#oblv: drabble

[clansayeed]

The Evening ― a Bound by Destiny drabble

⥼ Summary ⥽

While Nadya is busy making friends among the Ball's other human guests, Adrian and Kamilah retreat to the vampire-exclusive La Soiree. It is there that Adrian meets a pair of vampires with which to spend the evening... and finds himself caught up in the scintillating air of their natural mystery.

note: This piece takes place during Bound by Destiny, during the events of Chapter 10: The Cellar. It is not necessary to read to understand Book 1 or the Oblivion Bound series, but it does provide a fun insight into both Adrian and the original characters Valdas and Isseya.

word count: 4,175 rating: mature content warnings: language, blood drinking, vaguely-described sexual situations find out more: HERE

⥼ MASTERLIST ⥽

[READ IT ON AO3]

By the third time Kamilah sweeps her gaze across the room he’s had enough.

“You don’t need to babysit me all night. Do you think I’m going to up and retreat the moment you turn your back?”

The look she gives him isn’t entirely unwarranted; a simple arched brow and the kind of breath that shifts her bosom at the top of her corset but serves only to be seen and understood.

For as long as he’s known her, Adrian has been fascinated with Kamilah’s skill of speaking columns without so much as an utterance. Maybe it comes with age. More likely it’s just something uniquely Kamilah.

“Give yourself a tad more credit Adrian.” She curls a single finger in the air; summoning a serving boy from out of his line of sight and plucks her choice of dark amber liquor from his offered assortment. “‘Retreat’ is not a word in your lexicon.”

The same silver tray is offered to Adrian. He declines, and the servant flits away.

“You know what I mean.”

Kamilah savors her drink for a long moment. “Perhaps I did, once. Now, however, I find myself in need of a translator where you are concerned.”

And… well, isn’t that entirely not what he was expecting. “What’s that about?”

“It is about the changes I’ve seen in you over the last few months. I’ve yet to determine whether or not to be concerned.”

“A chan—” But before he can even get the full question out, Kamilah cuts him off.

“Do not play the fool to me. Never to me.”

Eyes sharp as the daggers she collects so avidly; plum-tinted lips curled into a frown usually reserved for literally anyone else. All of her discontent plain to see despite the heady fog of incense that curls around the foyer and its guests.

But it’s not exactly difficult for Adrian to figure out the source of her ire. The unspoken name that’s kept her on her toes.

Only Adrian wouldn’t dare do anything but call Nadya a profoundly positive influence on his life. Not even just his—Kamilah’s, too. How long has it been since he’s heard even the whisper of amusement curled into the corners of her mouth? Or seen a kindness as simple as slipping Nadya her Clan symbol so she wouldn’t have to brave the train ride without them at her side?

One of his great personal tragedies of the last century was being forced into the role of silent witness to the hardening of Kamilah Sayeed’s heart. And yet she sits here in front of him and implies he’s the only one changed by the strange yet welcome break in immortal tedium ignited by their wondrous new human friend.

Alas, Adrian isn’t the least bit surprised.

He’s young (compared to her, anyway), but not stupid.

Before Adrian can speak a word in his own defense a familiar and throaty laugh catches the pair’s attention. It has Adrian looking beyond her shoulder while Kamilah twists lithely to join him in watching Lester’s entrance to the evening’s events.

To no one’s surprise their fellow Council member has arrived with a beautiful woman gracing each arm. Mortal, given the flush in their cheeks — and no doubt a disturbingly small fraction of his presumed age. He postures; he always does. Loud bellowing guffaws and over-exaggerated reunions with old friends he will need plenty of liquor to recall the names of.

By the time he’s made his way across the foyer there’s an entire Castellanos entourage on his heels. And as quickly as they gathered… they all vanish together too. Gone behind one of several doorways draped in maroon velvet.

Attentions turning back to one another, the looks Adrian and Kamilah exchange make his heart feel a little bit lighter. Even when they aren’t eye-to-eye on one thing, they will always be on the same team.

“Well we know which salon to steer clear of.” Adrian muses.

“I would venture caution even to those which share a wall with his den of debauchery.”

That, however, brings up the unspoken discussion neither of them have wanted to set in motion. The one where they discuss their own and each others’ participation in the soiree’s intended purpose.

Kamilah is certainly dressed for it. And Adrian isn’t even the only one around them wearing a simple suit — sometimes what is not revealed is just as tantalizing as what is, after all.

So he sighs, accepts defeat, and politely stops the closest server for his pick of red wines on offer. “I’ll stay—salut,” his raised glass meets hers between them, “but I’ve got too much on my mind to even think about… joining in.”

Knowing it’s the best she’s going to get out of him, Kamilah accepts this and begins to unwind herself from the supple leather sofa.

“One of these days you might want to try not shouldering the world’s every burden.”

“One of these days.”

“And when such a day comes, I might just die from shock.”

“Just don’t resent me for being your demise.”

With a bemused little smile Kamilah bends down to bestow chaste kisses to his cheeks. It’s enough to give Adrian a strange yet fleeting sense of relief. “I cannot make any promises about not holding it against you,” she teases. “But in all seriousness— do try to find something to keep you entertained tonight. You might even find yourself enjoying what opportunity comes along. It does so only once a decade, if you recall.”

Then Kamilah takes her leave. Adrian watches her go for lack of anything better to do… though the sight of her greeting an unfamiliar woman with a coy smile and friendly kisses isn’t exactly easy on him. He’s glad she’s giving into the opportunity to let loose even a little bit — but knowing what Adrian does about Nadya and her feelings towards Kamilah…

Well, he’s frustrated. Torn between two loyalties. But that’s nothing new.

La Soiree is still in its early hours. Eventually the foyer, still bustling with the last wave of attendees under the impression fashionably late has modern relevance, will be no more than an echoing chamber. And Adrian still doesn’t know if he plans on being one of the scant few left behind.

Wistfully his thoughts drift—unsurprisingly—to Nadya and the Cellar party happening below. Maybe he could pop in. Could check and just make sure she’s acclimating and finding friends and doing well. But would the attendants even let him in…?

The other end of the long couch sighs. Drawing Adrian’s attention to the man helping himself in taking up Kamilah’s place.

He gives the stranger a polite nod out of sheer courtesy — already readying himself to stand and take his leave.

“Surely there is enough room to share?”

Adrian blinks, startled. Looking back at the man but unsure of what to say.

“Yes, you,” the stranger offers a small chuckle and a sweeping hand to all of the empty cushions around them. “There’s no need to leave. In fact, I invite the pleasure of your company.”

The pleasure of his company? Words no doubt carefully-chosen here… of all places.

“Unless…” The man shrugs one shoulder before looking up at Adrian through obviously lowered lashes. “You have a prior engagement, of course.”

Something about the unspoken implication rubs Adrian the wrong way; and makes him debate staying solely to prove the man wrong. There’s a touch of the sinner in the glint of the stranger’s honeyed eyes and the almost predatory way he watches Adrian while sipping his drink.

Apparently… he’s doing this. Adrian sits back down… and tries to reassure himself of the feeling that he may not have really had a choice in the matter. Of course he did.

… Right?

The other vampire doesn’t bother hiding the victory lacing his smile. “Forgive me, where are my manners…”

He extends a dark hand… and the moment Adrian reciprocates the other takes it as unspoken permission to snatch up the empty cushion between them.

“You will call me Valdas.”

Oh will he? “Adrian, Adrian Raines.”

Only Valdas doesn’t relinquish his grip so easily. Leaving Adrian watching with growing confusion and unease as he turns over their joined hands with a tender curiosity.

“Ease the tension in your jaw. It isn’t good for such a handsome face to always look so displeased with the world.”

Reluctantly, Adrian does. “I don’t think I look… displeased,” and brushing the barely-concealed compliment aside… “May I have my hand back, Valdas?”

Apparently not. Well-trimmed nails brush along the inside of his upturned wrist. They linger in the same way winter just won’t let the city go in February. The barest touch dragging along the lines of Adrian’s palm in a way only a lover’s should.

Valdas hums as if pleased. “The trained eye can always tell who among us are survivors of the days of old. Indulge me this, Adrian Raines — I would put you at two, three centuries walking?”

“Pardon?”

“You are pardoned. I’m asking for your age, young man.” Which is a strange endearment to hear from someone who looks pretty close to him in physical age at the very least. Adrian can almost imagine a bit of a baby face hiding under that thick and well-trimmed beard.

While asking someone’s age isn’t any taboo among their kind—especially those gathered at La Soiree—Adrian can’t help but feel a little bit uncomfortable; sharing his age with a man he’s only just met. It’s a clear indicator at the very least that he’s not from around New York or the surrounding states. If he was he’d know Adrian by sight. And age has always been an important measure of decorum — among the Council anyway. It’s why the likes of the Baron will always hesitate before crossing Kamilah; or even Adrian himself for that matter.

Kamilah had even explained to him once the importance of age in the old European vampire culture. How it dictated everything from eye contact to forms of address to even whether you could speak to someone at all.

