Dust--Chapter 10, PG-13
Posted: Wed Jul 08, 2009 12:03 am
Usual disclaimers…I don’t own Josef. All the plot and the other characters, though, are mine.
A/N: Today is my birthday, and this is my gift to the board...and to my beloved Josef. I hope all my readers enjoy!
Dust
Chapter 10
Josef slumped further over the neck of the horse, his vision narrowed to the strip of ground where he could see the front right hoof as it took one deliberate step at a time. The pale colors of the grass had bled to white, tinged faintly with the red wash of thirst that clouded his sight. His legs stretched around the thick barrel of the horse’s body, more painfully than he would’ve thought possible, and he knew he was rapidly reaching a point where he would either sink into the darkness of unconsciousness, or take the one action he could to save himself. The rough bristles of the horse’s short roached mane rasped at a slice of exposed skin at his neck, and his cheek itched where it lay against the hairy hide. He tightened his arms around the horse’s neck, thinking he hadn’t been so weak for decades.
Sally had draped her short cape over his head and shoulders, and it helped some, but not enough. Josef closed his eyes and inhaled the scent off the fabric, considering his options for the hundredth time. They were as depressing as ever. To his right, Slade was slumped on his horse, and Josef could hear that his heart was fighting to keep beating. The wound in his side needn’t be fatal, but combined with the struggle to keep moving, to keep on the horse, it was slowly dragging him down. And between the two horses, Sally trudged, reins grasped in her hands. He listened awhile to her doubled heartbeat, to her long steady breaths.
He had to have blood. That was the end of it. And there was a choice here, of these two humans. Even in his weakened condition, he could take what he needed. He could take…if he fed off the man, Slade was dead. And they needed Slade to guide them to Las Animas. La Ciudad de Las Animas Perdidos en Purgatorio. The City of Lost Souls in Purgatory. It was chillingly appropriate.
But he hesitated to drink from the girl. He’d promised to protect her. Her and her unborn child. For the first time in a very long time, he feared his instincts would override his control. He tried, again, to tamp down the thirst. Was his word to be worth so little? He thought not. Then again, he had not lived almost 275 years to die in this godforsaken pocket of desert. Not if there were any way out.
The sun was merciless; every inch of his back felt kissed with flame. And the scent of the woman filled his nostrils, sweetly warm, succulent as ripe fruit. He remembered his sire, centuries before, telling him, “All human blood is sweet, but take one young and gravid—they are so filled with blood it nearly bursts through their skin. It is a ripe abundance like no other, a dish fit for a feast.”
He ran a tongue around his parched, cracking lips. His sire had given him such a prize once, toward the end of his apprenticeship. In the oceans of blood that had sustained him, that draught stood out, brighter, purer, fiercer than all others. And scant feet in front of him was the blood that could save him, in the slight form of that plodding farm girl. Before he could stop himself, he reached toward her with one hand, knowing she was beyond his grasp, knowing he had no right to take from her the one thing that would save his life.
Darkness fell over his vision like a red velvet curtain, and he never felt himself slide, bonelessly, from the horse to land in a crumpled heap in the waving grass.
Sally heard the thump, and felt the pull as the left hand horse shied. She knew what had happened even before she turned, and her shoulders dropped in defeat. This was it, then. There was no way to get Josef back up on that horse without his conscious assistance. And a glance at Slade confirmed that he was not in much better shape. Still, she had to do something. She moved the horses to provide what shade they could over the fallen figure in the grass, then sat, pulling his head into her lap.
She slapped him lightly. “Mr. Constantine. Mr. Constantine. Wake up, please,” she pleaded, then more forcefully, “Josef! Wake up!”
He started violently, eyes opening to reveal jaundiced yellow sclera. His hand came up to shield his face from the hateful sun, and Sally scrabbled to reach her cloak. He was making pained, incoherent noises as she draped the fabric over him, speaking the soothing nonsense she’d learned to comfort her younger brothers and sisters.
“Shh, shhh, it’s all right.” She leaned over him, putting her arms around his shuddering form.
He closed his eyes, the muscles of his face twitching as he fought for control. Then, with a speed so fast his hand seemed to blur, he reached up and fisted a hand in the fabric of her bodice, pulling her down even closer. “Sally, you have to listen to me,” he whispered hoarsely. “If you trust me, I think I can save us all.”
