Chapter 1: Impulses
Author: Terraphim
Rating: Mature for sexuality and violence. This chapter is PG-13 at it's hardest.
Disclaimer: I don't own Selene, Michael, or any of the other characters mentioned. They are owned by Len & Co. and Screen Gems. I do wish I owned Michael, but that's for my own nefarious reasons…
Author's Note: I am so incredibly sorry about how long this took. I'm currently, concurrently workingo n chapter 4, 5, 6, and the epilogue (which will probably end up being around Chapters 14 or 15). Thank you for being so patient with me. The chapter was written three times. I hated the first two drafts. I jope you're not disappointed.
It was nearly three o'clock in the afternoon when Michael opened his eyes again. At first, he started at the unfamiliar surroundings, only coming to his senses and the present when he glanced to his side and saw his vampire companion fast asleep next to him. Realization came rushing back: he and Selene had arrived there after two days of an (nearly) uninterrupted trek down a mountain and halfway across the countryside. They were in a building that had once been the hang-out spot of those who now either dead in the demolished mansion or out hunting for them at that moment.
Why are we here? His brain demanded. Why on earth would she take us here?
But he already knew the answer to that. This had been Selene's home for who knew how long. With the knowledge of Viktor's deceit and the weight of his death, Michael knew she was seeking either comfort from the remains of the place that had so long turned a blind eye to the breaking of the edicts that Viktor himself had meted out, or she was in search of a kind of closure. Either way, he understood. Her explanation of gathering supplies, he knew, was nothing more than a convenient excuse for returning to this place of ash and death. She had wanted to see it; it was that simple. But obviously, she had underestimated what her witnessing the waste and destruction of her former home would do to her emotions.
Michael sighed and twisted, so that he lay on his side on the rather uncomfortable mattress, facing towards the woman next to him. It was then that he realized she wasn't sleeping as peacefully as he had thought. Her beautiful face was contorted into an expression of…what? Confusion? Despair? Even a look of joy, something he was decidedly not accustomed to seeing on her, flitted across her features before returning to something much more characteristic of the person he had become so close to in so short a time. But the most prevalent look on her face was that of pain. So much pain…
What is she dreaming about? He wondered, panicking slightly. Should I wake her up?
She started to cry, making a piteous noise in the back of her throat as a few tears escaped from her tightly closed eyes.
"Hey," he said quietly, running a hand gently through her hair and down her back. "Hey, it's okay."
Selene didn't wake, but her breathing became normal and her expression returned to a more peaceful version of itself. He continued to stroke her back, following the defined vertebrae gently so as not to wake her. When he eventually stopped, she let out a breath of protestation and moved against him. Smiling in the dark, Michael wrapped an arm round her and allowed himself to doze. He would ask her about the dream when he woke up…
He opened his eyes again several hours later when a metallic screech heralded the return of the night, the tight steel shutters that prevented any ultraviolet light from entering opening to reveal a cloudy night sky. Selene slept through it, either used to such an occurrence or just too exhausted to care. Michael suspected it was the latter – certainly the physically and emotionally stressful happenings of the last week had taken a toll to some extent. Her shoulders had dropped at every casual mentioning of Viktor especially. That bastard had lied so much that Michael knew with his death a sort of vacuum of purpose had been created in Selene. Her admittance of her not knowing what next to do had been a moment of true vulnerability for her. Michael suspected that before this mess and the truth of Viktor's betrayal was discovered, that Selene had prided herself on that sense of meaning that came from being a Death Dealer. This theory was more and more being confirmed for Michael; her disdain for the "civilian" vampires of the destroyed coven and her interaction with Tanis had made him see how isolated she had been even from her own kind, so engrossed in her mission to end the lycans. And her near-religious way of speaking about Viktor before finding out the truth about him had pointed to that isolation. That kind of blind devotion did not normally come with an affectionate relationship and she had seemed nothing but annoyed with her fellows.