If Adrian’s placing this Valdas’ accent even remotely geographically close… these could be dangerous waters ahead.

Subtly, Adrian tries to coax his hand free. “Is it that important?”

He fails. Earning instead the stroke of a roughly calloused thumb over the top of his palm. “My curiosity has you uncomfortable,” Valdas answers; a statement that leaves Adrian slightly taken aback.

“Well, no, I —”

The other vampire’s grasp tightens suddenly. It’s minuscule, but definitely noteworthy.

“I do not ask the same thing twice.”

That Adrian doesn’t have a hard time believing. At this rate it’s just easier to answer and get it over with. “I’ve never had a reason to count the years off,” he coolly lies, but still offers, “somewhere over the head of two hundred and fifty, though.”

His acquiescence is met favorably; an almost proud curve added to Valdas’ smile while he nods.

“Yes. I thought so.”

“How could you tell?”

Valdas seems glad Adrian asks. He gestures with a sweep of his thumb over calluses so old Adrian often forgets they’re there; no more important or defining unto him than the scar on his foot from the angry end of a horseshoe nail in his youth, or the chip on his bottom tooth he had been forced to wait for modern dentistry to finally get corrected.

Judging by the way Valdas looks at them, too, their permanence is kind of the whole point.

“The evidence is here, do you see? So many of us lucky enough to have survived have telltale marks such as these. Marks from a farmer’s labor or a blacksmith’s skill. Yours, Adrian, are a tad more distinct though. I would recognize another soldier’s hands anywhere.”

There was once a time when Adrian would have recoiled at the assumption. It didn’t matter if it was true or not. But Gaius has been gone for so long, now. Titles like Soldier, like Bloodqueen, have faded into nothing more than words; as mundane as their current occupations of CEO and Council Member.

“You’re a regular Sherlock Holmes, huh.”

Valdas again shrugs a single shoulder. Then he turns his own hand up and into Adrian’s cupped palm to reveal his own similarly rough hewn skin.

“Deduction has its uses to be sure. But I’ve found experience to be a far more adept means of investigation.”

At least Adrian can take his hand back, now.

“Well I guess my eye isn’t as trained. I hope you’re not waiting for me to guess your age.”

“Why would I, when the time it would take you to do so even close to accurately could be spent in far more amicable ways?”

In the time it takes Adrian to realize his intended insult, Valdas throws his arm over the back of the couch and allows himself to sink further into the pliant leather for comfort.

Well, Adrian thinks, there are worse ways to spend the evening.

He could be in the same room as Lester.

“I take it you are local to the area?”

Adrian nods. “Well—Manhattan, yes.”

“I mean to say that this is not your first of these events.” Valdas gestures broadly to the foyer around them; growing more empty with every passing minute. The intricate and semi-sexual dance of small talk and choosing partners seems to be nearly over.

Ah. “Oh, no then,” he answers. “What about you?” Since it’s highly unlikely his companion is here for someone’s Debut.

“‘Tis our first on this continent. Though the Balls of old hosted by the young Lord Lafayette weren’t so specific in nature back then — they never were.”

There’s… quite a bit to unpack there in a simple statement; and Adrian doesn’t really know where to begin. Maybe that’s a good thing—famous last thoughts—when Valdas reaches forward and cards a surprisingly gentle touch through his hair.

Adrian should be leaning away.

Why isn’t he leaning away?

Because apparently once again Kamilah is proven right — only this time she isn’t even here to reap the spoils of her victory. And because maybe it has been a while since Adrian has… indulged himself with the company of another. It’s not as though Valdas isn’t an attractive man; that’s not it at all. He just isn’t the first person Adrian would have picked out in a room full of equally eligible vampires ranging from casually friendly to just plain horny.

So where does that leave them?

It leaves Adrian speechless; a wordless yet not entirely unwilling participant to the way the other vampire takes slow and purposeful advances. It’s not like Valdas is trying to lure him in falsely with a ruse. They both know exactly what’s going on, what each movement and action mean, and what they could very well build up to.

And Valdas is surprisingly patient as he waits to see if his affections will be reciprocated… or politely refused.

Adrian Raines is a polite man by nature. However he doesn’t refuse.

The rough pad of Valdas’ thumb swipes over Adrian’s bottom lip slowly and with care. Pressing down with the barest of pressure; just enough to feel the tip of his nail on his front tooth.

There’s a point to this brief hesitation. Now would be the time to tell him to stop, if that’s the plan.

Instead, Adrian asks— “Which party would you be referring to, exactly? The Ball, or La Soiree?”

The answer to Adrian’s question lies not in words, but in the way Valdas moves his hand to hold the other’s chin with thumb and forefinger; in the way Adrian follows by allowing his head to cant to the side, welcoming a warm exhale of breath on his neck.

Valdas’ lips tease just shy of a kiss. There’s the tickle of his facial hair that Adrian hasn’t felt in—phew—at least two decades, maybe more? Sensations both familiar in theory and new in specific experience. All that and the air of hunger that hangs over them, sultry and sweet.

Adrian’s half-lidded eyes briefly sweep the room around them in a daze; looking but not really seeing anything from beyond this moment the men have sealed themselves in. Why would he even bother — when there’s still so much to be taken in from the awakening his body is undergoing?

That strong grip winds its way into Adrian’s coiffed hair — clutching at soft strands and digging into his scalp. Like the hand’s owner was born in the tumultuous storm straddling pleasure and pain and has never left it.

“May I?”

Two words given breath and life wet against Adrian’s throat. He isn’t given the chance to answer… but he doesn’t need to when blunted teeth suddenly give way to something sharper.

The lightest twitch is all it takes for Valdas’ fangs to pierce Adrian’s flesh. It’s a carnal act as much as it is a relief; eliminating the need to navigate the murky waters of speech any further.

They sit together, each man’s existence honed in on the other, for what feels like an eternity. The soiree, the Ball itself; everything could continue to move and flow around them and Adrian is quite sure he would be none the wiser.

Yet every time he reaches out to offer some kind of physical reciprocation, Valdas declines. Whether it’s seeking out his cheeks or hair, trying to skirt touches to his neck or shoulders… even when Adrian tries to switch subtle tactics and goes for the buttons of Valdas’ dress shirt with certainty—the other man pushes his hands back in a silent command to simply enjoy. To allow himself to be enjoyed.

The next attempt becomes his last. Rejection joined this time by punishment of Adrian’s hands held bound in his own lap. He really doesn’t have a choice after that.

Somewhere in the din of it all the hairs on the back of Adrian’s arms prickle with gooseflesh. It’s enough to drag him into awareness beyond the heated coil burning in his belly and back to the world that—somehow, like a fever dream—exists outside of Valdas’ extremely talented mouth.

They are being watched.

They are being enjoyed.

One of the staff tries to offer the woman an hors d’oeuvre; just doing her job, being polite. But even from across the room Adrian can see the tension rippling underneath supple olive skin; can sense it in the shift of her lithe body under the dim lighting of the chandelier, and in the way the sheer veils that cover just enough of her skin glide effortlessly along her body and curves.

She is dark black hair in ringlets around sharp cheekbones and a sharper jawline. One eye the color of a tree in morning light and the other an ivy-toned green; both pupils blown wide and black and seemingly endless. And her smile… oh how her fangs catch pearlescent in the light.

He has absolutely no idea who she is.

That doesn’t stop her from staring at them with eyes giving new definition to the word desire.

But the attention starts to unnerve Adrian slightly. Enough to make him twitch and move under Valdas’ continued bloodstained attentions — though his body isn’t sure where to go.

Judging by the tightening grip on his hair… nowhere.

But even through whatever lusting frenzy has him so enamored, Valdas doesn’t ignore the chance of ambiance. Rather than pull back entirely he simply shifts; coyly tucking his face into Adrian’s fluttering pulse in order to cast a subtle glance at what exactly has his new treat ready to flee.

“Ah, yes,” he croons, a familiarity in his tone that catches Adrian off guard, “she can be rather… intense at first. But I assure you darling, she means no harm. Well… none that will go unrewarded anyway.”

Blinking through the haze of Valdas is harder than Adrian expected it to be. “You… know her?” He asks.

Only the second the words pass his lips he no longer needs them. Only then does he remember Valdas’ earlier choice of words—

“…our first time…”

—and it all makes sense.

“She’s your… partner.”

Valdas chuckles lowly; lets his rumbling voice thickened with arousal burrow itself a home beneath Adrian’s skin.

“To call her such a plain term is almost an insult — not that you could have known. If my beloved is merely my partner, then this—here, you and I—is nothing more than a business-like chat.”

Which they both know is an understatement. Point proven when Valdas finally releases his wrists, reaching between their entwined bodies to palm the evidence of Adrian’s enjoyment of even the little they’ve done so far. Finding him full and aching; eager for release against the tight fabric of his suit slacks.

“I can’t recall business ever putting me… here.” Hard, confused; the itch of the role of prey tingling the base of his spine in a way it hadn’t since Adrian was Turned.

