Breathless Summoning

Title: Breathless Summoning

Author: Dice

Pairings: m/m

Author's Note: No Discipline *exactly* so far (I know, what kind of
discipline writer am I?!)

Warning: Non-consensual lip on lip action ;-P Oh, and then there's the
evil cliffhanger at the end, but you're used to that.





~*~ Prologue ~*~



The light had finally dispersed and left were only small, flickering
specks of death, dancing like sprites over the bare stone. What had once
been, was no more. All that the light had touched had been reduced to
cinders now being swept away by the faint breeze, a breeze that carried
with it a bitter smell of lives lost.



Never had such a power swept the land. As unexpected as it was
devastating, magic had gathered like a storm in the south and burst out
in a searing brightness, laying all in its way in ruins. In its wake
remained now only an unnatural stillness.



A pair of ghostlike, clouded eyes stared out across the wasteland, blind
to the desolation before them, yet seeing it for what it had been and
what it would be. The eyes belonged to a slight, hooded figure, seated
hidden in the murky entrance to a narrow passage. Its trembling fingers
were clasped avidly around the worn, black leather of a book and its
back was pressed hard against the stone that still trembled from the
strain the unleashed power had put on the ancient charms that protected
the citadel of Llunawîrh, or what remained thereof.



The once imposing walls and towers of the citadel had for a long time
now been deserted to mere memories of greatness. Slowly nature was
reclaiming the ground on which it had been built and only the protective
charms of old still kept the stone from crumbling. The great citadel of
Llunawîrh had become a tomb, but for all that, it was still a
stronghold, a place safe from the power that had devastated all else.



The figure did not move when the air before it began to shimmer and melt
away like burning paper to reveal another place, a place untouched by
the wild, destructive magic that had ravished the land. From the
wavering portal emerged the slender shape of a young woman.



She stumbled as her bare feet touched the rocks and then fell, managing
to meet the rough ground with one free hand, the other she kept pressed
to the blood soaked silk of her dress. Behind her, the vision of a
narrow alley, where roses climbed across bricks and mortar towards the
sky, faded as the portal collapsed rather than closed. She remained
lying on the ground her shallow breathing slowly dissipating.



Then all was again as unnaturally still as before.



The figure clasped the book harder and drew further back into the
passage. It looked at the inert form lying all too still on the ground,
but did not appear to see it. It made no move to aid the wounded woman.



However, if it had, it might not have mattered. She seemed beyond all
aid. Her auburn hair, plastered to her pained face, was tacky with blood
from a cut on her temple and the hand still pressed to the wound in her
breast had been unable to hold back the flow from her heart and the
blood coloured the ivory silk and rich lace of her dress a dark, deep
red.



The bleak sky grew darker as the pale sun set beyond the mountains and
the day came to an end, tiny sparks of power still flitting among the
rocks.



In the entrance sat the figure still, waking and watching, the tome
clasped in an unbreakable grip. Night or day did not matter.

The body lay where it was, lifeless, while the dark settled over the
land. Her life seemed to have faded at length with the last light,
flowing out of her with the blood.



Then out of nowhere came a small movement – her fingers twitching
against the rocky ground and before long a small, choked gasp for air.
Her lips moved with no sound, as if she whispered a prayer to the night.



She weakly forced herself to rise, but merely succeeded to push off the
ground enough to fall to her side. A feeble sob escaped her and for a
moment she remained still, but then she pushed herself up again, this
time resting her weight on her elbows. Little by little she struggled
upwards until she was sitting doubled over on the ground.



Although still fighting to remain upright, she was no longer bleeding,
nor did she seem in pain. She appeared to grow stronger with each breath
as if the air filled her body with new life.



She stared out into the darkness and began to tremble as the fear and
shock took hold. A long time she sat, shaking in the dark, rocking
faster and faster. Then her voice raised up towards the starless night
sky in a scream of sorrow and rage.



The figure in the entrance stood up, ripped from whatever sway had kept
it from moving before by her chilling cry and it fled down the passage
like a spooked foal, book held close to its chest, knocking into the
walls and stumbling on uneven steps. She tore up from the ground at the
noise of its hasty flight and took off in pursuit, as much fleeing
herself as chasing.



The desperate hunt lasted through the ancient catacombs and passages
underneath the citadel, through unlit rooms of pillars and vaults where
dwelt the bones of past rulers in eternal rest. As they raced deeper
into the labyrinth of tombs the dark finally gave way to a faint light
ahead and when she eventually cornered her prey, it was in a room lit by
white flames that eagerly licked the insides of the crystal globes in
which they were contained and which hung in chains from the arches above
them.



Furthest into the room was a raised dais with a stone coffin. The sides
were decorated with the heads of fierce dragons and their claws were
clasping the lid as if they were living beings guarding whatever
treasure the coffin held.



Behind the coffin cowered a slight, gaunt boy, no more than twelve years
old, in his hands he held a book. Her eyes locked on the worn, black
leather and the chafed symbol on the cover. It had no name, but she knew
it all the same.



"There now… there now…" she coaxed gently, the child
flinched as though she'd shouted. "No need to hide, I shan't
harm you… We can't stay here…" she moved closer and the boy
drew back further. "He's here, isn't he?" she whispered.
"By Fate… you're still bound to him."



