DISCLAIMER: The Star Trek characters are the property of Twentieth Century Fox, Mutant Enemy, Paramount Studios, Inc and Viacom. The story contents are the creation and property of Djinn and are copyright (c) 2004 by Djinn. This story is Rated R.
(A Sharp Turn to the Dark and Naughty Side of the Slayer Series)
Wharton pulled back. "Let go, Christine. I can make all this pain stop. I'll never hurt you."
She felt his teeth again touch down. This time it wasn't like Marcus. This was no spell, no enchantment or hypnosis. This was just one broken soul calling to another. She heard him, something inside of her heard him...and was responding. "No more pain," she whispered, the words a prayer, a supplication.
He bit down, his teeth puncturing the skin. Pain roared in her head, then she felt his mouth settle around the wound, his tongue lapping even as he sucked at her. She moaned. It hurt. Then she moaned again. It didn't hurt. It felt good.
His arms tightened around her, the stake still in his hand. It bumped against her arm.
It felt wonderful. Oblivion, release. Utterly wonderful.
And just another way of running away.
She grabbed the stake, lifted it. In her mind she saw Spock the way he'd looked at her as he'd run away to Gol. Spike as he'd lay bloody and hurt because of her. She saw all the lonely years ahead of her. She saw the Slayers.
And Jim. And Lori. He'd rather screw a werewolf than be with her. An evil werewolf.
She dropped the stake. "I don't love you," she managed to say, as she felt her heart start to beat overly fast as it tried to push the diminishing amount of blood in her body around. Thump-thump-thump thump-thump-thump. The physician in her diagnosed tachycardia.
Then it slowed, her poor, overstrained heart. Her broken heart.
David pulled away. "I know you don't love me. You love him."
He held her as the world grew darker. She heard the sound of flesh tearing, then smelled it--blood. His blood and her blood, all mixed together now as it poured out of the wound he'd made on the inside of his arm, near his wrist. Only it was impossible that her blood was there too because her blood would be in his stomach. Unless they metabolized things differently? Had anyone ever checked how their anatomy differed?
"Drink," he said, almost impatiently. Did he know what she was thinking? He couldn't know.
"Drink," he said again, moving his hand closer to her.
Drink. Drink to live. Or drink to die. To un-die. Was there such a verb?
She could smell the blood; it was so strong, nauseatingly strong. It meant life, it meant she would live forever. But she didn't want to live forever. That was why she'd let him bite her in the first place. Because she didn't want to live anymore at all.
She turned away from his wrist.
"I know you don't love me. I know you love him. Wouldn't you like to be with him forever?"
A stupid question. She loved Jim. She loved him so much.
The world jerked and only David's arm around her kept her upright. She could feel sweat beading up on her forehead, under her bra, on her face. She couldn't breathe. It was impossible to breathe. And her heart. Her heart wasn't going fast anymore. It was barely going at all.
"Christine. You can be with him. You can turn him. He already wants it. He has Anacost's blood in him. He'll be yours forever. He'll love you...forever."
"He won't. Because of Spock," she managed to say, but she was already turning to David's wrist.
"He won't matter. Nothing will matter."
She found his wrist, sucked feebly, her strength all but gone. The blood seemed to leap into her mouth. Hot. Sweet.
Raw power. She began to suck in earnest. She heard her heart slow; it beat its final thump-thumps but she didn't mourn the loss. When had her heart ever done her any favors?
She drank and drank and drank. She would have drunk forever, but Wharton finally pulled his wrist away.
She smiled at him. "Good. It's good."
"Yes, Christine. It is good."
The world was getting dark again. "Do I have to go in the ground?" She hated the ground--too much like the sewers. Too much like that time she'd been in there and couldn't get out. She had clawed at the door but it wouldn't open.
"No, my dear. You don't have to." His lips on her forehead were the last thing she felt before everything went black.
She woke. Her body was screaming for blood. "Hungry," she called out.
"Here." Someone thrust a body at her, a body that was still moving.
