** Could an undying love blossom in the ruins of a shattered world? **
And so the world of men was lost
and a new one, our world,
was born.
- Morrígan
Goddess of the Battle
of the Túatha Dé Danann -
4th cycle anno Bellum.
The Second World War...
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Myreille's gaze was glued to this man like a hawk that had chosen its prey and was waiting for the right moment.
It was not the first time they had performed this dance. They both knew the steps and the rhythm, even if their dance partners had been other poor souls. It was the circling of two predators, putting one step before the other to probe each other's weak spots.
Myreille was no fool. Even though he was injured, he could still pose a threat—not as great as when he was healthy, but one she was unwilling to risk now. Her body was her asset, and she could not afford to be seriously injured—in more ways than one.
Her master knew no mercy. She would have to prove her worth and usefulness or be killed if she failed. And if her body was damaged, her usefulness would diminish, and her master would certainly not be pleased with the loss...
With an audible snort, the cat's gaze slid to the side without turning his head towards her. She could see his shoulders moving beneath his coat... and for some reason, she felt a warm, cold shiver run down her spine without really belonging to her.
"Are you going to throw me to the dogs after all, doll?" he asked.
The strigoi guessed what he must be thinking. That she was waiting for him to make a mistake and give her a reason to attack him finally. That she could jump at his throat like a wild animal and could hardly wait to drink his blood. As if she were one of those uncontrollable newborns who could think of nothing but quenching their all-consuming thirst in the first hours or nights after their transformation. Only for them to eventually realize that nothing in the world could ever quench it again. Hrmpf.
"Why should I leave you to someone else?" The vampiress tilted her head and clicked her tongue. The dark veil folded devoutly over her shoulder, and the tiny jewelry beads on her clothes tinkled with the slight movement. "If anyone kills you, cat, it will be me. It will be a fair fight ... And then you'll look me in the eye while your life light goes out."
She said it as simply as if she were explaining to him that the sky was blue. Killing was as easy as breathing for her. At least most of the time.
Slowly, as if avoiding moving too quickly, the tom raised his hand to the mask, seeming to remove it. But his fingers did not touch the porcelain.