She sat down, resting her weary head against a pillar. The scent of
earth and stone surrounded her, made her drowsy. It took her an eternity
to realise she was falling asleep, but as soon as she did she forced
herself to wake up. Her eyes opened and the boy fell backwards, he was
so close she could reach out and grab him, but her arms were too heavy.



"We must get you away from here…" she mumbled. "You'll
die here, you're half starved already… or you'll be slain
for merely setting foot in here!" the boy merely regarded her in
silence, unhearing.



She managed to slowly lift her arm and held out her hand, palm open,
inviting him to take it and after a while he seemed to notice it and he
smiled, reaching out to place a small feather he had been holding, in
her palm and closing her fingers around it.



"No, don't you see…?" she swallowed. Of course he did
not see. He was far gone again, the now having no impact on him. She
struggled to sit up, refusing to give into the compelling need for rest.
"Selfish fiend, he should have set you free!" she took the boy
by the hand and he looked up, at first fear evident in his eyes and then
confusion, shifting into a smile and then she was forgotten again.



Without letting him go, she drew a circle in the dust on the floor and
then, stepping into it, pulling the boy to her side, she drew another in
the air. She doubted her strength, but there was no other choice. Not
knowing what else to do she laid her life in the hands of Fate and asked
for a safe place.



As the air melted away like burning paper the boy looked down at the
tome in his hand, he saw his fingers loosen and even as he fumbled to
regain his grip it slipped from him and then all was gone.



~*~


~*~ Chapter 1 ~*~

Breathless Summoning



Gerald Newtower turned the book over in his hands, thumbing the worn,
black leather. It looked old, but, unlike nearly all old books that
would choke you up with their stink of dust and mould, it smelled, to
Gerald, of earth and stone. He opened it, flipping through the pages
with a mien feigning disinterest. Hand written passages covered each new
leaf, broken off by intricate, colourful woodcuts showing elaborate
scenes of grand animals and people in various states of performing some
task.



An image of some type of fierce looking bird of prey caught his eye, it
seemed to be staring straight at him. He traced the outlines of the bird
with the tip of his fingers, a tremor going through him. It looked so
alive. His eyes flitted to the short passage next to the picture,
`Inducing alteration of the sentient order necessitate ethereal
luminescence of the intellect…' Gerald rolled his eyes; his
education extended itself to making him literate, but that was about as
far as he had ever bothered with school, unless you counted his natural
gift for sums, but that could hardly be blamed on the overworked sods
who had called themselves his teachers. He flipped through the book
again, the pictures were brilliant at any rate, truly captivating.



How had this book ended up in the Occult Emporium? Albeit Ferdinand Otto
knew where to dig up neat looking stuff, nothing Gerald had ever seen in
the shop had looked this real and if it did, it certainly wouldn't
be for sale. Ferdinand was nothing if not wise to his customers'
longing for true magic and as he had a flare for the dramatic, he would
certainly milk an object such as this for all it was worth. Naturally,
the book lacked a price tag, never a good sign in Ferdinand's shop.



He looked over his shoulder to see if he could find the tall, gangly
bloke, who were usually slumped over the counter with some magazine.
Ferdinand wasn't there though, he was chatting up a white painted
young woman in a long black dress, who seemed in awe of whatever dark
secrets he was inventing at the moment.



Gerald hung on to the book as he threaded his way between the shelves.
Apart from the standard candles, crystals and books that any occult shop
with a sense of pride would sell, Ferdinand had amassed a great number
of strange artefacts over the years and the shop was teeming with
trinkets of varying age and value. Most of it was probably rubbish
though, as far as Gerald could tell and half of it had nothing to do
with magic, but all in all it gave the shop a certain authentic
atmosphere. Besides it never reeked of incense or scented candles, which
Ferdinand held for flimsy and this was above all what made it attractive
to Gerald.



He grabbed a bundle of plain, white candles and a box of the advertised
"pure" chalk and headed over to the counter. A bundle of
pamphlets next to the register attracted his interest and he picked one
up as Ferdinand came sauntering over, giving the girl a crooked grin and
a wink as he rounded the counter.



"Hullo," Ferdinand greeted him casually, with a small, crooked
grin that always got on Gerald's nerves. "You going to the
convention?" he continued, nodding at the pamphlet Gerald was
reading.



"Nah," Gerald put it down with a barely visible shrug, "not
my scene." Not his scene and not within his means if it had been. It
was just a bunch of gits dressed up as druids anyway, none of them ever
truly interested in talking about anything that he felt was real.



"Janice took one," Ferdinand pressed, while he started punching
in the prices of Gerald's wares.



"Mm," Gerald ignored the innuendo in his voice, `just
friends' meant very little to Ferdinand Otto – meant very little
to Janice as well, as it were, so he'd stopped bothering to insist,
even if he sometimes feared he would eventually hurt her more by letting
the boundaries blur as much as they had, than by telling her to back the
fuck off him.



"Where did you find this?" he looked up and felt his breath
hitch as Ferdinand waved the heavy, black book in the air.



Of course, he shouldn't have hoped it would be for sale. He cursed
silently, he had really wanted it and for some reason it felt important
that he got it, an unexplainable urge that wouldn't be suppressed
and which would gnaw at him if he had to give up the idea. Still, he let
his face go blank, shrugging slightly and indicated the shelve to the
back of the shop where he'd picked it up.



