Hold Me, Thrill Me, Kiss Me, Kill Me

It wasn't often Tanandra received phone calls; her line was unlisted, blocked, and very few living people had the number that she actually on occasion would answer. And even of those people, they still typically left messages with her wolves and then she'd choose to talk to them or not. Usually she'd get back to them the next day, or even that evening if it were really important, but when her wolf told her it was some man speaking Cretan and asking ugently for a "Mistwess Tanandwa," there was no waiting. The phone was taken immediately.

Oh, Tanandra had been waiting for another call, another moment to tear into that bastard. Dear, sweet Barry was such a good little henchman and surely he'd mop up the floor after the green-haired vixen was done tearing that gloating, self-worshipping, snobby-assed, bullet-happy, man whore into teeny pieces! Right? But the phone wasn't passed to Barry's master, which was what had halted Tanandra's immediate rage; as much as she loathed the perfect-haired prick, Tanda wouldn't take her rage out on his chimera lest he do the same and more devastating to her own.

There was an urgency to his voice, and a softness that she couldn't quite place at first. Barry was upset, and a little afraid. And she needed to come to London straight away to see his master. Mastah Weavah.... wasn't feeling well. Barry wouldn't disclose much over the phone, but he said it was urgent. At first, Tanda had to hold back a laugh; what could possibly be wrong with him? His hair go out of place? It wasn't like they could age or get sick anymore, and nothing could kill them- especially not him. Wrath was invulnerable.

....Wasn't he?

Tanadra didn't wait to pack a small bag and call down her private plane, and was quiet during the short trip from Rouen into London. The longest part was waiting for her car to arrive... stupid London traffic. Come on, come on!! Reaver would have started shooting people by now, surely, but if Reaver were in the car then she wouldn't have been. There was a tension in her well-tone stomach that the model couldn't clearly identify; why was she worried? Surely Barry was overreacting and Reaver was just being a drama queen. And there was no way he'd put up this sort of a ruse just to apologize and get a romp in the sack. He was far too direct for that, and after their last little meeting...

Golden eyes burned listlessly out the window. He'd seen Tanda at her weakest, when she was genuinely frightened by being in the middle of a war she had no place in serving as a beast that had no place in humanity. It had come out and it scared her, and Reaver, disgusted, killed her. Only once, though. And he'd kissed her, and laid her down in his coat. Reaver promised that if he saw her break down like that again he'd kill her for good, but if she did, she'd welcome it. But only if it were him killing her. Nobody else held perfection the way Reaver did. Nobody else held his style or flair, so only he would do if it came down to it. But surely that wasn't why he'd called her to his home, and if it were, he'd do that himself, not have Barry invite her.

And why so urgent?

"Faster," Tanda barked at the driver, laquered nails digging into the leather seats. The black car vaulted forward, weaving through traffic to the manor that was Reaver's. The car moved through the opening gate and up the hill to the door before it jarred to a halt; the driver had seen the burning look of the Rouenian woman and didn't want to test her on the way to the house of a man who had a reputation for shooting you instead of tipping you.

"Barry," Tanandra stepped up to the manor's door, pushing the bell and waited, painted nails drumming on her arm. A maid could come for her bag. The knot weighed down in her stomach, cold and seething. Reaver... That prick. He was just messing with her. She huffed as the door opened, slender arms folded loosely across her glorious chest. "So nice to see you again, Barry. Will your tell your master I'm here, or shall I tell him myself?"

The gingered hair servant almost tripped over the air when she barked his name. Nearly spilling the pot of tea that quivered on the tray. The normally rather alive manor was deadly silent revealing there were only three occupants. "Mistwess Tanandwa! Thank goodness you came...Master Weaver-!" His words were cut off as the agonizing pulse of wrath bloody symphony of screams echoed the halls of the silent manor followed by agonizing shouts and screams from the master itself.

Barry clutched his head praying that the madness of wrath would not consume him as he tried to keep control of his own mind and body which was slipping at his master's maddening calls. After a few agonizing moments the air stilled. But not one of relief...tension hung like a hang mans noose.