Sally never blinked. “I trust you.”
Josef ran a dry tongue over cracking lips. “You—you have something I need. To survive.”
She wanted to say she didn’t understand, but she waited instead. He’d tell her, she knew. Even so, she barely heard him when he spoke.
His eyes drifted shut for a few seconds, until she thought he’d lost consciousness again, but with some effort, he raised a reddened hand to the arm she’d rested protectively around his chest. “Sally—I—“ he swallowed. “I need some of your blood.”
Sally stiffened, thinking about what she’d seen, these days travelling with him. The marks on Iris’s wrist, the way she’d died, and the spots of blood on the collar of her dress. Sally had known something was different about him, something was not like other men. She remembered reading the crumbling, yellowed pieces of an old serial, a long story she and her brothers had discovered in a forgotten trunk. Hundreds of pages, about a creature called a vampyre. A spectre with silver eyes who drank the blood of the living. And now, Mr. Constantine was telling her that he…?
And yet, she had no fear of him. They’d spent long hours alone, and she’d had nothing from him but courtesy and kindness. If she’d only had no one but herself to think of—“Mr. Constantine, what about my baby?”
He started a bit, as though he’d fallen asleep, and managed to shake his head. “Not enough,” he said with some difficulty, “not enough to harm. You or the babe.” He opened his eyes, and she saw with a shock that the warm whiskey brown of his eyes had been washed with silver. Josef’s eyes pierced her. “Sally—you can save me. Only you.”
“And you can save us?”
“I can try. But I have to have your blood.”
Sally regarded him steadily, and stroked the hair back from his forehead. His skin was hot and clammy. Fevered. She had no illusions about the extremity of the situation. She knew that by now, they were being pursued, and with Mr. Constantine unable to fight, she might as well pull that derringer out of her pocket and use the bullet on herself. He might be like the unnatural creatures she’d read about, but as hard as it was to believe in the reality before her, she trusted the suffering man in her arms, whatever he was, far more than anyone else in the limits of her world right now. She needed him, and it looked like he needed her.
She smiled as much as she could. “How—how do we do this?”
The tension in his shoulders relaxed so suddenly she thought she might have lost him. “Wrist,” he whispered. “Give me your wrist.”
Sally had to move her arms to unbutton her sleeve. She took the time to look up. Weston still slumped in his saddle, the makeshift strap they’d rigged to keep him on the horse holding well. She only hoped it wasn’t holding a corpse. Then she saw his breath hitch and catch, and took it as a good sign. More than she expected.
Josef managed to find the strength to turn on his side. He felt his fangs sliding out, that strange indescribable shift in his jaw as the vampire parted the curtain of mortal disguise and stepped to the foreground. With luck, she wouldn’t see, wouldn’t have to know the aspects humans always thought so monstrous.
“Will it hurt?” she asked.
He had glib answers, words he’d perfected over the years. Sally deserved better. “They tell me—a little. At first.” He paused. “Sally, are you sure?”
In answer, her bare wrist appeared before him within the tiny tent of cloth over his face. He had fed from every thinkable position, and few unthinkable ones, but rarely, he reflected as he eased his shoulders back against Sally’s body, one that afforded him such a sense of maternal protection. He took her hand to guide her wrist to his mouth, pausing for a slow inhalation of her scent. She smelled of sweat and dust and her pregnancy, he thought. And courage. An ineffable strain of courage.
Sally felt a pressure, as though her wrist were caught in a trap, then the twin punctures in her skin as the fangs pressed through, into her flesh. Then his mouth shifted against her wrist, and he began to drink.
When she’d first realized she was pregnant, she’d asked her mother a thousand and one questions, including what it felt like to nurse an infant. As many of her questions as her work-worn mother had ignored, or brushed off with a laconic, “You’ll see,” this one, she remembered, had gotten her an enigmatic smile. Then she’d shaken herself, and told Sally, “After ten children, it just feels old.”
Now, feeling this strange being take her blood, feeling him suck so insistently at her wrist, she thought she might understand the smile. There seemed to be a current of sensation running from her wrists to her tightening breasts, and she was glad he couldn’t see her blush. She wondered what Jim would think about all this, and she suspected suddenly that her husband wasn’t going to find out. Not from her, anyway.