She opened her eyes. She was lying back on a couch. She saw David standing over her. The body was a man, a man in black leather and casual clothes. She could smell the blood pumping through the veins and arteries in his neck. The carotid, that powerful artery carrying blood away from the heart, lovely red blood full of oxygen. Or should she go for the jugular? Would the blood taste better without oxygen, on its way down the vein back to the heart?
"Christine. It's all right. He was following you. One of Silver's men. You don't have to over think this."
She almost laughed. David thought she was squeamish? The man squirmed and she held him down, her fingers pushing into the trachea, hard enough to cut off his air and make him stop moving as he fought to breathe. "Is oxygen good? Is it like salt?"
"It's always the jugular that's torn out, but I think the carotid would be better."
"You can do a taste test later, Christine. Eat your dinner like a good girl. You've got an admiral to go see tonight."
Jim. She smiled. The watcher in her lap struggled. "Stop doing that," she said, pulling him up to her, moving him so she could bite deep into the artery. She was distracted by the feeling of her face transforming, the strange sensation as her flesh rolled and thickened. She could feel her teeth lengthening, becoming sharp and deadly. She knew her eyes would glow yellow. If she could see herself.
She looked up at David. "I'll never see myself again."
He smiled. "I have a special mirror for you. It'll be all right. Now, drink."
She bit down. The blood rushed into her mouth and she nearly sobbed at the sweetness of it. Arterial blood was good. She moved forward, found the jugular and bit down. More blood gushed into her mouth, not so sweet and thinner in consistency, but concentrated, so intense the taste of it.
"Christine, I didn't mean to do the taste test now." David pushed her aside slightly, moving in next to her to catch the blood that was streaming out of her original bite.
She heard a growl, realized she had made it and started to laugh.
David ignored her, and the soft sucking noises he was making soothed her. She pulled the wonderful, wonderful body closer to them, sucking hard. The blood was no longer streaming into her mouth.
"Let him go. Don't drink to the end." David tugged at her. "Let him go, Christine."
She growled at him and he knocked her back. "Mind me now. I'm your sire."
She watched him as he dropped the corpse, could feel her features shift back to the human Christine. David bent down and tossed her a stake. She looked at him, not understanding.
"You're a vampire slayer." He grinned. "They'll expect you to have a stake."
"But you said we were going to Jim's?"
He nodded. "After we kill the watchers, we'll go to Jim's."
"No. We go there first." She frowned. "We have to turn him first."
She saw something in David's face twist. "Fine. We'll go there first."
He tossed Christine a jacket and a new shirt. She stripped off her old one, saw him watching her with something akin to hunger. He wanted her. The thought disturbed her. She jammed the stake into her pocket, followed him out into the night.
She could see the breath coming from the people they passed, but she couldn't feel the cold. It was because she was cold. So cold. Dead cold. David looked over her and she stared back. His hand touched hers. She didn't pull away. His fingers on hers were cold. Colder than she remembered Spike's being.
Spike. What would he say when he saw her? What would he do? He could hurt her now. His chip would let him fight another vampire. He might kill her. If he thought she was evil. Was she evil now? She didn't feel that different. If she wasn't Christine, if she was, in fact, some new demon who had taken up residence, then why did she still think of Emma with fondness? Why did she still feel only a surge of irritation when she thought of LaVelle? Shouldn't she hate another slayer now? Her eternal enemy?
Why did she feel so hurt at what Jim and Lori were probably still doing? Rutting, mindless rutting. Lori had wanted her to join in. Christine smiled. She'd join in all right.
She frowned. That wasn't different either. She'd wanted to rip the werewolf's throat out last night, even before she became a vampire. Last night? Was it just last night?
"When did you turn me?" she asked David.
Good. Her time sense was on track.
She looked over at David. He was frowning; his eyebrows seemed pressed down into a scowl. She touched his hand and his expression lightened. He looked over at her, smiled.
"We'll make a difference, David."
He nodded. "Yes. You and I. Together."
She smiled. "Together."
He looked away; her smile died. He and she. No mention of a third. No mention of Jim.
