The Adventures of Vella Pt. 01

Author's Note: this is a new series, picking up several years after the events of my other series, The Fall of Vella. There will be more stories in that series soon, but for now, enjoy this one!

Part One: Dust

In this part of the world, there was a great deal of dust, Vella noted. It had a habit of drifting up from the ground in great plumes, the breeze whipping it against a walker's body till it wormed its way into your every crack and crevice. Broad rivers and a web of streams, canals, and ditches meant the fields were green and fertile, but the roads that wound between them were dry, dusty affairs. Even with a cloth wound over her face, Vella could taste the dust on her tongue, and it was impossible for any army -- or even a pack of brigands -- to move quickly and in stealth. The hooves of horses and the boots of men threw up so much dust that even the most short sighted of town guards could see the plumes from miles away. So when Vella wound her way up to the walls of the town, the guards were already waiting for her. The town's walls were short, and mostly wooden -- far from the stone redoubts of the north -- but they were fronted by stake-filled ditches, and the guards were no fools. They weren't pointing their spears at her, exactly, but nor were they pointed away. They kept the tips low, but she could read the tension in their bodies plainly, their hands ready to heave the spears up and forward if she proved to be just another bandit, ready to steal from the relatively wealthy towns.

"Lower your hood." one of them barked. "And show your face!"

Vella pushed back her hood, then unwound the cloth that covered her nose and mouth. She moved slowly, keeping her hands a reassuring distance from the hilts of her weapons. She shook her hair out. It fell to the nape of her neck, and her hair -- roughly bleached by lye and sun -- was an uneven mixture of dark and light, the colours writhing messily as she shook the dust from her scalp. She could feel the guards' eyes on her. An armed woman, travelling alone, was a rare sight, this far from the Sisterhood. Here, the Sisterhood was not the disciplined, regimented organisation it was to the north: it was rare to find a sister, and they had no strongholds to speak of. Only roving Sisters, and fallen ones. Vella held up her empty hands in a pacifying gesture, palms out.

"Peace, brothers." she said. "I mean you no harm."

The guard's gaze slid over her, taking in her armour. Her mail was folded in her pack, but she still wore a jerkin of boiled leather over her shirt. Her breeches were patched and mended roughly, but her boots were expensive, and well cared for. She watched the guard's eyes linger on them, before they returned to her face.

"What business have you here?"

"I come to hunt beasts." Vella leaned forward, letting him see the silver on her spear as it glinted in the sun. "I heard tell of a contract in this town."

At that, one of the guards snorted. "Aye, you and every mother's son." He hefted his spear, returning it to his side, and waved toward the gate. "Very well then. Mind your business about town. We'll have no violence here." He had the slow, stretched accent that marked him as a southerner, his Rs stressed so strongly it was hard to suppress a smile.

"You'll get none from me." Vella said with a bow of her head. "Is there an inn of any repute here? I need something to wash the dust from my throat."

The guard nodded, jerking one thumb over his shoulder. "Near the town square. 's called the 'Duck and Feathers'. Nice ales."

Vella nodded her thanks, walking smartly between the guards, into the town. The dust swirled about her boots as she passed through the gate.

Part Two

After a night in the 'Duck and Feathers', Vella felt almost human again. The food was simple, but filling, and the ales were as good as advertised. For a reasonable price, the innkeeper's daughter had shown Vella to a room strung with hammocks, only half of them occupied. She had refused their offer of caring for her belongings, and instead passed the night with her belongings wedged beside her in her hammock, one arm through the strap of her pack. In the morning, a few coppers had bought her a linen rag and a basin of hot water, and after scrubbing the dust from her body, Vella felt cleaner than she had in weeks. The innkeepers son had walked in on her bathing -- 'accidentally' of course -- but when he saw her axe, he was wise enough to turn on one heel and exit as quickly as he had entered. Now, with her axe on one hip and her spear across her back, Vella ducked through the low door of the magistrate's office.

Inside, a thin, reedy woman, dark of skin and hair who was almost lost in a flowing burgundy robe sat behind the desk, her attention focused on papers, parchments and scrolls piled before her. She looked up when Vella entered, her eyes focusing on her over the top of the desk. There was something steely in her gaze that reminded Vella of the Mother Superior, enough to send a shiver down her spine. It gave her the same feeling of being skewered on a board like a captive insect. Vella gave the woman a nod of greeting.

"Is the magistrate in?"

"They are indeed." the woman replied promptly. Her voice was dry and nasal, but she had the same stretched accent as the town guard.

There was a long, awkward pause.

"May I... see him?"

The woman sniffed but otherwise didn't respond. A fresh silence stretched between them, even tenser than the last. Vella used the time to study the woman's clothing, her eyes eventually settling on the badge embroidered on the front of her robes.

"Ah." Vella said after a moment. "I see.". She could feel herself blushing.

"I hope you do." the woman sniffed. "Now. What business have you here?"

Grateful for the opportunity to move on, Vella leaned forward against the desk, indicating the spear over one shoulder.

"I heard there was a contract here, for a monster. A popular contract, I gather."

"You gather correctly." the magistrate nodded. "It remains unfulfilled."

"How many have tried?"

The woman gathered her robes, sitting stiffly upright. "I'm not at liberty to say."

Vella groaned. She hated subterfuge. The more they told her, the easier this would be.

"Can you at least tell me how long the contract has been open?"

"Three years." the magistrate admitted. "And two months."

"Three years?" Vella gasped. "You've had an open contract, for three years?"

"And two months, yes."

"Is the pay poor?"

"Certainly not. Upon successful completion of the contract, the redeemer is entitled to one-tenth the value of those items recovered."

"Items recovered?" Vella frowned. "Is this a monster hunt or a tax dispute?"

The woman smoothed the front of her robe, her hand lingering on the emblem stitched into it. "His lordship issued a contract for a monster hunt, did he not?"

"He did." Vella agreed. "So unless it's a dragon atop a hoard of gold -- and we live in a fairy tale -- there's nothing to claim. Monsters don't have money to steal."

"Recover."

"Recover. Fine. Monsters don't have money to recover. So this is a waste of my time."

Vella turned on her heel, striding toward the door.

"A thousand."

Vella paused mid-stride. "Fifteen hundred."

"Twelve fifty." There was a flicker of hesitation before she spoke.

"Fifteen hundred." Vella insisted.

When there was no reply, Vella lifted one foot, stepping slowly forward.

"Fifteen hundred." Came the begrudging reply.

Vella turned, trying to stifle her grin. Fifteen hundred silver stars would go a long way to solving many of her issues. That much silver could cover a year's rent on a modest home in some out-of-the-way place. Or, if she was lucky, afford her enough income to take on an apprentice. Either would go a long way to keeping her one step ahead of the sisterhood. Even here, almost as far from their reach as it was possible to be and still meet another human being, she was in no doubt they followed her. Either there was someone on her tail, or there was someone in this town who would sell her out for a lot less than fifteen hundred silver stars.

Vella stepped smartly to the magistrate's desk, allowing herself a small smile. The woman did not return it.

"So what's the contract?"

The magistrate snatched a piece of parchment from the desk and flipped it onto the raised portion in front of Vella with such practiced fluidity that Vella was momentarily reminded of watching the Mother Superior unsheathe her swords. A quill had appeared in her off-hand, which she offered to Vella.

"Sign on the dotted line, please."

Vella did not take the quill.

"What?"

"It's the one at the bottom, with the dots."

Vella scowled. "I know that. What's the contract for?"

The magistrate's lips pursed to the point of invisibility.

A neatly filed nail tapped the parchment.

"Sign there, please."

Vella gritted her teeth. "What's. It. For?"

The magistrate sighed.

