L'Oublié

This one is something mashed together out of boredom. You can kind of see my history obsession peeking through. Wrote this for a friend who loves Bam Margera. As the story progresses the character will be revealed more. Right now he's the "mysterious maker and savior" obsessed with Mary Magdeline.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I sighed. I was bored. I had been cooped up with Anne for six weeks, ever since she went and killed her last plaything. Ryder and Daemon were upset with her, but her sexual predelictions made for short span playmates. Not that I missed Deron, but he was a decent vintage. It had been so long since I've had a pure AB negative, but Anne rarely shared her playthings.
My name once upon a time was Drusilla of Mauretania. I was a Princess born of Cleopatra Selene and King Juba II in the land of Nubia. I was brought into this darkness by Ryder, an errant guardsmen of my fathers house. He was changed by a demon one night, and he awoke with an unnatural thirst for blood. I was the first person he had seen. Of course in those days, he had another name, though I don't remember it now. He attacked me and drained me, his remorse was such, that he slit his wrists to die by my side. It was unknown to him that his blood would regenerate me and he himself though weak wouldn't die.
When he found himself still alive, and me changing before his eyes, he took me and fled. We went into the deserts of my mothers homelands of Egypt and hid in what was my mother's crypt, coming out at night to prey on nomadic peoples wandering the desert. We lived like this for many years. Learning how to control the unnatural craving for blood. We soon found that blood was not the only craving we were slave to. Cravings for pleasures of the flesh were riding hard, but in those times, women didn't admit to such things, nor indulge in them. As much changed as I was, Ryder still deferred to me as Princess, and as such he couldn't touch me.
He would go out into the world and find his sins of the flesh, while I remained entombed with my ancestors in a valley in Egypt. After a while, I left there too. Ryder had been gone for many years at this point, centuries perhaps. Time is meaningless to us, so I don't mark its passage. As I wandered Egypt, I heard tales of my Mother and Father, long dead. Dead so long as they'd become only legends, much as Kleopatra herself. I was called The Lost Princess of Nubia by some. There were tales that I'd eloped with a palace guard-these were close to the truth, as I had run away with one, but we'd never had sex. Ryder would never touch me.
I found I was able to walk in sunlight, which made travel less conspicuous in those days, since many cities and towns closed their gates from sundown to sunup. I had discovered this by accident, as Ryder told me the sun hurt his skin, a pain worse than one thousand lashings. I feared the sun, but learned to deal with the slight unpleasant burn from it.
But this story isn't about me or my wanderings. It's about Ryder and L'Oublié. They have been the guardians of Sang saint for the past two millenia. Ryder had turned a number of Templar Knights in order to ensure the protection of Sang Saint throughout time. When there is a male member of Sang Saint, L'Oublié bring him to Lac Du Rouge to one of the Queens, and she would breed from him. Ryder was obsessed with the continuation of the Magdeline bloodline. He even claimed he was the reason for Jesus ressurection, and that Jesus still roamed this earth from time to time.
I've never had to breed from the Sang Saint, being a mere Princess of a Heretic Queen. Only Christian Queens were bred to Sang Saint, so I was thankful for small favors. Anne was quite adament when she was bred, she wanted to keep the children. They were usually given to another Sang Saint family. I was given to Anne, to be a companion and keeper.
~
Daemon stalked through the halls of Lac Du Rouge looking for Anne. She was becoming more and more insulent as the years pass. In her time, she was an old woman, thirty one years old, in this modern time, she was still considered young, and she was determined to act like a teenager. Daemon had been the keeper of Drusilla and Anne for four hundred years. Just as Drusilla had been in charge of Anne since Anne had been saved from the gallows and turned.
He followed Ryder as Ryder was the only one older than himself that he'd ever met. He suspected he and Ryder shared a maker, but there was no real way to be sure about that. DeMarrias vanished from the cold country almost as soon as Daemon was turned. Daemon was determined to find and kill his maker for granting him this living torment. As the world shrunk, Daemon and Ryder determined that they wouldn't drink their fill, so they were constantly hungry.
