for ages or diluted and of little use. It was interesting how he re-examined that and proposed an experiment. This time she turned on the spot and out right laughed. "How about we not. As seemingly kind as you are, the fact remains that you are a Lacceta. Truth or myth, neither proves favorable to me or my family." Her laughter was no more and a calm and unquestionable look about her. "Although, now, maybe the Lacceta are inbed? It was a tale once told to me. How the Lacceta would breed with their own family to preserve their 'precious' bloodline." She serious tone switched off and she shrugged her shoulders. "But again... it was a myth, or so I believed." A heavy sigh sounded from soft pink lips. Her eyes looking back to the fire.

The warmth of the flames licked at her exposed flesh as she stood in open thought once more. "I find flaws in this myth. A Lacceta and a Beaumont falling in love. It's ludicrous. Your kind only have eyes for your own. Like you do not wield a great enough power as is." The last thing they needed was her blood. In the chair she sat, in silence. While her body was tired, she failed to acknowledge it. With her legs curled up at her side, she naively fell asleep in the plush chair. In the same room as the being who suggested drinking the liquid gold that ran through her very veins. Free flowing ebony locks that made a striking contrast to her ivory skin, draped over her shoulders while her head rest upon the side of the chair. Emerald eyes remained hidden beneath sleep laden lids and a fan of lashes. The woman was well worn. While she appeared to have gotten some rest throughout the day, it was hard to make up for a week or two worth of lost sleep in one day.

Or maybe someone was working on pulling down the Beaumont neutral stronghold from within. While Rosalyn was silently sleeping the blood from her wound continued to seep through the bandage with ease. The Lady was well beyond tired to notice the wet sensation as the blood trickled down her middle finger and dropped onto an area of stone where the rug failed to cover. Suddenly a scream sounded and a loud thump sounded against the outside of the chamber doors. The two guards stationed outside of their lady's quarters were fending off one of the Lacceta soldiers. The beast seemed ravenous. On a mindless frenzy to get past the doors. Armed with spears the two blocked off the pathway. It was the very person that their mistress had said to not kill.
 
His smile faded for a moment after her refusal of the offer to see if the stories were more than just that, replaced by a more distant, almost meditative stillness as his mind worked it's way into the situation. It was silliness, really, how each side of the conflict whipped itself into a frenzy towards the other, over tales and stories long since faded to obscurity. If Aerin had never known of the myths and had never set foot on the battlefield, would he still bear hatred towards the house of Beaumont? A difficult question considering how severely the hypothetical contrasted the reality, but he supposed that if he had met the woman before him in another time or place, he would have considered her a friend, or at least a pleasant acquaintance. But he had met her in this time, in this place, and so it was with hesitation that he would admit to saying he trusted the Lady Beaumont not to put a knife in his back. Her mention of his own "family" brought the smile back, though, along with thoughts of Aeren. As soon as the sun set, he would have to leave; regardless of the servant's message, he knew she would be worried, waiting by the door for his return. He doubted there was any sister better than his own, as faithful and loving. Then again, most siblings did not enjoy the same comforts as the twin Laccetas.

"Falling in love isn't necessary for an arranged marriage of political convenience." He sighed and leaned back in still repose, "In fact, some would say that the less in love the two are, the better. We may look out for ourselves, but there are none else who would aid us. Or at least, there were." He opened his eyes to see his host had fallen asleep before he had spoken, and couldn't keep himself from gazing. This woman had likely been raised to know and hate his family, but she gave few such impressions. She sheltered his wounded as well as her brothers', she sheltered even him, the embodiment of her family's enemy. And she held enough trust in him, it seemed, to be able to sleep comfortably in the same room as he. He watched her, for a time, contemplating why she would work herself to such profound exhaustion in a war seemingly without end. Then he simply admired her peaceful appearance, and the fragility of that peace. He could not help but want such a thing, never needing to fight again; even a one who feasted on the life of men could have his fill after so many years of battle after chaotic, blood-soaked battle. There were few days gone by that Aerin didn't look back at his mortal days and feel a sense of loss, not of innocence or goodness, but of freedom.

That scent of forgotten pleasure filling his nose snapped the young Lacceta away from his reverie. A faint sound reached his ears, then, as the Lady Beaumont's seemingly superficial wound did what most annoying cuts did: bleed prolifically. His eyes were inadvertently drawn to the small puddle of red on the cold stone of the floor, and the blood-drinker licked his lips without realizing. Silent as his grave, he rose to his feet and went to the woman, dipping a fingertip to the coin-sized splash of what was supposedly the greatest treasure his kind could know. As much from curiosity as from a silent urging from deep within his being, he touched his tongue to the few drops' worth of blood on his finger.