Her free hand crept around Josef’s broad chest again, steadying them both. Around them, the relentless sun poured light over the prairie and the insignificant specks of their tiny figures. Time ceased, and only the wind moved, rippling the long dry grass, the graceful waves of it scarcely broken by a pair of horses and the man and woman on the ground. Sally felt as though she were a part of a larger whole, at one with the earth and the sky. At peace with the world, as she fed the vampire.
Josef gave a final, sealing lick to the wounds he’d created, and spared himself a moment to soak in the solace of her gift to him. He would swear he could feel every drop seeping into his tissues, healing the damage caused by the sun, slaking for a time his endless thirst. This child, this infant, had succored him in his need. And as pleasant as it was to linger in her arms, it was time to be up and moving.
He wiped his mouth carefully before he shifted in her lap to look up into her face. He knew his eyes had turned back to brown; he could see them reflected in hers, smiling down at him. He turned his head and laid a chaste kiss on her bare wrist. “Thank you, Sally,” he said. “Are you all right?”
“Maybe a little light-headed,” she replied. “And, Josef? You’re welcome.”
One more short span of rest, and Josef used one hand against the ground to lever himself up. Still keeping the cape draped as a protection against the sun, he stood and studied the horizon. The horses were better for the short rest, but they needed water, and soon. They were not ready to outrun the pursuers who could only be a few hours behind.
Ahead, he could see a break in the land, a slightly higher rise with cottonwoods below. There should be water there, a spring, or at least a seep. He thought they could make it to that, possibly, in an hour or two, at most. Depending on how long the false trail he’d laid northeast from camp had decoyed the Colonel’s men, they might even have time to hole up in a sheltered spot until nightfall.
He felt much stronger, already; Sally’s blood would sustain him well. And at sunset, he’d be stronger yet. Slade Weston was with them still, but by a thread. If they weren’t lucky, that cottonwood grove could well prove the man’s final resting place.
“Be strong, bandit,” he whispered to Slade. “I’ve got plans for you.”
A few minutes later, with Sally clinging like a grass burr behind him, and the bay mare’s lead rein in his sun-reddened fist, Josef turned the chestnut gelding, urging him forward to the scant shelter in the distance.
A/N: Today is my birthday, and this is my gift to the board...and to my beloved Josef. I hope all my readers enjoy!
Dust
Chapter 10
Josef slumped further over the neck of the horse, his vision narrowed to the strip of ground where he could see the front right hoof as it took one deliberate step at a time. The pale colors of the grass had bled to white, tinged faintly with the red wash of thirst that clouded his sight. His legs stretched around the thick barrel of the horse’s body, more painfully than he would’ve thought possible, and he knew he was rapidly reaching a point where he would either sink into the darkness of unconsciousness, or take the one action he could to save himself. The rough bristles of the horse’s short roached mane rasped at a slice of exposed skin at his neck, and his cheek itched where it lay against the hairy hide. He tightened his arms around the horse’s neck, thinking he hadn’t been so weak for decades.
Sally had draped her short cape over his head and shoulders, and it helped some, but not enough. Josef closed his eyes and inhaled the scent off the fabric, considering his options for the hundredth time. They were as depressing as ever. To his right, Slade was slumped on his horse, and Josef could hear that his heart was fighting to keep beating. The wound in his side needn’t be fatal, but combined with the struggle to keep moving, to keep on the horse, it was slowly dragging him down. And between the two horses, Sally trudged, reins grasped in her hands. He listened awhile to her doubled heartbeat, to her long steady breaths.
He had to have blood. That was the end of it. And there was a choice here, of these two humans. Even in his weakened condition, he could take what he needed. He could take…if he fed off the man, Slade was dead. And they needed Slade to guide them to Las Animas. La Ciudad de Las Animas Perdidos en Purgatorio. The City of Lost Souls in Purgatory. It was chillingly appropriate.
But he hesitated to drink from the girl. He’d promised to protect her. Her and her unborn child. For the first time in a very long time, he feared his instincts would override his control. He tried, again, to tamp down the thirst. Was his word to be worth so little? He thought not. Then again, he had not lived almost 275 years to die in this godforsaken pocket of desert. Not if there were any way out.
The sun was merciless; every inch of his back felt kissed with flame. And the scent of the woman filled his nostrils, sweetly warm, succulent as ripe fruit. He remembered his sire, centuries before, telling him, “All human blood is sweet, but take one young and gravid—they are so filled with blood it nearly bursts through their skin. It is a ripe abundance like no other, a dish fit for a feast.”