"I can't tell you that."

"Is this why nobody has completed it? Because they leave when you won't tell them?"

"Certainly not."

"Then you're not telling them because nobody would be fool enough to fight what you're asking them to."

The hesitation in the magistrate's response told her she'd nailed that one.

"Will you tell me what it isn't?"

The woman sniffed.

"Once, yes."

Vella bit her bottom lip.

"Is it a lycan?"

"It is not." the woman said promptly, and for a second there was something in her eyes that might have been recognition, but Vella was too filled with relief and disappointment to care. She wouldn't have to break a contract - but nor was she likely to find what she was looking for. She was startled from her momentary reverie by the sharp tap of the magistrate's nail on the parchment.

"Will you sign it now?"

"Seventeen hundred."

The woman tapped the parchment again, and Vella swore softly as she scrawled her signature across the dotted line. The moment she lifted the quill from the page, the magistrate snatched it from her, blowing softly on the ink to dry it. Then it vanished up her sleeve, disappearing into her voluminous robes.

"It's a vampire." she said smartly.

"Fuck off." Vella said, her mouth hanging open. "How old?"

"We don't know."

"Fuck off." Vella said again. A single human had about as much hope against an experienced vampire as a fly did against an aurochs.

The woman sniffed again. "You signed the contract."

"The only people who take that job are either desperate or stupid."

"Which one are you?"

Vella bit back the reply that bubbled up. There was nothing for it now. She needed to remain here, out of the Sisterhood's reach, and if she broke the contract, they would hunt her down just as easily as the Sisterhood. She knew it, and she was pretty sure the magistrate knew it too.

"Do you have any information on it?"

"Certainly we do."

"Go on."

"He lives in a large manse, south-west of the town. There's a carriage path you can follow."

Vella gawked. If the vampire was living in the open - and having carriage paths built to his home - it was only because he was powerful enough to feel safe.

"Why do you want him dead?"

Normally, that would be rather straightforward: vampires weren't human, and as a result, needed to die. That was the thinking of the Sisterhood, and therefore the thinking of everyone else. This far south, however, it was less often the case. Without the influence of a religious cult, people tended to be more pragmatic. Vampires rarely bothered others: they were stubbornly independent, and most shunned extended human contact.

"Unpaid taxes." the magistrate said promptly.

"Excuse me?"

The magistrate nodded. "The lord -- and his predecessors -- have levied a tax on all citizens. Those who do not pay promptly are penalised. Fined or jailed. This individual has resisted all attempts at penalty, refuses to pay a fine, and cannot easily be jailed." That last part was practically spat out.

"You want me to kill a vampire because he didn't pay his taxes on time?"

"Indeed. He is some three hundred years overdue."

"Three hundred years?" Any vampire over a hundred was a problem. Trying to kill one over three hundred years old was almost impossible. "How can you even be sure it's the same one?"

The magistrate rolled her eyes, but nodded to a series of hide-bound volumes, perched on a high shelf behind her. "We have records."

"You keep his tax records in those books?"

"Those are his records." the woman sniffed. "Others are elsewhere."

Vella whistled as she took in the size of the debt. There were over a dozen ledgers on that shelf.

"He must be wealthy."

"Very." the woman admitted. "A ten percent share will more than compensate you."

Vella inclined her head as she thought it over. She had almost no chance of killing a vampire as well established as this one. After three hundred years, he would be almost invulnerable. Still, it was the almost that intrigued her. Even if she couldn't finish him off, she could likely survive an encounter. Either she'd kill him, and be rich, or rob him, and be rich enough anyway not to care about the contract. It was risky, but she was desperate.

"Fine." she grunted.

Something that might have been relief flitted across the magistrate's face before she inclined her head in a brief nod.

"Very good. The armourer will give you what you need."

Vella jerked a thumb over her shoulder at her spear.

"Already have it."

The woman looked at the spear and grimaced. "Meet with the armourer."

Vella shrugged. "Where?"

"There's a lamper outside. Just a moment."

The woman tipped her head, sifting through the papers on her desk. After a moment, she retrieved a sheet, and scratched several words onto it in in spidery black writing. She produced a seal from a drawer, softened one corner over a candle, then affixed it to the corner of the sheet. She blew on the wax, then handed it to Vella. Vella took it, squinting to make out the words.

"Give him that." the magistrate explained. "She'll know what to do."

Vella nodded. "My thanks."

"Good luck."

Vella bit back the urge to say she wouldn't need it. She had a terrible feeling it would be a lie.

Part Three

Vella found the lamper exactly where the magistrate said he would be: reclining against the front of the magistrate's office, one foot on the wall behind him. His torch, unlit in the daylight, dangled from one hand, swishing idly. He was a young lad, twitching with impatient energy.

"Hail." Vella said. "There's a copper in it for you if you bring me to the armourer's. The magistrate said you'd know the way."

The boy turned and spat into the dust. "Two coppers."

Vella scowled. "I could find it myself, you know. Or give you a clip round the ear."

The boy grinned, a mouthful of yellow teeth. "Could do. But seeing as they're paying you fifteen-hundred, I think you can spare two coppers." He twirled his torch like a baton.

Vella's scowl deepened. "You little eavesdropper."

The boy shrugged. "What about it then?"

Vella dug into the pocket of her cloak, and flipped him a copper coin. "Another when we get there."

The boy snatched the coin out of the air, stowing it in a pocket. "Right you are miss. This way, please."

The boy lead her down the street, then into an adjoining alleyway, winding between the buildings. Plainly, the lord was unconcerned with regulating the builders. Shacks, shanties, and more established buildings were crammed into every inch of available space. In places, the paths were wide and paved, while in others they were little more than narrow tracks squeezing between buildings, bloated upper-stories jutting out over their foundations. Before long, she was glad of the boy's guidance. He walked quickly, never once pausing to consider the quickest path. At a junction, he never hesitated, plunging swiftly down one laneway, pausing only for her to catch up. He swung his unlit torch by his side, whistling to himself as they walked. She had known less savoury lampers to lead their charges into ambushes, where waiting thieves and cutthroats would give a portion of their loot to the cooperative lamper. For his part, however, the boy simply led her swiftly through the warren of streets, until they emerged into a broad laneway, a row of shops and stalls facing a row of homes.

"Third on the left." the lamper said, using his torch to point. "Want me to wait?"

Vella shook her head. "Is there a gate near here?"

The boy nodded, pointing down the street. "The southern gate is down there. Just follow the road."

"My thanks." Vella said. She fished two more copper coins from a pocket and tossed them to him. "You're a good lamper."

"I know." He flashed her the same yellowed grin as he snatched the coins from the air, and vanished back into the warren he had guided her through.

A sign bearing an anvil swung in the breeze as Vella stepped through the open door of the armourer's stall. Inside, armour hung on racks, gleaming in the light that streamed through the open windows. Weapons lined the walls: mostly swords and axes, but here and there a mace or a morning star broke up the pattern. As she entered, a door to the rear swung open, and a man stepped through, cleaning his hands on a rag tucked into his leather apron. Perhaps forty years old, he had a long face, under a shaven head but above an ashen beard, while a lifetime at the forge had given him a permanently sunburned complexion. He was shorter than most men, but wider than almost all of them.

"Well met." He huffed.

Vella held up the parchment the magistrate had given her. "I come at her request."

The armourer stepped forward to inspect the parchment. When he raised a hand, Vella let him take it. He ran his thumb over the seal and chuckled.

"Got a name?"

"Vella."

"Vella." he repeated. "Well, Vella, lets hope you last longer than the rest of the damn fools she sent after him."

"How many was that?"

The armourer shook his shaven head. "Too many." He rolled up the parchment. "I'll keep this. Need to, to get what I'm owed."