Daemon lived on "the little drink" taking some from here and some from there at night clubs where women were too drunk to protest his coming into close contact with them. Princess Drusilla sometimes sated his thirst with her own royal blood, which was an exotic flavor all its own. Ryder was ever her champion and still her loyal servant, though he was her Master under the laws that governed their race.
They'd been known as vampires for a little over one hundred years now. A nickname he still wasn't used to. But then, for some as old as Drusilla, Ryder and himself, one hundred years was only a couple days in their conception of time. He walked with a heavy tread, even though he could be light as air if he wanted. Anne-Her Grace-as she styled herself, preferred to hear the footfalls of company. A throwback to her time. He'd seen it many times, it was the downfall of older vampires, a failure to adapt to modern customs as they come.
Daemon generally liked the castle Lac Du Rouge set on the shores of a small lake in an isolated part of Northern California. Drusilla walked from one of the rooms of the inner chambers of the castle and greeted him.
"Daemon. I expected you earlier. But of course L'Oublié would keep you busy." She greeted. Daemon smiled and showed a bit of fang. "The Forgotten, how mean spirited you are my Princess." Drusilla laughed then and bowed her head. She was a gorgeous woman, people would notice her. Tall, with hair thick and long and black as night. She went to a museum once to see an exhibit on Cleopatra, and people remarked that she looked strikingly similar to busts of her grandmother. Drusilla then got plastic surgery to make her appearance more modern and less handsome. But to him, she was beautiful, no matter how she changed her face.
"I assume you are here to speak to Madame about that unfortunate incident involving Deron?" Drusilla asked coyly. "Unfortunate incident? You are still a polititian Princess. She killed her lover and threw him from her rooms via the window. She's become unstable." Daemon groaned. Drusilla shrugged. "Anne will see nobody. She's barricaded in her rooms. I've tried sending playboys to her to entice her to eat, but she won't. She wants him Daemon. She wants Ryder and will have no other." Drusilla told him.
Daemon sighed. Damn Ryder for turning this unstable Queen. "She wants Bam. She gets more and more irrational as her wants are not met. But Ryder doesn't want her. Never wanted her like that...she's bore him three Sang Saint children and lost them to Sang Saint families." Drusilla said. Daemon smiled. "I'm starting to wonder if it was you who released rumors of Sang Saint." He said. Ryder was disturbed when The Da Vinci Code came out. Most people knew Ryder as Bam, he'd made a name for himself doing stunts and whatnot.
"You haven't fed. I can feel your hunger beating at me." She told him. At Lac Du Rouge there were founts for drinking. They signed legal documents absolving L'Oublié of liability. "I'd rather not drink from one of Anne's boytoys." Daemon told her. Drusilla laughed and motioned him forward to the inner chambers.
~
"Me suivre." I told Daemon, leading him into my own chambers, not the public chambers that Anne had insisted upon when we met with the builders two hundred years ago. "Ryder will not like you taking me to your chambers Princess." Daemon warned. I merely laughed. Unless Daemon told Ryder what I did, there was no way he'd know, any way, Daemon was hungry, and I was bored.
My chambers are very Victorian. I have a deep abiding love of what is now called antiques. When I was a child, we slept on slim couches, ate with our fingers whilst sitting on the floor on pillows at a table that was barely waist high. I loved medieval England and it's odd mishmash of customs from old Rome and Gaul. I enjoyed Daemon's company, he was just as strange to me as English customs. He was from a far North land, where it was always cold. He was taller than even my father Juba and while as milk-though that could be the vampiric blood. He had hair the color of sunlight and eyes as cold as his homeland. He was absolutely gorgeous.
I reached up to my shoulders and unpinned my Chiton. I still dressed as an Egyptian, even in this modern time, I preferred linen chitons to horrible cotton clothes. Anne also preferred to dress in the style of her times, often covering her head with a french veil. In this part of California, we were believed to be descendants from the original ladies who owned this house. "Princess, I must protest..." he started as I walked towards him, naked to the waist. "Why?" I asked him. "Who will tell Ryder? Anne? He won't speak to Anne, he never does anymore. Her obsession with men is dangerous, I'd just as soon drain her as live with her any longer." I told him.
