Guardians - Birth Of Rivalry Part 8

Ysa stuck out her chin. "I will be a widow, who lost her one true love at sea."

Pan nodded. "Yes, that would work, I think." Even though he could tell she had just come up with the idea, he stared at her with slightly widened eyes, as though impressed. "You seem to have given this a lot of thought."

She nodded, and smiled condescendingly, well pleased with herself.

"I only wonder... but no. Vitale is utterly devoted to you."

Her gaze narrowed. "You wonder... what?"

Pan waved a hand, brushing the thought aside like a cobweb. "It is nothing. Nothing that will matter to two who love each other as you do."

Ysa let go of her knees and slid off the bed, padding barefoot across the floor. When she reached him, she grasped his arms, staring anxiously into his eyes. "Please, Pan. You must tell me!"

He let the words come slowly, reluctantly. "It is only that... well... he is an immortal now, you say?"

Ysa nodded, searching his features.

"No, it's ridiculous." He reached out and tugged one of her curls wistfully, then let go and shook his head. "I know you will remain beautiful to him, as ever, even when your hair is white as the clouds."

She gasped, her hand flying up to cover the round 'oh' of her mouth, eyes horrified. "Oh, G.o.ddess, you're right. He will remain... and I will..." She turned away, glaring at the horizon, hugging herself tightly. The first pink tinges of dawn glinted in the tears on her cheeks. "I can't stand the thought of him seeing me like that. Especially as he is now. So strong, so... virile." She covered her face, burying sobs in her hands.

Pan smoldered with jealousy, yet stepped behind her, cupping her shoulders gently. "There is a way," he whispered in her ear.

"A way for what?" she croaked, her voice choked with tears.

"Diamante has given me a wonderful gift, Ysa. A gift I may use to help you."

She shivered. "That awful woman. No gift of hers could ever be wonderful."

Pan grasped her shoulders, turning her toward him, fighting to appear earnest but not over-eager. "But it is." He stared into her eyes, letting his thoughts mingle with hers, opening her mind to his. "She has made me immortal, and I can do the same for you."

Ysa stared for a long moment, then pushed him away. "That is cruel, Pan. How can a monster such as she is offer the gift of life?"

His gaze came to rest on the sharp blade next to the washbowl. "Watch." He strode over and picked up the blade. Returning to her side, he opened his hand and drew the knife's edge across his palm.

"Pan!" Ysa grasped his hand, turning it toward the rising sun.

A pale, b.l.o.o.d.y fluid welled momentarily in the crease, then seemed to reabsorb into the skin. For a moment, the parted flesh gaped, the fat in the thick pad near his thumb glistening wetly. Then the gap narrowed, the flesh re-knitting before their eyes, until only a pale, pinkish line remained, and Pan knew even that would be gone before noon.

Ysa ran trembling hands over the scar, again and again.

"I can do this for you, Ysa," Pan whispered, unable to keep the excitement from his voice. "You will be immortal. Forever beautiful, forever vital. Like my cousin." Of course, he did not add that the source of the two magics, his and his cousin's, were complete opposites. That in accepting his offer, she might actually be destroying her chance to live a life with Vitale.

She stared at his hand a moment longer. When at last she spoke, her voice was thick with conflicting emotions. "I don't know, Pan. Is she a witch, or a demon? What is the price for this 'gift'?"

Pan laughed, irritated when it came out a bit shrill. "She is not evil," he lied. "Though she can be wicked at times. Can you blame her? A woman of such power? The temptation to... tease... would become overwhelming." He smiled, tugging a childhood memory to the forefront of Ysa's thoughts.

The memory played out in her mind. Two sisters had been relentless in their loathing of her when she first arrived in Orphieto, calling her horrid names, deriding her ancestry. She'd become very angry one afternoon and cast her hands out, murmuring gypsy words she'd learned from her grandmother, telling them they would not escape the 'evil eye.' It had all been nonsense, of course, but when they developed boils two days later, that festered and left them scarred for life, derision turned to fear. From that moment on, Ysa had experienced a sort of power among the children of the village. Oh, they still whispered behind her back, but to her face they were polite and solicitous. It had been hard, at times nearly impossible, to resist the urge to use their fear against them, to torment them.

