Ethereal

The war between the half-bloods and the pure-bloods has reached a danger point, and destruction of both races is imminent. For two members of the pure-bloods, though, life seems to just be starting. Will it end sooner than they think?

A/N: So, how did everyone like the first chapter? Well, I hope I did good, because I’m liking it a lot myself. I have probably confused the hell out of all of you with their ages. Okay, let’s see if I can clear up a few mishaps. One: Their ages are very old, but Vampires grow differently. Israfel’s age is 85, which in human years is like ... 10 - 13 years old. Gabriel is 320, which in human years is about 20- 25. Yea, that’s Shota for yea. Anyways, here’s my update.


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Chapter 2. Gabriel


Early morning dawned bright, the sun blaring across the wilderness. The light burst through the thick black curtains and down across a silk black bed, the sheets rumpled and untidy. Only one person lay in the middle, wrapped tightly in the warmth. He sighed and rolled over, reaching out with his lithe arms for another, but they found nothing.

Groaning, he opened his eyes, blurry and hazy from sleep, and focused on the side beside him. The bed was empty where he had been reaching, the sheets drawn back and a neatly folded piece of parchment placed idly on the silk black pillow. With a sigh of sadness, and stiff fingers, Israfel reached out to the note.

Israfel,

I am sorry for not waking you, but how could I rouse a sleeping beauty.
I did not wish to see the pain in your eyes when I left for battle once
again, so I did not wake you.
Again, I am sorry love.
I will return within the day, as I only need to check up on a few things.

Gabriel

Israfel scrunched the note in his hand and looked around the lit room, his eyes falling on the cracked mirror. He scowled at the untidiness of his hair and tired to flatten it with his palm. As it did not work, he stood drowsily and stretched his tight and tired muscles. His bathe was brief and unrelaxed. His mind kept wandering back to what he had heard yesterday.

Gabriel is to be sacrificed ...

He pulled the plug and walked back into the Lord’s dark chambers, a black satin bath gown draped around his body. He wandered across the large room and picked up his belongings that had been scattered all along the room the night previous. The note was placed neatly on the armoire, sitting propped up on it’s fold.

Israfel read and reread the note a few times before replacing it to it’s pillow and left the bedroom as it was. He walked slowly down the hall, fully dressed, and descended the stairway onto the fourth level at which the kitchen was situated. The door opened as he reached it and he looked up hopefully.

“Morn’ Israfel,” Ethelred said through a mouthful of animal hide and blood.

He removed the meat from his mouth and smiled down at the yearling and said, “had a good night?”

Israfel blushed and glared.

“Yes, thank you, it was quite pleasant,” Israfel bristled. “Aren’t you heading back to the war?”

“In forty-eight hours exactly,” Ethelred said, consulting the moonshine dais on the wall.

“What about the others?” Israfel asked.

“Piotr just got back, he’s in the kitchen now with Marius,” said Ethelred, taking another chunk of animal hide and sucking the blood from it. “Xavier returns later in the noon and Cecil wont be returning until late tonight with Lord Gabriel.”

“Still no word on, Azazel, I’m guessing,” Israfel whispered.

“Unfortunately, no,” sighed Ethelred. “I need to be going. I’m consulting a bunch of new yearlings that have just reached of-age.”

“Alright,” Israfel said, waving as Ethelred went jogging down the hall.

He entered the kitchen to a booming argument, Piotr and Marius glaring hatefully at one another. It was difficult to tell which one looked more pissed off than the other. Marius held a sharp knife in his hand, his knuckles whiter than his already pallid skin, eyes burning with rage. Piotr looked just as menacing, his armor still coated with blood, sword in hand.

“Just fucking tell me, Piotr,” Marius was yelling.

“I already told you, I don’t know what happened to him,” Piotr was shouting back.

Israfel took a silent seat at the long, royal oak table and watched with unintrusive eyes.

“You know blood well what’s going on out their. You were stationed with him,” Marius said in a high rising voice. “So don’t tell me you don’t fucking know – ”

“If I’ve already told you, then I’ve told you ... we fucking got split up during our last encounter and I haven’t heard from him since,” snarled Piotr.

The took a breathing break to glare at one another before Marius fired up again, his voice enraged and flaming.

“Why is it ever one I fucking talk to doesn’t know what the fuck happened to him?” he screeched.

“As far as I know he’s dead ... ”

It was like clubbing the spiky haired redhead with a knife over and over again. His face went dead and his mouth was clamped shut. His eyes watered, legs and hands trembling. The knife went clattering to the floor, landing between the two. Piotr noticed almost instantly he had said the wrong thing and reached out to the distraught other, but Marius back away with shocked and disbelieving eyes.

“No,” he whispered. “You lie.”

“Marius, I didn’t mean it,” Piotr whispered, his voice extremely apologetic. “I was angry, that’s all.”

“Azazel ... you’re not dead ... you’re not,” Marius whispered, a tear sliding down his right cheek. “ YOU LIE.”

Piotr reached out, but Marius had already turned and was out the left hand doors to the east tower before either of them could utter a word. Israfel said, just as shocked, in his seat. What Piotr had said was completely irresponsibly, but how could you blame him. If he was truly split from Azazel during battle, he might as well think the other to be dead.