His arms wrapped around me, and I smiled. I had drank my fill from numerous donors that day. I felt his breath on my throat as he brought his face down. "Thank you Sot Flicka." He whispered before he sank his fangs into my throat.
~
Her blood flooded my mouth thicker and hotter than any I've ever tasted. Royalty of an ancient line. Her breathy moans and fingers knotted in my hair made me lose control of myself. Drusilla always made me lose control. Try as I might, I could not refuse her. I knew once more I would submit to the pleasures of her bed.
I had come here to deal with the errant Queen Anne. Ryder had decided it was time she took her rightful place in the grave at Westminster Abbey. She was useless to him now. Only royal by marraige. Ryder far preferred Elizabeth, once called The Virgin Queen, and Anne's daughter. Ryder had made her immortal on her twentieth birthday, before she took the crown. Daemon himself didn't find any beauty in the English Queens. The British women were too much social climbers, always looking for a rich husband with a lofty title. And he found them immensely plain.

D'Amour Immortal

This one is a vampire romance that stars my favorite "rock star" Jyrki Linnankivi (Jyrki 69) and a small town artisit who is dying from cancer. Boy I do get morbid. :)

D'amour Immortal
The Meeting
He noticed her fingers first. They were smudged with charcoal. The graphite pencil in her long slender fingers gave him images of fingers put to better use. Her other hand propped up the book she was drawing in. There she sat, in an outdoor bistro on Market Street sketching people. He wanted to see what she was working on with such a concentration, who was the lucky person to capture her interest? He felt invigored just being here.
New Orleans, it was a cliche to hunt here, but all the girls who lusted what he was eventually came here. He smiled to himself. He was out hunting for a new little goth kitten to be his plaything. His last had been more than twenty years before, the last time he woke up. He was startled to find the fashion hadn't changed much, he just smelled a little musty. An old familiar pang struck him when he thought of his isolation these last two decades.
His suicidal Rose. She hated living, and hated death more. The sun cured her of her dreary life. He still kept her ashes in a jar. He was a selfish bastard sometimes he thought to himself. She had hurt him, so he was being petty and not letting her ashes scatter, thus freeing her soul. "Not tonight Rose." He muttered to himself. Tonight was about curing an immortal libido left dormant too long.
She wore black stockings and high heeled shoes. Her sleek silver hair hung in razored slices, uneven framing her face. Her eyes were concealed behind thin wire rims, he wasn't close enough to see them, but he would bet they were the same uncolor as her hair, she exuded dispassion, an icy front. His lips curled back from his fanged insisors in a preditory smile. He wanted to crack the icy veneer on her. The short red dress reminded him that blood was the main pursuit, oh yeah, he was thirsty, for her. He was hooked, no other would do now. That was always his downfall, he seen a pretty lass and he wanted with abandon.
Heat rushed to his loins when he noticed the metal circlet on her lower lip. That hoop excited him, and hardened him when she started to chew on it in her concentration. It was then that he noticed her hands activity, moving quickly over the page, back and forth, broad and furious strokes. He didn't know what he wanted more right now, to see what she was drawing, or her warm body on top of his, filling one need and the next. He couldn't contain his interest anymore, he ambled over to her, before he could speak, she began.
"I wondered when you would come over Monsieur." Her voice touched on all his sexual endings, soft, clear, no disserable accent, but purely woman. "I've been watching you, watching me. Pray, tell me, is it a good likeness?" She turned her book from her to face him, at first he was secretly thrilled she noticed him, then he took notice of the page, and he was staring back at himself.
"Startlingly so my dear. Do tell, do I truely look like some evil bird of prey?" He used his most polite voice. She just smiled, and he was distracted again, by that circlet moving up and down upon her lip. "You sat so still, for more than an hour, watching women go by. Just watching, just waiting. Like a wolf, I was intrigued, I couldn't resist." She smiled once more, and he noticed her straight white teeth. Looking closer, he noted her pale complexion, like she was already a daughter of the night. He listened for her heart, and found it shallow, and all too mortal.