Vella nodded.

"I see you have weapons." he said with a nod toward her spear.

"I do. The magistrate seemed insistent, however."

He grunted. "She's right to be. You won't kill him with that. Not for long, anyway."

"So what do you recommend?"

The armourer took a key from his apron, and used it to unlock a drawer under one of the many weapon racks that ringed the room. He pulled the drawer out, pulled something from it, and tossed it to Vella. She caught it deftly, holding it out to examine it. It was a heavy leather shoulder belt, with three long wooden cylinders held tightly in its loops.

"Stakes." She said. "A spear doesn't work?"

He shook his head. "Not even silver alone will do the trick. Look those over."

Vella slid one of the stakes from its slot, turning it over in her hand. It was made of light-coloured wood, the surface smooth and glossy where it wasn't knurled and engraved. One end was a fat bulb of carved wood, squashed flat at the end, whilst the other end had been shaped into a smooth, sharp point. When she turned it over to inspect the point, something at the tip shone in the light.

"Silver?" she said, twisting it in her hands, letting the light play over its polished surface.

The armourer nodded, crossing his arms across his barrel of a chest. "Mhmm." he said, his voice full of pride. "That's yew wood, it is, with a silver core. Runs through it. Won't break till the stake does."

Vella turned the stake over. Sure enough, the flared base of it had a silver centre, like a flattened coin.

"Why polish it?" she asked. "Hardly seems worthwhile. Same with the wide base. Just a flourish?"

The man harumphed. "Hardly. Smooth finish, so it sinks in easy. No snagging. As for the base, well, it's easier to hit it. He's hardly likely to lie there and let you line it up."

She nodded, conceding the point. "Good work."

"Thank you." he said, nodding.

"Ever see any use?"

He tilted his head to one side. "Some."

"It works then?"

"It does."

"On one as old as him?"

The man grimaced. "Not yet, anyway."

Vella shrugged. "We'll see."

"Need a mallet?"

She shook her head, patting the head of her axe on her belt. "This'll do." The butt of the axehead was as good a hammer as any, she'd found. It dented armour and rung helms like a bell.

The man nodded slowly. "You get it in him, you leave it there." he said after a moment. "You hear? Don't go pulling it out. Ram the thing in, and leave it."

She nodded, deep enough it was almost a bow. "My thanks."

He grunted, and she took that as her queue to leave.

By the time she reached the southern gate, it had already begun to rain, the first rain she'd felt in weeks. It began as a patter of slow droplets, splattering against the earth. By the time she reached the gate, her boots were caked with the grey paste the rain made of the dust. The guards -- a man and a woman this time -- stopped her, but when she explained the nature of her journey, they gave her no more than a chuckle and a stern look.

"He's southwest of here." the woman said. "No more than an hour's walk. Follow the road, then take the left branch after the hill. That'll take you right there."

Part Four

The rain continued to fall lazily, enough to wet her cloak, but hardly enough to soak her. She kept her hood up to ward it off, but the wind threw it in her face, and after a while she relented, tossing back her hood and letting the rain wet her hair. The strands clung to her face till she peeled them back. She passed few travellers on the road: traders and performers, and once a merchant caravan, their wagons bristling with armed guards for the long journey overland. The guards gave her a hard stare, but when she kept her distance, they passed her without conflict.

After the hill, she took the branch. The path here was less well kept than the main road, but smooth enough that it must have cost some expense. The furrows carved by the wheels were lined with crushed stone, and the briars either side of it had been trimmed back recently. She trudged along it, meeting no one for the three-quarters-of-an-hour it took her to make the journey. The manse came into view quickly.

She had never met a vampire, but from what she had read they inhabited remote, guarded manors. Fences and gates kept visitors away, while armed, well-paid guards kept anyone more persistent away. A vampire was a powerful creature, but one who was usually above doing their own fighting. For reasons unknown to her, most established vampires were wealthy. Perhaps it was the serene patience that came with immortality. Perhaps it was magical means. Either way, they were wealthy, sometimes beyond measure. And wealth brought connections, and connections brought protection: both physical and political. Even to the north, the Sisterhood loathed vampires, yet rarely moved against them directly. They chipped away at their connections -- a poisoning here, a bribe there -- until the web of power and protection that surrounded a vampire was slowly peeled away like the layers of an onion. Only then did the Sisterhood make their move, sending a dozen veteran Sisters or more to slay the thing. What they did not do, Vella reminded herself, was march up to the vampire's manor with a belt of stakes and hope for the best.

The manse was not what she expected. There were no walls, and no guards that she could see. She crouched on the road, using a rise in it to hide herself as best she could, and watched the house for the better part of an hour. It was a three-storey building of light stone and mortar. It had half-a-dozen chimneys, and lights blazed in each of the windows. The building stretched across the open space it stood in, a single front giving way to two wings at the rear, stretching back across the ground toward the hills. The lower floor was sunken into the earth, the windows only half visible. Servants quarters, she guessed, and kitchens. The top floors would be for the occupier. As she watched, she saw movement through the windows, little more than a flickering of light. She approached cautiously, and as she grew closer, she could make out people in the rooms: a maid in one room, stooped and cleaning something Vella couldn't see.

When she was a hundred yards from the door, she paused. There were no guards, but marching up to the front door felt like a bad idea. The sun overhead, but that was little comfort: a vampire of any considerable power could tolerate it for far more than the few minutes he'd need to deal with a single intruder. The manse was situated in a deep hollow in the earth, the spill heaped up where Vella stood in an earthen dam. There was a deep ditch around it, broken where streams and paths were cut through. After a moment's thought, she crouched and leaped into the ditch, landing with a splash in the half-inch of water at its base. She trudged through the mud, letting the earthen dam shield her from the house, circling it slowly. In places, she ducked under bridges or clambered over paths, until she came upon an opening in the dam, leading to a stoud wooden bridge that was scarcely five feet long. She leaped up, grabbing the edge of the bridge, and was about to hoist herself over it when she heard the tramp of approaching footsteps. Stifling a curse, she let herself fall, landing as quietly as she could.

Vella dove for the bridge, tucking herself into its shadow and pressing herself to the side of the ditch. Overhead, there came the drumbeat of a single pair of feet, followed by an inhuman gait. She paused, and once the feet had moved off, slid forward, clambering up the wall of the ditch until she could peer over its edge. No more than ten feet away, a man was walking, a large dog by his side. That explained the odd, animal gait. The man had a bow slung across his chest, and a quiver full of arrows hung on one hip. As he walked, he stooped to pet the dog's head.

"We'll catch something nice for our supper, won't we lad?" he said, fussing with the dog's ears. "A rabbit maybe. Or a duck!"

The dog barked, and the man chortled to himself. Vella let herself fall back into the ditch. She waited beneath the bridge until she was certain they weren't coming back, then clambered out. The man and the dog were gone. Grunting to herself, she turned, crouching on the bridge as she studied the manse. On this side, there were no grand entrances. There was, however, a small, unpainted door, set into the side of the building. A servant's entrance, she guessed, and less likely to be guarded. She moved toward it, moving in a low half-crouch, as quickly as she could.

Once at the door, she pulled her axe from her belt, and tried the handle. The door opened easily, moving on well-oiled hinges. She poked her head through. When nothing tried to chop it off, she followed after it, slipping inside. She was in a narrow, stone-floored hallway. Coats and hats hung on pegs, and there were a number of doors off to each side. Moving slowly, Vella made her way to the nearest of them. She pressed her ear to it gingerly. She heard the murmur of conversation, the voices high-pitched enough that they could only belong to women. Behind another, she heard the deep bass rumble of someone snoring fit to wake the dead. She left them to their slumber with a smile.