And all-too-quickly due to that woman’s unwavering stare.

Valdas wrenches Adrian’s focus back from across the room with a squeeze. Watching and relishing every expression flickering across Adrian’s face with rapt obsession. “I’m gladdened to know you aren’t opposed to Isseya’s voyeurism.”

Any protests that might have been are thus no longer. They die on the tip of Adrian’s tongue; swallowed down so quickly he almost chokes on them in exchange for the moan Valdas pulls from him when he skillfully destroys Adrian’s button fly without a care.

His head falls back against the back of the chaise, his world sent off-kilter, everything distorted at the edges of his sight.

Only to be brought back by the slow and purposeful approach of the tigress called Isseya.

Deceitfully delicate hands fall on his shoulders. The whisper of a soft thumb stroking the juncture where Adrian’s neck meets his shoulder that quickly grows heavy. Effortlessly she is holding him down — pinned and prone.

Isseya leans over him then — fully aware of how her supple breasts follow the curve of her spine to lean just within reach of his parted lips. But the kiss she captures Valdas with becomes a form of distraction all its own.

Humans invented monogamy because to them life was fleeting. Vampires have a very different mindset—and rightly so. There are dozens of ways two (or more) of their kind can define the relationships they have between one another and all together; probably even more than Adrian knows.

But as he watches their tongues tangle soft and exploratory, two of Valdas’ fingers tucking under Isseya’s chin and the control held in such a simple touch… Adrian quickly learns, and understands.

Calling her partner really was a kind of insult. It belittles them and what they are together; what they have. What they let wash over Adrian in building desperation and raising volume wet and eager and only continuing to grow.

What would it be like to kiss someone like that, Adrian finds himself wondering. It’s not an answer, but as if under a compulsion he watches himself lend Valdas a hand by hooking his finger into the rope belt hanging low on Isseya’s hips — like that could somehow hold her there.

The couple press their foreheads together briefly before parting in a silent reckoning. Isseya’s gaze trails lazily back to Adrian like he’s an afterthought.

Oh, yes. You exist.

“You always find me the prettiest presents, My Beloved One.” Her voice rings like chimes on a twilight breeze.

With a chuckle and a nod, Valdas resumes his earlier pursuit — fingers dipping steadily below Adrian’s bespoke waistline to take his arousal in hand. “Who said he was yours?”

“I did.”

“I rather like him for mine own.”

“Cruel, lover.”

Adrian wants to interject; though at the moment his brain is likely to say something stupid about not belonging to anyone, about being his own man. But it’s difficult to think when he’s… like this.

“Strong jaw, good cheekbones… You know I love the cheekbones.” Yet even the bare minimum of a compliment feels, coming from her, like worshipful praise.

His stare is glassy, and he looks up at Isseya with acceptance as well as desire. Another minute more and Adrian worries he might find it impossible to deny them both of anything. Especially the inevitable.

Maybe that’s the whole point.

“Does he suit your vision of the evening, my love?” Valdas asks, words breathed like worship into Isseya’s slender neck. The vampiress hums at the affection and question both, sweeping Adrian up in another of her all-consuming gazes.

“I’d have to taste of him, first.”

Rather than give her an answer, Valdas simply turns to Adrian with a single eyebrow raised.

The unspoken question hangs loudly between them all.

Well? The choice is his.

Well…

Adrian watches his hand cup the back of Isseya’s neck, pulling her in for a kiss.

There are worse ways to spend the evening.

[clansayeed]

the overwhelmingly positive response to my new oblv drabble has been so??? amazing??? thank you all so much!!!

[clansayeed]

43 from the prompt list for Kadya

Spots To Kiss + 43 ― a kiss on the stomach

pairing: Kamilah x MC (Nadya Al Jamil) word count: 472 rating: teen+ content warnings: none find out more: HERE

note: this isn’t much of a finished piece; I gave myself 15 minutes and knew if I let it go longer than that I wouldn’t finish it because I tend to do that often. so yeah it seems to cut off somewhere weird but it’s still kinda cute? like a snapshot into their softer lives

⥼ FIC MASTERLIST ⥽

Kamilah always looks beautiful. It’s just kind of… her brand. One of those immutable facts of nature and the universe; like the sky being blue or vampires being real.

Still, Nadya has no idea why she can’t think of anything else at the moment.

Kamilah looks beautiful. Kamilah looks beautiful. Kamilah looks beautiful.

And she does.

Maybe that’s why.

Her lips are soft where they graze over Nadya’s middle. There’s nothing inherently lustful about the act — maybe that’s why she can’t stop watching. Not that she’d look away if it were something to do with lust but… she can’t quite put her finger on it. Crapola.

Hot breath whispers along her skin. Barely even an exhale; definitely not something made of words or thoughts. It’s almost unconscious in how easily Kamilah just… pretends to breathe against her.

“Why do you do that?” Nadya finds herself asking before she can be stopped. Not that she knows who would have stopped her, but it would have been nice to have the option for the record.

Kamilah pauses. That breath gone in an instant — like a candle snuffed out by a strong wind.

Then she gently rests the bottom of her defined chin right below her human’s navel. Smooth skin like a stone worn at over the centuries until, like the rest of her, even her jaw is polished and perfect.

When Nadya inhales (because some of them don’t breathe on a whim, thank you very much) Kamilah allows her head to rise and fall with the body beneath her. The movement drags their skin together; it tickles the soft ghosting of darker hair that trails down from her belly button and cuts off around the curve of her stomach.

“Are you asking why I’m kissing you, Nadya?” Kamilah seems genuinely curious, too. Arched eyebrow and everything and oh no no that’s — shoot — that’s not what she meant!

“No no, I mean the thing.”

“Use your words.”

She lets her head fall back against the plush pillows with a groan. She’s trying, darn it!

“The thing —” — trying again and this time with a wave of her hand in no particular direction, as if that will somehow mime her thoughts — “— the uh… the breathing thing. I was just wondering why you seem to pretend to breathe more when we’re like… this.”

A smirk quirks just so at the corner of Kamilah’s lips.

“When we are intimate? You can say the word, it certainly wouldn’t be the foulest of language you’ve used in this bed.”

Oh don’t remind her… “I was tipsy. That doesn’t count. And you’re avoiding the question!”

Judging by the impressed look that flickers over Kamilah’s face in the darkness, she hadn’t expected Nadya to notice. It doesn’t last long but it’s there and you bet your butt she’s taking it as a victory.

[clansayeed]

20 from the prompt list for the trinity

Spots To Kiss + 20 ― a kiss on where the back of the neck turns to shoulder

pairing: The Trinity; Valdemaras x Cynbel x Isseya word count: 976 rating: mature content content warnings: heavily implied sexual content, biting/bruising/choking/use of force of a sexual nature on a consenting partner, mentions of blood, mild aggression find out more: HERE

note: please take the content warnings on this piece seriously. while there is no violence or abuse on a physical level, the Trinity is well-known (now) to be a rather intense partnership. there is mild bruising, choking, and force in the piece below ― all of it part of a consensual polyamorous relationship on their behalf though 

⥼ FIC MASTERLIST ⥽

339 B.C.

The problem with unspoken things is that they are fine to remain unspoken until someone breaches their boundaries. Then all bets are off, but they really aren’t. Because really… they ought to have made sure it was a little bit more—well—spoken.

Odd to track as a hypothetical; and startlingly specific. And exactly the reason that Cynbel has to be the voice of reason for the first time in his immortal life when Isseya, their newly-blooded and visceral and passionate and possessive Isseya, makes the mistake of kissing the blond on the juncture between his neck and shoulder… but on the left side of his neck.

He grips Valdemaras by the hips. Pale flesh with callouses that will never fade — never not remind him of a life of hard-earned survival that brings him to there and now — resting heavy and pressing into the dark golden cut of their Maker’s muscle in a touch that doesn’t feel like it’s enough… but he’s uncertain of how else to remind their Made-God of what has him in such a temperament.

“She could not have known.”

Valdemaras doesn’t answer. Crimson eyes and bared fangs; the vision of the heathen god they knew him as in their mortality. The one she fell in love with… but now looks upon with confusion and spite.

“Valdemaras!”

“Enough from you!” Their Maker snaps over his shoulder, and forces Cynbel to recoil from the force of his anger. “She will learn!”

“She has plenty of time to learn.”

When he thinks himself recovered, Cynbel focuses a level gaze over Valdemaras’ shoulder to the trembling Isseya. Tree bark digging harsh into her naked back and the hand around her throat shaking with intensity.

That’s the problem with falling in love with passionate people. Sometimes passions can run too high. Far too high. And they are still new to one another in this way; to how passionate they can all be together. How much blood they can spill, how many bruises they can bloom before they fade back into perfection.

Valdemaras growls low, dangerous. “Have you nothing to say for yourself?” But despite her attempts Isseya cannot manage a sound. Rare, for her. But it shows Cynbel something that is lost on their Divinity.

So he tries again.

