The Last Time We First Met - Part Eleven
by: Denise Underwood
c. 2001
An hour that seemed like a century later, Methos pulled out the last
splinter he could find. Triona lay huddled in a ball next to her Master,
crying softly. "It's over," Methos said, lifting her into his arms.
In the beginning, she'd been able to hold it together. But as the hour wore
on, the vampire's agony battered down the tenuous shield she'd managed to
erect. By the end she wasn't even able to sit up, collapsing on the cold
floor.
"Blood... need blood. So hungry.... Please...." Triona opened her eyes,
herself again for a moment. "You promised me, Methos," she said, sensing
his reluctance to carry through with her plan.
Nodding, he sat her gently down. Then he propped LaCroix into a sitting
position. The ancient vampire groaned in pain, murmuring something
unintelligible in Latin. Triona, finding the strength from somewhere, lay
against LaCroix's chest, exposing her throat.
"Methos, you need to nick the vein. He needs to smell the blood."
Sighing, the Immortal drew a knife from a sheath at his belt. With one
swift motion he opened the vein at her throat. Gasping, she pressed her
bloodied neck against LaCroix's lips, willing him to drink. She felt each
beat of her heart driving her blood from the wound, and she prayed he would
respond before the wound healed. Heart soaring, she felt him swallow.
'Please, Lucien, please,' she whispered to herself. It was enough. Some
desperate instinct seemed to take him as one hand clamped behind her neck
and his fangs sank into the bloodied flesh of her throat. Triona bit down a
scream at the pain. This was feeding with no niceties, with none of the
usual seduction that LaCroix used to such great effect. This was only about
survival.
Soon the blackness crept around her senses as more and more of her life's
blood was drained away. As she fell into that blackness, she reached out a
small hand to Methos. The last memory before blessed unconsciousness was
the touch of her hand in his.
********
Triona stirred, still feeling Methos' hand holding hers. Waking further,
she called out to him softly.
"You're awake," he said as he kissed her softly on the lips.
She peered up at his face in the dark, once more thankful that one of the
vampire traits she had all the time was enhanced night vision. "How long?"
"About twelve hours," he told her, helping her sit up. "Here, drink this,"
he said, pressing a canteen into her hands.
Horribly thirsty, she nonetheless sipped carefully at the water. Who knew
when they find more? And Immortal or not, weakening themselves
unnecessarily in this hostile environment was foolhardy. Triona gratefully
accepted the ration bar that he handed her next, wolfing it down hungrily
before taking another sip of water.
"How is he?" she asked, dreading the answer.
"The wounds have healed a little. But not enough," he admitted.
"He needs more blood. More than I can give him."
"I know. The time between you giving him blood and recovering enough to
give him more is too much." Methos looked worriedly at LaCroix. "We need
help. Either I go back to Billings, or go on home. Or we wait it out here
and hope Stephanie or Janette can home in on the two of you." Methos' tone
made it obvious that he didn't hold out much hope for that plan.
Triona began to reply, but fell silent, looking into the dark. She placed
her hand over his mouth, warning him to silence. Then he heard it too and
nodded his understanding. As quiet as a cat on the hunt, Triona slipped
away from their hiding place and moved around behind where she heard the
unmistakable sound of intruders. Soon, she was behind them, cutting off any
escape they might attempt. Their whispers drifted into the dank confines of
the destroyed basement.
"They had to come here, we've searched everywhere else," a gravelly male
voice said.
"At least one has to be dead. You saw all the blood where we set the bomb
off," another male voice replied. His voice was high and thin, like an out
of tune piccolo.
"They all should've been easy pickings, Zoo, after that blast. How'd they
make it to safety?" He sounded nervous. "Maybe we'd better just leave this
one."
"To hell with that," his companion said in an explosive whisper. "We didn't
go to all this to let prime bounty go to waste. Just do what I tell you,
Cromby; don't think."