At the far end of the corridor, she found a twisting staircase. It was made of stout, smooth stone, circling upward. She climbed it slowly, always ready to leap back at the sound of descending footsteps. Yet there was nothing, and she reached the top without disturbance, her axe still gripped tightly in one hand. The door at the top of the stairs was open, and beyond it was a hallway, the only light coming from the tall windows. She stepped gingerly into it. She glanced downward, grimacing as she realised she had been leaving a trail of muddy bootprints behind her. She was getting sloppy. Too late to act on it now. On one side, the hallway was all windows, running the length of the building. On the other were doors: large double doors, and spaced between them smaller single doors. She went to the nearest room, pressed her ear to it, and listened.

It was as silent as the tomb, but as she listened, she heard the sound of footsteps on stone, ascending quickly up the stairs. For a second she froze, then swore to herself, turning the handle and slipping through the door in a rush. She eased it shut behind her, as quickly as she could, then pressed herself to it, praying they hadn't seen her. The footsteps neared, but didn't slow: they moved quickly past the doorway. Whoever they belonged to either didn't see the footprints, or didn't care. They moved on, their footsteps fading until she heard a door open, then shut. Only then did she turn and see the room she was in.

The first thing she noticed was the light. The room stretched the width of the wing, and the windows on the far side were masked by heavy curtains, drawn so tightly not a mote of the bright afternoon sun came through. But the room was awash with light, so saturated with it it almost hurt her eyes. It took her a moment to realise where it was coming from. Torches lined the walls, but where there should have been a flame, there was only stones. Precious stones: emeralds and sapphires nestled inside a glass cup, shining as brightly as the mid-day sun. All along the dining table, broad enough for her to lay across and long enough for two dozen to dine at, were fine goblets of precious stones. Diamonds and fire-opals shone with a clean white light. Even in the fireplaces, dull coals were dotted with rubies that shone and danced like flames. This single room held more wealth than Vella had seen in her entire life. No wonder the lord wanted him to pay his taxes: this room alone would feed a town for years. Slowly, Vella made her way to the table, her eyes never moving from the stones, flitting from one overflowing goblet to the next. A single place in the middle of the table was set, the goblet at it darker than the rest. She approached, and leaned forward to see what precious stones it held.

There was nothing in the goblet but liquid: a dark, sanguine liquid which had stained the walls of the goblet a deep crimson. She realised with a jolt it was blood.

"Beautiful, isn't it?"

She whirled, one hand reaching over her shoulder for her spear, snapping it free of its holder and bringing it to bear in a single, fluid motion. Her other hand raised the axe, held high to slide down into her opponent.

Standing at the fireplace was the most beautiful man she had ever seen. She hadn't even heard him enter. He was inhumanly pale, the skin above his prominent cheekbones almost translucent, while his face was devoid of even the hint of stubble. His eyes were an unnatural orange, like flakes of amber set in the pale stone of his face. His clothing was formal yet oddly dated: breeches of black fabric above white stockings and turnshoes of soft, oiled leather. He wore a shirt of pure white under a shortened surcoat of pure black, the sleeves of it hanging over slim, elegant hands. His frame was slender, narrow shoulders moving with a cat's grace as he leaned one elbow against the mantle, only half-turned toward her. His hair was the only hint of age: it had once been solid black, but by now was run through with streaks of silver, clashing with the relative youth of his face as it ran past it to hang at the nape of his neck. Whoever had turned him had frozen him in time, cursed or blessed with a face that would never be older than his mid-thirties.

"I'm afraid you caught me at lunch." he said. He spoke as if they were friends: his voice was soft, and he lacked the accent of the locals. Somewhere, deep in it, was the hint of an accent from distant lands, or distant times. Vella took a slow step to one side, her spear trained on him. He was no more than ten feet from her.

"You're him, aren't you?" she said slowly. "The vampire."

"I am." he said, dipping his head in acknowledgement. A few strands of hair escaped from his ears, where he had obviously combed it, and hung around his face. Slowly, he pushed them back. "My name is Diamus." he said.

"You know my name?" She took another half step to the side. He was between her and the door, but if she could just reach the window...

"I do. I also know you took the contract. I must say that fifteen hundred feels awfully low. I'm insulted."

Vella's face tightened into a snarl, one corner of her mouth upturned.

"The lamper. One of yours?"

"Just so." Diamus said. "He says thank you, as it happens. For the coppers."

She resisted the urge to spit. "I'll pay him a visit on my return."

"Your return?" he said, inclining his head. "With or without my corpse?"

"With." Vella said.

He snorted, tilting his head to track her as she took another step to the side. "I dare say you will. Was that the idea? Drag my corpse back to town, and count your riches?"

"More or less." Vella kept the spear trained on him, but risked a glance at the windows. Were there shutters, behind those drapes? Or could she leap through it?

"Well, you know what they say about best-laid plans."

He was speaking almost in her ear. She snapped her head back. The vampire stood close enough that she could reach out and touch him, her spear almost tickling his stomach. Gods, but he was quick. She hadn't even heard him moving, just felt the tickle of displaced air. She couldn't risk another step to the side. The only way out was forwards.

He stepped aside from her spear-thrust almost lazily, turning his body so the tip of her spear slid harmlessly past him as she drove it forward. She was already pirouetting, swinging her axe down, hoping to trap him between spear and axe. His hand moved in a blur, and her blow stopped as if she'd struck a boulder. Diamus gripped her wrist in one hand, the axe trembling as she tried to wrench herself free. A single strand of silver hair had worked loose from behind his ear. It was the only indication he'd moved at all. He raised an eyebrow, looking at her chest.

"Are they for me?". She felt a twitch at her chest, and a second later he was holding one of her stakes, turning it over in one hand. He raised it to his face, sniffing it.

"Is that yew?" he sniffed. "And, let me see..."

He released her arm, taking the stake in both hands. His arms flexed, and the hardened wood shattered as easily as a matchstick. The silver core bent, the metal shining in the crystal's light.

"Silver." he finished. "Well, I can't fault Pater's work. He knows his craft."

"The armourer too?"

The vampire nodded. "I have many friends. They keep me safe. I keep them rich."

Vella grunted, lowering her arm slowly, then jerking it up quickly, hoping to surprise him. He twitched aside, the axe hitting nothing more than a strand of hair. It fell to the ground between them slowly, the vampire watching it go. With a hiss, Vella took a step back, pulling up her spear, swinging the broad blade of it toward his face. He ducked under it in a flash, the blade sailing over the crown of his head. She snapped it back, then thrust it forward, but he reached out and caught the haft of it, his grasp immediately halting it. He sighed, and tugged on the spear, letting the ruined remains of the stake fall from his other hand. The spear was wrenched from her grasp as if there were an oxen pulling on it, and she stumbled forward after it. She looked up just in time to see his face, one hand scything down in a backhanded blow. He looked almost bored.

Part Five

The first thing she became aware of was the tickle of air on her skin. As she awoke, she resisted the urge to open her eyes, or to test her muscles. If he thought her asleep and helpless, so much the better. Instead, she simply lay there, trying to discern what she could. There was no noise in the room, but there was a distant low murmur which might have been rain. She was naked, she knew that much: the tickle of air she had felt on first waking was too much for her still to be clothed, and she could no longer feel the reassuring weight of her armour on her body. There was gentle pressure on her wrists and ankles. Fetters and cuffs, she guessed. Too soft to be steel, so likely leather. The surface under her body was firm and unyielding, but too smooth to be stone or unfinished timber. It had to be wood, oiled and polished. Through her eyelids, she could make out bright light. She hadn't moved far, then: if she had to guess, she'd say she was still in the room she'd entered, cuffed to the long dining table. It was easily wide enough to accommodate her. Her head didn't hurt too much, and for that she was grateful: he had known just where to hit her to render her unconscious without damaging her skull. She could simply lay here, gathering her strength, and waiting for the ideal moment to make her escape.