“Valdemaras, my Beloved,” he takes the man’s free hand and brings it up to that very spot; the damnable patch of skin behind all this foolishness, “feel me. Feel my skin; skin that you gave new life to. Muscle that you devoured, blood beneath that runs through your veins. How could Isseya have known your… protective nature towards the part of me you made me yours with?” She couldn’t, that’s the point.

The longer he keeps the hold the more things seem to calm. The tension dissipating into the forest air around them. Thick and choking in dead lungs making way for a cool breeze that wipes the sweat from their brows.

When their Maker gives Isseya a mere inch Cynbel gifts her a mile. With it the freedom for her to use that natural agility of hers to slip free from where’s she’s been pinned and around into the open space of their campsite. Even Cynbel — notoriously thick-headed as he is — knows their new girl despises enclosures and being confined. They all do in their own way, but her enough for them all.

She flickers wary, wounded eyes between them. Hesitates when Cynbel turns and tries to approach her… with her tawny skin under the moonlight he can’t help but be reminded of his years hunting meager deer. When he takes another step she stays quite still; enough for him to gauge her and know he can appear at her side in a blur of movement.

Her arms wrap around him without hesitation. He returns it slowly for her own sake, and for the sake of Valdemaras as he comes out of his mania. Isseya may be content to bury her face in his chest but Cynbel knows to watch these next moments with intention and care.

Their Maker finally sighs; a heavy thing with slumped shoulders and a body that sags against the tree like he can somehow fall into Isseya’s pain where she once stood.

“I… forgot myself.”

Their Golden Son gives a soft “ha” and a nod. “Yes, you did.” He cups the back of Isseya’s wild mane of hair with a broad palm.

“She’s still in her mortal lifetime, Maker Divine. How do you expect her to know what you claim as yours without being told?”

The arms around him tighten and draw his attention. Cynbel can feel the shift and near creak of his ribs together in his chest. A selfish, possessive act that draws out breathy laughter against his better judgment.

“Something to add, beloved?”

To their combined surprise she does. Enough for her to pull herself bodily free and round the a glare that could wither the world at their Lord and Light; their Valdemaras.

“He is mine as he is yours. As you are mine and his. And I am his and yours.”

They know this. They have all known this since she was Turned nearly two decades ago.

But, much like the spot on Cynbel’s neck… it has gone known-yet-unspoken for so long that there is a power to hearing it aloud. One that settles over them all in a heavy blanket. Their three bodies will never shiver in the cold or wilt in the heat… but the weight of this knowledge — and the acceptance of it — is significant in a way they could not have anticipated.

“Yes, beloved.” Valdemaras nods. Cynbel watches their hesitant touches; fingertips to hands to their bodies pressed together beautifully. Their forgiveness just as silent as the rest of their amusing failures tonight.

Yes, beloved.

[clansayeed]

The Interview ― a Bound by Destiny drabble

⥼ Summary ⥽

Nervous, broke, and way under-qualified, Nadya applies for a last-resort secretary job at the illustrious Raines Corp. But a cup of coffee before her interview might just change her life.

note: This piece takes place before the events of the Oblivion Bound series. It takes the events of Bloodbound 1 CH 1 and tailors them specifically to Nadya, and is referenced a handful of times throughout Bound by Destiny.

Happy Birthday Oblivion Bound! On June 29th you turned 1 year old, and I couldn’t be more excited to have so much more of this story to tell. To everyone who has joined me along the way I hope you enjoy this little piece!

check out the fake screencaps for this piece!

word count: 4,902 rating: teen+ content warnings: none find out more: HERE

⥼ MASTERLIST ⥽

[READ IT ON AO3]

In all the articles she read (that morning, which probably wasn’t a good way to start out even the potential of this job) there was a universal agreement that being the last person interviewed was about as bad as being the first.

But none of those stupid articles told her what to do when she finds herself stuck smack-dab in the middle.

She keeps trying to push up her glasses. There’s a half-crescent probably permanently etched into the bridge of her nose by now. Great first impression to make, honestly.

The conference room door opens and everyone tries to play it cool, tries not to look at the face of the woman who exits. They don’t want to get their hopes up. They don’t want to think three hours of waiting is for nothing.

She leaves just like all the others. The next name is called just like all the others. Four seats to her left the young man stands and adjusts his tie. Runs his tongue over his pearly teeth — and closes the pristine wooden doors behind him.

What had Lily said? Something helpful, probably. Though she’s certain now it was probably mixed in with a whole lot of nonsense. Motivational quotes, stress-relief tips that worked on everyone but the chronically anxious. But, much like how she finds herself, there’s one sliver of usefulness among the chaos.

“Caffeine. If you get the jitters just tell them you’re excited to work there! If not… well you’ll have coffee and that’s a gift on its own.”

The last candidate was interviewed for twenty-three minutes. Before her; thirty-one minutes.

So she rationalizes there’s nothing wrong with leaving her clipboard on her seat and rushing to the lobby for a quick java boost. Hadn’t there been a coffee cart right off to the side…?

It’s only fitting that the last of her freehand cash is spent here. If by some miracle she actually gets the job it’ll be something funny to reminisce on after she gets through the first year.

If she gets through the first year.

The middle of the afternoon has come and gone, now. She looks out through the glass walls of the front atrium to see the sky fading into the ombre of evening light. At this rate the interviewer won’t get to her in time, and she’s pretty darn sure this isn’t the type of place to waste a call back on something as trivial as a secretarial position.

It’s New York. Secretaries are a dime a dozen. That much is obvious.

Now comes the hard part — waiting. Trying not to tap her foot on the expensive marble floors and trying not to look back so much she messes up her hair and trying not to chew her lip so hard she walks into her interview with blood on her teeth.

“Are you alright?”

The first words said to her since she arrived; well… apart from “Complete the forms given before your interview. You will be called in by order of arrival” hammered out by the terse blonde interviewer. The first words and they’re kind and she’s definitely thrown more than a little off-kilter by the whole thing.

And coming from the custom-fit Suit she just happened to stand near, too? Well now she’s wary of flying pigs on the evening weather forecast.

It’s hard not to look at him from the ground up; to take in all of him with the money that seeps from his collar and cuffs and the way his tie pin catches the lights overhead. From the way he carries himself the Suit knows all this; he’s accustomed to it.

Only… her appreciation halts at his eyes. Dark brows just shy of knitted together and a shine in his eyes that has nothing to do with fluorescent bulbs and everything to do with… with…

It’s an impossible sensation. One she’s never felt before. Not just hard to describe but literally — she can’t. There aren’t words for a look like that. Open and honest and genuine and…

“Soy latte for Nadya.”

Is she staring? She feels like she’s staring.

The Suit laughs. It’s the shift in his expression that does it — puts her squarely back inside her own head where everything is all a hectic jumble of professional words and an itemized list of accomplishments. Yup, she was staring. If she gets this job she’ll have to rely solely on home-brewed coffee so as to never meet this man again.

“Are you Nadya?”

The burning in her cheeks is in direct contrast to her chosen blush. But Nadya has a feeling he’s the least likely person to notice that, here. The coffee cart barista on the other hand…

It’s hard to stop her hand from trembling as Nadya reaches out for her coffee. Hopefully not enough to notice, certainly not enough to spill anything, but nope nope nope about mission — the Suit noticed. The Suit noticed!

“I’m sorry,” her apology; a compulsion, “I—that was super rude of me. Oh my god, I… probably look like such a weirdo.”

“A bit,” he muses in reply. But he doesn’t seem all too bothered by it? It has the gears in her head turning backwards trying to understand.

“At the risk of sounding vain —”

“—said every vain person ever?”

“Too true; but I digress. You have nothing to be sorry for — it’s not the first time something like that has happened.” He’s on the nose there — between the polished cufflinks and his smile just the same the guy definitely sounds vain.

The first sip of her latte is always the same — tentative, just a quick taste to make sure her stomach isn’t gonna regret it later — but Mr. Vanity doesn’t look away which is a little unnerving to say the least.

“Just nerves then, I assume?”

“Wait — I’m sorry?”

If Nadya had to wonder where any sense of ‘cool and calm’ she might have had went she’s found it here, all soaked up in (probably) Italian loafers. “Just a second ago,” his hands slide into his pockets, “you looked… well I thought you were about to faint.”

Oh. “Right—yeah—nerves,” and he didn’t ask but she rambles when she’s like this so really it’s his fault for starting a conversation, “I’m actually here for a job interview. My first big gig since moving to the city, you know?”

The man nods appraisingly. “I remember the feeling well. But this office is the same as any other on Wall Street, I assure you.”

Yeah, that’s Nadya’s problem.

“I’ve never worked in a place like this. Ever.”

“Ever?”

“Ever ever.”

“Ah,” when he nods not even a hair comes out of place, “‘Ever ever,’ that’s a pretty big deal.”

“The roof over my head literally depends on it, so…” And normally Nadya would take one look at a guy like this and say without a shadow of a doubt that he’s probably never had to worry about that sort of thing. But there’s something about him — something different than the earlier strangeness, but something nonetheless — that tells her he might just take her by surprise.