Still, she frowned. "I don't know, Pan. I have to think."

He nodded, turning away to hide his smile. This was no less than he had expected. She would dwell on the prospect of aging for the remainder of the day, letting the fear of wrinkles and ill health and death grow within her, until she did his work for him, convincing herself to accept his offer.

Pan stretched and yawned, collapsing onto the bed.

"Will you come down and break fast with me?"

He shook his head. "I've had no sleep. You go on without me." He pulled one of the feather-stuffed pillows over his eyes.

He listened, lulled by the quiet noises of Ysa's ablutions. The last thing he heard was the dull thud of the door as she left the room and darkness enfolded him in loving arms.

After the morning meal, Ysa wandered the streets of Messina. Away from Pan, her head began to clear, and she found herself wondering exactly what he was planning.

He'd been pursuing her since the day they all met that summer nearly thirteen years before. Like all the girls, Ysa had been attracted by his wild ways, the hint of wickedness that seemed to permeate the air around him. He was dashing, exciting... dangerous. While he was gone, Orphieto was gray. Boring. Only when he came on his visits -- which had become more and more frequent the last few years -- did life become colorful. Interesting.

Vitale was everything Pan was not. Quiet, dependable. Safe. Respected. For so long, Ysa's only desire in life had been to make him love her. To marry him and finally be accepted by the community that looked down on her because of her gypsy roots. She had convinced herself that he was her one true love, that her attraction to Pan was simply physical, born of the frustration Vitale's strict adherence to propriety forced her to endure until they had finally wed.

But, now... now as Ysa wandered the streets, exhortations from merchants washing over her in waves as she pa.s.sed their wharfside stands, it wasn't Vitale who occupied her mind.

Sighing, she purchased a honeyed water and seated herself on a wooden bench facing the sea.

The blood of her father's people ran strong in her veins, and Ysa had learned to listen to her senses. Pan was trying to manipulate her. She had felt his mind entering hers, as Vitale's had the night before. But where Vitale's presence had remained pa.s.sive inside her, watching only, Pan had reached within, pulling out memories, influencing her for his own purposes.

A vision of his flesh, knitting before her very eyes, flitted through her mind. It reminded her of her own mark. Glancing down, she tried to locate the wound Vitale had feasted from the night before and couldn't. A strangled gasp escaped as she opened her eyes wide in sudden understanding.

She was already immortal. Just as Pan's wound had healed, so had hers. Whatever Pan was offering, Vitale had already given.

This knowledge should have relieved her, and yet... Ysa shifted restlessly on the rough bench, sipping from the wooden tumbler. Light, refreshing sweetness cascaded down her throat. She rolled the taste on her tongue as she contemplated the waves. Last night, Vitale had been exciting, exhilarating... but was it only the novelty of his form, and the feeling of triumph? Now that she had everything she wanted, unease had settled in her belly, and she didn't know why.

Staring at a ship on the horizon, the scent of dead fish heavy in the air, she flashed on the journey across from Italy. Remembered Pan holding her head as she heaved her meager meals into the sea. Felt his strong hands caressing her forehead as she moaned in misery belowdecks.

Once she and Vitale left, once they made a life together, Pan would be lost to her.

She tried to picture a time when he hadn't been there for her, and couldn't. Tried to imagine a life without him in it, and failed. An unfamiliar ache invaded her chest, tightened her throat. In the back of her mind, since that night in the forest, she had wondered where Vitale was and when he would come. She had never doubted that he would. Now, this seemed simply a result of repet.i.tion -- the habit of a lifetime spent trying to reach a particular goal. She realized abruptly that she hadn't missed him.

