THESE CELESTIAL BODIES (Demetre)

Chapter eight

She was a queen—a queen of blood and flesh. Her crown made of gilded bones, her dress of dead flowers. She had tamed the monsters beneath her feet, she had taught them how to scream. The devils danced for her, those strange creatures wrapped with hate had fallen wildly and manically in love with her.
All hail the queen of death.
Queen of dark.
Queen of flesh.

****

He followed her like a hound on a scent.
It was her blood mixed with the scent of Clematis—rich and heavy, it was overwhelming. And the smell alone brought his Vampiric senses to an abrupt stand still. They've been raging ever since he broke into that Vesen's mind to gather the truth, Astaroth was right, and his smug smile made Dean want to rip him to shreds.
     War. Between the Vesens and Vampyrs. A new war, as if the treaty were not enough to keep whatever shred of peace they'd managed to obtain over the last millennia. The Vesens wanted the Arkaine but that weather beaten spell book hadn't been seen in a thousand years, the last the Vampyr to have it was Zadimus and he vowed not to reveal its whereabouts even upon his death. The Arkaine became a myth, Vampyrs since then have just replicated its great power into the form of imitated spells, nothing like the destructive, vengeful power that the Vesens had.
   And they were willing to go to war all over again to get it back.

Astaroth had already gained two of the lords to his side, the rest, including Dean, were reluctant. But truly, Astaroth would have to persuade Dean to campaign for the war considering the Flesh eater king had the largest undead army and largest well of resources. Would those stupid witches really begin a new war?
     Dean bared his fangs in a curl of disgust, already pissed. He turned a corner, striding through the marble and glass hall. Her scent becoming pungent now.
     He pushed open the dining doors and was about halfway in when he stopped.
The scent turned sour, there was something else in it, something that had become quite common, weariness. Tucked on a couch with a full glass of what Dean hoped to the father was wine, Rose stared at the rim of glass where her lips had skimmed as if contemplating to drink it. Lips twisted to the side in a glorious portrait of skepticism, but her face lifted when she heard his steps and their eyes locked.
     And held.
     Thalia's laugh, tangled with Rhazien's, disappeared from his ears as he heard in a voice that was barely above a whisper.
     "You're late."

A ghost of a smile skimmed over his lips as he found his feet again and walked towards the couches, still holding her gaze. Utterly unflinchingly.
   "Miss me?"
   "No," she wrinkled her nose. "I don't like people who don't keep their promises."
"Did you hold me to any promises?" 
     She tightened her lips, eyes settling in on him as he stalked to the opposite couch.
"Fuck you."
     He smiled, allowing the sound of her voice to echo just a little bit longer in his head.
     "This telepathy thing might prove to be a problem, pet."
     "And why do you say that?"
"I don't appreciate you using my own dark power to tell me to fuck off."
     She was silent for a moment, still watching him. And then an image came into his head, slamming into the walls of his mind so hard he blinked. It was an image of her...or...a conjured image of her with both her middle fingers up.