"Huh, well, I didn't put a price on this, pretty odd book,
don't know if I want to sell it…" there it was, Gerald gritted
his teeth.



"How much?" Gerald heard his voice utter the words even before
he could think them.



"Uh, how `bout two hundred quid?" Ferdinand shrugged, but
gave him a look that told Gerald he knew well that would put a stopper
in his purchasing plans.



Two hundred pounds? Was he insane? Gerald had perhaps that much to spend
in a month, if that. To hell with it, why did he want the damn thing
anyway? It was just a stupid book that he'd never read anyhow. As
soon as he thought it a bitter taste began burning at the back of his
throat and he knew he had no choice, he knew that he couldn't leave
the shop without the book, it was as if his life hinged on it.



"Two hundred?" he breathed, taken aback by the intensity of his
whisper.



"Why not? I check stuff like this out online you know, I could
probably get a lot more on e-bay or something, but since you're a
frequent customer I guess…" Ferdinand said and raised an eyebrow.



Gerald swallowed, he might be able to talk Janice into bidding for him
on e-bay – he was a far cry from being able to afford a computer of
his own – but the price could soar and whether the book was actually
medieval or a fake, it looked cool enough for some bloody, rich,
American Gandalf wannabe to buy it on a whim and then it would be lost
to him forever.



The thought was almost physically painful.



"You know," Ferdinand continued glancing at the book with a
small frown, "you wouldn't know what to do with this anyway,
it's the real thing." He shrugged and turned an overbearing
smirk on Gerald. "Not something for you and your friends to play
your little games in the woods with. It could be dangerous, selling you
this, god knows what you'd conjure up with your silly rituals."



Janice and her big mouth. She'd been telling him about their
meetings in the glade north of town. Janice had gathered her more
recurrent acquaintances in what she referred to as a coven and
they'd usually sit around a small campfire getting acutely and
fatally enlightened drinking too much cheap wine with herbal rubbish in
it. Why he ever went along with her he didn't know, but she'd
usually turn her big brown eyes on him, letting her lower lip quiver and
make certain he felt like an utter arsehole for refusing her.



Thinking it was all nonsense himself was one thing though, being mocked
by someone whose livelihood depended on the patronage of gullible
seekers like Janice and her friends was more than he would take. Gerald
felt his eyes narrow angrily and knew he had to fight down the anger
before he hurt someone.



"Who the fuck do you think you are? Are you selling the book or
not?" he hissed clenching his teeth around the anger, but before he
knew it he'd wrenched it out of the other man's hands and
slammed it down on the counter.



"Oy! Easy! What's with you?" Ferdinand asked, glaring at him
in shock. "You can have it for a hundred and fifty, but I'm not
going lower!"



Gerald swallowed hard, struggling to overcome his frustration. He had
exactly twenty eight pounds, seventy on him, but that was supposed to
have covered the rest of the things Janice and the others were expecting
him to get for the meeting tonight as well as food for himself over the
next few days.



"I don't have that much now," Gerald felt himself flush at
admitting his deplorable financial state. "Please, I just… I
need that book, it's like…" Gerald didn't finish his
sentence, it wouldn't matter, when it came down to it Ferdinand was
a businessman and money was what really mattered to him.



"Then may the good spirits protect you if such a powerful book has
claimed your soul… let's come to an agreement, how much can you
part with?" Gerald looked up at him as if he had offered to fly to
the moon and bring him back cottage cheese. His mouth hung open stupidly
and before he could answer the girl in the black dress edged up to him,
looking intently at the book.



"That looks really old!" she said, voice filled with awe. Her
hand reached out to touch it, but Gerald pulled it away.



"It's mine!" he snapped before he could stop himself, then
he decided to act quickly, taking advantage of Ferdinand's suddenly
so generous frame of mind. "I'll give you twenty eight now,
it's what I've got on me… I'll, I'll leave you my
ring, you'll get the rest… deal?"



"I suppose…" Ferdinand looked hesitantly at the narrow, scuffed
metal band Gerald slipped off his middle finger. It was certainly old,
but probably not real gold or anything fancy, just a trinket after his
father. For a moment Gerald could only anxiously watch Ferdinand waver
between thinking with his tight fist and his knob, then Ferdinand
glanced at the girl and grinned, the latter getting the better of him.



"A deal then," he announced pompously, "but promise me, my
friend that you are wary of the powers this book holds and…" Gerald
threw the cash down on the counter and left hurriedly, before Ferdinand
could finish his theatrics.



The discord from the noisy street hit him like a whiplash and he
squinted in the intense sunlight; he had been inside the badly lit shop
for too long, making his eyes unaccustomed to the bright day outside. He
pressed a thumb and forefinger against his eyelids trying to rub some of
the sharp pain away.



"Oy, look! The vampire can't take the sun!"



Gerald cringed as the all too familiar voice reached his ears. He was
not in the mood for this. Stroking a lifeless strand of inky hair from
his face he pretended to check the time as if he hadn't heard.



They weren't giving up simply because he ignored them though, they
never did, never had. Since they were in school together Ted Dillon and
his little posse had made his life hell whenever they could; Gerald had
always been an easy target, slighter than most boys his age, asthmatic,
scrawny and awkward, but quick to anger and always trying to no avail to
fight his oppressors.



