Gods And Monsters

Chapter Twenty-two:

Engulfed by the icy water, Hel grappled for the object of her search. Her fingers sifted through the silt and stones littering the lake bottom.

Just as she began to lose patience and become frustrated, her fingertips brushed something smooth and solid. Glass. Grasping the object tightly, she planted her feet on the lake floor and pushed off with all her might.

She shot upward and broke the surface. Gasping for air, Hel treaded water for a moment to catch her breath. Having done so, she then swam to shore and ambled up to the grass. She took a seat with her legs stretched straight out in front of her. Her hound laid down behind her, prompting her to lounge against the massive, furry pillow of a beast.

The body heat radiating from her massive companion was a comfort while she began studying her discovery.

It was a small, narrow bottle of moss-green glass, no more than two inches tall. Corked inside was a viscous, silvery fluid, which swirled and churned of its own free will. Hel turned the bottle around in her hands and stared in disbelief at the yellowed label on the newly exposed side. Scrawled across was but one word: Eitr.

"There you are." His East-London accent was unmistakable, from maybe ten feet or so away.

The interruption startled her, but did not shake her composure. She rolled her eyes. "What do you want, Spike?"

Finding it very difficult for his gaze not to wander below her face, he allowed himself a mere peek while she wasn't paying attention. She was drenched from head to toe, evidence of having gone for a swim only moments earlier.

His hungry eyes took in the sight of her soaked white t-shirt and how the thin, wet fabric clung to her pale skin, then travelled further down to the slender length of her naked legs. He tried to imagine what her skin sliding against his would feel like, how soft she would be...

Hastily, he attempted to banish such thoughts and tore his eyes away. Spike shoved his hands into his trouser pockets and approached her. "Why so hostile?"

She lifted her head. "I am not hostile. I simply have no patience for company at this moment."

Eyebrows shooting up, he puckered his lips to suppress a grin. He stood before her in his black leather duster, belted black jeans, and a black, button-up shirt. "I know the feeling."

Lowering himself to the ground, he sat beside her with his legs bent. He folded his arms and placed them atop his knees. "What's his name?" Spike asked, looking over his shoulder and eyeing the hound that was curled up directly behind their turned backs.

He glanced at Hel expectantly, and she pinned him in place with her sharpened stare.

"Her name is Valdis. It is Old Norse for death."

He smirked. "How cheerful."

"I thought so." She replied, unaware of his sarcasm. Resting her head against the gleaming, charcoal coat of her companion, Valdis, she sighed from sheer exhaustion as she began stroking the thick, silken strands of her neck lovingly. Hel zoned out for a moment, her eyes sorrowful and distant.

Longing filled her gaze, directed at the expanse of stars above, and she chewed her lower lip absentmindedly. She may have been a difficult woman to read at first, but now that she had finally dropped her guard, she was an open book.

Ever-so slightly tilting his head to one side, Spike scrutinised her thoughtfully. "We're just alike, you and I."

"How did you come to that conclusion?" Hel inquired, completely still aside from her hand.

"We're both outcasts." He answered simply.

"And what makes you say that?" She continued to caress Valdis, refusing to look at him. She knew he was right but was far too stubborn to admit it.

"How old are you?" He asked, avoiding her question.

"I lost count many years ago..." She answered vaguely. "But if I had to guess, it would be well over a thousand by now. Why do you ask?"

"Your eyes." Spike said softly.

Puzzled by his response, Hel met his gunmetal-blue eyes. "What of them?"

"True loneliness is a burden, and I know from personal experience how it sits in the heart. You have heavy eyes, the eyes of someone who knows what it is to be truly alone."

"I'm not lonely." She asserted, becoming defensive.

A sad, understanding smile touched his lips. "How would you know?"

She cleared her throat, uncomfortable with the topic of their conversation. "Right. Well... Moving on..." She broke eye contact and resumed her inspection of the little glass vial. "Just out of curiosity; how old are you?" Hel asked off-handedly.

"Nearly one hundred and fifty." He replied, humbled by his relatively naïve youth in comparison to her no-doubt vast wisdom and experience.

"What year is this?"

"Two thousand and one."

She nodded, having done the calculations and arrived at the year of his rebirth as a vampire. "Sired during the Victorian Era, then?"

"Indeed I was." He confirmed, regarding her intently.

"I once visited London in the eighteen seventies." She smiled wistfully. "Shame we didn't cross paths."

"I was a very different man then, nothing like I am today."

"I'm sure you're not nearly as different as you think you are." She reassured him.

Placing the vial of Eitr on the dirt ground and close beside her, Hel reached for the black sweatpants that were a crumpled heap on the ground. She tugged them on, along with Spike's navy blue shirt. Plucking her socks from inside of her Converse, she slipped her bare feet into them, then began wriggling into and lacing up the shoes.

Noticing the vessel beside her thigh, his brow furrowed. "What have you got there?"

She picked up the vial. "Something impossible." Hel murmured, fascinated by the whirlpool of glowing, liquid silver.