She really should be getting back to her seat.

But even with every relaxation technique in her arsenal this—right here—this is the best she’s felt about herself all day. So there’s no harm in staying an extra minute or two, right?

The man laughs unprompted and Nadya casts him a curious look. He seems almost bashful about it.

“You just reminded me of my first job, is all.”

“Let me guess — right in this very office but, hm… intern? No, you look more like the humble mail room type.”

His look turns appraising. “Do I really?”

“Do you want the truth?”

“If you have to ask that then perhaps not.” Yet their teasing is as well-meaning as it is spontaneous; enough for him to actually continue, “Actually my first job — well, first paying job that is — was a cobbler. You know, for shoes.”

Oh, Nadya knows. Yeah, in fact she has a funny story pretty similar having to do with a frazzled third-grade substitute teacher and a Bunsen burner. Since it had been, after all, a unit on Colonial America.

But that’s a level of sass they probably haven’t risen to just yet. She just nods instead.

“It was a small business, well—it was a small town. My father knew the owner and one thing led to another. I was pretty nervous on my first day too.”

He’s just trying to help, Nadya reminds herself. However strange and probably untrue his story may be, there’s no denying his sincerity. Just a successful man talking to a not-even-secretary trying to show a little empathy. Frankly Nadya isn’t sure she wouldn’t be doing the same thing were the roles reversed.

That’s just what kind people did for others. The world would be a better place if everyone was like that.

The cart barista doesn’t even get the chance to put down the drink fully when he’s reaching for it. Some people just need their java — Nadya can totally relate. But she swears the Suit winks at the girl. Though it could definitely just be a trick of the light.

Nadya’s all prepared for the “this was nice but we’ll never cross paths again” sort of goodbye when he returns.

Instead he throws her for a loop and places his cup at one of the two little silver tables that serve as the cart’s cafe. He pulls out a chair with a smile her way — is that supposed to be meant for her?

He catches onto her surprise quickly. “I hope you don’t think me too forward. I was just enjoying our chat and thought… why leave it there?”

Uhm, because you’re a man with a salary high enough to look the way you do? “Oh — I mean its… that’s really sweet of you but I should be…” she throws a look in the direction of the conference room, “getting back. Being late for the interview doesn’t seem like the best impression to make.”

The man laughs; some joke Nadya isn’t privy to. “If that’s all you’re worried about — don’t be. She actually gets a kick out of drilling people in there.”

Her resolve crumples at his hopeful smile. “And I’ll vouch for you.” Oh look she’s already sitting down.

“Well if we’re actually doing this, how about a name?” She tries to look at his cup but can’t quite catch it. If she didn’t know any better Nadya would say he actually turned it away while taking a sip.

“My name is Adrian. It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Nadya.”

“Same to you, Adrian.”

Nadya discovers very quickly that this isn’t just about enjoying a chat. Judging by the looks they get — though Nadya could easily be chopped liver — and the curt nods here and there, it’s obvious Adrian is pretty important. He’s just using her to play hooky.

Which only earns him points in her book.

So does the way he props his elbow on the tabletop to rest his chin on an open palm. “So I have to ask you, Nadya, if I may of course.”

“Ask away.”

“If you’ve never ever worked in a corporate setting before — why now? This isn’t the kind of job one finds in the Classifieds.”

A fair question. She laughs softly. “Is it bad if I say I don’t really know? Oh god, it probably is.”

“I wouldn’t say bad, but the hiring interviewer will probably ask something along the same lines.”

“You’ve… got a good point there. Okay,” she makes a little show of sitting up straighter and pushing her glasses all the way up until she knows there’s little red dots between her eyes; Adrian’s smile is totally worth it.

“So the salary’s good but I’m sure you know a little bit about that.”

He chuckles. “A little bit, yes.”

“And threat-of-eviction aside; I caught the listing on one of those random alumni emails from my college. You know — the ones where they make it out like they’re trying to help you succeed but they’re really used to find grads with the biggest paychecks to hound them for donations.

“It definitely wasn’t my first choice. I don’t think I have to tell you that I’m pretty out of my element.” She pauses when Adrian’s brow creases just the smallest bit.

“What would you say is your element then?”

“That’s just it. I’ve got absolutely no clue. I figured I could do the basic job okay — I actually enjoy putting schedules and things together and the rest — all the business-y parts — I hoped I could just kinda pick up along the way. Do I think this is going to be my calling? No idea, but that doesn’t mean I shouldn’t put all my effort into the work.

“But you can’t find something without trying, you know? I trust my gut and… figure I’ll know what I’m looking for when I see it.”

Because Nadya had done herself the disservice of not trusting her gut when she first moved out here. Get a part-time job or two to pay the bills and loans, she figured, and just keep looking for that perfect one.

Yeah. That had gone over well.

Interview after interview — all with the same depressing result: the cheery false-apology letter and some variation of “we thank you for your interest but we will be continuing to pursue other candidates.”

Adrian is polite and attentive the whole time, too. Even when she gets to the unnecessary descriptions of Lily’s cheer-up dinners. Nadya knows she has a tendency to ramble when she’s nervous — but every time she apologizes he smiles and shakes his head; tells her “no apologies necessary, please go on,” and sometimes follows up with a thoughtful question or consideration that could only come from someone actually genuinely taking part in the conversation.

He’s kind. She’s surprised to find that in a place like this but he is. And before long Nadya finds herself wondering why she was ever nervous at all. Too bad he isn’t the one interviewing, she thinks, I might actually have a chance.

“That’s…” Adrian leans back in his seat with a forced exhale, “that’s quite a story.”

She knows where this always goes. “I knew it; way too much sharing. I was hoping to try and put a positive spin on it — for the position, I mean. Answering phones, scheduling meetings, that kind of stuff. I’m sor—”

“Nadya, please don’t apologize again. You don’t need to.” Then he reaches over and has a hand over hers and he’s cold, like weirdly as cold as the atrium itself, or maybe she’s just too darn flush from embarrassing herself. “Never apologize for the things that make you you. And give yourself a bit of credit, while you’re at it. I’ve lived and worked here for a long time and I’ve seen a lot of people settle for less. Even people like yourself.”

“English majors who have no business in Business?”

“People who don’t quite know what they want out of life. You’re young, Nadya —” which is rich coming from him, he can’t be more than thirty, “— you don’t have to have it all planned out right this second. You’ll miss out on too much if you try.”

Adrian’s words leave her speechless. She makes a mental note to let him know just how rare that is later on. Not just because he could be an awesome life coach but because there’s no doubt in Nadya’s mind that he means every single word.

No, Adrian can’t be more than thirty. But when she fixes her glasses and looks him in the eyes he looks like he’s a hundred years old. Wistful and wanting and wise all at the same time. Nadya’s left feeling so small and so very very young when he takes his hand back.

Nadya tries to recover her composure behind the last bit of her latte but is left wanting; nothing but soy gone cold and somehow tasting of the bottom of the paper cup. He watches her thoughtfully all the while; even when she gestures to his empty cup and gets a nod in thanks when she drops them both in the nearest recycling bin.

She hasn’t even sat back down when Adrian abruptly asks; “May I see your resume?” And there’s no reason why not so she reaches down—

And remembers with absolute horror that her resume is on the clipboard. at her seat. in her spot in line. back where the interviews are.

“Son of a biscuit.” Well, there’s no use in rushing over there now. Even the cart barista has left for the evening long since arrived. Nadya looks around and takes in the practically empty lobby with a sinking pit in her stomach and a new story of failures to add to her list.

Somehow “I didn’t get the job because a really nice, sweet, very-much-employed guy made me miss my interview” probably isn’t going to go over well with the landlord.

But she isn’t the only victim — if it’s any consolation. It isn’t. Adrian looks around with a “huh,” of pleasant surprise and checks his watch. “Well Kamilah’s going to kill me,” because to him this is something worth joking about, apparently, “but what else is new.”

“I should go.” I need to go. But she just slumps a little deeper into her seat.

He looks at her sympathetic; good, he should feel bad, she wants to say but he doesn’t deserve that kind of spite. She shouldn’t have left the line.  

“Could I ask just one more question before you go?”

Nadya can’t help but want to start asking her own questions. Ones like why is he asking all these questions, why does he care, does this mean she can still ask him to vouch for her; all that jazz. She doesn’t though.

“Why did you move to New York?”

From the look on his face Adrian can tell he’s caught her off guard. “I just mean — like I said, Nadya, I’ve lived here for a long time. Met all sorts of different people with all sorts of different lives and histories and reasons of their own. Sometimes I think I’ve heard just about every reason you can imagine.” But even though he tries to laugh it off he definitely meant it, and he’s definitely interested in the answer.

“And…” she splutters a bewildered laugh, “and what, you think I’ll have a new one?”

He shrugs. “Maybe not new, but that doesn’t mean it won’t be interesting.”

“It’s not some heart-wrenching story —”

“That’s okay.”