He ran a tongue around his parched, cracking lips. His sire had given him such a prize once, toward the end of his apprenticeship. In the oceans of blood that had sustained him, that draught stood out, brighter, purer, fiercer than all others. And scant feet in front of him was the blood that could save him, in the slight form of that plodding farm girl. Before he could stop himself, he reached toward her with one hand, knowing she was beyond his grasp, knowing he had no right to take from her the one thing that would save his life.
Darkness fell over his vision like a red velvet curtain, and he never felt himself slide, bonelessly, from the horse to land in a crumpled heap in the waving grass.
Sally heard the thump, and felt the pull as the left hand horse shied. She knew what had happened even before she turned, and her shoulders dropped in defeat. This was it, then. There was no way to get Josef back up on that horse without his conscious assistance. And a glance at Slade confirmed that he was not in much better shape. Still, she had to do something. She moved the horses to provide what shade they could over the fallen figure in the grass, then sat, pulling his head into her lap.
She slapped him lightly. “Mr. Constantine. Mr. Constantine. Wake up, please,” she pleaded, then more forcefully, “Josef! Wake up!”
He started violently, eyes opening to reveal jaundiced yellow sclera. His hand came up to shield his face from the hateful sun, and Sally scrabbled to reach her cloak. He was making pained, incoherent noises as she draped the fabric over him, speaking the soothing nonsense she’d learned to comfort her younger brothers and sisters.
“Shh, shhh, it’s all right.” She leaned over him, putting her arms around his shuddering form.
He closed his eyes, the muscles of his face twitching as he fought for control. Then, with a speed so fast his hand seemed to blur, he reached up and fisted a hand in the fabric of her bodice, pulling her down even closer. “Sally, you have to listen to me,” he whispered hoarsely. “If you trust me, I think I can save us all.”
Sally never blinked. “I trust you.”
Josef ran a dry tongue over cracking lips. “You—you have something I need. To survive.”
She wanted to say she didn’t understand, but she waited instead. He’d tell her, she knew. Even so, she barely heard him when he spoke.
His eyes drifted shut for a few seconds, until she thought he’d lost consciousness again, but with some effort, he raised a reddened hand to the arm she’d rested protectively around his chest. “Sally—I—“ he swallowed. “I need some of your blood.”
Sally stiffened, thinking about what she’d seen, these days travelling with him. The marks on Iris’s wrist, the way she’d died, and the spots of blood on the collar of her dress. Sally had known something was different about him, something was not like other men. She remembered reading the crumbling, yellowed pieces of an old serial, a long story she and her brothers had discovered in a forgotten trunk. Hundreds of pages, about a creature called a vampyre. A spectre with silver eyes who drank the blood of the living. And now, Mr. Constantine was telling her that he…?
And yet, she had no fear of him. They’d spent long hours alone, and she’d had nothing from him but courtesy and kindness. If she’d only had no one but herself to think of—“Mr. Constantine, what about my baby?”
He started a bit, as though he’d fallen asleep, and managed to shake his head. “Not enough,” he said with some difficulty, “not enough to harm. You or the babe.” He opened his eyes, and she saw with a shock that the warm whiskey brown of his eyes had been washed with silver. Josef’s eyes pierced her. “Sally—you can save me. Only you.”
“And you can save us?”
“I can try. But I have to have your blood.”
Sally regarded him steadily, and stroked the hair back from his forehead. His skin was hot and clammy. Fevered. She had no illusions about the extremity of the situation. She knew that by now, they were being pursued, and with Mr. Constantine unable to fight, she might as well pull that derringer out of her pocket and use the bullet on herself. He might be like the unnatural creatures she’d read about, but as hard as it was to believe in the reality before her, she trusted the suffering man in her arms, whatever he was, far more than anyone else in the limits of her world right now. She needed him, and it looked like he needed her.
She smiled as much as she could. “How—how do we do this?”
The tension in his shoulders relaxed so suddenly she thought she might have lost him. “Wrist,” he whispered. “Give me your wrist.”