Triona felt rage crawl up her throat as she listened and followed the two
scavvies farther into the basement. Looking closer, she realized that they
wore night-vision lenses. Reaching into her pocket she took out the solar
light once more. Switching it to full brightness, she tossed it over the
two, distracting them as the sudden brightness hit their eyes. Bringing the
hilt of her sword down on the head of the one nearest her, she saw Methos
rush the other as he made a vain attempt to escape the sudden unexpected
assault.
Enraged, Triona kicked the groaning man at her feet. "You should have
listened to Cromby, you murdering bastard," she snarled as she kicked him
again. This time she heard the sound of a rib breaking and Zoo cried out in
agony.
Having rendered his own scavenger unconscious, Methos looked over in shock
at Triona. "What are you doing?" he demanded.
She looked up, startled, as if she had forgotten Methos was there. The look
of pure hate in her eyes made her lover step back. "They did this to us,
Methos," she spat out. "I heard them. They set the bomb, killed the
baby...." her voice broke.
"You're sure?"
"Yes!" she hissed. This time Methos stopped her before she could kick her
prone prisoner again.
At her look of outrage, he said, "Don't do this, love. Don't. You can't
fall to their level. It will poison you, it will taint your soul."
"Don't you dare judge me, Methos," she snarled as she pulled from his hold.
Methos just looked at her calmly, refusing to let her draw him in. "I'm
not. But I am warning you. I can't make choices for your conscience -- only
you can do that. I know this path; I know it intimately. Please don't take
it."
Pressing her fist against her lips, she stared at him. When Zoo groaned
again, she whirled away, going to sit next to LaCroix. Methos sighed,
wisely not saying anything. Instead, he busied himself securing their
captives.
Triona took her Master's cold hand in her warm one, a tear marking her face
as it slipped down the grime that coated her skin. "He needs blood, Methos.
And he needs it now," she declared suddenly into the silence. Still, the
Immortal remained silent. "I can think of no better source than those that
did this to him!"
"Triona," Methos began.
"No! It's his life or theirs. It shouldn't even be a decision you have
trouble making!" she accused him furiously. "Do you think I wouldn't make
the same choice for you? Wouldn't you for me?"
He looked down, shoving his hands deep in his pockets. "You know I would."
"Then why the hesitation?" she demanded. "It's a merciful death. God knows
it's more merciful than what they would have done to us -- what they did to
Lucien."
Methos finally looked at her. "I know you're right. It doesn't mean I have
to like it -- or that I like to see you reveling in blood lust. Because
that's what it is. I'd like to blame it on Lucius, but I can't, can I?" The
look in his eyes told her that he wanted her to deny it. To let him believe
the fiction that she wasn't a vampire at heart.
It was an age-old bone of contention between them. One that kept cropping
up long after they thought they had laid it to rest. Oh, he loved her
without reserve, but love wasn't always enough. In reality, it was that
love that enabled him to see beyond her vampiric nature. Without that bond
to sustain them, they'd never have come through so much to still be
together some sixty years later. But it was times like these that he would
look into her eyes and see nothing human. Triona's eyes may as well have
been burning gold for all the humanity that was left to them. In these
moments she was totally and thoroughly LaCroix's creature.
Triona visibly tried to rein in the feyness she felt rushing through every
fiber of her being. "I'm sorry. Sorrier than you'll ever know. No, you
can't blame it on Lucien. But I'm so tired. So scared that he's going to
die and leave me alone. Scared that you'll think you mean less to me
because of that fear." Her shoulders sagged and she shivered. "I can't do
this alone, my love. His pain, his anger, his hunger, all of them batter at
my soul. I'm losing myself, Methos."
This time when she looked at him, her eyes were human, vulnerable, and
fading. Methos nodded, pulling Zoo to his feet. "Never alone, love. Never
alone....."
********
Denise * ithildin@ondragonswing.com* Ith
http://www.ondragonswing.com
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