"There!" Mark proclaimed, grinning none too nicely as he stood back to take in his creation. "Perfection."
The girl faced the mirror of the vanity, still naked, completely unfazed by the reflection. Mark had pulled her long locks up into two high dog ears, but he left her bangs to tumble heavily over her. He wasn't skilled at applying make-up, but for this he didn't need to be. He had painted her face as white as porcelain, adding two spots of red on her cheeks and drawing a pair of red, heart-shaped lips over hers. He lined her eyes in black, added mascara until her lashes were dark frames for those lovely green eyes.
He smiled over her head, eyes glittering with a malicious glee at his creation. "Oh, but what is a pretty marionette without her strings? Come along, little doll, and we'll find you some nice ones."
He pulled her up from the vanity and led her to the middle of the room, then stepped back and eyed his creation thoughtfully. Then, with a wave of one hand, a few of the shadows disengaged from the ceiling and floor, snaking around her wrists and ankles and taking on the appearance of slender black ribbons. She stood passively in her captivity, staring a few inches past his right ear.
He moved one hand, and the ribbon around her right wrist tugged it upwards. Another flick of the hand, and both of her arms were held over her head. Her hands were limp over her wrists, her head leaning against one arm. Another flick, and one foot was pulled up slightly. Now she looked like a ballerina puppet. A naked ballerina puppet. Mark tried not to giggle. It would ruin the whole effect.
Another gesture and the ribbons began to pull her about the room in a grotesque dance. She was as limp as a fresh corpse, sagging against the bonds, her arms and legs being pulled into whatever pose or gesture he desired. He even found a bit of lively music to accompany her twisted movements, and he sat and watched as she twirled about the room, clapping gaily as if to encourage her.
Finally, he grew bored with the game and raised his hand. The ribbons suddenly pulled the girl's arms high above her head until she was beginning to be lifted from the ground. Mark stood up and stalked over to her, shrugging his wings in a large dramatic gesture as he removed the small dagger pendant that he constantly wore from around his neck. One moment it was a simple small pendant, and the next it was an actual dagger as long as his forearm.
"So cold, little doll," he said sadly, laying the blade between her flat little breasts. "Won't you even give me one word?"
Quiet. The stillness of the dead. Mark hissed between his fangs, fanning out his great wings.
"No? Then will you give me a scream?"
The blade flashed, and a line of red appeared above one pale nipple. He smiled icily and bent his head, pressing hot lips to the wound. Then, with practiced cruelty, he dragged his tongue along the edges, tasting the sweet blood that flowed there.
And she gasped.
His control was good. He pulled his tongue along the gash in a few more measured licks before raising his head to stare triumphantly into her eyes. He expected fear. He received...
...surprise.
It wasn't surprise born of the shock that he had cut her. It was almost as if she was surprised to find herself alive. It was the surprise of an accident victim waking up to find himself in a hospital rather than the gates of Hell. She stared at him with a sense of wonderment shining in those green eyes, then angled her head to stare at the red slash along her breast.
"Pain."
Her voice was hoarse with disuse. She raised her eyes once more, holding his gaze easily with emotion concealed there. She wasn't frightened, or angry - she was almost joyful.
"I felt it," she said, blinking. "Oh, sweet gods... do it again."
Mark stood frozen at the spot, just staring at her. Then, slowly, he felt himself begin to thaw as a surge of fiery anger spread along his nerves. Dammit! He wanted her pain, her screams, her fear! He wanted to hear her beg, cry and curse. He did not want the pathetic gratitude of a submissive masochist. Fuck! Of all the girls on the streets, he had to pick one that would give him no pleasure.
No. She was still human, no matter what other blood lay in her veins. And every human had its breaking point, no matter how much they might like a little show of pain. Before the night was over, he would hear her scream. He would smell her fear and revel in her curses. She would give him what he wanted, damn her, if he had to flay her alive to get it!
A slow smile spread across his face as he raised the dagger and stepped towards her.
*** *** ***
Mark stared blearily at the clock from where he sat slumped in a chair, naked and bloody. None of it was his, of course. He glanced at the body suspended limply from the Chaos-born ribbons and snorted. Damn girl. Oh, he'd torn many a pained scream from her throat over the past few hours, but...
She had wanted it. She had begged, but not for it to stop. Her cries had been of thanks - not pleasure, but gratitude, as if every cut he gave her was a gift rather than another slice closer to her death.
Had she been suicidal? Had she been grateful that he was taking the responsibility of her death out of her hands?
No... her soul had been so dead that an actual death would have gone unnoticed. The girl had been a walking corpse, briefly stirred back to life by a touch of pain.
