Night Terrors (complete)

[Katarina Gordislava]

The wild sobs from the closet seemed unending. Perhaps she'd gone too far, and the kine's mind had broken prematurely. Annoyed, Katarina swung her legs over the side of her huge bed and walked to the other side of the room.

Opening the doors to look down on the dark haired girl she commanded, "Be silent!" Miss Martin regarded her with terror, but she choked down her tears and cried silently. She'd been whipped by a Londoner, but only on her right side, and a few of the others had enjoyed licking up the blood as it had come forth. All in all it had been rather amusing.

But the incessant caterwauling during the day was grating on the Archbishop's nerves. She stalked back to the very comfortable bed, settling in again to regain her strength for the next night. But when she closed her eyes she heard the screams again.

Not from Miss Martin, the Toreador blood doll, but someone else's screams. Those of her children. Katarina tossed and turned on the bed, and then finally sat straight up to the utter silence of high noon. No light leaked into her bedchamber, nor any other room in the house - all had been taken care of with the utmost attention to detail.

She looked around for a moment, almost confused as to her whereabouts, and saw that her sheets were stained with blood. The Archbishop touched her cheeks, and looked at her fingers. She'd been crying in her sleep.

Shuddering, Katarina pulled a silk robe off its hook and wrapped it around her body. Leaving her cold bedchamber, she walked silently down the hall towards Sergei's rooms. The doors were locked, and she hesitated for a moment before knocking gently on them.

[Sergei Vishnyakov]

Inside, Sergei stirred in his sleep. Unlike the Archbishop, his nights were now dreamless, and free from the flickering phantoms of the past that had once haunted him. The daylight hours plunged him into a heavily sedated state, yet it was one that Katarina woke him from easily, as if he was subconscious aware of her approach. He rose from his bed and paced, dressed only a loose pair of dark trousers, to the door. Opening it, he saw Katarina stood alone in the darkened hall. He glanced beyond her; he could neither see nor hear anyone else. There were many hours, yet, before they would rise. “Yes, Archbishop?” He looked to her expectantly, and stepped aside, allowing her to come inside if she wished.

[Katarina Gordislava]

She brushed inside, hugging her arms and waiting for him to close the door behind her. "I did not mean to wake you." A blatant lie, but a polite one.

After a moment of silence she realized he was staring at her face where the bloody traces of her tears were still visible. Self-conscious, she turned away, looking at a stack of books. Running a slim finger along their bindings she added, "I could not rest with that kine in my room." Never mind that it hadn't bothered her before.

[Sergei Vishnyakov]

Tactfully, the vizier averted his eyes. He felt... uncomfortable at the sight of the Archbishop's cheeks stained red. Whatever weaknesses she might have had, he was blind to them. The thought of her crying seemed alien, preposterous even.

“Of course.” He was about to reach out and turn on a small lamp sat on his desk, when he thought better of it - they could see each other well enough in the dark without.

“You may have my bed, if that is what you require.” He would have willingly suffered sharing the room with the kine woman, to accommodate Katarina's needs, however he felt this wasn't the reason why she had come to him.

[Katarina Gordislava]

Katarina reached up and wiped her face with a sleeve of her black silk robe, cursing the weakness that had snuck up on her in her sleep. It had been decades since she'd had a proper nightmare. Just when you thought you were done with the past...

It was that kine's fault. Sansa's eyes... they were so like Anasta-

She turned to Sergei, "Yes, your bed is what I came for." She was acting irrationally, and the Tremere was right to be uncomfortable and confused by her actions. Katarina swept past the desk and the trunk and the bookshelves with Sergei trailling behind her, until she was standing beside the modest twin size bed that was tucked into a corner of the room.

The Archbishop hesitated, her mind an unwilling whirl of thoughts. She reached beside her to grab her Vizer's wrist, and said, "I trust you more than you know, Sergei."

[Sergei Vishnyakov]

What had marked Sergei's relationship with Katarina, to this point, was the clarity of purpose that the Archbishop exhibited. She was always rational, and radiated an air of complete control, yet... something seemed to have spooked her, shaken her resolve. Sergei felt her grab for his wrist, as though it would give her comfort and reassurance. “...Is there something troubling you?”

He had decided to overlook her tears, on her arrival, but now it seemed as if there would be no avoiding the matter.

[Katarina Gordislava]

She looked down, and released his arm. "I would be lying if I said no."

With careful movements Katarina untied her robe and let it fall to the ground. She sat on the edge of the bed, and then climbed between the sheets, moving as close to the wall as she could. "Lie with me, Sergei. I... I cannot be alone this day."

[Sergei Vishnyakov]

He did not speak, but obeyed without any trace of hesitation. As he lay down beside her, he wondered in silence what it was that had prompted her behavior. Surely the kine woman had not had such a profound effect upon her? It was not his place to ask, of course, and if Katarina wished to share anything with him she would do so in her own time. Until then, he said nothing, though turned his head on his pillow, to watch over her.