"I like it." She told him, as she turned the book back to face her. Again she picked up her graphite stick and turned a page. "Please sit. I think you are the most interesting subject I have found today." He wanted to watch her, he wanted her hear her speak, so he sat. "You do it well." She said as she glanced at his hands. "The skin, the nails. I'm usually never intrigued so by the 'vampires' that come to play with the Ricean groupies." He must have gotten some strange look on his face to show his confusion, because she laughed. "I'm not waiting for Lestat, Monsieur. I'm just here to paint. Tomorrow I will be in my little space, close to the arena, closeted away painting you. Has anyone ever told you that you are exceptionally beautiful?"
Her hand kept on moving, her eyes would come up and look long at him, then return to her page. He was used to women looking at him with lust and wanting, never had he felt so probed, so truely looked at. He was curious about this "vampire" thing she mentioned, but of course, New Orleans. He almost rolled his eyes at his own absent mindedness. "I would say Louis if it weren't for your eyes. Yours are the most amazing blue I have ever seen. Louis has green. I'm going to say Santino. Marius hates him, I think you would get off on being the 'bad boy.' Of course, you're not Roman, upper European I think. I'm not familiar with your accent, but I know it isn't Russian."
He understood now. She had him pegged as a vampiric impersonater. He almost smiled in his amusement. "My name is Jyrki. I'm from Scandinavia." She looked up, startled. "I'm not expecting a life story. I just want to draw you." She smiled once more, a tight lipped "trying to be polite" smile. "Usually, when someone introduces themselves, it is polite to return information. Unless you would like me to refer to you as 'The Pencil Girl'?" She actually laughed now. "Pencil my nickname in High School, when I attended, I hated it. I'm Ami, from Grand Forks, North Dakota. My friends however, call me 'Helsinki' since I spend as much time there as I can. Though I doubt I'll ever see it again." He hadn't expected her to look so forlorn when she spoke of herself.
"I lived in Helsinki for a time, back when I was a very young man." Her pencil stopped again, and she looked at him, a mirthful expression on her pixie face. "That was when? Two years ago?" She beamed her smile upon him now. Try two hundred he thought to himself, rather grumpy. "Don't get all sour, it doesn't improve your features, if I wanted to paint a brooding man, I would attend the life study course that I am skipped to come and draw here. Do you want something? I think I want a nice salad or something, and a drink. I'll buy if you let me draw you a litte longer." It took him a moment to catch up with all that she just said. "I am fine for now, Cherie." I just want you in bed, your body, your blood. She stopped and turned back to him, "If you were blonde, I could believe you were Lestat. Lucky me." Sarcasm tipped her words and frosted her smile as she went to retreive food from the bar.
Ami walked to the bar to order a drink and her food. What a strange man, this Jyrki, but absolutely the most beautiful man she had ever seen. How many women were throwing envious glances at her when he singled her out. She couldn't believe that the dark Adonis she was admiring came to her! Of all the times in her craptastic life, now she would find a gorgeous hunk. "Can I have a King Salad and a glass of water please? To the table on the deck, just look for me and my sketch pad." She told the waiter who nodded and wrote her order down. She slipped into the bathroom and checked her complexion, then she checked her blood sugar, she was starting to ache all over, so she reached into her coat and pulled the little vial that she kept her vicoden in.
He was still there when she walked back out to her spot. Her food had arrived, and he hadn't touched it. How odd. "Sorry, I didn't mean to leave you here for so long. It's not usually so crowded here in Tuesday nights." Ami sat and reached for her pencil, in doing so, exposed her wrist watch. "Oh my gosh! It's almost midnight! I'm sorry to have kept you so long! I need to go home! It was nice to meet you Jyrki, I usually don't bother with vampires." She collected her belongings, gave a longing look to the food, and turned to leave. "It was a pleasure, Ami." He smiled when he said her name. The effect was so hypnotic. She felt as if he could control her, she felt as though she wanted him to. If he said "sex" she would have stripped right then and there on the terrace.
