Ivory and Horn (ivoryandhorn) wrote in roads_diverged, @ 2008-10-20 18:53:00 |
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Entry tags: | ivoryandhorn:ivahn/pevi, original: the city adel, theme 03: canon what-if |
[The City Adel] (Pevi/Ivahn) "How to Save a Life" Theme #3: canon what-if
Title: How to Save a Life
Author: ivoryandhorn
Fandom: The City Adel (Original)
Pairing: Pevi/Ivahn
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: violence, m/m
Words: 1259
Theme: Meta #3: canon what-if
Notes: I wrote this for another prompt, but I figured this one fit more. It's sort of an AU of an AU, specifically the one I wrote for the supernatural creatures prompt. What if I'd gone a more traditional vampire/werewolf route?
Summary: Over seven hundred years he’d had, assuredly seven hundred more than he’d deserved.
“This is it.”
The witch looked pale, tired out from casting her spells and losing her comrades, and Ivahn was unsurprised: he’d taken more damage than he’d expected and less than he’d hoped, and all in all, he was in rather bad shape himself.
Bound like this, with webs of blue light holding him spread-eagled in the dust, he could only watch as she limped over the dusty church floor, shoes scuffling against old stone—her foot hit a piece of wood from the shattered pews and sent it skittering into the shadows like a spooked mouse. She held a wooden stake in her hand, and it was this that his eyes followed, rather than her progress.
She stopped before him, and dropped to her knees, too tired to even try to banter. Ivahn simply watched the sharpened tip of the stake as though hypnotized—over seven hundred years he’d had, assuredly seven hundred more than he’d deserved. In his mind he felt Pevi’s presence frantically struggling to close the gap between himself and the church, but he wouldn’t get here in time. Deep in his gut Ivahn knew that for him tomorrow’s sun would not rise over hidden slumber, but over the flames of Hell.
“I guess there’s not really anything to say,” the witch was telling him. “I mean, you know why I’m here, I know why you…well, I can guess why you did what you did. It doesn’t really matter, in the end. May God have mercy on your soul.”
“It’s too late for that,” Ivahn said simply, a statement of truth.
“I guess it is.” The witch shifted her grip on the stake, held in both her hands, and raised it high. Ivahn closed his eyes.
There was a sick crunch as it slammed into his chest—on the right.
Consciousness failed to fade away, which was a pity because he would have gouged out his own eyes to lose all feeling from the neck down: agony radiated from the hole opposite his heart, making his head swim and the church’s domed ceiling swim before his eyes.
“Oh God, oh my God…” The witch tugged the stake out bit by bit, more a testament to her exhaustion than weakness. “I really, really didn’t mean to do that…God. You probably don’t believe me.”
Strangely enough, Ivahn did believe her—the witch had been brutally efficient, conserving power against him as best she could, even as he had wormed past their defenses and shredded their minds apart. It seemed unlikely she would only reveal her inner sadist now, when she was surely too tired to enjoy it.
He tried to say this to her, to tell her to do it again but to do it right, except the words refused to leave his tongue: because past the witch’s side he saw an immense, silvery-furred wolf, teeth bared in a silent snarl as he raced up the church’s aisle. The beast leapt, its claws gouging bits of stone from the floor, and for all its size the animal seemed to drift through the air, graceful—and closed its jaws around the woman’s head.
Ivahn flinched, as blood splashed over his face, reminding him how long it had been since he’d last fed, and how much he needed to feed now that he had a gaping hole in his chest. The new splatters seemed to shake him into new consciousness of just how much blood was in the building as it was: where before all the scents had smeared together, he now could detect the stale human blood of the witches he’d killed; the fresh-spilled heat of the witch dying beside him; the metallic undertone of his own blood, fresh and new; the raw-meat-wet-forest smell of Pevi’s injuries—he concentrated on these, and refused to consider the carnage taking place not five feet away. The spellnet was wreaking havoc on his defenses and despite his best efforts, some of the witch’s dying thoughts slipped through; wretched, primal things, splashes of blood, flashes of pain and fear.
The thoughts stopped, eventually. So did the screams.
The pain in his chest is still unbearable, the hunger was clawing his insides apart. Pevi’s face swam into focus above him and he forced himself to concentrate on that; the way the spellnet’s glow bounced off golden eyes on the blood and bits of flesh smeared around his face and mouth. He wipes the worst of it off with his sleeve, but the casual gesture belies what Ivahn feels in his thoughts—dull aches, too much fear, desperation, more fear, rage, fear.
“It’s not as bad as it looks,” he said weakly.
“Don’t be stupid,” Pevi said. “How do I end her mojo?”
“Should be—“ he coughed “—a key. Something…an object.”
Pevi vanished from his sight and reappeared, dangling a beaten gold amulet. “What about this?”
“Maybe.”
He didn’t see what Pevi did, but he felt the shift and heard the slick sounds of his gnawing, and when Pevi showed him the broken halves, each had a new edge of messy tooth marks. “There. Now what?”
The web of ropes holding him down slackened, and faded away. Pevi helped him sit up; despite knowing better Ivahn couldn’t help but turn around—right where his chest had been was a small puddle of blood, remnants of his last meal.
“Shit!” Pevi was staring at the gaping wound, face half-disgusted and half-worried. “That bitch—“
“She didn’t mean it.” God, he was hungry. Pevi was still covered in blood, it stained his hair, lips, clothes, nails—the scent was making Ivahn light-headed, on top of the pain. He absently licked a spot off Pevi’s cheek, tasted both Pevi’s blood and the witch’s, but that just made the cramping worse. “Pevi—”
“Christ. Okay.” Pevi shucked his jacket and gingerly wrapped it around him, and over his protests scooped him up in both arms, though Ivahn could feel the weariness weighing him down. He needed to rest, regroup, before all these stray thoughts started driving him mad. “We gotta get you back…”
“No time,” he mumbled. “Sun.”
“Fuck, you’re right. Okay. Can you do something to make us not noticed? I think there’re some apartments nearby. I’ll find one with curtains, okay? You can get something to eat, I can take a shower, we’ll hang out until the sun goes back down, okay? You with me? Just concentrate. Can you do that?”
“Yes…” Ivahn waited, struggling; his body didn’t seem ready to cooperate just yet but he forced it to anyway. After what seemed like an eternity—and was probably only a few seconds—he was fairly sure that he had a competent illusion around them. Enough for them to escape notice, at least. “Done.”
“Okay, babe, just hold on.”
He felt Pevi shift his grip around him, arms tightening, felt his limbs sway and Pevi headed out somewhere—he fisted a hand in his shirt almost by reflex, when the movement made his head swim and everything in sight seemed to melt and smear into each other. The fight was finally presenting its bill, and with the sun coming up all he wanted to do was sleep forever, wrapped in Pevi’s arms—but no, he had to keep the illusion up, he had to stay awake.
“Just a few minutes longer,” he heard Pevi say. “Just a little bit more, babe, you can do that, can’t you? We’re nearly there. Just hold on.”
He nodded, unsure if Pevi could see it, and held on.