The waning moon hung low, barely reaching above the tangled arms of the forest. The naked branches reached out after it like slender, grasping fingers. The starless slate sky loomed overhead and offered little more than a murky and dismal silence, complimenting the heavy darkness of the forest below. Yet, from this still, silent blackness a light emerged, peeking tentatively through the dark trunks and branches, growing stronger with each fraction of a second until it formed a small, square window, a window set amongst others, revealing with their soft glow the shape of a low, wood shingled cottage. One of many which nestled tightly together, forming a small village.
The village was quiet and settled for the night, and though half buried in sloping drifts, was warm with glowing windows and smoking chimneys. But it was toward that first cottage with its little window, that a dark shadow sped, oblivious to everything save the twin trails drawn in the crisp snow by awkward, stumbling feet-- a trail which led from the hills, through the snow, and to this very cottage's door.
He paused, sliding a hand along the sun-bleached door frame, listening to the soft sounds reverberating within.
The trail stopped there, at the foot of the steps. Two people had come here from his home, and at least one had been injured. There was blood in the air here as well, half hidden by woodsmoke and dulled by the chill of the air, but it lingered all the same. He cocked his head and his eyes narrowed at another set of prints headed away from the cottage in the direction of the river. The stride was long and sure...and, he knew, headed east. In his gut he already knew the answers to his questions, instinct and logic both pointed in the same direction...but he had to be sure. There was no room for error. So he knocked.
**
Moments later, he had his answers. He could be certain now. Berin and May were... gone.
He'd known it, but something in him needed to hear it. He'd felt almost cruel making Timothy say the words out loud. It was clear by the way the man graveled out the words, and by his refusal to meet Jairus' eye, that he blamed himself.
Jairus did nothing to talk him out of this thought. He didn't blame Tim, however. He blamed himself. The feeling was only natural, and there were no words which could possibly persuade him otherwise. He knew that like him, Timothy would be just as difficult to convince, and he hadn't the time to spare for such a pointless exercise. Tim had been injured, but was well enough, and with people who could care for him until he was whole. But she--that foolish, stubborn...
She was alive...is alive... perhaps...
Even as his anger burned hot in his mind, his throat clenched with fear, just as it had been doing since he'd first come across that...that tomb which was once his home. He'd been sick with pain and fear. Frozen with it. But it was his fury that had finally moved him, which moved him still. So he clung to it and let it overtake him.
He'd failed May and Berin. He'd broken his own rules, and it had destroyed them. But he still had the others to protect, and he'd be damned if he would let them be taken from him as well.
And once his remaining....family, was safe, he'd take his retribution...and it would be terrible.
Jairus growled low in his throat, a sound lost in the whipping wind which rushed past him in a deafening roar. It vibrated through him joining the shudder of exertion and hunger which was already boiling dangerously close to the surface. He suppressed it, wielding his will like he would the reigns of an unwieldy mount. He pressed himself forward, and his body strained for speed as he hastened toward the city.
A dangerous combination of fury and hope sped his way, recklessly pushing him to the very limits of his abilities. It was a feeling very much like the one which had overcome him when he'd found Thea huddled in that storm. Instead of easing with time, the maddening blend of rage and the half terrified yearning only built on itself until it numbed his body and pushed the still growing hunger and pain from his mind.
It was only when the glistening shape of the great imperial gate finally appeared, rapidly expanding in his vision, that he slowed and felt a flood of exhaustion followed by a powerful surge of hunger wash over him. The feeling caused him to hesitate and stumble slightly and he steered himself away from the more heavily populated areas, suddenly uncertain about just how in control of himself he actually was.
He entered the city from one of the lesser used entrances, keeping to the narrow alleys and shadows, clutching his side under his cloak as the ache of his need built until it became almost unbearable as the sharp stabs of pain sliced through him. His body cried out for blood.
He peered into the darkness, now seeing the world with weakened, almost human eyes and followed the wall with his free hand. He steeled himself, willing himself past the weakening drain, straining the last of his senses in order to navigate the dark twisting alleys.
He expelled a relieved breath as his eager ears finally caught something more than noisome ringing which had begun to fill them. He veered left into another narrow via, toward the sound of the single beating heart which called out to him, and blocked all other sounds from his mind.
A door swung open ahead of him and he wasted no time.
Slim hands caught his wrist and tugged futilely as his hand clamped hard over the warm gasping mouth. Her head was tugged roughly back and his thoughts registered dimly that it was a she, with pale hair and dark eyes. But then his eye caught a pulse of blue along a column of white and there was nothing else to see. His vision blurred, red and needful, and he groaned as his fangs broke flesh and sunk deeply into its welcoming heat.
He drank greedily, and relished the hot sear of it as the blood filled his mouth and throat. The body in his arms struggled and protested, but he was beyond blind to it. Even in his weakened state he was too strong for her and eventually the woman grew still and silent as he continued to feed.
His body shook with relief and his numb limbs prickled painfully as the life returned to them.
His furious desperate pulls slowed as his vision cleared. His mind cleared as well, enough, at least, to let him pull away, though he was forced to will himself to do so and with a difficulty he found disturbing.
The woman was alive...limp and unconscious...but alive. It had been a long time since he'd come this close to draining a victim, and much longer still since he'd lost control as he had. Memories of feeding from Thea flashed through his mind, unbidden, and questioned the truth of that thought even as he had it. A desire and need more potent, and at this moment more painful, than mere hunger tightened his chest. He pushed the memories away with a grunt of frustration and tried to refocus on the present, and the woman he currently held in his arms.
He'd pushed himself hard...too hard perhaps, but what was done was done, and there was no going back. Nor would he have done differently if he could. Jairus let out a shaking breath and closed the girl's wounds, shuddering at the taste of blood and closing his eyes against the urge to take more, shutting the door on his need once again.
He checked the passage around him, refocusing his gradually strengthening senses as he searched for warnings of interruption, then, when he saw none, he looked beyond her to the still open door and shook his head. He'd been fortunate, his instincts had guided him well and she'd been alone. He had been desperate enough to not care...he had been lucky. He lifted her and lay her on the floor of the entry hall and shut her inside, then leaned against the door with a sigh.