But she had learned the truth, from another rat bastard vampire Just the thought of the dead Elder made Michael angry. The conflicting mix of her memories of idolizing and admiring Viktor and the all-too potent, raw ones that replayed the moment she had learned the truth about the death of her family had been transferred to Michael when she had bitten him on the freezing floor of the lycan den. They had lingered in his head, the pain of it tripling the physical pain of his final lycanthropic transformation. It had been that, for the most part, with a bit of Lucian's own hatred thrown in, that had inspired his rather graceless, if deserved, attack on the late vampire Elder. His thoughts had been clear and hard as diamonds, a succession of fear-driven impulses, flashes of memory adding to the rapid succession of emotions that had filtered through his overloaded brain.
Fear, pain, hurt. It's HIS fault. He hit her. He threw me through the wall. Who is he? Viktor. Vampire. "Elder". He loved Sonja. He KILLED Sonja. He loves Selene. So what happens next? "They'll kill you too, just for helping me." "I know." Lucian said...oh God. Selene.
The next thing he had known, he had been back in the sparse, cold room that he had been shot in, where she had bitten him, facing off against the much older and far more combat-experienced man, before shoving him into the wider, water-filled room. It had been a stupid move, in hindsight, but—
I'd do it again.
He looked at Selene, curled up against him, and realized that her fingers were wrapped around the pendant. It almost looked like she had studied it and had fallen asleep doing so. He had done this enough himself to know the details of it without even looking – how it was far too heavy to be pure gold despite its rich color and how the odd geometric shapes surrounding the green center stone looked like an ancient design that in all likelihood meant nothing at all. It had occurred to Michael how often Lucian had studied the thing, the only token of the woman he had loved he had left. He wondered if the lycan master had ever wondered what the mechanism that snapped open and shut was for, had ever wondered if Sonja had known. Had she known what it was for? Was that something her father would have shared with her?
Probably not, Michael decided. From what he had learned from various people about the personality of Viktor, Michael figured that the man had been no closer to his natural daughter than he had been to Selene – merely a distant, unapproachable man that parceled down affection when it suited his own needs.
His second-hand memories of Sonja didn't include any of interaction with her father at all. In fact, of the memories inherited from Lucian, only Sonja's execution showed any kind of relationship between the vampire Elder and his daughter. Lucian's memories had included separate recollections of both people; one of Viktor that especially stood out was an occasion of the Elder presiding over the "chastisement" (Viktor's word) of a slave that had accidentally injured his master's arm while helping the vampire don his Death Dealer armor. Other memories of Viktor were similar. Memories of Sonja mostly were much more peaceful. Sometimes it was her just talking or laughing. Several were of her sitting at the end of a long table, speaking animatedly about something, although Michael could not tell what. Only one recollection showed her angry, or perhaps it was irritated. Her eyes (normally a light brown-green, Michael could glean) glowed the same eerie blue that Selene's did on occasion and her fangs were bared. From the view of the memory, Michael thought that she must have been arguing with Lucian. This concept made their near-epic love story more credible – they had argued, had made love by way of reconciliation, had had moments of doubt, and had spent simple, quiet moments together, merely enjoying one another's company.
Selene had explained, in on the drive from the abandoned warehouse to interrogate Tanis, that for those unskilled in memory passing, what was transferred depended almost solely on the emotional state of the donor. That's why most of the memories inherited from Lucian were ones of Sonja; she was what he thought of most of the time. The moments of her execution at Viktor's order, of Lucian's escape into the night air, had been the start of the centuries-long war. At least, Michael assumed this was the reason. He couldn't be sure. What he did know was that Lucian's hope had been that Michael would be the last Corvinus candidate, would be the one whose blood would end the war and save the lycan species. When the lycan had sunk his teeth into Michael, he had hoped that this would herald the end of that war.
Luckily, these terrible memories with their violent accompaniment of emotions had subsided to a slow trickle rather than a flood. The memories of both Lucian and Selene had become more settled in his brain, no longer jostling with his own consciousness. But they still remained. Sometimes, a memory from one of them would surface, hitting Michael with a blast of external, inexplicable pain, or anger, or even the occasional blasts of happiness, all of which made him want to plant his head in the snow in an attempt to numb the onslaught of feelings that were not his in the first place. He was attempting to develop a technique to suppress them, although he could not yet say if he was approaching success. But he suspected that, like they had already begun to do, the memories would eventually move to the back of his mind.