She fingered the stake. David meant to kill Jim. He'd never meant to turn him, just used him as the bait to lure her over to the undead team. She could stake David now and then Jim would be safe.
But Jim would never trust her if she came alone to him, only to be revealed as a vampire later. She glanced at David. He smiled at her again. But Jim would trust her if she staked David for him, if she fought for him. Yes, he'd trust her. Even if he knew what she was, he'd trust her. He'd know it was her.
Christine smiled. So logical. Spock would be proud of her--if they still felt that at Gol. She'd taken something from her time with him other than pain.
What else did she need to know now? She had to think. David was full of tricks. He'd given her a stake. What had he kept for himself? Or did he plan to kill Jim with his bare hands? He could, she had no doubt of that. But he'd want to leave no trace. No body she might possibly give undead life to. A phaser then. Or some sort of weapon. He'd have one.
"I feel strange," she said. She slowed, put a hand to her head, stumbled a little.
His arms went around her, steadied her. She wrapped her arms around him.
"David, I feel strange."
"Shhh." He eased her off to the side of the walk; she leaned against him, shaking a little. "What is it? Are you in pain?"
"The transition. Not over, maybe?" She wondered how many vampires David had turned. Maybe none. Maybe he had no idea what to expect.
He helped her to a bench. Ignored the few people who passed them quickly. He was solicitous, gentle. She met his eyes; they were full of concern. She pulled away, then fell back against him. She shuddered again, let her hand wrap around him. Her right hand brushed against metal--a weapon. Her left hand found only fabric, then cool vampire skin as she let her hand run under his shirt.
She heard his quick intake of breath. She looked up at him. "Why did you want me with you?" Her hands were moving now, under his shirt, over his chest, brushing against cold skin.
He gasped. He wanted her. He wanted her much more than she had ever realized.
She moved her left hand, roamed down his body, stopping to touch him in a particularly sensitive place. "Why?" she asked again.
"I'm lonely." He looked away. "And you move me."
She touched his cheek, said softly, "Look at me." Her right hand still ran up and down his back, his side, his chest. Never stopping.
He looked at her.
She kissed him. He resisted for a moment, then he pulled her to him, his lips crushing down on hers.
She touched the weapon for just a moment and felt him stiffen. He would notice. If she tried to get it away, he would notice.
Time for a new plan.
She moved her hand quickly off the weapon, kept rubbing his back, then pulled away so she could touch him lower again, grasping him, moving her hand over and around him.
He gasped. "Want you," he managed to say.
She let go of him, moved as if she was going to straddle him. She reached back, into her pocket, found the stake. She pulled it out slowly, held it low against her side.
"David?" she murmured as she pulled away from him.
He opened his eyes, his face had transformed as they had kissed. She realized hers had not.
"I don't want you," she said, as she slammed the stake home.
"Christine?" he said, reaching out to her even as he went up in a puff of dust.
She sat not moving, staring at where her sire--her nemesis--had sat only seconds before. She felt nothing. Nothing except relief. He couldn't hurt Jim now.
She turned. "Jim?"
"I saw you. I was afraid to do anything, afraid that he'd hurt you."
She noticed that he was not coming closer to her. "He wanted to hurt you. It's why I staked him." She looked down. This would work. He'd seen her kill David.
He took a few steps, and she held her hand up, fear for him flooding through her. He mustn't be hurt.
Not even by her.
"It's too late for me, Jim."
She tossed him the stake even as part of her screamed in frustration. He was all she wanted.
And he was all she cared about. He must be saved.
She let her face transform. She saw his expression of horror, then he looked down at the stake.
With barely a thought, her face went back to being human. "I couldn't let him hurt you. Or Emma. I thought...I thought I could make him more human. I was wrong." It wasn't at all true, but it sounded better than saying she'd been a total coward, unwilling to face the life she'd made, the life she'd come to hate.
"Chris." There was sheer pain in Jim's voice.
She stood up. Turned around so her back was to him and held her arms out wide. No tricks. He wouldn't have to see her face. "Just do it. You know you have to."