He felt the anger rising now and the frustration of knowing how feeble
it was made him even angrier, a familiar weight on his chest made him
keenly aware of the inhaler he'd left at home.



"How's your voodoo going? Any progress?" Ted Dillon called;
they were making their way towards him and his heartbeat picked up
gradually as they came nearer and nearer.



Trying to ignore them he started walking faster homewards, zigzagging
between the people on the pavement trying not to get knocked to the
ground. He held on to the book he had bought so hard his knuckles turned
white, not sure whether he was shielding himself with it or protecting
it.



A hand on his arm, a quick tug and the book fell on the street…
Staring up into the scornful face he felt the colour leave his own. Why
couldn't they just leave him alone? While Ted Dillon hooked one arm
around his shoulders in a gesture that mocked companionship and was
rather painful, his friend, Robert, bent to pick up the book; he leafed
through the first few pages with a ridiculing look.



"So, any spells on how to remove the zits for pizza face here?"
Ted laughed, rubbing his knuckles in Gerald's hair so sharply tears
sprang to his eyes.



"You fuck! Give me that!" Gerald twisted free sinking his elbow
into Ted's ribs.



It took him all of his strength to get loose and as usual whenever he
had to exert himself his breathing became strained. His attacks had
lessened over the years, he had learned to control them when they
happened, which was why at times, when he hadn't felt anything for a
time, he simply forgot his inhaler at home. Now slowly his breathing was
becoming more and more painful until he felt as if he was choking on
sand. Gerald realised he was going to be in a bad way soon and it was
going much faster than usual. He started coughing and gasping for air.
Every breath was a struggle and he clawed at his throat.



"Give me…" his words came out in a coarse wheezing as he
stumbled up to Robert, grabbing for the book.



Robert dropped it, cringing away from him, eyes large, the book bounced
once on the tarmac, falling open. He looked at Ted for instructions. The
other boys were all backing away and Ted rubbed his side, where
Gerald's bony elbow had left its impression and then he tossed his
head, an uncomfortable look on his face.



"Shit, fuck this, let's clear off!" he said and they
scattered like rats down the street.



Gerald fell to his knees, too weak to stand, no air found its way into
his lungs and his vision was becoming hazy. He sank down next to the
book, reaching out a hand. The bird's eyes met his from the open
page and for an instant he saw it move towards him.



"Help me…" his mouth moved to shape the words, but there was no
sound.



~*~



"Look, Gerald! That's a Merlin! Look, there it goes!" his
father's breathless admiration was infectious and as the bird soared
upwards Gerald let go of his father's hand, running up over the
hill, laughing and pointing.



"Dad! I saw it! I saw it!" he shouted and then he stopped, his
gaze following the bird until it vanished among the trees in the small
growth below them.



His father came up behind him and placed a hand on his head, ruffling
his hair gently. Gerald couldn't stop the joy bubbling up inside
him, the air was so clear and the brisk wind against his face made him
feel alive and as if, as if he could lift and soar away like the bird
just now.



"Dad, I saw it, I really did!" he sighed, a warm feeling
settling inside his chest. "It was great!"



"Mm," his father nodded and smiled down at him. "I
know."



They stood there in silence for a moment longer and then Gerald felt his
father's mood shift. It did that, so suddenly sometimes. He'd
smile and then he wouldn't. As if he thought of something sad that
made the smile go away. Gerald hated it when that happened, it made him
feel as if his father went away.



"Why's it called Merlin? Like the wizard in the movie?"
Gerald asked tugging on his father's hand to make him look at him,
to bring the smile back.



"Hm…? I don't know. I think I heard he could turn into
one…" his father still looked absentmindedly down the hillside.



"He turned into a bird? And could fly? That's brilliant! I wish
I could do that!" Gerald let his father go and took a leap into the
air.



"Do you?" his father asked quietly, then he smiled a little.
"Maybe one day you will… Like this!" he caught him up and
swung him around in the air – Gerald spread his arms out and
embraced the swooping sensation in his stomach as he put all his trust
in his father's strength.



~*~



His father's worried face was the first thing he saw when he opened
his eyes. Warmth flooded him; he was home, safe and his father was
there. He had come back, no, he had never been gone. Gerald reached out
a hand and his father touched it.



"I thought I was dead," Gerald whispered. His father didn't
reply, he merely smiled. It was such a sad smile, Gerald couldn't
tell what it meant.



His father leaned forward and the familiar, gentle face and its sadness
melted away and became another; a proud, arrogant face with hard
features as if chiselled out of stone. The face had an icy perfection
and its beauty was unlike anything Gerald had seen, the sharp jaw line
gave the man an unyielding appearance and the eyes, dark green and
fierce, as if lit by a fire, seemed to see straight into his heart.



The man placed a heavy hand on his chest and bent over him until Gerald
could feel his warm breath on his face, a scent of earth and stone
surrounded him and filled his chest with warmth, an unpleasant smile
curled the exquisite lips as his other hand came up and stroke his hair
away from his face. Gerald felt his mouth move, but couldn't make a
sound and then the other's lips met his…



~*~



Gerald jerked upright, yanking free the oxygen mask and tubes he was
connected to. His body was shaking and he choke on dry sobs before at
length he could make a sound. The room was a blur of dimness and bright
lights from a doorway. He fought against the coarse, restrictive sheets
until somebody grabbed him and tried to make him lie down. He struggled
against the grip, but then a voice broke through.