"You can open your eyes now."

She had to suppress a smile at that one. Did he think her a fool? Pretending to sense her waking, and trick her into admitting her ruse. The oldest trick in the book. Her breathing was slow and steady, her muscles relaxed. She looked the picture of sleep, and she knew it.

"Your heartbeat rose when you woke. You've been awake for several minutes now."

Still, she kept her eyes shut. Could he hear her heartbeat? It was possible, but unlikely.

"Dum-dum. Dum-dum. Dum-dum."

He was counting in time with her heartbeat, she realised. She could hear it in her ears now, and he was perfectly in time with it. Reluctantly, she opened her eyes. Instinctively, she moved a hand to shield them against the light, only to grunt as the cuff dug into her wrist. She blinked, her eyes adjusting until she could make out the ornate plasterwork across the ceiling.

"That's better."

She tucked her chin to her chest, craning her head until she could stare down at her feet. They were spread apart, a thick leather cuff around each ankle. A cord stretched from each cuff, over the edge of the table, and out of sight. Presumably, it was anchored to the table's beams or legs. She twisted her head to one side, and could just about make out similar cuffs on each wrist, leaving her spreadeagled on the table. She was naked, as she had thought: there were no marks on her skin, no cuts or bruises, but she was as naked as the day she was born, her spread legs leaving nothing to the imagination. Her clothes and weapons were heaped on the table, safely out of her reach. The leather belt of stakes, one missing, lay draped across the top, as if it were taunting her.

Tilting her chin to her chest again, her open legs framed Diamus, standing an arms breath from the table. He was watching her, but his amber eyes were unreadable, his expression blank.

"You'll have to forgive the nudity." he said. He almost sounded as if he was genuinely sorry.

"Thought I'd have a stake up my cunt?"

At that, the corner of his mouth twitched. "It has happened. Seduction is a common tactic."

When he didn't speak again, it fell to Vella to break the silence.

"If you knew I was coming, why not stop me?"

The vampire shrugged. "Boredom. It's been a long, long time since a Sister hunted me. I thought you'd be more interesting."

"I'm not a Sister." Vella grunted. "Not anymore."

"Ah." the vampire said, one eyebrow raising. "Now that is interesting. You're Vella. The Vella."

"The Vella?"

"Indeed." he nodded. "When last I spoke to another of my kind -- from the North, you understand -- he said the Sisterhood's gaze had shifted. He was no longer watched. They were tracking something, someone else. But that was some time ago."

She grunted. "You didn't realise it was me?"

He shrugged. "I thought it was possible, but unlikely. Why would a former Sister take such a dangerous contract? I would have thought you'd have been smarter than that."

She considered lying, then discounted the idea. As long as they were talking, she was still alive. Better to string him along, than get caught up in a lie.

"Money." She admitted. "I needed money."

"Money?" he scoffed. "How mundane. There are easier ways, you know."

"Not for this much." Vella said, shaking her head. She let it fall back against the table, staring up at the ceiling. "Not in one go."

"What will you do?" he asked. "Buy a castle?"

She shook her head. "An apprentice. Food, and shelter, and arms and armour for an apprentice."

"An apprentice?"

She grunted. "I have goals. The Fall of the Sisterhood, for one. You can't do that on your own."

He was silent for a moment. When she looked up, he was smiling for the first time.

"That is true." he said. He grinned, exposing lengthened incisors. "That is true."

"So either kill me, or let me go." she said. "I have things to do. If I leave now, I get make it a fair distance before they realise I won't fulfill the contract. If I'm lucky, they'll think I'm dead."

He fell silent again. After a moment, she heard the swish of fabric, and grunted as she hefted her head up with her stiffening neck. Diamus hadn't moved, but there was something in his hand now. Gemstones, she realised. Two rubies, and a sapphire, as big as marbles. He rolled them idly in his hands, the gems beginning to shine as they spun over his skin. His fingers flexed and twitched, rolling them back and forth. One ruby slid forward to the point of his finger, then rolled backward at a miniscule twitch of his finger, joining its mates in his palm again as they rolled in circles, clacking quietly against one another. He didn't so much as look down. He played with jewels like a lesser man played with prayer beads, rolling them between his fingers. As they moved, they began to glow brighter, like miniature suns in the palm of his hand.

He saw her looking, and smiled.

"Pretty, aren't they?".

Suddenly, another stone joined them, rolling in the palm of his hand: a diamond the size of a plum. It too began to glow, the white light streaming out of its facets.

"What's the trick?"

He tutted.

"No trick. Simply practice. Practice, and a little magic."

The stones sped up, almost blurring across his palm as he directed them with a twitch here and there.

"You never wondered why my kind covet stones?"

"You covet wealth."

"True, but none more than stones. Even the Sisterhood knows: stones hold power."

This was true: precious stones could be imbued with power. But it was rare that a human mage had enough power to imbue a stone, and it had fierce little purpose: at best, it served as a reservoir, a temporary store of power to be called upon in an emergency, and almost no human had the combination of wealth and power to make use of one. Easier to spend your days practicing.

"For humans, perhaps not." he said, as if he had read her mind. "But for us?"

There was a sudden flare, the stones in his palm glowing with such intensity it hurt to look at them. He grinned, his fangs shining in the light. The swirling lights made a kaleidoscope of his eyes. Then a second later, they dimmed, nothing more than glowing embers in his palm. With a sweep of his arm, he indicated the room, one gesture taking in the hundreds of twinkling, glowing stones.

"The sum of my accounts." he said. "Built over some three hundred years."

"Gods." she said. "I can see why they want you to pay your taxes."

He rolled his eyes. "You think I'm a fool? I pay my share."

"Then why is there a contract?"

He nodded to the room. "You think any man sees these riches, and settles for a fair share?" He shook his head, his black hair swinging gently. "He wants it all. My wealth outweighs the danger, or so he thinks."

He turned his hand, and Vella waited for the stones to scatter across the floor. Only they didn't: they clung to his hand like lodestones, rolling as smoothly across his skin as if they were upright. As she watched, the diamond rolled across his palm, slid upward onto the back of his hand, and continued across his hand, sliding down the other side to rejoin its fellows, sliding over his skin.

"Now that is a trick." he said, grinning at her obvious surprise. "And a good one at that." He took a step forward, his gaze narrowing, and Vella was suddenly reminded of her nakedness. She was too proud to blush, but her thighs tensed instinctively, her legs tugging on the restraints.

"Here." he said. "Try it."

He reached his hand out, and at a flick of his wrist, a ruby fell from his hand, landing on Vella's belly. She twitched, but the stone didn't move. It clung to her skin like sap: there was no stickyness, but even as she moved, the stone hung on her skin as if fixed in place. It glowed brightly, and she realised she could feel its light: it was humming somehow, ringing like a struck bell. It was a high frequency, ringing against her skin in a way that almost tickled. She looked up from the stone, and Diamus was grinning down at her, watching her.

"Perhaps you're more interesting than I thought." he said, tilting his head. "Less... innocent than your fellow Sisters."

She grunted, turning her gaze aside as if he bored her. His grin only widened.

"Oh, come." he said. "Don't be so cold."

His touch made her start despite herself, his fingers grazing her belly. His hands were cold, his skin firm, and he angled his fingers against her belly, the stones sliding fluidly onto her stomach, nestling beside the ruby. Concentrated like that, the hum of their energy made her skin tingle like a thunderstorm, a prickle that made her shift uncomfortably.