“What do you want, kid?” Piotr mumbled, not looking over at Israfel.

“Why would you say something like that to him?” Israfel asked angrily. “You know he and Azazel are in love, so what would make you say such horrible words.”

“The fact that it’s probably true might make a good answer,” Piotr said boredly.

“You truly don’t care about anyone but yourself, do you?” said Israfel angrily.

Piotr shot him a hateful, dirty look and stalked toward the pantry. He pulled out a large packet of blood and sank his teeth into the pouch, sucking back it’s contents. Israfel continued to glare at him as he stood up and walked to the other side of the pantry, pulling out a soaked piece of bloody meat and beginning to chew at it.

“Hey guys, what’s up with Marius – ” Piotr and Israfel turned at the new voice. “ – I just saw him running up the west ... what?”

“Nothing,” Piotr muttered.

“Like hell it’s nothing,” spat Israfel. “Piotr made a cruel comment about Azazel being dead.”

Ethelred’s ocean blue eyes widened horrifying as he turned on Piotr, holding himself high and angry. He stalked toward the other Vampire, who also stiffened immensely and watched, with glaring eyes, as Ethelred advanced menacingly on him.

“What the fuck,” Ethelred stormed, poking at Piotr with a clawed finger, “is your problem.”

“My problem,” Piotr snarled. “He might as well know the facts.”

“The facts,” hissed Ethelred, eyes reddening. “If it wasn’t for you and your goddamned need for a cigarette the whole thing wouldn’t have happened.”

“Oh, so it’s all my fault,” Piotr yelled.

“Too bloody right it is,” Ethelred whispered venomously.

The doors opened once again and the two men and Israfel turned, watching as three of the Vampiresses entered, giggling and laughing, icy baby eyes teaming with hidden jealousy and hatred for one another. It was a known fact that all female Vampires are jealous of one another, some for good reason, others for unknown.

“And then he said,” giggled a Vampiress with white blonde hair, “‘is that really your size, because damn, it’s hot’.”

The two others with her burst into giggles. Ethelred cleared his voice to gather their attention and they turned as if seeing them for the first time. Piotr stood tall before them, puffing out his chest and smirking, the blood on his heavy armor glimmering in the daytime sunlight. One of the girls, a pink haired, fair skinned Vampiress, walked away from the group and up next to him. She kissed his cheek and smiled.

“You got back and didn’t tell me,” she pouted.

“Sorry babe,” Piotr said, swiping back his mess of deep orange hair and giving her a sly grin. “I was hungry.”

“Yea, he felt like taking a chunk out of Marius,” Ethelred hissed.

The pink haired female glared at him, slinking her arms around Piotr’s neck and licking at his pulsing junction. He smirked, tossing a dirty look in Ethelred’s direction and offering her some of his pouch. She took it with a baby smile and sucked back some of the blood.

Ethelred looked to Israfel and rolled his eyes, making the yearling giggle inwardly.

“Good morning, ‘Israfel’,” snapped the white blonde Vampiress.

He looked at her and said nothing, but gave her a hateful glare and looked away. They hated each other for good reason. She had always loved Gabriel, and wanted him to mark her, but he had never been intrigued by the female species. When he – Israfel – had locked eyes with the heir, something sparked. They started spending days in the library together studying, walking in the forest to talk, and times alone just sharing brief kisses that Gabriel said were ‘friendly but not over-friendly’.

“Well, good morning Belladonna,” Ethelred said in a high, mocking voice. “Good to see your still ... ‘alive’.”

She glared at Ethelred.

“Bella, tell us what happened then,” said a purple haired yearling.

She gave Israfel a pleasant smile and turned back to Belladonna, the tall older Vampiress heaving her chest out to expose her cleavage. Israfel threw her another spiteful glare and ripped off a chunk of animal hide with fervor. The pink haired Vampiress flittered from Piotr’s side and sat down with Belladonna and the purple haired Vampiress.

“Oh, your staying,” Israfel murmured hatefully.

“You don’t want us to stay?” the purple haired yearling said with a pout.

“You can stay, Lilith,” Ethelred said with a wink, “and I guess you too, Cassiel, but only because Piotr would have a fit. But maybe you should go, ‘Bella’.”

“I have every right to be here as you do, ‘Ethelred’,” she snarled hatefully.

“Don’t bother with Cassiel,” Piotr said in a bored voice, walking toward his girlfriend. “Me and her are leaving anyways.”

Cassiel gave Lilith a gentle smile and one to Belladonna. She glared at Ethelred and Israfel before leaving at Piotr’s side.

“So, how’s Gabriel doing?” Lilith asked kindly to Israfel. “I saw what happened yesterday. That was very brave of you to let him bite you.”

Israfel blushed.

“He’s doing fine.”

Ethelred gave Belladonna, who had gone angrily red, a cocky smirk.

“Bet you wish you were the one he bit, huh, Bella,” Ethelred said loudly.

She snorted and looked away.

“Well, I better get going,” Israfel said in a hushed voice. “The veil doesn’t watch itself.”