"Ger! Please, it's me!" Janice's face came into focus
and he drew a deep breath.



He could breathe! Relaxing, he finally managed to look at her and the
worry he saw made him very self conscious. He fell back on the hard
pillow and his hand found its way to his lips. The stranger's kiss
seemed to linger like a burn. But it must've been a dream.



"A nightmare," he mumbled.



"Yeah, you must've been dreaming something, you've been
tossing and turning… god, Ger, you scared me, I thought this was
it!" she launched at him, hugging him fiercely, but when she tried
to kiss him, he turned his face so her lips only brushed against his
cheek.



"Me too…" Gerald stared into the wall, away from her.



"I'll, I'll get the nurse…" Janice's hand trailed
over the covers and slid to her side, he didn't look at her and she
left the room.



Back in a hospital bed. He had spent enough of his life in one to be
thoroughly weary of the notion and everything about the stark room and
the clean, sterile environment brought back memories he would rather
expulse from his mind. He sat up gingerly, his breathing was free and
easy, as if he'd never had an attack. He wondered how long he'd
been out. They were bound to want to keep him for observation as usual,
but he'd be damned if he'd stay here. He got up and found an
overnight bag that Janice must've packed for him.



Janice had a spare key to his apartment and was the one he had listed as
person to contact if something should happen to him. It had made sense
at the time, after seeing one of his attacks personally she refused to
settle for less, and he'd told himself that she was the only one who
cared at all whether he lived or died. Later he had had second thoughts,
unnerved by the fact that she seemed to feel his surrendering to her
pleas brought them closer together, something he had no intention of
allowing to happen.



Still, there was no one else. His father… his father was gone, end
of story and he hadn't talked to his foster parents since he was
seventeen and they had, less than subtly, encouraged him to make it on
his own. The social services had never found his mother, or any record
of him ever having one for that matter.



He got dressed, slowly buttoning his jeans with a sore hand, he
couldn't remember having hurt it, but he didn't really know what
had happened after he blacked out in the street, only that image from
the book before it all went black.



The book! He looked around the room, a sense of dread creeping up
through him. Where was it? He wouldn't be surprised if the bloody
paramedics had just left it in the street where they found him. He
delved into the bag tossing the clothes about and then looked under the
hospital bed, under his pillow. His hands were shaking and he mentally
kicked himself for acting so damned irrationally.



He was vaguely aware of Janice returning, a moment later, a sturdy,
older nurse in tow. They both stopped and looked sceptically at the mess
he had made of the room scattering clothes and blankets all over the
place. He was shaking like an addict in withdrawal and had to bite his
knuckles to keep from flying into a panic.



"Ger…?" Janice began, but he wasn't listening.



"Where is it? Where's the book?" he nearly yelled, turning
around and staring wildly at her, his hope dying at the bewildered look
on her face.



"What book?" she asked worriedly, looking at the nurse, who
shook her head with a tentative shrug of her slanting shoulders, she
gave Gerald a onceover, her face getting a stern, probing expression,
while she assessed the situation with an experienced eye.



"Perhaps, ducky, you could do with a sedative…" she suggested
with the mild confidence that came with years of threatening to put
people out of their misery at needle point. Gerald gave her a withering
glare.



"My book, I bought it today, a black book!" Gerald swallowed as
he saw their blank looks. He knew he'd have to resign to the fact
that he'd lost it. "It's gone…" he concluded slowly and
he gritted his teeth against the rage, but it won out and he found he
was holding the bag in his hand and it flew into the wall on the other
side of the room. "I'll kill those fuckers!"



"Ger… maybe you should lie down, you're not well…"
Janice spoke soothingly, trying to calm him, which made him feel even
more frustrated.



"Oh, piss off!" he snapped, but then he saw the nurse moving
towards the door, no doubt to fetch someone very big and very persuasive
to convince him he most certainly could do with a nice little sedative.
He sat down heavily on the bed and gave her a smile that only succeeded
in becoming a sneer.



"What book was it?" Janice asked as she began gathering his
clothes up from the floor. "You can always get another…
right?"



"Fat chance that, I got it from Ferdinand, didn't even pay it
off yet, Jan, I owe him over a hundred quid! I doubt there's many
like it… it was old, with brilliant pictures! Woodcuts, looked
practically medieval!" as he spoke he could almost feel the book in
his hands, the texture and weight of it. He cursed himself for losing
it. He should have kept it safe.



But it was gone.



Janice had picked the bag up from the floor and gingerly she returned
the items he'd tossed about to their place. He watched her from the
corner of his eye, the nurse moved to check the equipment he had torn
off himself when he woke up.



He rose and took the bag, Janice meeting his eyes with a puzzled look.
He finished packing and then went for the door.



"Now, please, Mr Newtower, you shouldn't be…" the nurse
hurried after him. "Let me call the attending to see how you're
doing, please!"



"I can breathe, I'm leaving!" Gerald replied coldly.



~*~



The flat was cold and slightly damp, the heat wasn't working again.
He threw the bag on the floor and drew a small breath through his nose,
it smelled odd, not the usual bitter, spicy cooking smells, oozing in
from his across the hall neighbour, this smell was earthy, fresh, like
cold wet stone.