"Quite something, isn't it?" Diamus asked her. "It's a trick, but it has its uses."

He reached out for her, and it took everything she had not to shy away from him. If these gemstones were his reservoir, than he was far and away the most powerful mage she had ever encountered. Yet when he touched her, he was almost gentle. True, she could feel the power humming in those finger tips like caged lightning, but there was a gentleness to him like a well-trained hound. His hands slid over her thighs, fingertips brushing just past her slit, then found her belly. He spread his fingers, his skin as smooth as porcelain, until he had the stones between his fingers, the jewels humming and glowing as he fed them.

He took a ruby in each hand, dragging them smoothly over her body as he slid them upward and her breath caught in her chest as they buzzed over her skin. They met her breasts, and she sighed, shifting against her restraints. He shushed her, pushing the stones upward, and she bit her lip in anticipation. Even knowing it was going to happen, the touch of the stones against her nipples made her jump, the restraints creaking in complaint. It was like tiny bolts of lightning breaking against her skin. Her nipples stiffened immediately, pressing against the precious stones as he slid them in circles, gliding over her breasts. Each touch of them to her nipple made her gasp. It felt like tiny pinches, pinprick-heat against her skin, and she groaned as he pressed them against them, the stones humming on her breasts. He slid them forward and back, caressing her nipples with them until her cheeks were flush, her legs moving unconsciously as she began to shift with the pleasure of it.

When his hands drew back, the sensation never lessened, and when she lifted her head to look down, she saw her breasts capped by the rubies, clinging firmly to her nipples. As she watched, their light flared, their humming song raising in pitch, rippling through her skin.

"Nnngh."

"I know." he purred. "I know."

On her belly, the sapphire and the diamond still lingered, their lights dancing as he drew his hands down toward them. At his touch, the stones hummed eagerly, fizzing on her skin. She was wet, she realised. Her cunt was soaking, almost leaking onto the table at his touch. A few years ago, she might have been embarassed. Now, she was only hungry. If this made her interesting, this made her safe. And it felt right: the touch of him, the restrained strength in his every move, and the stones persistent song against her skin. That the Sisterhood had resisted this, had hidden it, was baffling. Stranger still that she had believed it for so long. Now, strapped to the table, writhing at Diamus' touch while her cunt ached, she had never believed it less.

When his hands moved downward, dragging one of the stones with it, a hiss slipped from her lips to drift upward to the ceiling, so quiet it was hardly more than a breath. Still, she heard him chuckle. One stone remained on her belly, the other cupped in his fingers, dragged down over her belly, crawling over her pubic bone with such slowness it made her groan. As it neared her slit, she gasped, her thighs parting further at his touch. One hand slid down to her thigh, squeezing the inside of it, pressing her legs gently apart. She bent her knees to spread her thighs for him, and was rewarded when he slid the stone down smoothly. As it grazed over her cunt, she cried out, her ass leaving the table as her back arched. It was exquisite, the stone humming over her clit, vibrating against it, and then it was gone. She whined, hips thudding down. He had pulled the stone away, and when she looked up his smirk was almost a grin.

"Cruel, I know."

He squeezed her thigh, and she spread her legs again, nodding as he moved the stone. It slid up her right thigh, and she tensed in anticipation as it neared her cunt. But then it slid up, over her stomach, and she whined, tugging at her restraints. He shushed her with a tap to her thigh, pushing her back against the table, his other hand moving the stone in smooth circles, narrowing, sliding closer to her hole. It met her cunt, and she moaned, but he slid it down the the fold of her thigh, just missing her cunt, and she gasped, trying to push against it. He ignored her, sliding it down, almost to her hole, before he moved it up again. His fingers moved fluidly, guiding the stone in circles around her hole, grazing her clit but never quite meeting it, the circles growing smaller, each one taking it closer to her clit. The rubies still buzzed against her nipples, simmering with energy, her breasts sensitive and aching at their touch, a low-grade hum of pleasure that ran through her to the core. The sapphire almost met her clit again, and she let out a mewling sound of frustration. The stone dipped, froze for a second, then slid back, upward and sideways, gliding to the centre of her pubis, then

"f-f-FUCK!"

The stone met her clit like a lightning bolt, a sharp snap of pleasure rushing through her as it buzzed against her, the pleasure making her legs quake. He ground it against her, pressing and releasing it, pulsing it against her clit in time with her breaths. She swore, twisting under it, her hips grinding her clit against it as it buzzed. She was panting already, her thighs quivering as he pressed it against her, her eyes rolling back in her skull. He didn't speak, simply watched as her eyes crossed with growing pleasure, the stone humming against her clit. His finger flexed and curled, pushing the stone against her clit rhyhmically, smiling as the pleasure rippled through her in waves, her chest heaving with it. He ground the stone forward firmly, and Vella cried out as her legs tensed, the pleasure building almost to a climax before he lessened the pleasure, leaving her riding the cusp of an orgasm, almost sobbing with the intensity of it.

He left the sapphire clinging to her clit, the crystal singing brightly between her folds, pulses of its power sending marked by the twitch of her legs. He plucked the diamond from its place on her stomach, holding it up for her to see.

"One more." he said. "You know where it goes. Don't you?"

She nodded, her teeth tightening on her bottom lip in anticipation. When he pressed the diamond to her cunt, she groaned as it parted her lips, feeling it pulse and throb as he pushed it against her hole. He held it to her hole with a single finger, feeding it power, till it thrummed and throbbed at her entrance, her wetness leaking out around it. He tapped it, and a pulse rippled through her body, each crystal singing out in turn as it ran from her cunt to her mouth, exiting through her lips as a drawn out groan of desire. He tapped it again, and her ass left the table by an inch, her body shuddering at the edge of orgasm. She was almost ashamed of the noise she made when he drew his finger back, dragging the diamond from her cunt. As he withdrew it, his hand brushed the sapphire, sending a wave of power crackling through her clit. Her hips twisted, the restraints creaking under the strain as she cried out, her cunt twitching ecstasy. Then the wave passed, and she could breathe again, gasping in the aftershock of it.

She tried to lift her head, but the moment she moved, all three stones pulsed, and her muscles tensed in spasm as the pleasure ran through her. Her tits buzzed with energy, the stones vibrating viciously against her nipples, while the sapphire pressed to her clit like a caressing tongue, humming constantly. She could only gasp and bear it, let the pleasure run over and through her. A moment later, she felt something press against her hole. Larger. It slid over her hole, sliding up to meet the sapphire, its touch enough to make her sob as it probed her cunt, already slick with her wetness.

When she moved her head up cautiously, the crystals allowed it, and she stared down between her spread legs, her eyes widening. From between her thighs, Diamus grinned at her. He had swapped the diamond to his left hand, the stone dancing across his fingers. His right hand was between Vella's thighs, his fingers wrapped around something tightly. It was a stake. He had taken one of the stakes from her belt, and had pressed it to her cunt, hilt first. The flared, oiled wood ground against her sodden hole, and as she watched, he pressed it harder, the wood grinding against her soaking hole. She groaned, twitching as he pushed it forward, and she moved her hips, raising them to press against it, humping her slit against the fat knot of wood, working herself over it until the wood shone and dripped with her juices.

"I can take it..." She huffed, grinding her cunt against it, the sapphire singing against her clit. "I can take it."

"I know."

He pushed forward hard, and a sound that was more than a moan but less than a shout escaped Vella's lips as he sank it into her, the fat knot disappearing inside her with a loud, wet sound. She groaned as it stretched her out, Diamus never letting up, never pulling back, as he forced the stake into her in one long, smooth push. When he was done, it was in her almost to her cervix, the bulge of it visible through the taut skin of her lower belly. His hand brushed it, pushing, and she moaned as the carved wood ground against her g-spot. Then his hand drew away, leaving only the sharp tip of the stake protruding from her cunt, her wetness trickling slowly over its length. Vella groaned, her hips twitching automatically as her cunt gripped the stake, the stones humming across her body.

