Prelude (Underworld Lucian Fanfiction)

7 - Chapter VII: Slave or Servant

Thirty seconds earlier.

"It appears we are at an accord."

Words spoken a hundred times, a centuries old arrangement providing the final details of the deal. His mind was clear, his hand steady, but his eyes were trained on the woman's back. She could not see him watching her, smelling the malice she left behind. Like a drop of venom crawling down his back, the snake biting the man who mistook it for a worm. He was not the only one to smell it.

To his right, Raze shadowed the entrance, his quick steps catching up with her, roughly colliding with her shoulder. Lucian only looked away, forcing himself to calm before any pain could start in his head. The last few days had been serene compared to his usual schedule...sleepless nights. Headaches. Imbeciles surrounding him. He did not usually coddle prisoners, but he would have to speak to Raze about his conduct. Etiquette. Manners. He prided himself on enforcing a certain decorum among his lycans. Of all people, Raze should have learned that by now.

Reflective, he moved onto other matters. There was no point in discussing the finer details of the deal with Tanis. Nothing had changed in four decades save for the means of transport. The historian would receive the full price for the blood-seer in a fortnight. Until then, food would find its way to the monastery by way of Goar, the pack-leader of Budapest and the few remaining lycans in the hills.

From below, the sound of gnashing teeth brought him out of his reverie. He glanced down and in the same moment, Tanis glanced up, the hazel-green eyes of the twitching weasel. The vampire had taken the thrashing badly, but it was the curse that would leave the mark. Not so much as a word passed between them, yet it was the singular moment when they were both aware of each other's unease. The curse still lingering in the air...

...yet already, the vampire was recovering.

Shrugging the tattered robe around his shoulders, occasionally glaring up at Lucian for not having stopped the beating. How many centuries had they known one another? They were not friends, but one could always appreciate the other man's penchant for survival. A casual smirk emerging on the historian's face as he glanced at the woman's back and then up at Lucian.

The rapidly growing scent of...

"Don't even go there," said Lucian tightly, recognising the sleazy gleam in Tanis' eye for what it was. The historian sniggered rashly and then quickly shut his mouth, eyes darting to the floor. Foul-minded, blood-sucking son of a pig. As if he...Lucian...could possibly have been staring at the woman for any other reason beyond cold observation. She was old. Decrepit. It was...obscene. Growling softly in annoyance, the lycan-master turned away, stalking to monastery entrance, arms sternly behind his back.

Just for that, he was keeping the book.

Stepping outside, it was as if the night had been created solely for his eyes and in gratitude, he breathed deeply, taking in the scent. His homeland. The sound of his boots dampened by grass, the haunting sigh of trees drowning in the peace of the moon anchored above, always tempting with her wiles...but he could not listen. Not tonight.

Like a creature from the depths, the stagecoach waited upon him, the open door like a gaping mouth, the horses jerking at the reins, raring to be off, but trained enough to hold back. Magnificent animals...Kisber halfbreds suited to cavalry, but taking their duties in stride. Athletic, elegant...playful when it suited them. One of the mares flared her nostrils suddenly, her tail coming up to give a sharp flick through the air. Sixteen hands high with a white patch on her shoulder.