Gerald hit the light switch; nothing happened. He tried a few more times
and then he shrugged, power was out too.



"How long?" he mumbled.



"Two days," Janice moved past him carefully. "Picked up your
mail, there was some old food I threw out. I didn't touch
anything!" the look she threw him was guarded, defensive.



"Right, thanks," he said.



"Will you be alright?" she came closer a hand encircling his
hip, she leaned on him and he fought the urge to push her off. "I
can… I can stay, Ger, if you want…"



"Thanks, no, I…" he shrugged a little, shifting his stance so
she'd have to straighten up and then he moved over to the couch
where he sat down; the springs were weak. It folded out, which saved
space in his cramped little flat, it had only one room really, a room
and a kitchen.



Janice looked at him as if she wanted to say something – or cry.
When he thought about it she had been looking at him like that since
they left the hospital. It was getting to him. The last thing he needed
was her worrying and nagging, he'd snap like a twig and he
couldn't do that, she didn't deserve that.



She bit her lip and then she sighed once, giving it an exasperated
sound. Then moved in front of him, her hands on her hips and her face
scrunched up with grief, her posture revealing she was preparing for one
of her redundant appeals to his better self.



"What happened, Ger? They found you in the street, you were almost
dead!" she hurled at him.



"Doesn't matter, I'm fine!" he snapped back. "Just,
leave it, Jan, leave me alone!"



Janice shook her head, tears welling up and then she turned away from
him, covering her mouth with one hand and holding herself tightly while
fighting the tears. Gerald dropped his head in his hands and sat there,
staring at the greying carpet, listening to her quiet sobs.



"Why don't you just go?" he said, biting his tongue even as
the words came out, he hadn't wanted to say that, or at least not
like that. "I'm sorry, Jan, I can't… I just want to be
alone, please…" he added hoarsely.



"Fine! If that's what you really want! God, Ger, you'll die
alone one day you insensitive prick!" she shouted, hurt warring with
anger in her voice. He looked away from her and she gave up with a
wordless little shriek, slamming the door behind her as she left.



Gerald sank down face first on the couch and groaned inwardly, eyes
fogging up with unshed tears. He knew he was unfair, he knew she cared
about him, but it hurt, her worrying about him hurt like nails through
his bones. He didn't need her, why did she make him feel as if he
was letting her down when he wouldn't accept her pity?



"Stupid…" he didn't know if he meant himself or her.



It took him over an hour to get up again. He didn't sleep, but he
wasn't really awake either, the flat grew dark around him, shapes
danced in the shadows as cars passed the alley outside his single
smudged window. He lay there tracing the figures in the dark with his
eyes, thoughts wandering.



He'd dreamt about his father. It had been a long time – a very
long time – since he'd last dreamt anything from his past. He
shook his head against the cushions, but the creeping feeling of joy at
seeing his father's face wouldn't quite go away and he dug his
fingers into his arm as hard as he could, warning himself to stop it, to
stop feeling anything at all.



He closed his eyes against the pain and the shapes in the dark and tried
to focus his breathing, like he had taught himself over the years. It
came to him that he should feel worse, an attack like that, fainting in
the street, he should feel like dying, weak and powerless, like so many
times before. But somehow something was different.



The sudden, sharp tap on the windowsill burst him out of his lethargic
state and he rolled off the couch, thumping his knee on the floor.



He looked out the window, but there was nothing there, only darkness.
Rubbing his knee he gathered himself up and tossed another angry glare
at the window only to stumble backwards, breath catching in his throat.



Piercing eyes were staring at him from the dark, fiery eyes, eyes like
knives, eyes that saw into his heart and found his every weakness.
Gerald felt himself shivering uncontrollably, a weight pressing over his
chest, making it hard to breathe.



Then the cat mewed helplessly and pawed feebly at the glass.



Gerald drew a sigh of relief leaning his head in his hand. He pulled a
face, disgusted with himself for getting spooked by a common black alley
cat. Picking up a pillow from the couch, he gave the cat a twisted grin
before he chucked it at the window.



The animal didn't so much as flinch.



"That so?" Gerald stuck out his chin and walked up, rapping his
knuckles against the glass, but still the cat wouldn't move, it
merely folded its ears back and stared at him. "I'll chuck you
into the alley you little beast!" Gerald growled under his breath
and reached for the latch.



The wood around the window was splintered and swollen and it took him a
sharp tug to get it to slide open. He grabbed for the black cat, but
with a lithe leap it had jumped onto the floor beside him before he
could catch it and then onto the back of the couch, where it sat down,
folding its tail neatly around its legs.



"Oh no you don't! Get out!" he picked up the pillow from the
floor beneath the window and aimed it at the animal. He missed it just
barely, the pillow bouncing against the wall and falling onto the couch.



The cat flicked its ear once and then began to clean itself with a mien
of calculated nonchalance. Gerald fell back against the windowsill,
staring at it in amazement, then he started to laugh.



"All right, you win!" he stated, feeling a sudden cheerful
weariness. The flea bitten, little creep would almost certainly leave as
soon as he opened the door in the morning in any case so he had no
reason to battle with it. He shut the window with a bang and still
laughing he flopped down on the couch, hugging the pillow to his chest.
He looked up at the cat and then he sighed, looking into the air in
front of him. "But you should know I don't make a very good pet
owner… I had a pet goldfish once, I took it outside so it could play
in the puddle on the street…"



He felt the cat looking at him.