“Come off it, Israfel,” said Ethelred, aghast. “Were not at level one battle any more so don’t worry about the veil.”

“It’s my duty, Eth – ”

“Oh, please,” Ethelred butted. “Lord Malachai only put you on duty for the veil is so you ad Gabriel wouldn’t be able to see each other so much.”

Israfel looked down.

“Take a day off for once and wait for him to get back tonight. I’m sure he’ll be ecstatic to see you,” Ethelred whispered.

“I dunno,” sighed Israfel. He dropped his voice to a whisper and said, “maybe I should just let it go. By the time I’m of age he’ll be so tired off me he’ll have marked some other.”

Ethelred gave him a pitying look.

“Well, I’m off,” Lilith said, easing at the tension. “Mother wants me to help her cleaning fathers armor.”

“See you ’round, Lil,” Ethelred said.

She left with a smile; only Belladonna left. She gave Ethelred a spiting look and rounded on Israfel, marching toward him. Ethelred stood straight and tense behind Israfel, watching closely as the Vampiress neared. She stopped dead only inches from the yearling and leaned down, faces drawn close together. Israfel saw the beast within her snarling at him and stood stock still, fearing the close proximity.

“He belonged to me before you came along yearling,” she spat angrily, her voice a hissing whisper. “You nothing but a pompous little twirp.”

“You should leave, Bella,” Ethelred whispered, but she ignored him.

“Mark my words, little Vampire,” she whispered threateningly. “When he comes back from war, I’ll make him mine.”

Israfel glared at her as she straightened, gave Ethelred another angry look, and marched from the kitchen, long white blonde hair swinging behind her. Israfel let out a long whistling breath and slumped against the counter. He passed a hand through his tousled hair and stared at a crack in the floor.

“Maybe she’s right,” he whispered. “Maybe he will mark her once he gets back.”

Ethelred said nothing.

“I mean ... It’s not like I can produce an heir, can I,” Israfel shuddered, holding back tears.

“Israfel ... ”

“When he gets back, tell him I’m on duty and I’ll see him another time,” whispered the yearling painfully as he stood straight.

*~*~*

“Wait here, I’ll be out shortly to brief you.”

“Of course, My Lord.”

“Keep low and don’t make a sound unless your attacked.”

“Understood.”

Gabriel slumped through the thick trees, gliding silently through the darkness of the shadows. His eyes gleamed crimson through the shadows, nearing a hollow only metres from him. His tall form straightened, glaring around at the darkness, before he slunk inside and disappeared.

“Who’s there?”

A voice, deep and strong like his own, echoed out around him. He slipped into a soft circular room and lit the wick of a candle, the light showering the gaunt and tired face of another Vampire only a few years younger than himself. The others body was trembling, a thick long gash gouged across his neck and along his abdomen.

“How you feeling, Azazel?” Gabriel whispered.

“Shitty,” the Vampire – Azazel, croaked. “Fucking Piotr.”

Gabriel smirked and held out a pouch of blood, which Azazel took gratefully and ripped into it immediately. He sighed and fell back against the mossy wall of the hollow, wiping his forehead of it’s sweat. He looked back, eyes dim and dead, almost like he was already dead. He moved stiffly, body weak and unrepaired.

“Where did you find this?” Azazel whispered, staring at the pouch in which silver blood swirled.

“It was one of many not crushed on the ground where our supply was attacked,” Gabriel said, sitting beside the wounded Vampire.

“How many?” he croaked.

“Only a dozen.”

“Will it be enough?”

“Half is for you – ”

“Lord Gabriel, no.” Azazel said quickly. “You cannot risk you brothers safety over my own. He needs the blood more than I.”

“I know that, Azazel,” Gabriel sighed. “But like me, there is someone waiting for you – who loves you – back at the castle. I will not risk seeing him break by my words if I have to tell him you’re dead.”

Azazel gave him a brotherly look.

“You have been my friend since we were children, Azazel,” Gabriel said, turning to look at the other. “I will not let you die.”

“Do you know how Lilith is?” he asked.

“I saw her as I was leaving,” Gabriel said. “Up early for a yearling, but she is fine. She asked me to give you this.”

He held out a silver locket. Azazel reached out to it and opened the oval pendant, his eyes softening as he looked down upon the two pictures inside. One: his little sister, Lilith. The second: himself and his lover, Marius, sharing a deep and meaningful kiss upon one of the many tower balconies.

“I owe her,” he whispered, squeezing the locket and holding it close. “Thank you for bringing it to me, My Lord.”

“Shut up with the ‘Lord’ business, alright,” Gabriel snapped.

Azazel smirked.

“Who’s here with you?” he asked.

“Cecil is the only one I brought,” Gabriel sighed.

Azazel nodded and looked up toward the hollows entrance, the dark tunnel shadowed by the trees beyond. He could here gentle footsteps outside and knew it was Cecil marching around the circular entrance, checking the bushes and surroundings.

“When do we leave?” Azazel asked, taking another drought from his pouch.

“Tonight, when the sun descends,” Gabriel said. “Until then, we wait.”

Azazel sighed shakily, his fingers clenched into his bloodied armor, and closed his cloudy eyes. He felt an arm around his shoulders and leaned into Gabriel, allowing such comfort.