Suddenly, it made sense. He knew, then, why all those many years ago this conflict had started. The taste was no different, but suddenly he sensed anew; he saw the vibrancy of the colors surrounding him, felt the infinitesimal differences in the temperature of the air surrounding him, smelled the faintest aromas of flora and the tinge of blood from the woman before him. He heard, as well; the faint groans and whimpers of the dying, the rasping, labored breathing of the wounded. And the coming on the rabid servant he had seen bound before. The sound of the conflict boomed in his ears, and the vampire couldn't help but flinch; it sounded like thunder beside him in comparison, almost deafening. He went to the doors, his legs moving far too quickly and almost throwing him through the wood. A sound like wrath washed over him as the doors shook from an outside assault, and Aerin fumbled briefly with his too-swift limbs to open it, meeting the gaze of his former soldier. The thrall's eyes were a dull, glazed-over black, marking a sad truth that he had stopped being a half-turned servant of the house of Lacceta and instead become a ghoul. A walking corpse devoid of any thought or emotion, possessed only of a desire to feed and destroy. It was unknown how they came to be, only that they possessed many of the strengths as their former masters and an animalistic fury as well, making them dangers to even Aerin. Normal Aerin, at any rate; the Aerin with a Beaumont's power flooding him reached out to the creature before him and set about dismembering it before tearing it's dead heart out of it's chest with startling ease.
 
Rosa was still seemingly dead the world. The noise that resounded from the interaction at her bed chamber doors. If only she could remember this peace when she finally awoke into this bloodbath of a world that she called her home. No dreams or nightmare plagued the dark and imagless void that was sleep. Rosa would be clueless when she awoke in her bed in the middle of the night. Turning in the comfort of her bed as she fought back reality, determined to remain in her sweet and silent stupor. The towel was once throw in and with a grown she sat up with her fingers laced in her luxurious tousled locks. Her lashes and lids laden with the beautiful spell of slumber that was slowly leaving her. With a reluctant and heavy sigh of relief she rubbed the remnants of sleep from her eyes and looked about the room. The wooden shutters of her archer window was cracked and she could see the light of the moon peering in. It was fairly quiet and in that silence she tried to remember what happened. Her memory was conflicting. Rosa was in her night gown and in bed, but she remembered Aerin having stopped by. The mission having been a success and little conversation and from there... nothing.

Out of curiosity she tossed her blanket aside. Pausing to take note of her blood soaked bandage. The bleeding had eventually ceased, but it would still need a fresh bandage on it. Bare, petite feet met with the rug covered floor. Her head peeked out of her bedroom door to find no traced of Aerin. Her figure stood framed in the doorway. The flames beneath the mantle were fresh and crackling, suggesting that someone was in her parlour room recently. A quick bath was taken and she was dressed in a simple red dress before she walked out of the double doors. The remnants of a struggle awaited outside of her doors. Looking at one of the guards who stood as still as statues, one spoke, keeping his eyes averted as he spoke. "My Lady, one of them went rabid earlier in the day. Beast tried to fight to get to you, but the man in your quarters killed him with ease. He left sometime ago, I'm afraid. We were told to see you to bed."

So it wasn't a dream. Aerin had actually comeback. He had also terminated one of his own beings as well. "Thank you." Rose replied before making her rounds through own home. For once it was nearly void of all bodies, but they would be filled up soon enough... unfortunately. "Damn Lacceta..." She sighed, speaking of Aerin, of course. No doubt he had gone back to his sister the moment the sun had set. Or so she safely assumed. A Lacceta saving a Beaumont's life? It was certainly something unheard of. Then again it was stupid for her to have fallen asleep with Aerin there. Silently she berated herself. Wondering if she was putting everyone's lives at risk for a little slice of peace that may never appear in her lifetime. "Why am I over thinking things?" Her frustration evident as she walked to the courtyard of her home and grabbed her bow and arrow. The woman firing shot after shot after shot. Nine out of ten arrows hitting in or just outside of the bullseye. It seemed to settle her nerves and clear her mind. "If one would go mad, what would happen if they all did? An entire army's worth?"Or maybe she wasn't done thinking, just yet.
 
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