She would miss Pan. Already missed him, in fact. Sitting here on this bench, staring out to sea without his solid presence beside her, she felt... incomplete.

The realization tugged an exclamation from her throat, and a pa.s.serby eyed her warily. Ysa drained the tumbler, hiding her face from prying eyes, struggling to a.s.similate a startling discovery.

She loved Pan.

She lowered the empty cup with trembling hands. She knew in her heart that Pan was not good for her. There was a darkness in him, one that had grown since they left Sant'Eufemia. She knew herself well enough to know that its twin resided within her, but she'd been fighting it all her life. Pan never had. He embraced all that he was.

Her senses stirred, the unwelcome prescience that often plagued her uncoiling like a snake.

Ysa did something she had never done before. She pushed the vision away. Compressed and folded the surge into a small, dark packet before it blossomed inside her, and tucked it away into a lonely corner of her mind, still clamoring to be known.

Her decision made, she stood, returning the vendor's empty cup. Paying little attention to her surroundings, trusting her feet to carry her home, she wrapped the noisy bundle in layer upon layer of blanketing memories, m.u.f.fling its cries until only silence remained.

Staying with Pan would be dangerous, probably even something she might regret one day, but the one thing she would not allow it to be was predictable.

Chapter 17: The Devil You Know.

In the late afternoon, Ysa sat on the edge of the bed, staring down at Pan. He lay so still, his skin so white he could have been carved from marble. A tawny lock rested on his forehead. Ysa tenderly brushed it aside, then pulled away with a gasp, the tips of her fingers numbed. Reaching out tentatively, she touched his arm. He was cold, so cold, and as she stared at his chest she realized it wasn't moving. He wasn't breathing!

He was dead. Gone, just when she had realized that everything she had ever wanted was here in this room. She flung her arms around him, whispering "No, no."

The last purple rays of sunset stained the curtains like blood, plunging the room into semi-darkness alleviated only by a fluttering candle flame, and then the sun disappeared beneath the horizon. Ysa froze as Pan took a deep, shuddering breath. "Pan?"

His hands gripped her shoulders, raising her up to peer at him. "Oh, Pan. I thought you were dead!"

He didn't answer, staring at her with a thinly veiled hunger that both frightened and excited her. "Have you decided?"

In answer, she ran her hands down his chest, staring into his eyes as her fingers deftly loosened his breeches and tugged them down past his hips.

Pan licked his lips. "Ysa --"

She pressed a finger against them to silence him. Climbing onto the bed, she gathered her skirts to her waist and straddled him, pressing swollen wet lips against his hardened member. She let the skirts drop, leaning close as she slid up until the tip of his c.o.c.k nestled between her slick folds.

Easing his thick shaft inside, she pressed another finger to his mouth when he again tried to speak, letting him see her excitement as she buried him within her. When he was sheathed completely, she looked down, shaking her head. "You lied to me, Pan."

He stiffened, his hand tightening where it rested on her shoulder. "What do you mean?"

"I am already immortal."

Anger, disappointment, then determination flashed in his eyes. He locked gazes with her, and she felt his mind reaching for hers.

"Don't."

He stopped, eyes wide with incredulity.

Ysa spoke calmly as she pushed his shirt up, tickling his abdomen with the tips of her nails. He shivered. "I spent quite some time today down at the docks, thinking." She pressed her nails against his chest, drawing them down slowly, leaving red marks on the skin, watching desire -- and bafflement -- grow in wary eyes. "You were trying to trick me, Pan. Trying to make me into something that cannot be with Vitale, weren't you?"

He surged abruptly, trying to rise, but she dug her nails into the s.p.a.ces between his ribs, until he winced in pain and subsided. "Weren't you?"

Frustrated, angry, his voice rasped. "Yes!"

Ysa smiled, relaxing her grip, allowing her fingers to travel down to toy with the golden curls at his groin. "You're a very bad boy, Pan."

In sudden surrender, he let his hands fall to the blankets and closed his eyes. His next words held nothing but weariness and despair. "You are all I have ever wanted, Ysa, but... I will finally end it. I will let you go."