"Turn around, Chris."
She turned around.
He took a step toward her but didn't raise the stake. "You're still you."
She nodded. "But I'm a vampire."
"But you're still you?"
She nodded. "I don't know for how long." She began to shake, this time for real. She stumbled back, toward the bench.
What was wrong with her?
He hurried to her, the smell of him was intoxicating and she pushed him away. "No, it isn't safe. I'm not safe."
"You still love me?"
Was that what was wrong with her? That she still loved him? If it was, then she would never be all right.
She turned to him, touched his cheek, saw his eyes go wide at the feel of her, at her coldness. "I'll always love you. But I can't ever have you. And ever means a lot more now than it used to. For-ever. I can't have you forever." She sobbed, was shocked to hear the sound come from her.
What was wrong with her? She'd come here to turn him. Surely she could do that?
He'd been with Lori after all. She smelled him, not the way she would have as a human, this was something deeper, something older. She knew that she had his scent now and she'd never forget it.
She had his scent. His. Only his. Lori hadn't been with him.
"You didn't go home with her?"
He shook his head, leaning into her hand, closing his eyes. When he opened them again, they glowed with a faint yellowish gleam. "I can feel you," he whispered. He leaned in, sniffed at her neck. "I can smell you." He growled softly, like a vampire.
She sat completely still, as only the undead could. No heartbeat, no soft in and out of breath. Just her cold, dead body responding to his as it always did. She wanted him so badly. Wanted to love him and drain him and feel him drink from her and live again. She wanted to love him forever.
She wanted to kill him. That was what it came down to. She tried to draw away.
Without warning, he pulled her to him, his lips hot on her cool ones, his tongue harsh as he forced her mouth open. She tried to resist, but the feel of him, the smell and taste and sound of him as he kissed her was too much. She kissed him back, harder than she would have as the slayer, felt him respond, felt his body respond to her as her hands roamed all over him.
Then he pushed her away. He held up the stake and she closed her eyes. He was making a choice. She would honor it.
"I love you," she whispered as she waited for him to bring her harsh, ancient death.
"Open your eyes."
She did so, slowly.
He tossed the stake into the recycler can by the bench. Then he pulled her to him, her mouth to his neck. "Do it."
"Jim?" His blood was singing to her. Singing in thousand-part harmony. She wanted him. He wanted her.
She bit down, not where Anacost had done it, but on the other side, her own side. Jim's blood was sweeter than David's, was far more intense than her first victim's had been. She felt power surge through her. Anacost's blood. And Jim's own magic. She smiled as she drank. He would get from her a watcher and a slayer. It seemed a fair trade. She could feel him weakening against her, pulled away and lifted her wrist to bite it for him.
He looked up at her, then grabbed her wrist, pulling it down to his mouth. He bit savagely, his teeth still human, hurting as they tore through her skin in ways they were never meant to. She gasped at the pain, then at the rush of bliss as he began to suck. Her blood was filling him. He would live. He would be hers. His hand came around, rubbed her back the way he had always done to soothe her, then moved higher, under her hair, rubbing her neck.
She moaned. Let him drink far longer than she should have but his apartment was only a block away. She pulled her wrist away from him, saw someone coming down the walk and realized it was Lori. The woman stopped, watched them for a moment.
"Come closer and you'll be his first meal," Christine called out.
Jim laughed. "She's afraid of us now."
"Yes." Christine helped him stand. "We have to get you home. You have to die for a while. Then it'll be okay. I promise." She hustled him down the block, prayed to every god she thought might be sympathetic to newly-made fiends that he stay on his feet past the doorman. She didn't want to have to eat the doorman--he'd always been nice to her.
Jim collapsed just shy of the door and Christine picked him up cursing. Then she realized that the doorman wasn't at his post. Lori stepped out of the building, smiling tentatively.
"I told you--"
Lori held up her hand. "There's a watcher in Jim's apartment--tied up and ready for you. He's been following him. I didn't figure you'd want this reported back. And I know Jim will be hungry when he wakes up." She smiled again, showing many teeth.