“You’ll see him again, Azazel,” Gabriel whispered. “I promise.”

And he never broke a promise ...

*~*~*

Israfel sighed, staring out the high window and at the descending sun. Evening had fallen not two hours ago, and the burning sunlight was becoming an orange hue on the horizon. He groaned, watching as the light streamed in through the window and across the circular room. He was tired, hungry again, and achy.

Maybe Ethelred was right, he thought sourly, staring at the door with bleary eyes. It’s not like were at level one battle anymore.

Th sun was sinking fast now, over half shrouded by the mountains beyond. With a weary sigh and a deep yawn, Israfel stood and stretched his limbs, cracking his back and groaning with satisfaction. He heard the sound of trembling hooves above and smiled, knowing who it must be, and wanting to see him as soon as he entered the castle.

Checking the mirror leaning against the wall and straightening his hair as best he could ... unfortunately he could not so decided to rumple it and left the veil to ripple alone. He ascended the stairs to the creaking grand doors and heard the whoosh of wind and the commotion of feet and voices above.

Just as he opened the door that lead up into the entrance hall, a voice, high and shrill, broke the silence.

“AZAZEL.”

Marius went flashing down the grand staircase and flying by Israfel to jump into his lovers arms. The tall figure of Azazel, his usually tidy and very gorgeous wavy purple hair was matted and messy. His face was weaker and lank, but his eyes shone with happiness when he saw the teary face of his lover burst into his arms.

They embraced with love and fervor, lips locked heavenly upon one another, whispered words of apology on Azazel’s part and cried words of happiness on Marius’s. Gabriel stood at their side, smiling down upon them. He looked around the room as gossiping clans smiled and clapped with happiness at the pair.

Israfel smiled and blushed, hugging himself as he watched the display of affection pass between the two. Their lips parted and he could see the happiness in Marius’s clear gaze, his face beaming with joy. Azazel, though weak-looking, was smiling with such glee he already looked like he was back to normal, like he only had a few scratches and that was it.

Israfel looked to the side of them at Gabriel and noticed the lord watching him with gentle dark eyes. He blushed and looked away to the ground. His eyes traveled up again, locking on with Gabriel who had left the pair and was walking toward him. Vampires and Vampiresses were crowding around the happy couple, none paying the slightest attention to Gabriel or Israfel.

Suddenly, pain hit, and Israfel rushed forward. He hugged Gabriel close, trembling with sadness and cried. He punched weakly at the older man, hiccoughing and holding him. He felt Gabriel hold him tighter, making the pain slip away to comfort.

“Why would you just leave like that?” Israfel hiccoughed.

“I’m sorry,” whispered Gabriel.

“I was s-so worried when I w-woke up,” he whimpered.

“I am sorry love, but I am back now,” Gabriel said with softness.

“But you might not have been,” said Israfel in a hushed voice, now looking longingly up at Gabriel. “You could have died and I would not have seen you again.”

“Do not say that, Israfel,” Gabriel whispered, holding him closer. “I could not bare not seeing your face again.”

“Gabriel,” whispered Israfel lovingly.

“Awww, look at the happy couple,” said a female’s jeering voice.

Israfel heard the growl deep within Gabriel’s chest and looked sideways at Belladonna, her glaring eyes boring hatefully at Gabriel and himself. He huddled closer to his lover and felt Gabriel’s arms wrap tight and secure around his waist, holding him away from Belladonna.

“What do you want, Bella?” Gabriel asked darkly, his voice rising icily.

“Actually, Gabriel,” Belladonna said with mock-sweetness, “it’s not me that wants you this time – though I love the offer – but your father.”

Gabriel sighed. “What now.”

“Don’t leave me, Gabriel,” Israfel whispered into his lovers neck. “Please, stay with me. I don’t want to be alone.”

Gabriel hugged him close and pressed a licking kiss to his neck.

“I wont be long, I promise,” he whispered. “Just wait in my chambers.”

“Gabriel, please,” Israfel whimpered.

“Love, what’s wrong with you today?”

Israfel looked down at his lovers long cloak and armor, snuggling deep into the hard chest. He felt a hand stroking his hair and looked up, Gabriel’s deep crimson pools staring down on him. He sighed and, out of the corner of his eye, saw Belladonna glaring with evil rage that he leaned up, closed his eyes, and pressed their lips together.

“It’s nothing, I’m sorry,” Israfel whispered. “I’ll be waiting for you in your chambers. Don’t be long ... please.”

Gabriel nuzzled him and said in a soft voice, “don’t worry, I wont.”

“Alright, Bella,” Gabriel snapped after he and Israfel parted. “Let’s go.”

She smiled serenely at him and lead him up the stairs and out of sight. Sighing, Israfel made his way up the stairs too and away from the crowd still jostling around Marius and Azazel. A streak of purple hair and a giggling voice passed him and he turned in time to see Lilith jumping into her older brothers open arms, crying with glee.

“Glad she’s happy,” Israfel said.