She leaned forward, pressing into him. Her lips brushed his as she whispered. "Oh, no, Pan. Don't become a good boy now. Not when I've finally realized that a bad boy is exactly what I've always needed."

His eyelids opened abruptly, revealing hazel depths within which doubt warred against hope.

"Make me immortal, Pan.Your kind of immortal. And take me again. Make me yours in every way tonight." She drew back and began to move, his cool shaft sliding in and out of her p.u.s.s.y. "Forever."

Pan shook his head in disbelief and confusion even as he reached out and tangled his hands in her hair. "Why?" he whispered.

Ysa opened her mind to the touch that still trembled around its edges. "I love you."

His hands tightened painfully in her hair. For the s.p.a.ce of several heartbeats, he froze, his mind sifting through hers. What he found there slowly replaced the doubt on his face with a tender joy she had never before seen in him. "You do," he breathed.

Ysa nodded, and suddenly tears were creeping down her cheeks, which was stupid, because why should she cry when the man she loved looked at her with such devotion?

His hands trembled as he pushed her curls over one shoulder, tilting her head gently to one side, baring her neck. "It will hurt, Ysa, but the pain will pa.s.s." His voice shook.

She nodded wordlessly.

He opened his mouth wide, and fangs gleamed white in the candlelight. One moment his head was on the pillow, the next, excruciating pain took her breath away as twin points of fire sank into her neck.

She clutched his shoulders, fighting the urge to scream, afraid that if she did he would stop. Quickly, though, the pain at her neck became heat, a warm flush that curled throughout her body.

His throat worked, wet sounds accompanied by fierce sucking. The thrilling warmth reached the s.p.a.ce between her legs, unfurling into unbridled pa.s.sion. Ysa rocked, running her fingers up his arms, to curl in his hair and press his face tightly against her neck.

Pan moaned, grasping her tight, rolling over so that he was above her. Driving his shaft deep, again and again, he drained her life's blood.

Then he froze, his c.o.c.k throbbing as she convulsed around him, and it was as though a thousand icicles pierced her at once. Yet with the cold came a moment of pleasure so intense it blinded her. The white world shattered into a thousand pieces, and she was floating in a starless void. Invisible talons, harsh and painful, reached inside her. Rending, reaping, they grasped a bright spark deep within her and tore it from her body, and she was empty.

A sh.e.l.l, lost and frightened.

Whispers came, seeping in through her pores, speaking of power, magic... and an eternity with Pan. A great sadness swept through her momentarily, at the loss of something she could not name, yet which seemed priceless. And then the void was filled, and she could no longer remember what she had lost.

She woke in his arms, to find him watching her anxiously. "Are you all right?"

No sooner had she nodded than a wave of nausea washed over her. Gasping, she curled up beside him, clutching her waist.

No longer white as alabaster, Pan's face gleamed golden in the flickering light, flushed with health, his eyes haunted. "I'm sorry."

Ysa shook her head and reached out, clinging to him as she had always done. The room spun frantically, and she was afraid she would lose consciousness again, but Pan was there, whispering in her ear that he loved her, had always loved her, and always would. Bile and dizziness receded. "Water," she croaked.

Pan helped her off the bed, guided her over to the wash basin. She splashed tepid water on her face, then looked in the mirror...

There was nothing there. Not her, not Pan. Only the candle, and shadows that bulked and faded as the flame flickered in a breeze from the open window.

She swayed briefly, thinkingWhat have we become? but Pan's hand at her back steadied her. She turned and embraced him, burying her face in his chest. "I love you," she whispered.

A shadow blocked the light of the moon, and they both raised their heads, turning as one toward the windows.

Vitale perched on the balcony, his jaw tight, eyes filled with pain. Pan took a step, but halted when Ysa placed her hand on his arm. She stepped forward. "I'm sorry, Vitale. I didn't know my own heart, until today."