But he’s serious. It takes Nadya a minute to fully believe him but he is, and she does. Hope you didn’t get your hopes up too much.

“I was really scared when I graduated from college. School was… my whole life up until right then. And now people were expecting all these things from me and… and I’d never done any of them before. Suddenly I was facing the rest of my life and I was starting it terrified. But I still had to do it; scared or not.

“So I figured it wasn’t a bad idea to try and get all the things I was scared of out of the way then. It seems stupid now…”

“Not at all.” Nadya looks up when she realizes she’s been focused on her hands in her lap and Adrian’s looking at her like he’s breathless. It’s weird, not gonna lie a little bit of a confidence booster, but also… well, scary. In its own way.

“And I’ve got this really bad habit of being stubborn, even to myself, so I just… said go big or go home. No place I can think of bigger and scarier than New York.”

For a second she thinks he’s laughing at her for being such a terrible cliche. But… he’s not. It’s just a laugh. What else do you do when you’re happy?

“Are you still scared here?”

“Every day,” but Nadya shrugs it off; just like she has for months now, “and one day I won’t be. Dunno when, or how, but I won’t be. So I should probably stick it out until then.”

“I’d like to see that day.” You and me both.

But if he’s gonna sit there and be all charming and intellectual and weirdly invested in her personal life journey then she can too. “What about you,” Nadya asks with just a teensy bit of cheek; which has Adrian laughing again but now she’s into the joke so let her roll with it, “wait — lemme guess — all the cobbler jobs were taken so you figured a fancy tech corporation was the next best thing?”

“Actually,” somehow his one question has turned into… well into this but he’s nice and this building is nice and why not, Nadya? “That’s an interesting story. My father took me to the city when I was old enough to help with my share of the work, you see, and —”

“Adrian! Where the hell have you been all afternoon?”

Every clack of her heels is like an ice pick to the tiles — Nadya’s glad she’s not the only one who flinches at the sound. Or maybe it’s the shrillness of the voice the shoes must belong to. She knows that voice, actually—

Because her life is a living nightmare Nadya looks over Adrian’s shoulder to see the woman from the hiring interviews marching towards the pair of them; face flushed and a stack of clipboards in hand and oh god how awful would it be to ask to steal her resume back because printing them out at the library is such a chore?

Nadya shrinks in her seat and prays not to be recognized — but Adrian seems used to such outbursts. He throws Nadya a reassuring smile (which totally works, not that Scary Interviewer would give her a chance to thank him) before turning in his seat to greet her face to face.

“Nice to see you too, Nicole.”

Nicole gives a long-suffering sigh and ignores Nadya’s presence entirely. She’s totally cool with that. “That doesn’t answer my question. I finished with interviews over an hour ago — and what did I return to?”

“I don’t know. But I’m sure you’ll tell me.”

“Three missed calls from Ahmanet, no signature on the Volenti files, and you still haven’t decided on which of the Red Site projects you want to endorse at next year’s conference. Which you should have decided a week ago.”

Adrian has the patience of a saint. Which comes as no surprise since he did just listen to Nadya’s ramblings for more than an hour for sure. He lets the woman get everything out of her system without even so much as a tick of the brow.

And has the dumb idea of gesturing to Nadya as a reply. “Nicole, have you met Nadya?”

She double-takes with the same concern she might give a leaf on the wind. “Miss Sayeed wants to move the meeting to her offices for the inconvenience.”

“Nadya was one of the applicants from earlier today.”

Okay — that works. Not that Nicole looks at her, now fully even in disdain, with anything remotely close to respect. She sweeps her eyes over Nadya; held frozen by the spite in her steely stare.

“I remember you. The Walk Out.”

Is it hot in here or is she losing her nerve? “Well — actually I —”

Nicole cuts her off. “You walked out, did you not?”

“I went to grab a coffee.”

“Oh, well that changes things.”

“Wait—really?” Dumb move.

“Of course it doesn’t.”

Adrian clears his throat politely for their attention. “Nicole — I’m sorry for setting your schedule back.” She nods, though it doesn’t seem much like she’s accepted the apology. “I’ll worry about Kamilah, and the other things won’t take me more than an hour. I do have one favor to ask.”

It occurs to Nadya then that Nicole, who very much wants to say no—that’s obvious, can’t. Which is just weird since she doesn’t seem like the kind of woman who does favors for anyone.

“Yes, Mister Raines?”

Forget tomato red. All of the color drains out of Nadya’s face at once. And the reassuring smile Adrian tries to offer doesn’t do a darn thing.

Mister Who-Now?

“If you could go ahead and cancel tomorrow’s interviews I’d appreciate it. Tell them that particular position has been filled but they’re free to reapply for something similar under one of the division heads, maybe?”

“Why in the world would I —” If looks could kill Nicole would most certainly have sent her six feet under. “No.” Though this time Nadya has to agree. Probably the only thing they would agree on ever in the history of all time.

“No way.”

But Adrian just beams. “I just came down here to stretch my legs and grab a coffee. I had planned on sticking my head in for one or two of your interviews, Nicole, but —”

“We agreed it was best I handle filling the position, sir.” She grinds the word out but, to her credit, Nicole’s face is never less than cool and collected. “You haven’t seen her resume, you have no idea if she’s even qualified.”

“You’re half right,” he replies, “but I’m sure if she didn’t have some idea of what the secretary position requires she wouldn’t have even made it to the interviews, right? The rest of it, all that ‘business-y stuff’ I’m sure she can pick up along the way.”

Oh that’s not cool. Not cool at all. Playing Undercover Boss and then using her own words against her? Wait — why isn’t it cool? Why isn’t she jumping for joy and already trying to convince Lily not to spend money they don’t yet have on pizza?

Maybe because it feels a little underhanded? By some random luck she ends up talking with Adrian Raines, CEO of Raines Corp over coffee and suddenly she gets the job over a bunch of way more qualified people?

But this is what she wanted. It’s the job. So why…

Oh.

Nadya’s here for the interview but she knows there are people who want this job and have the experience to boot. Nadya’s trying to refuse the job she needs because that would mean something went right, and things going right never ends well.

She’s scared.

The loudness of Nicole’s departure startles Nadya out of her self-realization. She glances up and Adrian is still sitting there, albeit a little more humble than he looked just a moment ago. He has the decency to seem apologetic.

“I’m sorry I didn’t introduce myself fully.”

“Why didn’t you?” Now it’s Nadya’s turn for questions.

Adrian shrugs. “These days Nicole is the only person who’s ever really honest with me here. Imagine her trying to hold back her opinion on something.”

“I can’t.”

“Exactly. But everyone else, even my own employees, they aren’t. Not entirely. I’ll admit, Nadya, when you didn’t know who I was, I saw a chance to allow myself a little sincerity. To be genuine with someone.”

Joke’s on you, she thinks wryly, I would have been this much of a mess anyway.

Still; it doesn’t sit right with her. “But don’t you realize that because you did that you weren’t sincere with me?” And how could she work for someone who wasn’t honest with her? Who didn’t allow her that basic decency?

“I do now. And I understand if that keeps you from accepting the job. I didn’t sit down with you to interview you in secret, though, please know that.” And because he knows her question before she even opens her mouth; “You were on your own, nervous, and I wanted to help — if I could. I was telling the truth when I said you reminded me of myself.

“I say that because I think, if you were in my position, maybe you would have done the same thing.”

I wouldn’t have lied, though it’s a bitter thought — and was lying by omission technically lying? Especially if it’s for everyone’s greater good?

Man her head hurts.

“Nadya…?”

She inhales with all of her might and nods. “One more question.” Which makes him smile — he appreciates the symmetry of it.

“Go ahead.”

“What made you decide to offer the job to me?”

There’s a little bit of pride in Nadya when he doesn’t have an answer right away. Adrian takes his time and really seems to mull it over — or if he’s doing it for show he’s extremely convincing.

“I didn’t know what I was looking for until I saw it.”

Nadya can’t not roll her eyes. She can’t not smile though, either.

Finally Adrian stands and nods towards the sleek elevators at the far end of the lobby. “Should we go ahead and get the paperwork started? I can show you your desk, we’ll set up your number in the system — all quick things, really.”

It’s awfully assumptive of him, but she is standing and grabbing her purse so… is it?

“Bold of you to assume I’ve accepted the job, Mister Raines.”

“Please, call me Adrian.”

[clansayeed]

The Price ― a Bound by Destiny drabble

⥼ Summary ⥽

Nadya's visions of the past are starting to take their toll, but Adrian is always there to help her recover. A century ago Gaius makes sure Adrian stays loyal to him through manipulative means.

note: This piece takes place in the year between Bound by Destiny I & II, and sheds a little more light on how Nadya coped with her visions before she knew the truth; as well as offering a glimpse into the Trinity’s movements during the 1910s.

The flashback that takes up the second half of this piece references a real historical event, but all implications, names, and the like are purely fictitious in nature and should not be taken as fact.

word count: 2,518 rating: teen+ content warnings: references to past emotional manipulation/abuse, death, grief, mention of physical violence (brief), historical references find out more: HERE

⥼ MASTERLIST ⥽

[READ IT ON AO3]

“Nadya?”