He wandered alone up the stairs and down the long corridors, the many stretches of lanterns and candles glowing off the walls. He turned a corner and made his way down another long pathway when a hand came out of the shadows. He gasped, stumbling back, and hit the next wall as a body pressed hard to his, hand clamped tightly over his mouth, hot breath breathing down his cheek and neck.

“Well, well,” said a low voice. “Hello little yearling.”

He shivered, eyes darting in every directions for a possible object to strike at his enemy. Nothing but stone walls and floors surrounded him, the nearest candled chandelier hanging on the wall not fifty metres from where he was. He whimpered into the hand as the other came up to stroke his cheek.

“Why so frightened, young one, I will not hurt you.”

He looked up as the hand disappeared from his mouth, making him gasp and gulp down breath after breath. He coughed, looking up with watery eyes. They bulged as the figure loomed over him and he bowed low, shaking on the spot.

“M-m-my L-Lord,” he gasped in surprise. “I – I thought y-you would be w-with your son.”

“Gabriel, oh no, my dear boy, I daresay I am not,” the elder spoke serenely.

“B-but Belladonna s-said you needed to s-speak with him,” Israfel stuttered.

“Come, yearling,” the elder said, ignoring what he just said. “I will take you to my chambers.”

Israfel stood shakily, following the tall figure of the grey-haired cloaked man out of the dark hallway. He could hear the distant voices below and wished to call out to them, but it would be no use. They rounded another corner and passed up a long spiraling staircase until they came to rest at a thick doorway that was chained heavily and bared.

“I always have tight security,” the elder said in a laughing voice.

The chains fell away, the bares sliding either up or down and the door burst forth revealing a very elegant room. Israfel followed tensely, jumping with shock as the doors slammed shut, the chains clinking shut beyond and the bares sliding into place once again. The clearing of a voice brought him back to his senses and he turned.

“Please, sit.”

He did so.

“I can see why my son is so infatuated with you.”

“My Lord ... ”

“You are very beautiful for such a young boy. Very fair skin and such soft eyes. One would look at you and think you not as a Vampire, but as an angel.”

Israfel looked away.

“Look at me, yearling.”

Israfel looked.

“Why do you love my son?”

He did not speak.

“Shy?”

A nod.

“Well, that I can understand. Do not be shy, I will not bite.”

“I – I guess – yes, I love Gabriel.”

“And ... does he love you.”

Silence.

“Has he not marked you yet? Have you not mated and become one with one another?”

Silence still.

“My own son, the man every Vampiress wishes to claim, has not marked his toy – ”

Israfel looked up, shocked.

“What, you did not think he actually loves you, do you?”

“I – ”

“Has he marked you, boy?”

Silence again.

“Answer the question.”

More silence.

The elder stood briskly, Israfel jumping to his feet and backing away. The grey haired Vampire advanced, latching his hand around Israfel’s small throata nd lifting him off the ground. He chocked, clutching at the tight fingers, but only causing them to close tighter around his pale neck. He whimpered, but it only caused the elder to smile.

“I don’t believe you, boy,” he whispered darkly. “I know what you do ... I have heard you before, late at night. You’re such a dirty little thing you are.”

He tossed Israfel to the ground.

“I hear your moans, your cries of pleasure. You little whore,” the elder whispered. “How do I know Gabriel has not marked you yet. The mark is meant only to be seen by the mate and no one else.”

Israfel crawled away, blood streaming from the cuts he adorned from being thrown to the ground. His shoulder ached from where he landed on it.

He was grabbed painfully by his hair, screaming as the elder behind him pulled him from the floor, tossing him across the room to slam ruthlessly against the wall. Stars burst behind his eyes like a light show, momentarily blinded by the pain. Groaning, he slid down the wall tot he floor, clutching his bruised and bleeding head.

“Get up, slut,” came the seething voice of the elder.

“Please, my Lord,” Israfel croaked.

A hand came down across his face, his teeth snapping together to split his own lip open, blood spraying across the ground as he choked and coughed, spluttering in his shock. He trembled, fearing to open his eyes, fearing to look up into pitiless, uncaring eyes. All he wanted was to be held by his lover – by Gabriel.

“Look at me.”

His eyes opened, tears stinging at their depths, and looked up. He was shocked once again, plastering against the wall, heart hammering inside his aching chest. He breathed heavily, watching as the flesh moved forward, toward him. He swallowed hard, gagging on vomit as it was forced into his mouth, his tongue rolling along the flesh, a grunt of satisfaction above him only making him gag again.

“That’s right,” the elder whispered, a hand pressed firmly to the back of Israfel’s head as he thrust forward. “Just like a good boy.”

NO! NO! NO! NO! NO! Israfel’s mind screamed at him.

“You deserve to be punished for haunting my son,” came a sickly husky whisper.

Something salty shot against the back of his throat and he drew away, coughing and gagging, the filmy white liquid dripping from around his fangs and down the corners of his mouth. His tongue rolled out, the white substance drizzling down it and onto the floor in globs of milky white saliva.

“You little bitch – ” the hard side of a hand struck his face and he whimpered. “ – next time fucking swallow.”

Gabriel, help me, his mind screamed.

“Now, get off your clothes.”

Israfel blanched. “My Lord?”

He was given a harsh glare for a reply.