"Come this way." Barry said quietly leading the beautiful woman who he knew to trust in helping his master up the stairs to Reaver's bedroom. Normally a room where he lead people for a night of pleasure or even himself to state his master lust instead when he opened the door the stench of pestilence and madness flowed out.

In the bed among silk sheets sat Reaver. Clenching his face as blood trickled between fingers. His hair no longer flair of life and perfection but listless...even grey. Reaver looked Sick....more then sick he looked terminal. A shell of his former self crippling under the strain of his power. His body rejecting while wrath tried to absorb his soul. Barry could only whimper as he watched the master he loved so dearly collapse in on himself from the proud man to this sickly forum.

Ordinarily Reaver's mansion was the place to be; people killed for a chance to get in, and often killed at least once more before leaving, depending on the party. But now, Lust looked around as Barry opened the door and noted that inside the manor's great halls it was dark and painfully still. There were no lights in the windows, no music from other rooms, and no catter of guests. The mansion itself seemed in pain as Tanandra entered, shooting a quick glare to the timid driver to get her bag and not dare drive off with it.

Her bag was brought to just inside the door before the man zoomed back into his car and drove off in a great hurry, leaving Tanda and Barry alone. She'd never seen or heard of this place being so dark; even the vacant areas of her own home were not as despairing. She looked Barry up and down as he seemed frazzled, upset, and slightly pale. It was... disquieting. Where were the other servants? Surely Reaver hadn't killed all of them. "Mistwess Tanandwa! Thank goodness you came...Master Weaver-!" She was about to ask when the pained howl ripped through the stillness of the dark manor, sending chills down Tanda's brown skin. What the hell was that?!

Most of the time when people screamed here it was intended... But that was... Reaver screaming. No, that couldn't have been him, could it? The woman seemed suddenly uneasy, wondering what was going on and growing more unsettled as she looked at poor Barry once more. "Come this way." Quietly, Tanda followed the chimera through the halls, her gait with reserved urgency as soemthing nagged at the back of her mind that this was not Reaver trying to pull a fast one on her in some garish prank.

The master suite was dark as the rest of the splendid home, the air dank and heavy, reeking of the stench of sickness. If there was one drawback to Tanandra's newfound blessings, it was the heightened sense of smell, and dear God, this room reeked. Her nose wrinkled in disgust, Tanandra pulling a handkerchief from her jacket's pocket and pressed it to her face. The rumpled man in bed... That wasn't Reaver! His hair, even in the dim light, wasn't the right colour, all gray and lifeless. All exuberance and health was faded and in bed was a broken, bleeding shell. tanandra hesitated, staring in mild horror at something she didn't believe she could ever see. They were immortal. They were above the humans in every way. Bleeding, pain, and death... were below them.

Slowly she stepped nearer to the bed, pulling the folded silk away from her face. Her golden eyes were shining, but the beast within her growled to keep it at bay. "Mon dieu Reaver darling, you look terrible." She couldn't seem to look away from the blood that ran between his fingers, uncertain. Had someone done this to him? What was happening? She felt a moment to reach her hand out to stroke his lifeless hair, but thought better of it; beasts in pain were known for biting fiercely, even when your intentions were good.


"Reaver, what has happened? Who did this to you?" If someone had found a way to hurt something that was likened to a god, then there was no god to have mercy on the person who could do this to Reaver; only she deserved that pleasure. She loathed the flamboyant prick, and yet, the idea that someone might be to blame for his misery made her seeth, and they would be kept alive as long as possible until she had satisfaction. "Barry, fetch me a damp cloth, and a hand towel."

As Barry scuttled out Reaver huffed when he saw her. "Of all the people....HE calls you..." There was no hatred or pity in his voice. More humor. What a sense of humor this world had. 

It didn't take Barry long to return with the tea and cloth and soon reaver had been cleaned up, a bandage over his eye to soak up the blood and tea in his lap. Shakey hands took the small cup taking a timid sip. A reflection of his old self sat wrapped in a blanket and sheets.

"To answer your question... Wrath is doing this to me... My body is being rejected..."

(wip not finished)