Her eyes are watering; sting with the burn of being held open. When she blinks it off the barest beginnings of tears cling to her lashes.

A dark blue handkerchief is held out in offering before she can even reach for her desk drawer.

“Here, just use this,” comes Adrian’s voice above her — that bare hint of concern he always seems to carry. The hallmark trait of the kindest of hearts.

“I don’t want to get mascara on it.”

“Nadya.”

“Okay, okay — fine.”

She half expects that to be that. Instead feels Adrian’s eyes on her while she takes delicate care and attention not to mess up her wingtip because it had taken a full hour that afternoon and sometimes a girl just has to be proud of a steady hand.

Only when she’s sure her hard work is spared does she look at her boss properly. Gives him a sheepish, ashamed smile because there’s no way he’s getting the dark smears out of silk. “I’ll buy you a new one?”

Because she’d go crazy if she doesn’t offer, and Adrian will humor her with a chuckle and a nod because he’s kind like that. But they both know he has half a dozen back at his loft and it doesn’t really matter. Even with all of his years of wealth he’s remained an admirable type of level-headed and frugal.

But he surprises her in pushing their usual witty banter aside, doesn’t just take the pocket square back but instead covers her hand with his. Only in his steady hold does she realize she’s shaking.

Where did that come from?

“Are you okay?” That tone should only be reserved for dire situations — like being chased through a secret museum by a crazed politician or when she caught on the news that the Grumpy Cat had passed away. Not for this.

She nods, lets him take the crumpled fabric and brushes a strand of hair out of her eyes. A careful tactic many young girls learn early to hide their expressions for just long enough to steel them into cooperating.

“Of course I am —”

But of course he doesn’t let her finish. “You were crying.”

“No I wasn’t.”

“So what would you call that?”

“Seeing how long I can go without blinking.”

Okay she totally gets it if that does the exact opposite of putting him off the investigation because it’s a crappy excuse. One even she doesn’t believe. And it’s just crappy enough to convey the message I don’t want to talk about it.

He’s both silent and loud all at once. Says everything he needs to say in the slight furrow in his brow; the way the left side of his mouth is just a little pulled back.

You know you can tell me anything. You know I’m here for you. Adrian doesn’t say it because he doesn’t have to — because he knows she gets it. Risking your life sneaking into a vampire dungeon and taking on a pair of very weird recluse vamps does pretty well in establishing that you’d do anything for someone.

I know. Instead she smiles, pushes her chair back a little so she isn’t getting neck cramps looking at him. “How was the meeting?”

Its slow going to get him actually talking. He knows its a distraction tactic, doesn’t want to take away from the fact he walked in on her pretty much fully zonked out with tears in her eyes. Lucky for her the meeting went, quote, “better and more productive than thought possible,” and once they get out of the office tonight he can head down to the Shadow Den with only good news to give Jax. Lucky because it means she can keep up said tactic with question after question until he definitely can’t waste any more time, needs to make a few calls to this company and that contributor, and if she’s sure she’s okay and doesn’t need to take the rest of the night off then he’s going to go get that done.

Though he stops mid-stride into his office and that makes the hairs on the back of her neck stand up. So close to getting away with it.

“Did you happen to mention to Lily about my idea for the memorial?”

The only reason she doesn’t exhale in audible relief is because it would put her right back at square one. “Yeah — and she agrees. She’s just waiting until after Halloween to bring it up to Mari in case Mari doesn’t agree.”

“Why would Halloween have anything to do with it?” Adrian asks, puzzled.

“Because it’s Halloween.”

“And?”

“‘And’ you’ve met Lily, right? Lily Spencer, my roommate? The girl who loves horror things more than life itself? Who definitely has something weird and probably kinky planned with hers and Mari’s couple costumes that I specifically begged her not to give me the details of?”

Yeah, her face at the time looked a little like Adrian’s does now. Neither of them prudish by any means but there are some things better left to the people involved and not their entire friend group.

“Of course. You’ll let me know though when she —”

“Relax,” she gives him an easy smile with a hidden meaning — he can relax about her too, “you’re overthinking it. Jax made you promise to make life better for the Clanless and you’re sticking to it because you believe in the cause. Even if they talk and decide they don’t want a plaque of names on the plaza fountain, that doesn’t devalue what you’re doing to help.”

Sometimes he just has to be reminded that what he’s doing is enough. More than, in Nadya’s opinion, but Adrian’s just… just a good person. And good people never think they’re doing enough.

And if what scraps Kamilah has given her over the months are any indication, Adrian isn’t entirely to blame for his self-sacrificing nature.

But their Maker is already taken care of. All she can do now is be there, be supportive, and help them heal the wounds Gaius gave them.

Now he’s the one looking a bit ashamed. “Thank you.” He means it more than mere language can provide. She knows that.

Leaves her alone with her work and her thoughts as he makes sure his office door is closed behind him like he always does when he’s going to be making calls. It’s probably the most normal profession-related thing they do together; give each other space when there’s real work that needs doing.

And her thoughts have been itching in wait for the chance to overwhelm her when they can. They try to needlessly, relentlessly. Teasing like a schoolyard bully — offering the things she can’t quite recall in a treasure chest at her feet before sending it slamming shut and to the depths of her mind before she can even catch a glimpse.

Thats the hardest part about these stupid visions of hers. They consume her mind and even sometimes her body — as evidenced by the zombie-Nadya that met Adrian following his return. They make her feel things she’s never felt and experience sensations, actions she’s never acted upon and for good reason.

No one should have to know what it feels like to slaughter hundreds, thousands of people — to keep the blood on their hands and not only that but savor it like a trophy — not when the very thought of hurting anyone at all sends their stomach into knots.

But thanks to them she has a body count and is still too meek to tell the midnight door guard that her name isn’t ‘Nadine.’

On a whole she forgot the details after the vision passed. At first.

But they want to be seen. They want to be remembered.

So Nadya does what she always does. Listens intently until she can hear Adrian dutifully on the phone in his office, makes sure the coast is clear before she digs into the hidden pocket in her purse — pulls out her dark secret and grabs for a pen.

She jots down all she can remember — which isn’t much this time, thank Christ — on the back of the entry she’d scribbled that morning before Kamilah could wake up and discover her shame. Pens in the date at the top corner and tucks the journal away without letting herself linger on just how full that terrible little book is getting.

At this rate she’ll need to start a new one before Christmas.

New York City, 1911

He doesn’t miss the look Kamilah gives him out of the corner of her eye. Nose crinkled and lashes heavy — repulsed with the thing between his lips and yet, almost as if against her will, made to recall other better things he had done with that same mouth.

His darling Queen abhors cigarettes, has told him as much in complaints of kisses that quickly turn into moans of desire, of satisfaction. Something about the smoke and memories of a history called ancient now — it was so long ago. Scrolls turned to ash and scattered to the winds; knowledge and lives lost together. But history cared about one of those things more than the other. Kamilah, too.

And so he stares back; tempts her to say something about it. If she really has such a problem with smoke then she’s in the wrong place.

Instead she turns her focus on the blackness still billowing up towards the night sky all these hours later.

“Is this…?”

“Yes.”

She snaps a sharp look his way. “And does Adrian know?”

Behind them a fire engine carriage goes ballistic with noise; the horses trapped in their harnesses despite their rearing, their whinnies high-pitched and filled with a familiar terror. Yet if one were to glance at the commotion they wouldn’t find the source of their startled fear. There are no snakes on the paved roads beneath their hooves. No whips lashing at them from the hands of overworked masters.

Gaius and Kamilah don’t have to look to know where their predator is.

He sucks on the filter of his cigarette heavy. “He does now.”

“Poor taste, my love.”

“A necessary evil.”

“Committed by an evil equally so?”

Gaius doesn’t have to breathe for her to know she’s spoken out of turn. She sees it in the shift of his stance. The way he decides he’s done with her attention for the moment and trains his eyes forward instead.

Families, friends, passersby are still mourning loudly at the fire and the lives it took.

His beloved Soldier now among them — jaw slack at the loss of human life. All these years and Gaius has yet to really beat that sentiment for the human condition out from under his skin. The wail his fellow vampires can hear even from their distance that grows with each second it takes to realize just which building caught on fire earlier that day, which floors were consumed in the blaze, and who was among them.

Adrian crumples to his knees in grief. Its a sight his Maker takes no pleasure in despite any — even his Queen — who might accuse otherwise. She knows better though — chooses not to start an argument already lost and rushes forward to console her brother in blood at his loss.

“It’s okay Adrian,” her lies carry on the wind with the rest of the remains of the factory blaze, “I’m so sorry for your loss, but we will endure. We always have.”

It pains Gaius to hear the crack in his Soldier’s voice when he musters the ability to speak; “She — Kamilah—I— she can’t be —”

But she was. She had been a distraction; an influence Gaius hadn’t approved of yet a reason for Adrian to commit heresy for still. The proof was right before his eyes — all that weakness bubbling just under the surface of Adrian’s skin now burst forth.