Or he could just ask Selene. But he felt so foolish, so young, asking questions of her all the time. She handled his enquiries patiently enough, but he still wondered if he annoyed her with the constant asking. He already had a library of questions, most of which he would never ask, just to keep from looking like a moron. Most of them centered around one main theme. I'm never going to get the hang of all of this, he would think miserably, and then remember an important little fact about his new life. Oh yeah. I've got time. I'm immortal.
That was, without a doubt, the scariest fucking thing about all of this. Everything else – lycans, vampires, the fact that he was now a fugitive from the law – was nothing compared to the sheer overwhelming knowledge that barring more foul play from ugly bat monsters or possibly a nuclear blast, he was never going to die.
Ever.
Holy shit.
He was never going to age; never suffer the broken hips, arthritis, or even gray hair of maturity. It wasn't that he particularly wanted to die, but this concept was frightening simply because he, like everyone else on the planet, had been preparing for it since childhood. And now he would never have to go through all that.
He looked at Selene again. She talked about centuries so nonchalantly, like they were nothing at all. And for her, they weren't, simply increments of time by which her life was measured, like years had been for him.
Michael wondered what he could be like in a century or two. The immortals that he had interacted with so far – Selene, Lucian, and Tanis mainly – didn't act like he would have expected people who had lived for hundreds of years to act. Sure, there was that indefinable aura of the wisdom that someone would need to develop over such a long time, but more than that, there was this confidence, this sense of "I know something you don't know" that all three (especially Tanis, although Michael suspected that was his personality anyway), had given off. Would he gain that attitude? Did all immortals have it? Corvinus's personality had seemed to consist entirely of that assurance, but he had seemed amazingly blind to the big picture.
In his arms, Selene began to stir. She raised her head, looking around at first as if confused. Like he did, she needed to remind herself where they were. When she remembered, she dropped her head again on the pillow.
"Hi," he said softly.
"Hello," she responded even more quietly. "How long have you been awake?"
"Not long; the sun just set."
Burying her face in his shoulder, she nodded.
"Hey," he said, combing his fingers in her hair. "What happened?"
She looked up at him, a miserable look on her face. "I had a…dream, about the twins."
He furrowed his brow. "Your nieces?"
Her head shook slightly. "I wish."
It took him a moment to realize whom she was talking about, and then it all clicked into place. The Corvinus twins, Marcus and William, the sons of the man his own thoughts had just dwelled upon.
And the men, the things, they had killed.
"Why did you hesitate before you said 'dream'?" he asked, but as he did, he realized why she had. He winced. "Selene…"
"I didn't know, until then." She looked like she was going to be sick.
"What was the dr…the memory of?"
"Their birth," she said softly. "And their first steps. It was fascinating but sickening at the same time."
The birth itself or who was being born? He refrained from asking this. "You saw it through his eyes?" Michael asked, too uncomfortable to say his ancestor's name.
Selene nodded. "He was thrilled," she said, looking like her thoughts had led her far away. "Twin sons – a blessing even as the midwives whispered of curses."
Michael was puzzled. "I don't understand."
She blinked and suddenly looked more focused. "Twins," she said, "were considered to be bad luck, an ill omen for the coming times." She snorted derisively. "I guess those superstitious old women were right in this case."
Michael thought for a moment about this. In the hospital, he had only once been present at the birth of twins. All he really remembered of the experience was wondering how the mother had found the strength to deliver two children, when so many women were wiped exhausted just bringing one into the world. "How'd that start?"
Selene let out another sarcastic laugh. "I have no idea. The unfounded fear of anything unnatural was rampant back then. I never fell for it, though." She let out a sigh. "I remember being so angry with the woman who helped my sister deliver her daughters. She actually yelled at Grace, who was still sweating and bleeding on the bed, that she had 'brought down the devil' in our village. She strung these ridiculous amulets around the girls' necks, all the while muttering about twins and curses."