[Katarina Gordislava]

She moved closer to him, pulling his arm around her and snuggling in close to his chest. Katarina rested her head on his shoulder, her ear pressed against his cool skin. Had be been a mortal, she could have heard the steady thump of his heart beating, but as it was the only sound was of a clock somewhere else in the room.

"I had a family, once..." She began, haltingly. "I have not thought of them in years. Nearly a century, when it comes down to it. The kine... her eyes are very much like one of my daughter's. I did not realize it until today."

The Archbishop traced a finger along his pectorals as she spoke, and pressed a fingernail down hard enough to draw a little blood. She wet the tip of her finger and brought it to her mouth so she could taste Sergei's vitae.

[Sergei Vishnyakov]

Feeling her draw blood, his body tensed somewhat. He closed his eyes. It had not occurred to him that she had been mortal once, as he had been. Scarcely a few years had passed since his Embrace when they had first met, but even then it felt as if his 'old life' had been over for decades. His ties to the mortal world had been tenuous at best – as a bachelor in the army, he had no family to speak of – and so there had been no one for him to lose. He had simply assumed, naively, that the same had been true for Katarina. There was so much that he still did not know about her, and at times he even secretly resented the fact.

“Tell me about your family?” he asked, unsure if she would wish to continue, but curious enough to ask regardless.

[Katarina Gordislava]

She closed her eyes, her lashes brushing against his skin. "My husband and I had been childhood sweethearts. When we were finally wed we had four children - three girls and a boy." Her mouth curved up slightly as she spoke, but soon took a sardonic twist. "The boy... my son... suffered from a bleeding disease. In those days we did not have a name for it other than the 'royal disease.' Hemophillia."

Katarina paused, weighing her words carefully. "I loved my family very much, but my son was my favorite. He was so weak, and small - he needed to be cared for nearly constantly. My daughters were vibrant and strong. I liked to think that they were like me at their age."

Sergei said nothing, and she continued, secure in the fact that he was the one Cainite who would not mock her. "I was desperate to help my son, so I enlisted the aid of a holy man, who some called a mad monk. He... he was able to ease my son's illness, though I still am not sure how." Her voice was taking on a tinge of anger as she spoke. "I was grateful to him."

[Sergei Vishnyakov]

The role of mother was not what that Sergei could immediately picture Katarina in, yet in a way it made sense. As Archbishop, she played a near matriarchal role to the Kindred of Moscow, watching over them and their city, keeping them in line. She was passionate and committed to her position, and so it was only logical that she viewed her family in the same way.

At the mention of the so-called mad monk, Sergei frowned. “I take it he did not help you out of the goodness of his heart.”

[Katarina Gordislava]

She spoke softly, "No. I was manipulated from the start - growing more and more dependant on him as time went on. I... I convinced my husband to take care of business far from home, and in his absence the ...holy man became more important.

"He was a Lasombra. I do not know how he kept us from realizing his true nature, but there is much I do not remember of his time with my family. I was turned. I would have done anything for him... he had saved my son for me." Katarina seemed distant, lost in the memories of the past. No more tears came - with conscious thought came the ability to see the past through the eyes of the present.

[Sergei Vishnyakov]

Neither Sergei nor Katarina had ever spoken to one another of their respective sires, and neither seemed to lament their absence. Now, he thought he was beginning to understand why Katarina had never longed for the company of her maker. “What happened, then? Did you go away with him?”

[Katarina Gordislava]

She laughed, bitterly. "No, he was ...killed. In torpor, I believe now, not truly dead. I was on my own for a few years afterwards, lost. Confused. I hid my new nature and tried to go on as though nothing had happened. Needless to say, it did not work well.

"After a time my family was rounded up, brought to a room and murdered by soldiers. The girls did not die right away - they were shot many times. I lay beside my husband one last time in our grave. The children were piled on top of us..." Katarina opened her eyes, "And I earned the nickname shovelhead."

[Sergei Vishnyakov]

It was a tragic tale. An ordinary man might have been moved to tears, but Sergei remained stoic throughout. His life had been filled with such brutality and callous cruelty that he found it difficult to offer sympathy. Whatever had happened to Katarina, it had made her stronger, and driven her on to greater things. “But you have a new family, here... would you rather live as you did then, instead of as you do now?”

[Katarina Gordislava]

"Of course not." The answer was swift and hard. "I was weak then, dependant on others. Afraid for my children. Worried. Mortal." She waved a hand as though dismissing the mortal Katarina once and for all. "I was discovered shortly after my emergence from the grave by other Lasombra. I learned about what my sire had done to me, and even though I hated him for it, I learned to appreciate my new life."

Katarina pulled away from Sergei, propping herself up on an elbow. "I have never told this tale to anyone except... the one who found me." Niccoli. "There is a mortal saying: what does not kill you makes you stronger. So I have become very strong. But tonight..."

