Deadly
Desires
Timeline:
the AU, Europe of Middle Ages; movie-verse (as much as it can be, since Gambit
wasn’t in the movie =)
Main
chars: Logan, Remy LeBeau
I
own Remy! Yes, I do! It was me who invented him, and Marvel just stole it from
under my nose =) LOL!
Rating:
NC17
Archive:
www.i.com.ua/~lebeau
Beta
work: Psycho, Tarch
Summary:
Remy serves to the Goddess of Love and Death. What will the fellow do if the
Goddess demands the death of his love?
Prologue
He
was praying.
In
the darkened sanctuary, a young man was kneeling on a thick black carpet
surrounded by eight burning candles. There were always eight, since this
was the number of Marana, the Goddess of Love and Death.
In
the legends of the faith, the belief in the holiness of the number eight took
its roots from the story that told that the world was formed of eight
elements, with each element being born from Love and Death. Each of the eight
candles was burning to represent each of the elements of the world.
The
flickering candlelight danced on the pale skin that looked almost vulnerable,
even when it revealed trained muscles sliding under it. The young man was
sitting naked except for a number of glinting metallic bracelets on his narrow
wrists. The bracelets were marks of distinction: each golden bracelet
represented a person that had been gifted love, while each silver bracelet
indicated a person that was gifted with death.
Though
the bracelets were thin, the young man had over three inches of them on each
wrist, both golden and sliver. He believed that each one carried the soul
of a person, each a person he had shared his gifts with. The souls were
believed to strengthen the wearer of the bracelet.
The
man’s auburn hair was hanging loose over his shoulders, partly covering his
downcast face. His eyelids were closed - thick painted black lashes didn't
flicker. He was silent, focused within.
He
let the Love in, feeling it stream into him in a slowly like honey, warm and
soothing, bringing concentration and patience. It was the force that let him
stay in the hideout for hours without moving, while he waited for his victim.
He let it fill him until he was overflowing, and then it drain from him as
slowly as it came.
Then
he let the Death in. It rushed through him like a hurricane, crashing his
doubts, testing his inner solidness. It roared in his veins and his mind,
and only his will held him back from wildly leaping up and crashing into
everything around him until he was unconscious or dead. His soul was open to
the Goddess, and all of his senses sharpened incredibly. During those moments,
he didn't need to see or hear - it was his inner sense that was telling him he
was alone in the church. A pack of homeless kids played outside, several birds
flew in the air. It was beyond senses - it was the Knowledge.
His
hand slid to his left inner thigh, where the black circle with four rays
piercing it from each of the compass points was tattooed on the velvet skin.
For some time nothing happened, then he felt the slight tingling over the
mark. The sign. He was ready.
His
eyes opened, black eyes with crimson irises stared into the near darkness. He
got up in one flexible motion – one which an ordinary man would have
probably dislocated his knee while performing. Slowly, he pulled on his pants,
fixing two knives on each thigh: a naked blade on the right, a poison-anointed
one the left where the mark was. "Death shall be always close to
Death," Cin-Caro said, and the young apprentice remembered the rule.
Two
more knives were fixed on his forearms, a pack of ninja-stars on his left
shoulder, two seven-inched daggers behind his back unseen under clothes,
all fixed the way that allowed him to roll and flip in the air without any
discomfort. Soft black shoes that let the man move soundlessly when he wanted
to, and, yes, saved his feet from the sharp stones of the road, were donned.
Finally, a small black viper, loosened from a cloth bag, coiled up his hand,
passing under his sleeve to circle his arm under the sleeve.
He
stepped to the curtain, his lean, trained body now clad in dark pants and
short black shirt that hid all the weaponry from curious eyes. The curtain was
moved aside, and his eyes narrowed at the light of the mass of candles in the
church - too bright. A long piece of black silk was taken out of a pocket and
found its usual place around fellow's eyes like a veil. Now he could go - no
one would be able to see his eyes outside the sacred place, and he'll be safe
under the bright sunlight that was anathema to his sensitive eyes.
The
was door opened, and Remy LeBeau, more commonly known as Flaming Blade,
disciple of the Marana - the Goddess of Love and Death, left the church.
The
church was large, with a lofty vaulted ceiling edged in columns so tall they
looked like they were running up to the sky. He could barely see where one
stone met the other, forming a smooth surface even the best climber couldn't
scale. It simply went up, and the boy had to throw his head back to see where
it ended.
The
disciple had often had to throw his head back since he came here, being short
in comparison with the man who was currently leading him through the church.
Yet the disciple was tall himself, even compared with the other men on the
street. The man he followed stood over 6'6", and looked like a tower to
the young man - a tall dark tower with haunting crimson eyes.
It
had actually been the red eyes that given the boy some trust in that man. ~He
has the same eyes I have.~
~Alright,
maybe not exactly the same, yet also crimson~
The
giant man was dressed in long black clothes, that matched his long black hair,
which was currently tied back into a ponytail. It gave him a sinister look.
That,
and the strange ruby crystal that seemed to be imbedded in his forehead.
The
crystal confused the boy. ~Who had the gem placed like this? If it's glued
there, isn't the man afraid to loose it in the crowd?~
At
first, he had tried to get a better look at the jewel, and then flinched, when
he realized that tended to shine in the darkness as if lit from within.
Later on he couldn’t
imagine the man without the weird ruby…
*
* *
Logan
was tired.
He
had been up nearly all night helping the Nightwatch to keep the peace.
Something was in the air these day, and he couldn’t put a finger on it.
Something, riding the wind…
He
fingered the silver wolf medallion that hung on a chain around his throat. It
wasn’t the first or fourteenth time that night that his thoughts had
wandered to his patron, Aranthu. The god of the land, of earth and metal, bird
and beast, was the patron deity of his city and the surrounding lands, and of
all the things Logan knew, it was that Aranthu had made him his.
From the time he was a child in a tiny village some distance from the city, Aranthu’s hands were above him.