"What? I was four!" he snapped, the cat went back to cleaning
its fur.



He studied it for a moment; in the dimness it cast shadows on the wall,
making it grow larger. It wasn't black as he'd first thought,
even in the unlit room he realised that, but a dark grey. It had no
remarkable features about it at all, it was just an ordinary grey cat,
with an ever so slight tabby pattern in a darker shade. It's green
eyes were startlingly keen though, as it turned its gaze on him again.



"Want some food?" Gerald asked, the cat's ears turned up
straight and he laughed. "You understand every bloody word I'm
saying, don't you? Ah, let's see if Jan left us anything."



Gerald got up and went automatically to fastening the chain on the door
when he saw it was off before wandering into the kitchen. There were
certain individuals lurking around the building after dark, well before
dark as well in fact, that he didn't like the look of, and though he
knew he was unquestionably being insanely gullible in putting any trust
in the rusty link, the task of securing it made him feel an undeniable
sense of safety.



He tried the light switch and the ceiling light flickered on spreading a
low humming noise in the flat, the power was back it seemed, he wondered
for how long. He rummaged through the cupboards, coming up with some
meat preserves that looked like something a cat might eat. He scraped
them onto a plate and placed it on the floor. The cat sniffed it and
looked at him as if wanting to voice a complaint.



"This isn't the Ritz!" Gerald muttered and when the cat
still kept giving him the same look, he gave the plate a kick and
snapped. "I didn't invite you in, you know! Eat it or don't
eat it, I don't care!"



He went over and began folding out the couch. What was it about cats
that made you feel as if you owed them something? The springs in the
couch were old and rusty and the whole thing squeaked when he placed a
knee on the edge of it to pull the sheets across it. Having turned the
bed down he pulled off his jeans and let them fall to the floor.



Gerald glanced into the kitchen where the plate stood abandoned, food
untouched. He shook his head and turned the lights off. As he pulled the
covers up over his face he felt something bounce onto the bed and move
about before settling in the furthest corner from him.



~*~



Morning light sifted into the alley and broke through the dirty window.
Gerald woke unwillingly from his heavy sleep. Burrowing deeper into the
covers and snuggling closer to the warmth of the arm holding him, he
sighed contentedly, determined to sleep on.



Then his eyes flew open.



Heart racing, he edged backwards from the sleeping frame next to his.
His breathing became all the more uneven as his eyes flitted over the
naked pale skin, smooth like polished marble, and over the well defined
male abdomen and the small trace of coarse hair trailing in under the
covers. The man lay prone, surrounded by long, black hair; he had one
arm thrown across his eyes, mostly hiding his features, the other moved
slightly when deprived of Gerald's weight.



Gerald sidled off the bed and grabbed for his jeans, he was wheezing,
proving that the reprieve from his asthma the day before had been
temporary. He needed his inhaler – no, he needed a weapon!



Before either alternative became reality the man stirred. He stretched
languidly, brushing aside the flow of hair with one hand and sending
Gerald a brief arrogant glance, not bothering to cover himself as he
rose from the bed and moved over to the window, opening it in a fluent
motion.



Gerald grabbed for the nearest object he could reach, a candlestick
shaped like a dragon – a gift from Janice, he hoped he wouldn't
break it, she'd never let him hear the end of it. He raised it,
pointing it at the dark haired stranger as if he held a club.



"Who the hell are you?!" he managed to demand despite his fading
ability to breathe. "How the hell did you get in here?!" Gerald
swallowed hard, moving backwards slightly as the chiselled features
turned his way and the full attention of those penetrating, dark green
eyes hit him.



The man said nothing; he merely continued watching him with an
indifferent air and Gerald heard no sounds other than his own shallow
breaths in the silence. A condescending grin slowly spread across the
other's lips – it looked almost gentle, but as the man moved
closer, Gerald felt there was something quite feral in that grin.



He swung the candlestick through the air, but his wrist was caught with
one hand and slammed up against the wall and the man took a hold of his
jaw lifting his face upwards. Gerald found himself trapped in an
unrelenting grip, unable to break free. His own hand went limp and the
candlestick fell to the floor with a crash.



A scent of earth and stone filled his senses and the man leaned closer,
a curtain of black hair falling around them both. His grip hardened
around Gerald's jaw and their eyes met. For a dizzying moment Gerald
felt as if he were falling. He felt his mouth move, but couldn't
make a sound and the man leaned closer his lips brushing against
Gerald's.



"Breathe," he whispered and Gerald flinched, letting out a
breath that he hadn't realised he had been holding. The other's
smile broadened slightly. "No more than a boy?" the man
continued, his voice as deceptively soft as water. "Where's your
master?"



Gerald shook his head and cringed further away when he was let go. He
felt his wrist throb where the stranger had grabbed him and he threw a
look at the damaged candlestick on the floor before looking up at the
man in front of him. What was he?



"Answer me!" the voice was refined, sensual and husky, sending
shivers down his spine. It casually gave an order that the man had no
doubts would be obeyed immediately. When it wasn't, his eyes flashed
menacingly.