Jyrki watched her leave. He hadn't expected her to be vulnerable to the hypnotic stare. Not all women were-unless she wanted him as much as he wanted her. He wanted to follow her, but knew it was essential in snaring her to him, to be elusive, mysterious. He smiled to himself. He wanted Ami as his mate. But for tonight, one of the fang hags would work, to take the edge off his thirst and his lust.
The Day After
Ami sat quietly attached to the machine that purified her blood everyday. All the while she was enduring her chemo, she painted him. She almost felt as though he was watching her, her painting. She wondered if she could match his beauty. It wasn't fair for him to be so damn desireable. The machine sucking and purifying her blood made her tired. She carefully placed her painting upon the counter and closed her eyes. She would be sick later, not able to go out to sketch people. That was the one thing Ami hated the most about cancer, it weakened you. No matter how hard you tried, you couldn't live a normal life.
She was dreaming, she knew this, it was too glorious, she felt wonderful, alive and healthy, not at all haggard and weak. And she was with him. With him in a dark room, she was laying on a velvet fainting chair, and he was above her. Whispering things in Finnish, things she didn't even know the meaning of. He was carressing her flesh, kissing her breasts, licking all around the healthy mound of her, nipping gently, and then, not so gently. She pushed her fingers into his hair, and brought his face closer to hers for a kiss. Her hands explored his toned body...He pushed into her, panting, whispering erotically against her throat "Komm med meg, la meg tar deg til stjernene min pike..." it felt so good, so real
A knocking brough her from her reverie. "Ami, are you alright? You were moaning." A nurse popped her head in the room. She felt her face flush and made an excuse. "I think it's going to be a bad night, my stomach already feels like it wants to crawl out my throat." The older woman looked sympathetic and told her to try and sleep. "Only two more treatments this month Ami, you're on the road to recovery!" She said with a chipper smile. Ami wasn't sure about that, Leukemia wasn't something that was just wished away, no matter how much the Doctors and Nurses wanted her to recover. She was being a sport and lying to them, telling them she felt better everyday, she really didn't.
That Night
Jyrki went back to the bar on Market Street and waited for her. She had somehow wormed into his thoughts last night when he conquested the fang hag formerly called Martha. He sat and waited for a long time. She didn't show up. He felt almost let down, he hadn't been that excited to see anyone in centuries. Another one of the silly goth children approached him, they lacked so much. Especially originality. They bored him.
"Hi Cutie, my name is Amber, wanna dance?"
He smiled his predator smile. At least he wouldn't be hungry later. "My name is Jyrki." And the little goth girl led him into the smokey interior where there was some hideous techno playing, bodies gyrating and lights flashing. All in all, vampire agony. The things a man had to endure to get a little blood.
Ami lay in a small fetal ball on the floor of her bathroom, in front of the toilet, waiting for the agony in her to pass. She was feeling lightheaded and closed her eyes. She had the wierdest sensation that she was in a club, with loud music, flashing lights and him. They were dancing, he was looking at her like she was something he conjured in his mind. He reached a hand to her face, to stroke a stray hair back behind her ear. "Ami..." he whispered.
"No, it's Amber, remember?" The little brunette glared at him. His mind had wandered again.
"Humblest Apologies, from the moment you came to me, I have been captivated by your face, and your name escaped me. I grasped for it..." Jyrki spoke to her in a hypnotic tone, and swung her about as the music dictated..."And I grasped incorrectly, my sweet. For that, I am eternally sorrowful." No he wasn't, but it sounded good.
Ami was admiring the fact that she was as sick as she was and still managed to have erotic fantasies about men she hardly met. The nausea had passed and she wandered into the foyer of the grand house she inherited from some distant relative. She went looking for "D'amour" the painting she did at the pub. "I want to reassure myself that he wasn't as beautiful as my memory makes him!" She declared to the room. And there he was sitting in her chaise. She stopped, shocked by the sight of him sitting in her house. She was also frightened. She blinked, and he was gone, only the painting remained.