“Do you not understand proper English, boy?” snarled the elder. “Take off your fucking clothes ... NOW.”

He huddled back, reaching for the hem of his shirt and stripped it over his head. The cold air licked his skin and he shivered, feeling steely grey eyes boring upon him, taking in his appearance. He tired to cover himself as he reached for the clasp on his pants, unbuttoning the front with trembling fingers.

He stood naked, bare and cold, dark eyes scanning his body, a thick grotesque tongue licking old lips, a groan of satisfaction from the taller elderly man before him. He held himself for protection, tears streaming from his eyes, pain etched in his body, bruises of blue everywhere. He felt eyes on his thigh and huddled back farther, not wanting the elder to see.

“So, he ha not marked you yet.”

Israfel crouched on the ground.

“The mark that is meant to be given to a loved one by their lover on their thigh. You do not bare that mark. Why?”

No answer.

“Is it because ... Gabriel does not wish to mark you?”

Tears.

“Or is it because ... you are afraid?”

Whimpering.

“Well, boy,” said the elder in a thick voice. “I will show you your fear for what it is. Once I am done with you, you will never want to be touched again.”

*~*~*

Gabriel glared around the room at the high tables, the group of leering elders staring down on him. Only one seat sat empty, and that was his own fathers. He glared around the room at the others, and spoke up to the next in charge, one of the oldest next to hi sown father – a Vampiress.

“Melancholia, where is my father?”

“Lord Malachai was not able to be with us in this meeting, Lord Gabriel,” she said in a tight, wheezy voice.

“Was it not he who summoned me, though?” Gabriel demanded flatly.

“It was, but the entire court also wished to speak with you,” she said.

“Then speak,” snapped Gabriel.

“We have decided on a new route to take in our war with the Werewolves,” said a droning male voice to his left.

Gabriel turned to listen.

“And I presume, Dorian, that it is the suicide plan I have heard of,” Gabriel said in an all-knowing sort of voice.

The court whispered.

“Yes,” Dorian said.

“I don’t like it,” Gabriel said. He turned to the others. “I rule for a new plan of action, one that will be better equipped to not losing those who battle so valiantly.”

“Lord Gabriel,” said a female Vampiress on his far right.

“Yes, Hecate?”

“The plan is to sacrifice only one Vampire,” she said.

He stared at her from where she sat in the shadows of the court.

“Is that so,” he said.

“Yes.”

Only one, he thought.

“And am I this one to be sacrificed?” he asked, knowing the answer was yes.

“That is for you to decide,” said Melancholia.

That was not the answer I was expecting, Gabriel thought.

“What do you mean by that?” he asked.

“Well, there is only need for one heir – ” said a younger, yet elderly, male voice Gabriel knew to be Hellion.

“And, we see fit that – ” a high, girly voice he knew to be Belladonna’s mother, Beatrice.

“It be either yourself – ” Dorian said.

“Or your brother, Damien,” finished Melancholia.

He stared with unadulterated shock and hatred. How dare they make him choose between himself and his dying little brother. How DARE they.

“You do not need to choose now,” Hellion said, leaning forward in his seat.

“No, no, not now,” Dorian agreed.

“But those are your choices,” Beatrice said in a sickly sweet voice.

“We find it quite adequate, Lord Gabriel,” Melancholia said sneeringly.

“Well find a new plan, because I shall choose neither myself nor my younger brother,” Gabriel said loudly and strongly. ‘There must be another way to end this war.”

“Oh, there is,”said a new voice that had not spoken up, but Gabriel knew to be Morrisey, one of his fathers close friends.

Gabriel turned around to face the other side of the room in which Morrisey said high in his chair, grey eyes boring down on Gabriel. The pair hated one another greatly, but Gabriel was not about to give the elder the time of day – or satisfaction – to see him squirm with discomfort .

“And that other plan would be?” Gabriel said with a tired sigh.

“Let us kill one another,” said Morrisey easily, shrugging his large shoulders.

“You must be lying,” Gabriel growled.

“I daresay I am not,” Morrisey said with a wide, toad-like, grin. “Those are our only options. A sacrifice: you or your brother, or we let ourselves battle until we wipe each other out.”

“Those are not our only options,” Gabriel said, turning back to Melancholia. “There has to be another way. We all know that we cannot let our Hoard die. We are the last. But, we can also not let the Werewolves die. Our existence’s stabilize the balance of ethereal.”

“We know that, Lord Gabriel,” Melancholia whispered. “But, unfortunately, those are our only options.”

“No, they are not,” he said, glaring up at the court. “And I shall prove it.”

He turned to leave, but was stopped by another voice, a far older, weak and scratchy voice he had not heard the entire time. His grandmother spoke from her corner, being the oldest on the council.

He turned as she spoke.

“Gabriel, my grandson,” she said in her trembling voice.

“Grandmother,” he whispered.

“Please, my grandson,” she said, leaning forward so he could see her old and tired face and blind eyes. “Do what is right. Not for the court. Not for your father. Not for yourself. But ... for your people.”

“Grandmother ... Dementia,” he whispered, saying her name clear so she would listen to him rather than dismiss him.