He gave her the briefest of smiles, easily picturing this much younger Selene, her quickly losing patience with the people that wasted her time. "How old were you? When they were born?"
"Seventeen," she shut her eyes, as if embarrassed that she had ever been such an age. "Anyway, I can't even fathom what kind of memories Corvinus passed to me, or how many."
"What do you think triggered it?" he asked.
She shrugged. "I have no idea. It could be the timing, but I really don't know."
When Selene had bitten him, penetrating his throat with her fangs, albeit more tenderly than Lucian had, her thoughts were of Viktor's machinations on that stormy night he killed her family. In her brain, the holes in the story had been filled; the vague, unconscious recollections of the worst night of her life rushing back to her in full force. This mental anguish had passed from her brain into Michael's blood, the vampiric strain of his ancestor's virus rushing through his veins with it.
Jesus, it was no wonder his first cognizant thought upon opening his eyes as a hybrid had been to kill Viktor. The rush of jumbled, chaotic thoughts that weren't his had made him view the Elder with an all-consuming loathing.
Alexander Corvinus was a different case entirely. If age had anything to do with the clarity of blood memories, as Selene had alluded to, than it was possible that she would be getting completely lucid recollections from his ancient ancestor. Who knew what he had passed to her in the moments before his death?
He had called her "the future"; had he also given her the past? It was a frightening thought, for her sake.
Selene saw that Michael had outright concern on his face. "Are you going to be okay?" he asked.
She smiled softly. "I'll be fine," she assured him. "It's just one more change to adjust to."
"But if you got his memories, how can we be sure that—"
"It's fine," she repeated. "I'm not even getting them when I'm awake."
He did not look convinced. If anything, he looked even more worried.
"What is it?" she asked him.
"I just…Alexander was very old, right?"
"He was at least fifteen hundred," she told him. "I'm not sure of the date—"
"Exactly," Michael replied. "That's a lot of time, a lot of memories. Who knows what he gave to you? It's overwhelming…"
At that, Selene realized what was troubling him. His own experience with blood memories had been decidedly unpleasant for him. "Michael, I understand what you went through. But you got used to them and—"
"No. It's not that," he said. "All I saw, again and again, was Sonja burning. For the first two days, that was pretty much all I saw. Torture, pain, and fire. And that was from a man who was seven hundred years younger than Corvinus. And he was a warlord. And the father of those psychopaths. I can't even..." He grabbed her shoulder, as if he was to yank her out of harm's way. "I watched you having that dream. That was probably one of the more pleasant ones, and you looked like you were in excruciating pain." He shook his head and cupped the side of her face with his hand – the side that had been scorched by the sun only days before. "I'm relieved you can't burn like that anymore. But not everything he gave you is as beneficial."
By the time he reached the end of his speech, Selene was stunned, like she had been hit by a truck. It was as if he had read her own worries without her even having to utter them. But beyond even that, the earnest expression on his face undid her entirely.
"I'm alright, Michael. I really am." She tried to say this in a sure tone, and would have succeeded, if not for her staggering awareness of this man's concern. Her voice betrayed her, dictated by her surprise at how protective he was of her.
Her attempt at verbally assuring him failing completely, she grabbed the fingers that continued to touch her face and stared their owner in the eye. Believe me, Michael, she thought. I am worried about this, but not as much as I am about our multitudes of other problems.
He nodded as if he had heard her. Selene half expected him to utter an "I know."
Instead, he ran his thumb along her mouth and whispered, "We're going to be okay, Selene."
She nodded, more out of hope than actual agreement. We could still die – a year from now, tomorrow. Who knows?
Michael continued to gently caress the side of her face. She pressed against his hand, all the while keeping eye contact with him. The two stared at each other for several long minutes. His green eyes darkened and she pulled him to her for a real kiss.