Jyrki shook himself, it was the strangest sensation, he was in a club, then he was standing in a stately old townhouse-there was a floral gingham decor that he found girlish and charming, and unexpected from a goth painter. He wasn't sure that he wasn't mentally teleporting to her, since she occupied his thoughts.
Several Weeks Later
Ami was walking down the street, she wanted to get home before darkness fell, her last chemo treatment left her weak and weary. She hoped this wouldn't last much longer. She knew her fight was going out. A deep sigh escaped her lips, and she wished it wasn't like this. She didn't want to die, not without doing all those things that she wished she could have. A man who loved her, maybe a baby. Fate wasn't kind to small town dreamers apparently.
The sun was streaking pink and orange on the bayou as it sat lower and lower. Ami paused to enjoy the sight, she almost felt like she was saying goodbye. She had lost some weight, but not enough to notice. Her hair, still the silver uncolor remained unaffected by the chemo. A few other chemo patients were jealous of her hair. A cool wind came off Lake Ponchatraine, and Ami hurried to her house, hoping that tonight, she could paint a little. She was starting a new project, for her mother.
Yesterday, the Doctors had said it. "Ami, you aren't responding as we'd hoped to the chemo and radiation. We think it's time to consider a bone marrow transplant." She'd given in and gave up her mothers contact details, hoping that neither her mother or her brother would match. They also put her in the bone marrow bank, hoping for a match. They were giving up, her leukemia was too far advanced.
He had just risen from his daytime sleeping place and seen her walking down the street. He had wished for her so often these last three weeks, Jyrki was beginning to think she was avoiding him, but then he remembered, New Orleans wasn't a small coastal stopping place anymore, but a thriving metropolis. His Rose had often teased him about how he still seen New Orleans as a rat infested stop off for slave ships.

Lifemate

This is a mash of two series of which I'm a fan. The Carpathian Series by Christine Feehan and Harry Potter by J. K. Rowling. I'm going to use this blog as a post point for random stories I'm working on.

****

"Who are you exactly?" A snide voice asked from behind her.
Gabrielle turned about quickly. She was in England, in a small place called Spinners End, and she was renting a flat for the summer. Then she was off to Scotland, to a teaching spot that had opened at prestigeous Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. She was awaiting the owner of Evans House, the small cottage that was to be hers for the remainder of the summer.
"I am Gabrielle Daratranzanoff. I am also awaiting the owner." She told the man brightly, taking him in at the same time. He was handsome, very dark though, and in wizard dress. "I take you to be him?"
A curt nod was all she got in return. "I will show you the house." He told her without preamble and walked the short bricked path to the front door.
It was very girlie, floral and gingham and everything she'd expect in a home, but not this man's home.
"Kitchen, Den, Office, Loo." He pointed out each room from the vantage point in the hallway. "Upstairs are three bedrooms, I need not show those to you. I trust the 50 Galleons per month is not too steep for you?"
Gabi shook her head negatively and went about looking on the house.
Gabi was looking at the house, it was eerie, almost shrine like. "Have you owned this place long Mr. Snape?" She asked, trying to break the silence that this imposing man was smothering her with.
"I have owned this home for almost 12 years. Since the owners died. And it is Severus. Or Snape. No need to for silly muggle suffixes." Gabi smiled to herself, this man was trying to hard to be scary. Her father was scary, this man...was interesting, sexy...whoa, did she just think he was sexy?
"Okay, no silly ehm...muggle? Suffixes." That was a strange word. She smiled, wondering what he was talking about.
"Surely that is not a new word for you. We wizards use it all the time to label the non-magic people." He told her abruptly.
Gabi turned half around to look at him, standing there, glowering.
"Oh. I had wondered what you were referring to. I've not heard the term before. It's never been a class distinction where I come from. You either are, or aren't what we are." She shrugged. "Britian hasn't changed much then, since the feudal times, if class and rank are still in precedence."
For some reason, her cavalier attitude bothered Severus. It was not as though he were openly racist, or whatever against muggles. It's just what they were.