She had shunned him for choosing another male to love rather than a female. He ahd not spoken, seen or looked at her since that day over seventy years ago when she had seen him and Israfel together near the lake, sharing kisses and talking about literature and the world of ethereal in general. She had been the only one to ever care so deeply for him, but he lost that the day she saw him and Israfel together.

“I promise, Dementia,” he said in a whisper, staring up at her. “I promise, if I cannot find another way I’ll ... I’ll do it.”

The others also leaned forward.

“Do what?” she asked tiredly.

“I’ll – sacrifice – myself,” whispered Gabriel.

Whispers exploded around him as he saw, for the first time in a long time, his grandmothers old and tired face stretch into a weary smile. She nodded and leaned back into her seat, disappearing into the shadows. The murmurs of discussion stopped around him and Melancholia leaned forward to speak.

“So be it,” she said in a high and mighty voice. “If you do not bring us a plan of action, we go through with the suicide plan. Understood?”

“Of course, Melancholia,” Gabriel said with a nod.

He turned, ready to leave, when Morrisey’s voice spoke out over the others, loud and clear through the shuffling and moving of feet leaving the court through the dark hallway and back tot heir respected chambers.

“I wonder why Lord Malachai did not show,” he said in a loud voice. “I mean, I have also always wanted to try a yearling myself but ... ”

Gabriel went stiff, a cold sweat breaking out over his brow. He burst through the door and out into the hall, the rest of Morrisey’s words drowned by the slamming of the court’s doors. He turned a sharp corner and slammed into the wall, rebounding off of it and darting full speed down the next corridor. He took the stairs to his room three at a time, praying that Israfel was there, safe and calm, waiting for him.

*~*~*

The chains around his wrists and ankles clanked loudly. He whimpered, low and fearful, legs pressed together, hiding as best he could his most private parts. His body trembled from the cold, dark eyes watching him from the shadows, face plume white with terror. A mouth moved along him, pressing his legs apart, spreading him wide, engulfing him and making him cry out with sadness and pleasure.

A tongue rolled along his twitching head, licking away the seeping precum. His heart thundered loudly in his chest, fingers, large and calloused, pressing painfully against the ring of muscles sealing out the unworthiness he wasn’t ready for. He whimpered again, pulling against his restraints, trying to force his legs together again.

A rather long, low thrust along him, made his hips buck forward with want. He hated the way his body was enjoying itself. It was only meant to be enjoyed by one – by Gabriel – not by some other, not by this type of inhumane actor.

He felt ashamed, he felt dirty. His hands quivered, skin splitting against the cold sharp steel binding him. He felt pain, a tearing sensation, and screamed, his body suddenly not so wanting. He pushed against the intrusion, trying with little effort to push the intruders out. It wasn’t possible. He panted, mind sparking with pain, suddenly feeling ill and sickly.

The mouth moved, gliding along him, teeth scratching his penis. He whimpered and writhed, pulling and tugging at the restraints. The intruders were gone, as was the mouth. He gasped, body shaking violently. A hand, hard and strong, slapped his face. One. Twice. A third made his skin split, blood spilling from his hairline. He spluttered as his teeth bit down on the inside of his cheek, mouth filled with the salty crimson of blood.

Just let me die, I want to die, something screamed to him.

A whip, slashing the ground, made his heart stop. He swallowed down the cottony taste in his mouth, knowing what was coming. He pulled again on the restraints, but it was futile. The light flickered on the whip as it was lifted into the air by an invisible hand. Like a gun going off, it cracked against his chest, breaking the sensitive skin, blood spilling onto the stone floor.

A black bit was thrust into his mouth, choking him. It was roughly tied into his hair at the back of his head, stopping him from screaming aloud. He cried hard, tears spilling in waves down his pale and bloody face. The chains rattled and he fell to the floor in a crumpled heap, curling in on himself.

The whip was lashing him again, cutting across his thighs, his chest, his back. He screamed each time, but it was useless. No one would hear him. No one would care. He tired crawling away, but two painful hands squeezed his hips and he was dragged backwards along the stone floor, his knees splitting open, flesh and blood smeared across the ground.

His mind stopped dead.

Something ... was pushing against him.

And then, it was pure pain and blindness.

Thrust after thrust. No remorse or care. Blood and semen dripping on the floor, mixing into a pink liquid. Growls of pleasure and tears of pain mixing together. Bruises and blood, hatred and need. Consumption and displeasure. Filth and dirtiness.

Claws dug into his hips, clamping into the muscle. He didn’t both to scream any more. It was no use, no one would hear him. His eyes went fuzzy, his back arching from pain, tearing and ripping making him sick and feverish. When the elder pulled out, the pain did not stop. He was aching and trembling.

His hair was grabbed and he was pulled into a sitting position, the penis which had once been within him now thrust into his face, dirty and soiled. It dripped with bits of flesh and blood before finally being consumed and wiped clean by his own mouth. He vomited into his own throat, but was forced to swallow as come and blood was shot into his throat, that too being swallowed.

Finally ...

It was over.

“Such a good boy,” whispered the elder, licking his lips. “I now see why my son takes you each night.”

He huddled on the ground, shivering.