Diamus grinned down at her, his eyes almost glowing with the reflected light. He held up the diamond for her to see, her glazed eyes struggling to focus.

"One left." he said softly, the diamond already beginning to glow, white rays sparkling from its surface. He lowered it slowly, letting her track it as it dropped like a falling star.

When he touched it to the stake, she almost screamed. The wood-and-silver stake hummed like a vast instrument, shivering against her g-spot in a way that made her stomach flip and her eyes cross, her joints cracking as every muscle in her body tensed at once. Her toes curled, fingers digging into her palms as the stones sung through her body, the sapphire on her clit singing in time with the diamond, the song of the stones rising almost to a crescendo. As she gasped and shook, the song took on a new note, the humming falling to a low, constant din, the stones shivering against her, her body aching with the need for release.

Diamus stroked one hand over her body, his slender fingers sliding from the hollow of her throat to the fork of her legs, Vella shivering under his touch. The stones quietened, sparkling but barely humming, Vella settling against the table as she relaxed, her breathing already slowing. Diamus traced a finger along her cunt, caressing it, dragging a pointed fingernail along the tip of the stake, to the diamond. With a single rap of his finger, he set the stones to singing, and Vella's screams followed him as he left, echoing in the halls.

Part Six

Tied to that table, Vella came almost before he left the room. At the tap of his finger, the stones leaped and sung, buzzing powerfully against her with trapped energy. The stones on her breast buzzed a merry beat, fizzing on her skin until her nipples ached, as if they'd been tweaked and teased for hours. Against her clit, the sapphire sang, a constant series of rippling, ululating buzzing. The force of it made her jaw clench hard enough that her teeth clicked, the muscles of her jaw standing out in her face even as her eyes rolled back, the pleasure rising. At her cunt, the diamond sang a deep, throaty song. Each beat was a pulse of force, rattling the textured wood of the stake against her g-spot, pairing with the ceaseless drone of the sapphire on her clit.

She became aware she was screaming, crying out endlessly as the pleasure rose, the straps tugging at her ankles as she pulled at her restraints, helplessly thrashing on the table. The pleasure rose, and her hips bucked automatically, humping at the air as her stuffed cunt sobbed wetness down the stake. Each twitch of her hips seemed to heighten their song, her body moving until the buzz was a sawing song of pleasure, her whole body trembling, her hips rising up and up, and up, until

"F-f-f-f-oh, oh, ohfUck-oh!" Vella half screamed, half sobbed, tears running from her eyes as she felt the pleasure rise.

When it broke, she barely felt the impact as she crashed into the unyielding wood of the table, her body thrashing as she came. She quivered with pleasure, her scream becoming a ululating, animal moan. Her vision fuzzed and blurred, the carvings on the ceiling swimming fluidly as she fought to stay conscious, her cunt screaming as the stones kept buzzing, never quieting. She spat a curse, spattering her chin with saliva as she drooled, her head knocking hard against the table as an involuntary shock ran through her. The stones never let up, and she twisted uncomfortably, her too-sensitive clit quivering under the sapphire.

"Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh FUCK!"

Vella cried out, her hands yanking, tugging desperately at the restraints, trying to force her way to freedom. But the cords were strong, and in a moments time she was cumming again, the sapphire buzzing angrily at her throbbing clit, driving her ass down against the table as she tried uselessly to back away from it, the feeling of the stone on her raw clit like a thunderbolt to her cunt, her body still tingling with the aftershock of one orgasm while another ripped through her.

It felt like the stake was moving within her, each pulse of the diamond grinding the wood against her g-spot, the sapphire pressing to her clit like it was trying to burrow through her. It was like an insistent finger, pressing to her clit, driving like fire into her loins. Her thighs burned with the ache of her quivering muscles, never relieved of tension enough to soothe them. Her breasts ached terribly, her nipples almost as sensitive as her clit as the rubies buzzed against them, their thrumming energy enough alone to make her gasp. Her hair clung to her sweaty face, and she panted for breath like she had run a dozen miles. The air in the room felt thick and cloying, each breath pulling in a gasp that felt like thick honey, and she couldn't breathe quick enough and her legs ached and her skin burned, her hair stuck to it like glue and the table was hard under her back and she was cumming again, convulsing on the table like a seizure, screaming his name into the room, begging him to return and free her from this, this ecstasy melding into the pain until she could no longer tell which was which, until all she could hear and feel and see was the song, the song of the stones, humming through her body, the energies forcing an orgasm from her again and again, each bleeding into the next like a drizzle becomes a downpour.

She didn't know how long she lay on that table, in truth. Each time the blackness crept into the edges of her vision, promising to dull the sensory flood with unconsciousness, she felt the stones flare, flooding her with energy until the blackness receded and she sobbed, stiff and shivering, through another orgasm. Her cunt felt like a hot forge, aching and throbbing between her thighs, slick wetness coating her legs as the stones urged her to another climax, the sensations ripping through her bodies as the cuffs chafed on her wrists and ankles. The patterns in the ceiling seemed to whirl and dance as her eyes flooded with tears again, the pleasure overwhelming her until it was all she could do to cling to consciousness, the power of each wave enough she almost fainted. Her thrashing lessened, her overtaxed muscles able to do little more than twitch and shiver as she came again and again. Her skin, slick with sweat, slid limply over the polished surface of the table. Through tears, all she could make out was the lights from her body, dancing like smoke on the ceiling.

Part Seven

By the time Diamus returned, Vella had long since broken. He slipped back into the room, fanged smile spreading as he saw what had become of her. Vella lay in a puddle of her own making, her eyes gazing at the ceiling without seeing. As he watched, her hips twitched, her tits bouncing gently as she came again. Too tired to cry out, the only outward sign of it was the opening of her lips, a trickle of drool escaping from the corner of her mouth as the stones forced another orgasm from her. A low, shuddering moan emerged from her lips, so weak it was barely audible. He watched it as it ran through her, her muscles slack even as her cunt gripped the stake weakly. Even as depleted as they were, the stones sparkled, dotting Vella's body as they hummed and sang.

"A pretty tune." Diamus crooned, reaching one hand out to stroke her thigh.

She gasped at his touch, and he smiled. She hadn't even noticed he was there.

"Worn out?" he asked. When she didn't reply, his hand slid up to grip her chin, forcing her head into a slow nod. "Want me to stop it?".

Once again, she didn't respond, and Diamus chuckled. Reaching between her legs, he tapped the sapphire.

"Mmmph-uh!"

"That's better." he cooed. "Much better."

His hands stroked over her sweat-sheened body, moving in slow circles. He dragged his nails over the soft skin of her throat, moving slowly downward, to where the rubies still hummed on her breasts. His fingers found them, twisting gently, and he felt her heartbeat thrum a little faster, beating beleagueredly in her chest. He twisted them the other way, smiling as she whined feebly. Gently, he grasped the rubies in his fingers, and tugged them gently. They came away from her tits, and he dropped them into the nearest goblet.

Something that might have once been speech bubbled from Vella's mouth, and Diamus nodded.

"I know."

His hand slid down, caressing the sapphire that still buzzed at her clit. At his touch, her hips twitched sluggishly, barely moving. He dug his fingernails under it, pulling it away from her like a barnacle, and her cunt moved with it, her hips working to press toward him, as if she were reluctant to be rid of it. Then it was gone, her body falling back against the table as the sapphire joined the rubies in the gauntlet.