"And where, Miss Daratranzanoff, is this Utopia you are from?" He really was having a hard time keeping the sarcasm from his voice, something about this witch irritated him. Why had Albus suggested her for the position? Surely there were better English wizards, who understood their ways, who could fill the role of Hogwarts Librarian. She swung her long honey colored hair over her shoulder as she casually glanced at him again.
"The Carpathian Mountains. Near Bucharest. My mother was an English witch. My father was a Romanian. I was adopted when I was 6. Educated in Russia at the Sisters of Casting Witchcraft Academy."
He'd heard of SCWA, but had never met a Russian trained witch. They tended to concentrate of Dark Arts there. This witch seemed purely good, virginal even. Surely she'd not have the innards to withstand living in The Dark Lord's England. She was lucky she was hidden away in a little mountain community.
"I've heard of this school. It's an odd choice for the daughter of an English witch to go to school so far away. Surely you were accepted at Hogwarts?" He was curious now. He wanted to use Legillimens on her to find her story, but he knew he couldn't. He'd already tried to read her before he'd come out to meet her. Her mind was shut tight.
"Camillia Servico." Gabi pointed her hand to the small table in the sitting room and a tea service appeared. "Come, sit, since you are so intensely curious. Curious enough to try and see into my thoughts." She smiled at him. "Which pastry would you prefer?"
Severus just stood there. She had just cast...without her wand. "It matters little to me." He told her, inspecting the tea, and the set. And just as quickly jumped back when she muttered "Soushi puff." And a plate of some odd looking pastries appeared. He was intrigued now. "How do you cast?"
Gabi smiled at him. "Which would you like to know? All of it? Are you a spy for Dumbledore or something, did he send me here to be checked out?"
Severus was hit with a jolt of awareness. If only she knew what she'd just said. He was Dumbledore's spy, had been for years, but she couldn't know that. As for "being checked out" he was checking her out, and she looked quite a dish. She had hair that was long and curly, but not unruly, the color of honey, eyes of misty silver, and skin that was the epitome of English Rose. She looked like the perfect English woman in his eyes. She wouldn't have been out of place in Charles II's court. "Are you comfortable? Mine is an involved tale." Her voice floated over him, like warm chocolate, her slightly accented English played havoc with his sexual nerves.

"My mother's name was Amanda Longbottom. She was a Hogwarts graduate, wandering the wilds of Romania, looking for rare plants to bring home to England, she wanted the best garden, I'm told she could brew a potion to cure anything." Gabi paused her, and served herself some of the nice Oolang. "She was deep in the mountains, where no locals would go. They called that territory Vale de A umbri. The Valley of Shadow, it is said to be the only growing place of Dragon's Bane Flora." That got Severus' attention. He'd heard stories of Dragon's Bane Flora, one of the only known plants to reverse a coma, regrow burnt flesh or protect one against Dragons. "Whether or not she found the weed, something found her instead. His name was Razvan. A Carpathian Mage. He was under the control of his grandfather, a Vampire Mage named Xavier. He raped Amanda, for the sole purpose of getting her pregnant. Xavier wanted an Army of Children, a personal supply of blood."
Gabi got off the chintz chair and walked towards the window, the sun was setting now.
"Carpathians can only mate with Humans who have special abilities. Psychics, Witches mostly. But shifters too, to a lesser extent. It was kind of ironic though, that my birth mother was looking for a plant called Dragon's Bane, and instead found the heir to the Dragonseekers instead. She bore me, and raised me in a small village at the base of a mountain. Making potions to ease my childhood discomforts. It is very rare for Carpathian children to survive infancy."
