These Streaks of Blood

36

"Cecille, what's going on?"

She smiles. Galador's voice sends tingles up her spine, but they are not the electrifying signs of desire, of affection, that they once were. No - these are purely hateful, toxic, urging her to lunge forward and plunge her claws through his chest; to let everyone, everywhere, see that the Head of the council is no match for his wife. Maybe it's just this place, getting to her. Maybe it's Galador's presence. Maybe it's all of her tension rolled up into anticipation for this - this scene, this overwhelming impulse to end him, right now.

"I know you're not a smart man, Galador... but even you should be able to figure that out."

Her ex-husband glances around furtively, and she is annoyed to see that his expression is more clouded with anger and irritation than with fear. He still thinks she won't hurt him. That she can't. He thinks that he is so much stronger, that she cares about him too much to really inflict damage.

Well... he will see, soon enough, that he is wrong.

"Cecille, I don't want you to get into trouble, so if you just go now--"

Cecille laughs. He's threatening her? He is not at the advantage here. He is not one to be ordering her around. No... no, that's finally her job.

"Shut up, Galador. I'm truly sick of you, if you couldn't tell," she snorts, and Galador's eyes flick to the knife balancing on his chest, ready to sink into it at any second.  

Wisely, he doesn't respond right away, and Cecille traipses to sit on the corner of the bed, staring at him with a sinister edge to her expression. Ever so slowly, she runs her hand over his stomach, avoiding the knife as she brings the hand up to his shoulder. He just glares at her, holding back any words that come to his mind.

"You were once a great man, Galador. Powerful, unrelenting, brave..." she trails off, knowing that her expression is merging into one of wistfulness, for those days when she truly wanted this man, wanted what he could give her in the supernatural world. He was handsome, he was wealthy, he was the leader of the vampires, and she could not dream of anything that would be better for her. She could have had nearly anyone she wanted, but she had chosen him.  

What a mistake.

Now he is a poor excuse for a man and a cheating, repulsive vampire. She realizes now that he has only ever wanted two things in his life desperately: the Lady Nelye, and the death of Ryffin Vyncis.  

It is humiliating, knowing that their marriage, that their relationship, that she was neither one of those things. But she's sick of being embarrassed by this man, by his actions. He has turned foolish, impulsive, and she intends to end her misery, by ending him.

"Now, you're nothing. You're dirt to me, and you're going to become a joke for all vampires to pass on for generations," she whispers conspiratorially. Her hand moves upward so casually, so gently, that he doesn't even realize it has left his shoulder until it's covering his mouth. He gives a muffled cry and tenses, obviously thinking about thrashing before remembering the knife pressed up to his skin. He tries spitting on her, biting her, but her grip is firm, unyielding.  

Daniel is still behind her, ready to intervene at any time. She had not known how difficult this would be, what circumstances they would be dragged into. They had been lucky; Amelie had sent one of her copies to check the situation beforehand. She knows the mansion better than any of the rest of their group, and had been able to teleport directly into one of the many guest bedrooms, knowing that if there was any unwelcome company, they would most likely be in the lounge - what any of the people familiar with this mansion would consider to be the entrance hall.