Gerald didn't give himself time to hesitate; he threw himself to the
side and seized the edge of his plain, plywood bookcase, feeling the
strain in his fingers as he tipped it forward, but not staying to watch
the result. He made for the door, heart in his throat and lungs aching.
He jiggled the lock and the chain and behind him he heard the books thud
to the floor, but never the crash of the falling bookcase.



He couldn't get the door opened and kept yanking the chain in
frustration, but casting an instinctive glance behind him, he froze. He
turned slowly, the hair on his arms rising; his back fell heavily
against the door, palms flat against it on both sides. His breathing
caused a strain in his chest as if someone was pressing down on his
ribcage.



The stranger had without effort caught the bookcase with one hand and
was laughing silently, only the quick, rhythmic movement of his bare
chest revealed it and the disdainful smirk that seemed to light up his
eyes. Gerald swallowed the bile that welled up in his throat as the man
unhurriedly leaned the bookcase back against the wall, never taking his
eyes of Gerald.



His gait, as he approached, was deliberate if casual and Gerald caught
his eyes travelling down the lean, powerful build and his cheeks flushed
with heat. The other's silent amusement burst out in a single
syllable and he stopped a few steps away. Gerald could feel himself
getting even hotter when their eyes met.



He forced the turmoil he was feeling into a hard knot inside and
imagined how he forced the anger into his eyes and glared coldly at the
man, who's own eyes thinned to slits before breaking into a wickedly
glimmering grin as he crossed the short distance between them and Gerald
pressed backwards breathing in sharply when a hand came up to cup his
face.



"Wilful brat! Boldness itself, aren't you?" the hand
lingered and then, tracing downwards, gently caressed his neck.



Gerald ducked away to the side, not getting far, but away from the
suggestive hand, that even as he started to move wrapped around his
black dyed tresses and gave his hair a sharp tug.



The man lead him back to the sofa by the hair and carelessly shoved him
backwards, placing a knee on Gerald's leg and then trapping his arms
above his head with one hand in a fluent motion. His hair fell down
around them and Gerald could sense the strange scent again – like
the cave by the lake… wet stone and earth… an echo of a dark
place came to him, a closed place where no light would reach.



"Unruly," the man smiled at him, almost friendly, "but not
unbreakable, I gather," at his words Gerald renewed his struggles
with abandon, kicking his legs and writhing like a fish on land. His
attempt was met with a mild chuckle.



"Let go! What do you want?!" Gerald managed to keep his voice
from shattering, but the effort it took him to breathe was still very
clear.



"Where, boy, is your master?" the man asked again in a crisp,
but quiet tone that revealed he was not going to stay patient for long.



Gerald twisted, but got nowhere. He was gasping for breath and cursed
his unreliable body for failing him. He realised he had to find his
inhaler before he got an attack and passed out – even if this
bastard were to call an ambulance for him he doubted he would survive
another attack so soon after the previous one.



"I… as… asthma… can't… please!" he tried to
make a gesture towards the bathroom where his inhaler was. "Get
off!" He pushed upwards, but only succeeded in bringing his face
intimately close to the man pinning him down.



A small frown furrowed the other's brow and then he stroke
Gerald's hair out of his face with his free hand and bent forward.
Gerald opened his mouth to object, but was forcefully silenced by the
stranger's lips closing over his.



Gerald felt the memory of his dream flood in as his lungs filled with
sheer warmth that burst him free from the numbing pain in his chest and
spread into his veins. He felt his head fall back on the bed and for a
moment he didn't know if what he felt was pain or pleasure, but it
overwhelmed him completely and he arched his back, gripping for the
sheets underneath him.



It was over before his heart had beat twice and the man stood, taking a
step back, giving him a rueful little half smile from above. Gerald
shivered as if from fever and, as he gingerly sat up, he could feel the
warmth lingering on his lips. He looked away, something in him felt
open, vulnerable and reaching out. The feeling made him feel almost
sick.



Gerald turned his eyes away from the man and doubled over, his arms
pressed against his stomach for a moment while the nausea passed, he was
aware of the man's gaze on him, but couldn't move. The growing
silence was stifling.



"I am Cassyon neu Maiuel," the man stated suddenly, the words
rolling off his tongue as if they were bound together, "I believe
you asked, and you, boy, have a name I presume?"



"What are you doing here?" Gerald said instead of responding.
With his strength returned his anger redoubled. "How the hell did
you get in here?!" he tossed his head back with a frown, glaring as
hard as he could.



The man returned his stare and the sour curl of his lip made the
beautiful face look almost human. Almost human – Gerald wonder where
that thought came from, of course he was human, but still he shivered.



"You opened the window…" the man said with a careless gesture
towards the opened window.



Gerald rose, a movement that made his head spin and knees buckle, but he
remained on his feet, only taking a graceless stumble forward. He had
closed that window. He knew he had closed it after the cat…



His eyes went to the plate by the kitchen door, food untouched. He
shuddered even as he snorted out a laugh. How incredibly stupid, who
could ever believe… He glanced at the stranger, whose green, sharp
eyes met his without blinking – fiery eyes, eyes like knives, eyes
that saw into his heart and found his every weakness. He sat back down
feeling the blood drain from his face.



"What… what are you?" he whispered.



"Quite a question to ask… after you call someone from their
tomb."



~*~

TBC