Severus had to interrupt here. "You say Carpathian, like it is something. A nationality?" She shook her head. "It is an old and powerful race of people. Hunted to the brink of extinction by those you would call Muggles. They are skilled weavers of magic. They also have a unique diet, which makes them targets for Vampire Hunting fanatics. Any other interuptions?" She shot him a small sarcastic grin. "Amanda made potions for me, determined that I survive, though why i don't know, I was always shunned, the rape child. No mothers wanted their children around me. It was three days after my 5th birthday that the Prince of the Carpathians discovered me. A female child, with Carpathian blood, playing alone in a garden. He told my mother it was not safe for me to be unprotected. Carpathians have only one true mate Severus, and it is up to the male to find his mate. If he doesn't, he can lose his soul and become the vampire, like my great grandfather Xavier is. Though he is not a true vampire, but a vile perversion of human that needs magical blood to survive."
Severus made a rude noise though his nose. "You are trying to tell me that vampire exist?" Gabi looked at him, with patience. "Of course, you believe in unicorns, dragons, centaurs, and yet you have a problem with a vampire? They exist, Severus. Vampires are how I came to be Gabrielle Daratranzanoff, before I was Gabrielle Daratranzanoff, I was called Sarah Longbottom."
Severus must have looked confused. "Your name was changed?" Gabi nodded, "Yes, sometimes when I hear people say Sarah I am still tempted to answer, but Gregori and Savannah found my name to be too English, and it wouldn't do if vampires were hunting for me. So they adopted me, they are my Mom and Dad. Gregori is one of the most powerful Carpathians there are. Many of our kind are afraid of him, they call him The Dark One."
"If you are under the protection of this Dark One, why accept a teaching job/librarian job in Scotland? Why not stay in your Carpathian Mountains?" Severus sat with his tea, his curiosity peaked. "When I received the letter from Mr. Dumbledore, it sounded like something of an adventure. As a Carpathian ward, I was not allowed much freedom. Females are kept under strict surveillance as there are so few. So to be a little dramatic, I left my Father a note, and for all purposes, ran away." She grinned. Severus could see a hint of rebellion in her eyes. "Such a teenage thing to do, how old are you Miss Longbottom?"
Gabi flinched, she'd never been addressed as such before, and found she didn't like it. "It's Daratranzanoff, if you don't mind. I'll have you know I am 26. So far I've made it past the age of claiming without having been shackled to some new Carpathian, and in Scotland, it is less likely that I will be." Severus looked at her blankly..."The Age of Claiming?" He was met with a nod.
"Would you like something more than Oolong and Pastries?" Gabi asked him suddenly. Severus accepted more tea and sampled some of the cream filled pastry puffs she had conjured. "What do you mean with The Age of Claiming?" He was determined to ferret out the truth of this strange creature, for surely she wasn't exactly human. "How are Carpathians different from Muggles...erm...humans?" He asked.
The sun was setting and she was feeling more refreshed with its lowering. One nasty habit she would need to break if she were to be a teacher...sleeping past noon, waking when the sun was going down. Gabi turned her attention back to the brooding black bat sitting on poufy sofa of her rented cottage. "Carpathians are ancient, as I've said. They are born connected to the earth and draw their powers from her. Not like witches or wizards, who are human with a dominant gene, most likely they are descended from true Carpathians, but now need an enchanted stick to do what natural Carpathians can do with their mind." Gabi looked at him some more, he was a delicious sight, she wanted to eat him up.
"So you're not human?" Severus asked. "Not entirely no. I'm half human from my mother. I can be made full Carpathian by my lifemate through..." Gabi was a little uneasy here, not many people accepted blood exchanges easily. She remembered her mother making potions from her own blood to feed her sickly child. Severus made an impatient gesture to her to hurry along her story. "Blood exchanges. Three is usually the magic number. There is a lot of mysticism involved in the Carpathian lineage, I won't go into that. As I've said, I have made it past the age of claiming, which is eighteen." Gabi sat and waited, waited for him to do something, say something, run screaming like a banshee. Severus sat calmly.
In his younger years, he would have been slightly prejudiced against her as a mixed blood creature. A slight he even had against himself and his half muggle blood. But now, he was only intrigued, he'd have to compose an owl to Dumbledore soon about this woman and what he'd learned of her. He also would need to search for the name Amanda Longbottom. For that was a name he'd never heard, he knew the Longbottoms, there weren't that many left.