They undressed each other slowly, never breaking eye or lip contact for more than the seconds it required to discard their shirts. As she drew her legs around his hips and felt the mattress against her back, it occurred to Selene that this was the first time they were making love on an actual bed, as opposed to the convenient surfaces they adapted for such a use. This unexpectedly appreciated element added a sense of validity to their union, and she let out a gasp of a laugh against his mouth at the thought. Or perhaps it was a reaction to his touch. Whatever the reason was, it hardly mattered, as it was a long time before she had another rational thought again.
"We can't stay here." She said it so softly that Michael at first wondered I he had just imagined it.
He nodded into her dark hair, but said nothing. Neither of them moved.
"I know I said that we'd be safe here for a few days, but I think that we should get moving to stay ahead of…" Her voice trailed off, but she spoke again. "We need to go soon," she continued to whisper.
"Yeah," he agreed, just as quietly.
Still, neither of them stirred. Michael made no attempt to release her from his arms, nor did Selene seem to make any effort to free herself. Long after their heart rates and breathing had returned to a more normal rhythm, they stayed in the bed, unwilling to move from their temporary haven with each other and into the cold, brutal world that wanted them both very dead.
But they knew they couldn't stay there; until they were certain that they were no longer being hunted, they couldn't stay anywhere for long. And Michael could hazard a guess that such a state of existence wouldn't begin anytime soon.
However, they eventually pulled themselves from the bed and each other and began to prepare.
While Selene disappeared down the stairs, Michael pulled on his clothing and was tying his boots when he took notice of the table to the side of the bed. Selene's various weapons were scattered there, surrounded by extra clips. Next to this lay the two bags of cloned blood that Selene had put there the morning before. Hesitantly, he picked one up, studied it as the thick liquid sloshed in the plastic under his fingers.
Michael was, of course, no stranger to units of blood such as this. However, never before had the sight of one made his stomach loudly protest its state of emptiness. Nor had his previous uses for such ever involved what he did now. He bit is lip, considered for a second – it is cloned blood, Michael; it's not from anyone – and twisted the cap off the appendage tubing in the plastic. There was another moment of hesitation before he brought it to his lips.
It was the temperature more than the taste that made him uncomfortable; it was tepid and thick. Despite this, he drank it with a sense of purpose; if he had to do this, he might as well get used to it. Yet, at the same time, he began to feel gratification, although he wasn't sure if that was from the blood itself or the dwindling ache of hunger. The taste was just…right, somehow.
"Michael."
Startled, Michael twisted. Selene stood in the doorway, wearing a satisfied expression and a new, shining Death Dealer suit. She held the matching corset in her hand. Michael quickly swallowed what blood was left in his mouth and stood up. He knew that she considered drinking blood perfectly normal, but he couldn't shake the feeling that he had just been caught doing something inappropriate.
Sensing his guilt, she patiently shook her head and held out her free hand for the blood. He gave it to her and watched, fascinated, as she raised it to her own mouth. It occurred to Michael that he had never before seen her do this. He had known she had fed in the woods, but as he had been occupied with other thoughts at the time, he hadn't really considered that fact, that aspect of her vampirism. As she fed, as the blood passed her perfect lips, she shut her eyes in obvious pleasure. He looked intently at the rather sexy picture it made, and his fingers itched to touch her again. Selene opened her eyes, must have realized how freely he was staring, and immediately tensed her shoulders. Michael was secretly enthralled when the most subtle of blushes rose in her cheeks. Avoiding his eyes, Selene handed the bag of blood back to him and went to retrieve her guns.
She cleared her throat. "I'm proud of you."
"For what?" he asked, passing the blood between his hands.
"For feeding without my encouragement," she said, trying to regain some of the composure she obviously thought lost, by loading one of her handguns with a new magazine and holstering it at her hip. "It's one less thing to worry about, you not eating."
He shifted uncomfortably, but he had to agree with her. "I had to think about it for a bit," he admitted hesitantly.
She looked back at him before sheathing her silver-edged knife into her boot. "That's understandable," she replied, "but you'll get used to it. Enjoy it, even, eventually."