“Though ... you felt unbroken, but I know that’s not true,” Lord Malachai whispered maliciously. “Tell anyone, and I will kill you.”

The door beyond burst open, light streaming into the room. Israfel was forced into the hallway, his torn and ripped clothes being forced into his arms. He stumbled backwards and fell down the stairs, landing breathless and in a heap, sprawled across the stone. He dressed, covering his wounds and bleeding, and made for Gabriel’s chambers.

He had just entered, limping, and sat down on the bed feverishly, when the door burst open, Gabriel’s storming into the room and swooping the shocked yearling into strong and embraceful arms. His arms wound slowly around Gabriel’s neck, his face buried within his lovers warm shoulder, forcing back the new shed of burning tears.

“Israfel,” Gabriel whispered, lowing them both onto the bed and holding his lover. “I was so worried.”

“W-why were y-you worried?” Israfel whispered and stuttered.

Gabriel pulled away and leaned up over his lover on his elbows, staring down into Israfel’s pale face. He reached up and brushed a thumb over his forehead, smearing something and pulling his finger away to look at it. Israfel saw, with a swooping feeling that hung in his chest, the blood he had forgotten about on his forehead now shining on Gabriel’s thumb.

“Who did this?” he heard his lover whisper.

“I-it was nothing,” Israfel said in a shaky laugh. “I ... I just fell coming to your chambers.”

“Israfel, why are you lying to me?” Gabriel asked, his voice filled with hurt.

The yearling whimpered, pulling his lover close and pushing his head into the broad toned chest. The tears he had been forcing back spilled like a thousand knives, slamming repeatedly into his heart. Gabriel held him without a word, softly cooing to his lover, pulling him warmly into his arms and lying down together in the plush blankets.

“Gabriel,” Israfel choked out in a whisper.

“I’m here, love,” purred Gabriel.

“Why ... why do you ... do you love me?”

Gabriel’s hand stopped petting at his lovers hair.

“Gabriel?”

Israfel’s voice was high and fearful.

“I love you, Israfel, because you are you,” sighed Gabriel, kissing the yearlings forehead. “I love you, because I am in love with you. I will die for you, do as you wish, as long as I can be with you.”

“You’d do ... anything?” Israfel asked.

“Yes, anything and everything, love,” Gabriel said.

“Would you hurt me?”

Silence.

“Gabriel?”

“Never.”

“He hurt me, Gabriel. He hurt me. He ... he touched me,” Israfel cried, clutching his lover as if he was afraid he would vanish. “It hurt so much. I don’t want it to happen again. God, Gabriel, he hurt me. He ... he mated me.”

Shocked silence.

“Did he ... mark you?” Gabriel asked in an angry, spiteful tone.

“N-no,” Israfel stuttered.

“Israfel, I am so sorry, my love,” Gabriel said sadly. “My father – he will pay for this. I’ll kill him for what he did to you.”

“No, don’t. He said he’d kill you if I spoke,” Israfel yelled, frightened.

Gabriel cupped his face gently, brushing his thumb across one pale cheek. They sat up together, eyes locked with emotion. Israfel felt his fingers throb from holding his lover so tightly, but he did not let go. His throat was dry and sore. He remembered what he had swallowed and leaned over the edge of the bed, vomiting hard and gasping.

“Israfel,” Gabriel gasped.

“He ... he made me,” Israfel said, but vomited again.

“Israfel, listen to me,” whispered Gabriel when the vomiting stopped.

His lover sat up, wiping his mouth. Gabriel looked him over and noticed, through the fabric of his shirt, that there were red stains covering his lover. He reached out and pinned Israfel to the bed, pulling the shirt away and over his young lovers head. His eyes roved over the wounds with anger, hells fire spiting at his crimson eyes.

“He did ... all of this?” Gabriel whispered, shaking with rage.

Israfel covered his body shamefully.

“Don’t,” Gabriel snapped, grasping his lovers hands and holding them aside. “Don’t cover yourself.”

“I’m dirty. My body is befouled. I don’t deserve you, Gabriel,” Israfel cried.

“On the contrary, little one,” Gabriel whispered, sliding between his lovers legs and brushing back white hair to kiss the yearlings warm nose. “It is I, who does not deserve something as pure as you.”

“Gabriel,” whispered Israfel, fear rising in his voice.

“Do not worry, my little yearling, I will not touch you tonight,” Gabriel whispered, nuzzling Israfel’s neck. “You have been wounded, not only in body, but in mind as well. I will merely hold you.”

“No, Gabriel,” Israfel whispered, making up his mind.

Gabriel opened his eyes and lifted his head to look his lover deeply in the eyes. Crimson fire locked with Charcoal black. They stared at one another for a long while before Israfel wound his arms around Gabriel’s neck and pulled the older males face close to his own, their noses touching, breath cascading on each others faces.

“Gabriel, I wish for you to mark me tonight.”

**~**~**~**~**~**

A/N: AND ... SCENE! So, what did you think? Okay, I know I’ve only gotten ONE review, but I updated anyways. Now, here’s the thing people. If I don’t get enough reviews, I will think people don’t like my story, and I wont update. So, if you want an update, or for me to continue, send me a review, or you wont find out what happens next and in the end.