Blood Mountain (BWWM)

Prologue - Monsters

Edited 10/7/18

***

Vela laid curled on her side with bony knees drawn tight to her stomach. Thin arms folded around herself, offering a small comfort as warm tears dripped, dripped, dripped down her cheeks. She knew by now that her body just barely belonged to her, was kept that way only by the promised fury of the vampire who saved her. If time had taught her anything, it was that she couldn't protect herself.

Not from men.

Not from vampires.

Not with her frail body.

Not without his help.

Vela screwed her eyes shut, jaw screaming with pressure as she tried to restrain the cloyed press of sobs in her throat. They fought her with every breath, goading and persistent while she struggled to block the ceaseless churn of lurking images from surfacing.

She could count on a hand how many times she'd cried from the time she was a child until present moment. It was safer that way. Being vulnerable had never worked in her favor. That was glaringly clear as she was now sequestered in the bowels of an ancient mountain under the watchful care of an even elder creature.

Despite herself, Vela snorted on a half-sobbed laugh. He couldn't possibly be as old as the mountain, but he had to be close. Her every quiet inquiry to his age was met with wistful comments of a long-ago youth and more obscure riddles than she cared to decipher.

But Vela knew he was old enough to remember the first towns that cropped up around his mountain. He must've stood by and watched as shanty villages were carved into the uprooted earth, grew and expanded and climbed upward to become bloated cities.

And yet he did nothing.

Perched on tall cliffs that overlooked a changing valley below, he remained idle to the humans approaching his doorstep.

It was only when they came knocking that he answered.

To find her.

Vela eased out a shaky exhale and draped a light caress to her abdomen, palm hovering on pronounced ribs. She... she knew this wasn't healthy. Vela could hardly eat under normal circumstances, but with Hizen gone to visit an allied coven for the past month, she was at the mercy of his appointed attendants. And they tolerated her as a wolf entertains rabbits; enjoyed as a meal. Her presence in their home as something other than food was purely offensive. That Hizen was firmly against feeding from her and had never once proposed the idea, or just taken it from her (as the others believed was his right), had gnashed at their instincts.

Vela tried to be the ideal guest as much as she could under the fierce glares of a hundred disproving vampires, but it wasn't an easy task. She was only human. And a physically weak one at that. Her mental fortitude carried her through the first few months relatively unscathed, but now...

She had made a mistake.

Vela was alone, destitute, a cracked shell swaddling a damaged soul. She had nothing to offer but her body. It was her single claim to autonomy. Vela, with only the barest whisper of shame, offered it freely. She was all hard angles and sunken hips and far from a voluptuous dame. She knew all this.

But still, she insisted.

Hizen rebuffed her advances. He was always gentle about it, softly discouraging her attempts with words of her debt not needing to be repaid, she didn't owe him anything.

But still, she insisted.

Through spring, past fall, into bitterly cold winter when the promise of a warm bed and sinking heat was most persuasive. Hizen's carefully restrained intentions finally melted to her skating glances, swelled under her promises to please him. Hizen didn't wear a persona. Not really. Vela knew he was naturally reserved, prone to apathy toward most things excluding herself. It was with gradual persistence that she chipped away his fraying outer layers. But they peeled off easily, caving to the slight pressure of her touch. As if he wasn't aware of his own want, the swamping desire to hold another close who could do the same of their own provocation, who didn't need to be swayed by a silver tongue or gilded glamor.