He nodded, not yet willing to admit that he had enjoyed feeding, even if it was just a little bit. But the look Selene gave him told him she knew anyway. He shrugged, and finished off the blood.
The satisfied look returned to her eyes, and she moved back to the door to pick up a black arms bag she must have left there. Inside, Michael could see at least two dozen more magazines, a handful of odd, heavy-looking silver disks, glow sticks, and what looked like another Death Dealer uniform. She grabbed the clothes she had slept in off of the floor and stuffed them in the bag as well.
Michael glanced outside. In the light cast by the waning moon, he could see a scattering of white fall gently to the ground. He turned to Selene and found her wrestling with the leather corset, having what looked to be extreme difficulties with zipping it up in the back. She looked decidedly annoyed.
"It's new," she said, "never been worn. It takes at least three days of constant wear to get these damned things pliable enough to get them on without a fight."
He walked over to her. "Here." It wasn't as difficult for him to zip the thing, as he had the advantage of not having to reach behind to do so. "Is it worth it?"
She twitched her shoulders. "More than that; it gets very convenient. The suit's waterproof; this thing is mostly bulletproof."
"I see," he said. The top of the zipper reached, he was unable to resist the urge to run his fingers along her shoulder blades. "There you go."
Her back twisted so she could accustom herself to the confining garment. She looked back at him, and then ducked her head. "Thank you," she said softly.
He didn't say anything, merely ran his fingers through his hair once and walked away to retrieve his jacket. But he snuck a glance at her, found her biting her bottom lip in an obvious attempt to conceal a smile, and outright grinned at her.
A few minutes later, all the equipment was collected. More bags of blood had joined their extra clothing and Selene's small armory in the bag. Michael grabbed it and nodded upon her inquiry of if he was ready to leave. They descended the stairs of the gatehouse, and it was as they were passing the second level that Michael heard it.
The sound of movement over gravel instantly made him tense. Selene froze instantly as well; they both knew full well what it was: someone was outside the gatehouse door. The vampires had found them.
Selene grabbed for the guns holstered at her hips. A glance at her eyes confirmed his own suspicions; they were bright blue.
What do we do? He asked himself, despite knowing the answer perfectly. They would fight. They would win. It was that simple.
Michael felt his nails sharpen into claws, felt the familiar itch that meant his eyes were turning black. A soft rumble of a growl came from his throat when he exhaled. He nodded to Selene, and they both continued to move silently down the rest of the steps, until they stood right in the door.
Selene turned to him, to look directly in the eye. "Try not to kill too many," she said quietly. "We need to know what they know."
He nodded; his ability to speak was vanishing because of his teeth burgeoning into outright fangs. But before it was gone completely, he voiced his own order. "Be careful."
Now it was her turn to nod. She stepped forward and pressed her mouth against his, kissing him in a hungry, desperate fashion. Her kiss was so powerful, in fact, that when she broke away with the same abruptness of her approach, Michael's awareness was temporarily fogged. He shook himself out of his daze only when he heard the sound of feet on the gravel outside again. She nodded again, and kicked the door open.
There was no one there.
What? Michael glanced around. There were no people in sight. There was also smell to indicate the presence of any other vampire than Selene, although that could easily be blamed on the freezing night air laying any smell to almost near non-existence. Selene looked confused as well. What was causing that sound?
A soft whine startled him. He looked at the ground. Three of the coven's guard dogs, the ones that had so unceremoniously chased him off the property the night of Lucian's bite, were crouched at Selene's feet. One had a scratch across its snout, while the other two had singed fur. However, none of them appeared to have any serious injuries.
They were the ones making the noise, Michael realized. I wonder how they got out of the fire. It was no matter, though. If there were any vampires that had survived the horrendous blaze, they were not around. Michael's nails receded back into his fingers and his teeth shrank.
Selene sighed, relieved. "Never mind," she whispered. "Let's go." He walked towards the garage. Michael made to follow her, hesitated, and opened the door wider, allowing the confused, homeless former guard dogs to take shelter inside the gatehouse, away from the bitter cold of the night air, and the snow that was now beginning to fall in earnest.