He briefly wondered what had happened to her to have such a soul-shattering effect, then shrugged off his curiosity. Too late now. He slumped in the chair and replayed her last few moments of life, remembering the feel of her torn artery pumping her life into his greedy mouth. And hadn't her slender body felt marvelous around him as he fucked her while she died, held in place against him by those Chaos-spawned ribbons?
He turned his attention back to the body, which was no little more than a bloody mess. He'd left her face untouched, however, wanting her to keep that doll-like beauty. He steepled his fingers and stared for a long moment at his little marionette -
- then moved one hand in a chopping motion, cutting her strings.
She landed in a limp bundle on the floor.
Well," Mark said to himself, quietly seething. "This has been a totally wasted night."
He let out a deep, heartfelt sigh and got to his feet, raising one hand, preparing to burn the evidence with a dose of Chaos flame. He gathered the power and flung it towards the body... and watched in puzzlement as it fizzled two inches from his hand.
"What the - ?" He looked at his hand, shook it, then, shrugging, tried again.
Fizzle.
"Fuck!" he howled. "What the hell is going on?"
He spun on one heel and left the room, his temper eroding more and more by the moment. He was on the other side of the house when the girl's body gave a convulsive shake and gasped loudly as air was drawn into dormant lungs.
She rose shakily onto her hands and knees, smearing more blood into an already soaked carpet. Staring blindly at the mess around her, she stood up, swaying until she found her balance. Then she padded mutely to the window, pulling aside the drapes and up the glass. Out she crawled into the cold, her blood her only clothing.
Mark returned a few moments later, carrying a blanket that he meant to roll the girl's body in. Since his powers had decided to be less than cooperative, he would simply have to take the body to a ghoul in order to get rid of her. He hated leaving that sort of trail, though. Loose ends were annoying.
But as he stared in horror at the empty spot where the body should have laid, he realized he had a worse loose end than he thought.
*** *** ***
There was one bad moment when the vampire stood where the tracks of blood ended, staring up into the copse of trees where she hid in the branches of one large oak. But the magic held, shielding her from his night vision, and with a muttered curse he moved off, searching for her still.
Bonnie leaned back against the strong trunk of the tree, closing her eyes. Ye gods, it was weird to be a living, thinking individual again. The grief over losing poor Summer had completely undone her. How long had she wandered in her guilt-induced daze? It had been early autumn when the redcap had gutted the young girl... it was well into the winter months now.
She gave a little jump as something landed on her shoulder and jerked her head around. It was only a small turquoise-haired pixie, lost far from his normal Faerie habitat. It stared back at her passively, then, holding her gaze, it leaned forward a little and ran a quick, pointed tongue over her cheek, lapping at the blood that covered it. She relaxed and gave a small laugh, startling it.
"No, go ahead," she said wearily, leaning back against the tree again and shutting her eyes. "Waste not, want not."
She felt it resume its meal with laps as delicate as a hummingbird's tongue while she considered her course of action from here on in. Well, her guilt over Summer's death had given her a death wish of her own - which she'd just gotten granted. Fine. She had died. Damn trickster blood wouldn't let her stay dead, of course. But guilt had demanded she join Summer in death. All right. Fine. Guilt didn't say for how long. Ten minutes seemed long enough. Now she needed to get on with her life.
Bonnie braced herself against the branch and launched herself out of the tree, landing lightly ten feet below with a trickster's gravity-defying grace. The pixie followed her down, gossamer wings humming as it hovered nearby. She gave it a small smile and hunched one shoulder invitingly. It settled down and started to lap up a bit more blood, then hesitated.
"Fang find," it said in broken English. It - no, his eyes were solemn in his pointed face. "Fang kill."
"Fang already did that," Bonnie muttered distractedly, glaring up at the stars. It was a nice clear night to start living again. Gee, if she were a sailor, she could find her position easily. But no, she was just a puck with delusions of humanity. She finally just picked a direction and started walking.
A truck driving down the road a few miles away from the vampire's house suddenly stopped, the driver not quite sure why. He drove off again with a shrug, not realizing he now had two additional passengers in the back. Bonnie huddled up in the corner of the truck bed, grimacing at the blood turning sticky. Hopefully she would be able to find friends in New York - preferably some with a shower. The pixie-whose name she now knew to be Hopper - was curled up in the crook of her neck, fast asleep under the blanket of her hair. Lucky little bastard.
She glanced up at the sky, noting a dark moving splotch against the starry sky. It was a shame she hadn't gotten the name of the man who brought her back to life.
It would have been nice to be able to return the favor someday.