She looked down, feeling a shade ashamed of her weakness. "I do not know what brought back the old nightmares."

[Sergei Vishnyakov]

The tone with which Katarina rebuked Sergei's question made him glance away, like a child scolded; he felt compelled to apologize, but said nothing. It had been a ridiculous question and he wasn't quite sure why he'd asked it, beyond feeling protective of her, perhaps even a tiny bit jealous of the lingering emotions she harboured – though he would never confess to such a thing.

He turned onto his back, looking up at the ceiling, as a sinister notion began to form in his mind. “I have heard it said that powerful Cainities, while in torpor, are able to communicate telepathically with the waking world, sending visions to their followers.. if your sire is in torpor, as you believe him to be, he may be the source of your nightmares.”

[Katarina Gordislava]

The thought sank like a brick into her stomach, and had she been able to pale, she would have. Finally she managed to say, "That had not occurred to me."

If it was true, then she needed not to fear her past again. It wasn't her subconscious bringing up the memories. Katarina frowned, her brow furrowing in anger at the thought of Giacomo Rossi touching her from torpor so many hundreds of miles away. She shuddered involuntarily, feeling unclean. Still, it lifted a weight off of her even though it was a disgusting notion.

The Archbishop lay back down, nipping lightly at Sergei's skin with her fangs, careful not to pierce through. "Help me forget this night, Vizier."

[Sergei Vishnyakov]

Rumors had always been rife of Elder vampires playing puppet-master to the Camarilla from beyond the grave. The thought that Katarina might be subject to similar outside influence made Sergei's jaw tighten. It appeared, however, that the suggestion had - bizarrely - calmed some of her anxiety. He thought better of questioning her again, on the possibility of finding her sire, and instead did what he did best – submitted to her, serving her whims. “... and how might I do that, Archbishop?” he asked, the smile lurking at the corners of his lips.

[Katarina Gordislava]

Katarina pulled her hair away from her neck and looked up at him in the darkness. "You know how, Sergei." She shifted next to him, pulling herself on top of him and straddling his waist.

Running her hands over his chest, she bent down and sank her fangs into the side of his neck, her hair falling forward and surrounding his face. She drank only a little, wanting only to stir up his own blood lust for her vitae, and soon licked the wound closed.

[Sergei Vishnyakov]

If there was one sure way for Katarina to forget her troubles, it was through vitae. The sensation, which Sergei had just experienced, of being bitten was enough to over-ride any other impulses or thoughts, smouthering them beneath pleasure.

The vizier sat up slowly, the Archbishop's lithe form still sat straddled over his hips. He enveloped her body, pulling her in close, with a strong arm - the other taking hold of one slim hand. He brought one finger to his lips and, only lightly grazing his fangs against it, drew a little blood. With a near tender care, he supped upon it, only teasing himself with a tantalizingly small sip. In delaying from drinking more deeply, he taunted the caged Beast, whose thirst only grew stronger as a consequence - and would soon overpower Sergei, given half the chance.

[Katarina Gordislava]

Pleasure tingled up her arm and into her body from his nibbling on her finger. Katarina took her hand away from him, smearing some of her vitae on her neck and shoulder. His arms tightened around her as though he would never release her, and for the moment she wished he never had to.

The Archbishop nuzzled his neck, gasping as his fangs dug into her flesh, and then returned the favor by biting his shoulder. His vitae stained her lips as she drank, her own body racked with pleasure from her Vizier's bite.

[Sergei Vishnyakov]

He licked hungrily at her neck, at the sensitive skin just beneath her jaw. Every soft moan, muffled against his own skin, sent a thrilling spark down his spine. Locked in an embrace, they seemed almost as one – both taking from one another and giving back in turn. In the heat of the moment, the emotions created by the blood bond that tied them together bubbled in Sergei's conscious; volatile, heady and intoxicating. He felt, mixed with the hunger of the Beast, an overwhelming sense of devotion and desire. It was all-consuming and he would have easily, willingly, remained in its thrall for all eternity, enraptured by the perfectly-crafted being pressed against his own humble frame.

[Katarina Gordislava]

In the midst of their lust, the sound of the ticking clock worked its way into the front of Katarina's conscious mind. Unwillingly she lifted her head from Sergei's shoulder, and knew that she still needed to rest.

He continued in his devotion, and she arched her back against his arms, finally... slowly... putting her hands to the sides of his head and drawing his face up to hers. Katarina licked and kissed his face, their vitae mingling. "We should rest and gather our strength for the morrow."

[Sergei Vishnyakov]

The fatigue of the daylight hours would set upon them quickly; it was a wonder they had managed to fight it off already... yet Sergei already felt as if he had the strength of Caine, having glutted himself on Katarina's blood. He could not quiet the Beast as easily as she did, in spite of his usually infallible self-control. He lay back, still reluctant to pry his hold away from her as she settled in beside him once more, their bodies loosely entwined. Silently, he hoped for a dreamless sleep.