One day Adrian would understand he had done this for the best. For the greater good of their Kingdom.

Gaius tosses the remains of the cigarette aside — goes to grind it to a powder under his foot but another beats him to it. The boot is brown yet black with soot.

“You really ought to change, lest you be discovered and accused.”

“Accused of what?” lilts the vampire behind him, “a bad spark and scrap bin started the fire, or haven’t you been listening in on the police’s conclusions?”

Gaius looks passed the tall young man to where indeed a group of officials are gathered. They must think they’re speaking in hushed tones. Fools.

“A novel idea. Now they won’t be searching mindlessly for a suspect.”

“I wouldn’t care much if they did. We depart tonight for England.”

But he wouldn’t be making idle conversation if there was nothing important to say. Makes Gaius drag his eyes upwards to see himself reflected in spectacles diligently cleaned of evidence from their time sparking the very flames the Vampire King of New York needed to ensure Adrian’s loyalty stayed where it belonged. With him.

“Speak, if you have words.”

The vampire inhales deep. “I did as you asked. Now tell me what I need to hear.”

Because he can, because its fun, he feigns ignorance. “And what would that be, dear Cynbel?” And he quickly learns the Trinity’s temper is true to rumor.

“Tell me Valdas has your permission to leave this fucking cesspool!”

“Why would I wish for my oldest Child to leave my side — especially when my plans are nearly ready to be enacted?”

“Because I did as you asked for that sole purpose!”

It’s a struggle Gaius has never known; the desire to act but the bone-deep acceptance of a singular truth. That he can’t. He can’t attack Gaius; the progenitor of his beloved so-called deity. Not only in strength but in sheer force of will. There was a time, once… long ago when he knew he would never achieve the level of power, of love, that consumed him at the sight of the One who set him free…

But that was history that made ancient look newly born.

“I am a man of my word, even if Valdemaras is not,” he waves flippantly — bored now with those fools and their notions of eternal love, “he has my permission to leave.”

Cynbel visibly deflates. “Thank you, Godmaker.”

“Though I will expect more than a favor should you three wish to join my Kingdom when it comes time. I remember those who stay loyal.”

The younger vampire surprises him when he casts a look back to his charred masterpiece; to where Kamilah has taken knee beside Adrian in an attempt to shoulder some of his burden.

“I’ve seen the price that loyalty to you demands. A high price indeed.”

He’s smart — flees before his insolence earns him Gaius’ wrath. It doesn’t matter to him either way.

To have his Queen, his Soldier standing at his side and basking in the glory of his Kingdom? There is nothing he would not do.

Everything he does is for Her, still.

[clansayeed]

The Favor ― a Bound by Destiny drabble

⥼ Summary ⥽ 

When Adrian calls on the services of Katherine for a second time she asks for a favor rather than her usual pay. Adrian takes a brief trip to New Orleans and meets a stranger on a mission to recover his lost memories.

note: This piece takes place during Bound by Destiny, and is a brief answer to the question “Where is Adrian?” during Chapter 8. The events of this short also play out later in the book.

This piece takes place after the events of Bound by Circumstance.

word count: 1,127 rating: teen+ content warnings: none find out more: HERE

⥼ MASTERLIST ⥽

[READ IT ON AO3]

He registers the knock on the door solely out of habit; mumbles “Come in…” half-consciously while continuing to scribble down his notes on the scroll clamped underneath the desk lamp’s soft glow.

He’s forgotten about guests altogether until someone clears their throat behind him and Cadence’s pen leaves a line across the paper instead of his word.

“I’d say you need to get out more, Cade, but daylight and all.”

Cadence looks up into Katherine’s shining smirk. His eyes flash red with brief annoyance but the Nighthunter couldn’t be less disturbed by the sight of it. “Oh don’t gimme that,” she nags, “you said we could come in!”

We. That’s when he takes stock of the man lingering in the doorway. Dark hair, crisp suit — thicker material made for staving off the colder weather the South isn’t accustomed to, or at the very least made to appear that way — and a firm jaw set in a look of disinterest that’s practiced but untrue. Everyone’s interested in Cadence’s room of collected works. They can’t help themselves.

Immortals especially.

“Pardon the mess,” says Cadence in a way that’s clear he couldn’t care less about it; who stands and pushes his glasses up from where they’re ready to fall off his nose, “I get so absorbed in my work.”

The man still finds his trinkets more fascinating than Cadence himself. “Personal, or professional?”

“Both.”

Only when he extends a hand does Katherine’s guest find it upon himself to look Cadence in the eyes. There’s a mutual greeting there. Businessmen first, vampires second. He doesn’t know what he should be doing — should they flash fangs? Bite one another as a form of greeting? But the man just shakes his hand like any mortal would and that’s good enough.

Katherine gestures between them. Leans her hips back against Cadence’s worktop casually.

“Cadence, this is Adrian Raines. Adrian, this is Cadence Smith.”

Adrian appraises Cadence for a long moment before turning sharply to Katherine. “I agreed to do you a favor. It’s not something you can just pass on like a ticket.”

“Oh I know. And I’m not, I promise.”

Cadence looks between them with confusion brewing like a storm behind his eyes.

“I’m lost, Kathy.”

She nods; keeps talking to Adrian. “See, Cade here’s got me on retainer. When I’m not doing other jobs I’m working him on the down-low.”

“Working him… how exactly?”

Cadence gestures for Adrian to sit — has to move in a blur to clear off a space on his loveseat and deposit the large record player to its new semi-permanent home on top of his space heater — and stiffly returns to his worktop desk.

“I think it would be best for me to explain.”

Adrian, to his credit, is a polite guest. So he’s already world better than the last person Kathy brought to see him to help. And he seems genuinely interested in what Cadence has to say — when he’s not giving Katherine calculating glances.

Maybe this one might actually give them a lead.

“I’ve been hiring Nighthunters on retainer since I came to New Orleans in 1918,” he explains, and learns much about Adrian in that moment from the way his face lights up with recognition, “as a soldier shipped back from France. I believe I was misidentified.”

“You believe?” Adrian takes on the same curious tone they all do. Cadence nods.

“The doctors believed my amnesia to be a part of Shell Shock — said my memories would return as the war was put behind me. But they didn’t. I may very well be ‘Cadence LaPointe’ but I have a very strong inclination that I’m not. Originally I hired ordinary detectives, private investigators; anyone who I thought could help me but it was as if I had simply appeared on the earth with naught but my body. I didn’t even have the luxury of saying I had my mind.

“I started hiring Nighthunters both as a precaution to my condition and when it seemed I would have to search through the centuries for my answers. Kathy’s the fifth such Hunter to…” He looks to her with a wry, if pained, smile. “What’s the phrase you lot use?”

“It’s not some obscure thing, Cadence,” then to Adrian; “I drew the short straw when the last guy bet his retainer status in a game of Blackjack. He got off free and I ended up with this lunk.”

Adrian frowns. “Well you get paid, don’t you?”

“A hefty sum.” answers the other vampire. “But I think they enjoy complaining.”

“It’s a pointless task and no one has even come close to sniffing out a lead.”

There’s an acceptance in the way she says it that makes Cadence’s heart fall into his stomach. She’s a hard worker, Kathy, and a good Nighthunter. But at least the last guy wasn’t so blunt about his circumstances.

Drumming his fingers on his pressed trousers, Adrian’s silent for a long moment. Trying to think of what to say — what questions to ask, maybe. Or searching through his memories. There’s an air about him that Cadence can feel even from a distance. This is no ordinary vampire. Maybe Katherine’s finally brought him something that could spur the investigation forward.

Before he can speak, though, Katherine does. “So that favor I’m asking for instead of payment? It’s for Cadence. Hoped maybe with your Council of Crazy one of you might have heard of him, recognized him, or… whatever, you know? Knew something or someone who could get him back on the right track.”

Cadence looks to Adrian in surprise.

“‘Council?’ You’re… one of those New York Clan vampires, then?”

“Has his own Clan and a seat at the Council table.”

“I — yes,” Adrian doesn’t deny it, “but that doesn’t mean…”

Cadence finishes for him; “It doesn’t mean you can help.” He doesn’t mean to sound so resigned when he says it. Not that he got his hopes up for the presence of a complete stranger anyway. That’s simply the way his life is going it seems.

The man runs his hand over his face. His expensive watch glints in the dim light of Cadence’s desk lamp. He’s warring with himself over something. As a man familiar with the struggle he doesn’t ask out of courtesy. No matter how much he wants to.

Then Adrian surprises him.

“I’ll speak to my associates. See what we can do. I can’t make any promises but if that’s not enough, then —”

“It’s more than enough,” the Nighthunter knocks her boot against Cadence’s thigh, “right Cade?”

The smile he gives isn’t full of hope. He’s lived too long and suffered too many disappointments for that. But it is genuine.

“Any help is more than enough, Adrian. Thank you.”