In pack language, a smile like that was a gesture of appeasement. Lori was showing she was beta to Christine's alpha. Christine leaned in, sniffed Lori's neck, then licked it slowly. "I have your scent," she whispered.
Lori shuddered. And not with revulsion. Christine could practically taste the pheromones.
"If you need anything else...?"
Christine smiled. Knew it was a feral expression, saw Lori smile in response. A happy smile now, not a placatory one.
"I'll let you know." She turned to go in, then stopped. "And the doorman?"
"He's recovering from a fantastic interlude." Lori smiled again, licked her lips. "He won't remember much." She saw Christine hesitate. "It's his apartment; you don't need permission to go in."
Christine shot her a haughty look. "I know that."
Lori's grin turned sardonic. "Of course you do." Her pheromones changed, became challenging.
Christine shifted her grip on Jim, held on to him one-handed as she slammed Lori into the wall with the other one. Her movements had been quick, even faster than slayer movements. Lori's eyes went wide.
"Don't push me, little girl." She let her face change, let her teeth show, the growl coming out of her almost without will.
Lori turned white. "I won't." She smiled again. Lots of teeth showed.
Christine let her go, turned and carried Jim into the building, moving as fast as she could and hoping that the security cameras wouldn't see them, or at least wouldn't be able to record what they saw. There was a lot she needed to learn about being a vampire.
Jim started to move. Christine smiled, touched him gently on the forehead. "It's okay. You're all right."
His eyes slowly opened and for a moment he looked panicked, but the sight of his own apartment seemed to make him relax again. He sat up, looked at Christine. She knew she looked good. She'd gone back to David's, erased any trace that he or she had been there. And found that mirror thing. She'd stopped at her place long enough to pack her clothes, some weapons, and her makeup. She'd been tempted to eat Mrs. Rhatigan on general principles, but decided to let the old biddy live.
Maybe someday, when she was having a really bad night, she'd go back for her.
"Chris?" Jim groaned. "I'm hungry."
Christine had been hungry too. She'd gone to the bad side of town, pretending to be hurt, and waited for someone to try to take her stuff away. It hadn't taken long for a smelly man high on intoxicants to try. It had taken hardly any more time for him to die. She wasn't hungry anymore.
"Hungry," Jim said again, clutching at his stomach.
"Fortunately, I have takeout." She reached down to where the watcher lay trussed and gagged on the floor and hauled him onto Jim's bed. "Courtesy of Werewolf Express."
His eyes narrowed at her words, then he caught a whiff of the watcher's incredible scent. Fear was a great spice.
"Cheers," she said. Then she pointed to the front of his neck. "I recommended the jugular."
"You're the doctor," he said, the old Kirk grin on his face as he pulled the man to him and tore into his throat. When the man stopped struggling, Jim moved one hand off him, held it out to her.
She took it, felt him grasp her hand tightly as he drank. "I love you," she said, the words coming out as the even stronger emotion poured over her. Even as a soulless fiend, she loved him so much it hurt.
He clenched her hand tighter. Then he pushed the body away, not having to be told to stop before the man was fully dead. She knocked the corpse off the bed, crawled to Jim. His face was bumpy, his eyes shone brilliant copper-gold in the darkened bedroom. She let her own face change. He laughed.
"You're beautiful." They both changed back to human at the same time. "Either way, you're beautiful." He pulled her to him, and she kissed him, feeling his strength rising up to meet hers.
"I love you," she said again.
"Love you," Jim said, as he pushed her down, his tongue running a course down her neck. Then he bit and drank, just little bites, making wounds that started to heal as soon as he stopped sucking.
She bit into him, heard him moan. He hissed, "Yessss," then threw her to her back, ripping off her clothes. He pulled his own off just as quick and was inside her, moving hard, pummeling her, until all she could do was clutch his back and wrap her legs around him. She bit down, deep into his chest. He bit into her neck again. He continued to pound into her as she drank his blood, as he sucked hers into him. She could feel her body responding to his primal movements. She pulled away from his chest, then tensed and cried out as he let go of her neck so that he could watch her come. She came for an eternity, his body still beating against her. His lips were cool on her own, his eyes somehow tender even as he thrust and thrust.