Sally had to move her arms to unbutton her sleeve. She took the time to look up. Weston still slumped in his saddle, the makeshift strap they’d rigged to keep him on the horse holding well. She only hoped it wasn’t holding a corpse. Then she saw his breath hitch and catch, and took it as a good sign. More than she expected.
Josef managed to find the strength to turn on his side. He felt his fangs sliding out, that strange indescribable shift in his jaw as the vampire parted the curtain of mortal disguise and stepped to the foreground. With luck, she wouldn’t see, wouldn’t have to know the aspects humans always thought so monstrous.
“Will it hurt?” she asked.
He had glib answers, words he’d perfected over the years. Sally deserved better. “They tell me—a little. At first.” He paused. “Sally, are you sure?”
In answer, her bare wrist appeared before him within the tiny tent of cloth over his face. He had fed from every thinkable position, and few unthinkable ones, but rarely, he reflected as he eased his shoulders back against Sally’s body, one that afforded him such a sense of maternal protection. He took her hand to guide her wrist to his mouth, pausing for a slow inhalation of her scent. She smelled of sweat and dust and her pregnancy, he thought. And courage. An ineffable strain of courage.
Sally felt a pressure, as though her wrist were caught in a trap, then the twin punctures in her skin as the fangs pressed through, into her flesh. Then his mouth shifted against her wrist, and he began to drink.
When she’d first realized she was pregnant, she’d asked her mother a thousand and one questions, including what it felt like to nurse an infant. As many of her questions as her work-worn mother had ignored, or brushed off with a laconic, “You’ll see,” this one, she remembered, had gotten her an enigmatic smile. Then she’d shaken herself, and told Sally, “After ten children, it just feels old.”
Now, feeling this strange being take her blood, feeling him suck so insistently at her wrist, she thought she might understand the smile. There seemed to be a current of sensation running from her wrists to her tightening breasts, and she was glad he couldn’t see her blush. She wondered what Jim would think about all this, and she suspected suddenly that her husband wasn’t going to find out. Not from her, anyway.
Her free hand crept around Josef’s broad chest again, steadying them both. Around them, the relentless sun poured light over the prairie and the insignificant specks of their tiny figures. Time ceased, and only the wind moved, rippling the long dry grass, the graceful waves of it scarcely broken by a pair of horses and the man and woman on the ground. Sally felt as though she were a part of a larger whole, at one with the earth and the sky. At peace with the world, as she fed the vampire.
Josef gave a final, sealing lick to the wounds he’d created, and spared himself a moment to soak in the solace of her gift to him. He would swear he could feel every drop seeping into his tissues, healing the damage caused by the sun, slaking for a time his endless thirst. This child, this infant, had succored him in his need. And as pleasant as it was to linger in her arms, it was time to be up and moving.
He wiped his mouth carefully before he shifted in her lap to look up into her face. He knew his eyes had turned back to brown; he could see them reflected in hers, smiling down at him. He turned his head and laid a chaste kiss on her bare wrist. “Thank you, Sally,” he said. “Are you all right?”
“Maybe a little light-headed,” she replied. “And, Josef? You’re welcome.”
One more short span of rest, and Josef used one hand against the ground to lever himself up. Still keeping the cape draped as a protection against the sun, he stood and studied the horizon. The horses were better for the short rest, but they needed water, and soon. They were not ready to outrun the pursuers who could only be a few hours behind.
Ahead, he could see a break in the land, a slightly higher rise with cottonwoods below. There should be water there, a spring, or at least a seep. He thought they could make it to that, possibly, in an hour or two, at most. Depending on how long the false trail he’d laid northeast from camp had decoyed the Colonel’s men, they might even have time to hole up in a sheltered spot until nightfall.
He felt much stronger, already; Sally’s blood would sustain him well. And at sunset, he’d be stronger yet. Slade Weston was with them still, but by a thread. If they weren’t lucky, that cottonwood grove could well prove the man’s final resting place.
“Be strong, bandit,” he whispered to Slade. “I’ve got plans for you.”
A few minutes later, with Sally clinging like a grass burr behind him, and the bay mare’s lead rein in his sun-reddened fist, Josef turned the chestnut gelding, urging him forward to the scant shelter in the distance.
for pointing out the Rose of Sharon homage. 
No matter what, I know it'll be a wonderful trip, and I'll be there with them, every step of the way.
She is such a wonderful woman!!!! 
I love, love, love this story and can't wait to see what happens next... 