Finally, he moved his hand to the stake, the point of it still jutting from her soaking hole. He traced his fingers over the bulge in her belly for a moment, watching as her skin rippled with every thrum and pulse of the diamond. Then his hand returned to the stake, grasping it. Even now, the diamond sang against his hand, pulsing rhythmically, pushing waves of energy through the stake. He could feel Vella's muscles twitching sympathetically, each throb from the stone enough to make her shiver, even now. Diamus tightened his grasp, and finally pulled on the stake, dragging it from Vella's cunt in a long, smooth motion. It slid smoothly outward, till the fat, carved tip of it was at her entrance, her cunt hugging it even now. He twisted it, side to side. Vella hardly reacted. He paused for a moment, palm pressing to the diamond. A flare of energy twitched through her, and he snorted at the sound that escaped from her lips. Less than a groan. Less than a whine. It was the low bray of an animal.

Diamus pulled, and the stake slipped finally from the cunt it had filled for hours. The knot of wood slipped past her lips, a trickle of her wetness oozing from her hole after it. The diamond detached at a thought, and Diamus tossed it aside, the stone landing on the table. Vella lay on her back, staring blankly up at the ceiling. He watched her chest rise and fall, slow, steady breaths. Her eyes drifted, her eyelids drooping as she drifted toward the sleep she had been denied. Gently, Diamus reached to her ankles, his fingers finding the cords that bound her to the table. He released them easily, but Vella made no attempt to move, her arms still tied to the table. Diamus looked down at her, and for the first time in a long time, felt something that might have been excitement.

His hands caressed her thighs, stroking the soft skin of them, feeling the muscle that corded her legs. She was a perfect specimen: her body was scarred and tarnished, yes, but it was more interesting than a hundred buxom beauties. It spoke of long years on the road, of a lifetime of battle and victory. As Diamus hands roamed over her, he drank in every inch of her, feeling the blood still throbbing through her veins, a fraction of an inch beneath his nails. His fingers curled, digging into her thighs where the blood surged, feeling the softness and the strength under his grasp.

One hand left her thigh for his lap, and a second later, there was the sharp snap of fabric. If Vella had had enough energy left to watch, she would have seen Diamus reaching into his breeches, dragging out his cock. It was as pale as the rest of him, a long rod of white cock. Under pale skin, veins ran like marble, sapphire blue. He stroked one hand along his length, feeling his cock throb against his hand. Pleasures of the flesh were some of the few things he had carried with him through the centuries, but as the years ground on, he indulged them less and less, lust sapping away till he was almost numb. Even at Vella's arrival, he had expected nothing more than the stone-driven mind-melting he so enjoyed. Something about her had awoken something in him, a flush of heat like a pulse of blood through old veins. His cock throbbed against his fingers, his cockhead swelling. Atop his cock, it was so dark it seemed almost purple, his skin sliding back to show a heavy cockhead, already driving forward between Vella's thighs. He pushed his hips forward, resting his cockhead atop Vella's cunt, letting it throb and thrum against her hole. He took one calf in each ankle, lifting Vella's limp legs until her knees were up, heels resting on the table.

When he pressed his cock against her, tip parting her lips, she barely even whimpered. His fangs toyed with his bottom lip as he felt her hole against him, hot and vital against the cold stone of his skin. With barely a push, he was inside her, hissing as he felt the hot wetness of her ruined cunt envelop him, her hole shivering as he sank into it. He was halfway inside her in a moment, fingertips denting her thighs as he hauled himself inside her, grunting in satisfaction. After hours of play, her cunt was a hot puddle of wetness, her walls sliding softly down his length as he pushed inside. A little of his cold demeanour slipped as he groaned, sinking himself to the base in her with a snarl, hips working to grind himself inside her. His tip slid over her sensitive g-spot, her hole tightening almost imperceptibly as she took him to the hilt, her hole hugging his shaft.

He drew back, sliding almost out of her, to shove deep again, working up his rhythm, pulling Vella's legs up higher. He sank in again, to the hilt, holding himself there to feel her hole trickling wetness along him, drawing back just to bury himself in her again. He grunted as he hilted in her, his cock throbbing as he sank inside her. His hips met her ass with an audible smack, and he snarled, pulling her thighs apart, shoving himself between them. He leaned in, pulling himself forward until he loomed over her. Her legs rose to his waist, then his shoulders, her ankles resting either side of his head as he forced himself back inside, a low growl escaping him as he bottomed out in her cunt. Vella's tits bounced with each impact, her eyes open but unfocused. His rhythm rose to a steady tap tap tap of hips on ass, slapping against her with every thrust. A ripple of pleasure ran through the still lake of Diamus' body, exiting through his mouth as a grunt. With inhuman force, each of his thrusts turned from a tap to a thwack, his hips hitting her hard enough to make her body bounce, the heavy table rattling with each thrust.

His breathing had a shudder that was nothing to do with fatigue, his hips rolling smoothly as he sank into her again and again, feeling the hot vice of her cunt squeeze him as he hilted in her, stretching her out around him, burying himself as deep as he would go. He bottomed out in her, his hips rolling, grinding himself against the walls of her cunt. He gasped, twitching, and dragged himself back, half-lost in lust for the first time in decades. He drove himself home into Vella's cunt, his thrusts hurried, rising into a rapid smack smack smack of skin on skin, grunting as he felt her walls close around him, his balls aching as he fucked her wildly.

"Oh, fuck..." he said, a curse slipping from his refined lips. "Fuck..."

It was not his language, but there was no better word for it. He was buried in her to the hilt, drawing out only to fill her again, feeling limp flesh bounce at his thrust, leaning forward, sinking himself to the hilt, her cunt leaving a trail along his shaft until it vanished, disappearing inside of her again, pink lips hugging him, balls slapping against her, hips kissing her ass, thighs quivering and ankles bouncing on his shoulders and the room spinning and stone-light dancing and balls aching and hips thrusting and lips grunting, lungs groaning until it was too much and he exploded, surprising himself with the force and the suddenness of it, in her cunt to the hilt as his cock erupted. One throb of his cock and he was painting her cunt white, ropes of cum spurting from his cockhead to land in her, flooding her hole with seed. Diamus gasped, cum pouring into her as backed-up balls finally emptied themselves, splashing hot seed into Vella's ruined hole, flooding her.

He clung to her thighs, holding her in place, hole nestled at the base of his cock as he came with breath-shivering pleasure, his cheeks flushing like two pink suns on the moon-white of his face. When he finally drew back, there was a tremor in his leopard-smooth movements. His cock slid out of her, and he thrust forward just enough to push it over her cunt, his cockhead resting on her pubis. A shiver ran through him, a lazy spurt of cum painting her lower belly and pooling in her navel. Her skin gleamed with cum and sweat, the stones light casting patterns over it.

Diamus rested one hand on Vella's leg while he caught his breath, drinking in the air as he watched her falling slowly toward sleep. He reached out and picked up a goblet from the table, the pure white light spilling from it dancing across his face. He extended it with one arm, and slowly tipped it, spilling the stones onto Vella's body. They were diamonds, all of them, spilling onto her naked, shivering body, bouncing off her sweat-slick breasts, landing with a splat in the cum that glazed her stomach, falling to nestle in the folds of her body, or rattling off to surround her on the table.

"Your fee." Diamus explained. "This should more than compensate his lordship, and yourself."

Looking down at her, he couldn't resist a chuckle.

"Worth every penny. Rest well. My servants will assist you."

He was fixing the front of his breeches as he approached the door, one hand on the handle when he paused.

"You should know. You're welcome any time."

Those words were the last thing Vella heard, before unconsciousness embraced her for the first time in a day.