"I love you," he whispered, his fingers running over her neck. He held them to her mouth and she sucked her own blood off him. He came then, holding her and pressing against her as if he could disappear inside of her. He collapsed onto her, his face pillowed against her neck, his tongue lazily licking the wound he'd made.
She shuddered with pleasure. "Jim."
He pulled away from her neck, kissed her then, tenderly and softly. "I love you, Chris."
She could feel him getting hard inside her again, she tightened her legs around him, clenching down with muscles that had not been used lately. He laughed, murmured something about her third hand, and captured her tongue, biting down very lightly. Blood filled both of their mouths and she closed her eyes at the sensation, then felt him offer her his tongue. She pierced his just as carefully. Their blood mingled and he began to thrust inside her, his tongue moving against hers in a way that mimicked what his lower body was doing. He reached between them, began to touch her, stimulating flesh that was already screaming at the intensity of what was happening. She came. He didn't stop. He thrust with body and tongue, his fingers rubbing her over and over until she came again. He still didn't stop. She cried at the next orgasm, the feeling was so intense. He bit her lip, sucking at it, as his hand kept moving against her. She screamed the next time she came.
He finally stopped. She cried against his shoulder and he held her, kissing her check, her bleeding lip, her eyelids and her forehead and then he rolled, and she unclenched her legs and let him bring her on top of him so that she could control him.
And she did. She rode him, regulating the rhythm, delaying his pleasure, making him thrust and thrust, as she clenched down on him and bucked on top of him. She rode him and rode him and finally let him come inside her. He grabbed her hair and pulled her down to him, biting her neck again, the same place, the pain filled her as his groans and the sound of his sucking became the only sound in the room as he pushed up into her, emptying.
Did they come blood? She smiled at the odd thought as she let Jim suck from her. She lazily pulled his wrist to her, bit down and drank just as greedily from him. He groaned again, his fingers caressing her cheek as she bit harder into his wrist, his other hand still holding her to him.
When they finally pulled away from each other, she eased off him, settled next to him. His arms came around her, the same as when they'd been human. His lips touched her forehead just as gently.
"I love you, Chris." He pulled her closer, looked down at her with the same tenderness.
She smiled back up at him. "Just the same."
He laughed. Seemed to know what she meant. "You used to have sex like that?" He frowned. "Well, maybe you did? With Spike."
"Spike and I never did that."
He looked skeptical. "I can't imagine being able to do that and not."
"Chip in his head. He couldn't bite me, remember?"
He suddenly looked happier. "Oh yeah." He kissed her softly on the lips. "So just the same, except for the sex."
"And the corpse on the floor is new."
He made a face. "You think the Werewolf Express picks up the trash?"
"I doubt it." She could feel her eyes closing. She was so tired. They were young. Babies really. They needed their sleep.
"We're powerful now, Chris."
She nodded sleepily against his chest. "We need to help the slayers."
"If they don't slay us first."
"Good point." She smiled. "It might help if we kill a bunch of bad guys. Maybe have Lori record us doing it. That ought to confuse the hell out of them."
"Them the slayers?"
"Them the slayers, the watchers, Uhura...Spock." She didn't want to say his name. But it had to be out there. They couldn't tiptoe around it.
"Yeah, he's not going to be happy." Jim shrugged. "But that's the point, isn't it? He'll never be happy or anything else now. I was a fool to let him dictate my own happiness."
"Well, you were being honorable."
He laughed. "Not any more." He touched her, his hands moving possessively over her body. "You're mine."
"Or am I yours? I'm not sure how this siring thing works?"
She kissed him again. "Both. We're each other's."
"I can live with that." His grin was unapologetic at the pun.
She drifted off as the sun rose. Drifted off and slept safe in the arms of the man she would adore for all time, the man who she knew would love her forever.