[Zlataslawa]

Chapter 12- To Forgive is Divine by nicola71
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Another DAA: Double Angst Advisory
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London was tired. He'd had a particularly bad night at Danse Macabre, breaking up a fight between a bunch of drunk university students and some local lycanthrope tough guys. Lions. Somehow he knew that with Haven in charge it was going to be more of the same. It didn't matter though, no one was permanently damaged, the human police did not become involved and now he was home. All he wanted was a shower and some quiet.

As he approached his room, he felt a presence beyond the door. A power that he recognized flowed through the oak and into him.

Asher.

He opened the door and saw the blond vampire sitting in the lone leather chair in front of a low fire.

London entered the room slowly and closed the door. It was only then that he saw the letter in Asher's hand, and the others scattered about at his feet. London remembered that he had left Penelope's letters strewn on the floor beside the chair. He didn't even try to hide the fury in his voice as he rushed forward.

"Those are private."

"She writes beautifully, doesn't she?" Asher carefully folded the letter and put it back in it's yellowed envelope. He held it out to London who snatched it away.

"You had no right to read them." London crouched on the floor, picking up the letters and hastily putting them back in the open box.

"I had to hear her voice as she spoke to you."

Asher had gone to London's room to confront him about Penelope, and finding the door unlocked entered. When he saw the letters on the floor it was a temptation too great to resist. He sat and with trepidation read several of Penelope's letters to London. He knew it was a breech of privacy, and that if the tables were turned he would be furious, but he had to know. He had to read her tender comforts and advice. He wanted to feel what the letters had meant to the Dark Knight. How could a man fall in love across thousands of miles and all those years with nothing but ink and pen to convey his heart's desires?

London stopped picking up the letters and slumped to the floor in front of the fireplace. He looked down and spoke with an uneven timbre.

"Asher, what do you want from me? Do you want me to leave St. Louis? Do you want me to give you my word that I will never speak to her again? Should I meet the dawn and reduce myself to ashes? Would that purge me of my sins against you?"

"A thousand dawns would not be enough to cleanse our sins, mon ami."

A few moments of silence passed between them while Asher moved to the floor to help London gather the letters. When they were all safely back in their box, London spoke again, choked with an embarrassed sob.

"What would you have me do?"

Asher's eyes stared into the fire, but they were, in fact, many miles and many years away from the Circus of The Damned.

"I watched them drag you out of the palace that night. I heard you screaming. They wrapped you in chains and put you in the coffin, finally, did they not? A cloth embroidered with silver thread stuffed in your mouth?" Asher asked, but he knew what had happened.

"It must have given you great pleasure to watch that scene." London looked away, ashamed. That night was not one he cared to remember, yet it was only one in a long line of nightmares that plagued his waking mind.

"It did. At the time I hated you almost as much as I hated myself." Asher leaned back in the chair. "I would have loved you, you know."

London looked up into Asher's eyes. Those same eyes that had once gazed with desire along the lines of his body. Eyes that burned with lust, with hatred and despair.

"I know that now," London paused, but his face, although hardened with years of practice, could not hide the sadness in that admission. "But it was not love that I was seeking then. She always claimed it was love, but it never was. It was something else, something selfish and suffocating."

"It was she who sent you to me, was it not? You did not enter my chamber that night of your own volition, did you?"

"It was she who sent me, but she was not the reason I came back night after night. It was only supposed to be the once. I believe it was the joy I found in your company that compelled her to act as she did. The memory of what I caused to happen has haunted me for nearly three hundred years. You see before you one who was once a great knight, an honorable man, who became a coward without integrity. Without honor."

Asher knew that he could do it. He could feel that Penelope's powers over memory had enhanced his own and because of that he knew that he and London could share each other's memories. It was a gift that was not unknown amongst the most powerful of Belle's line. He would have to use his connection with Penelope to do it, and he he believed that while sharing memories with London, he would also be sharing them with her. He reached out to Penelope, who was reading in her room, and channeled through her. Asher decided to let her see exactly what they would see. It was time they all knew the truth. He told London what he planned to do.

"With Penelope's help I can create living memories. London, let us see exactly who is a coward, and who is without integrity."

And with that they were all drawn into the past.

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London knelt before Belle in her chamber. The room was awash with golden light that many believed emanated from her body itself.

"What would you have of me, My Lady?"

"I want you, mon chevalier, to go to one who was once dear to me. He betrayed me, and now he suffers for it. He is deformed and ugly now and you will find no comfort in his appearance. He will also be unable to fully enjoy you and your many talents, for his deformities are not limited to his once flawless face. You will find the task I set before you most distasteful, particularly because I know you prefer women in your bed. However, if you succeed in bringing a smile once again to his face, there will be... a reward."

She came off her dais and lifted his chin with her carefully manicured hand. "A reward that you have longed for these many months. I will give you now, just a small taste, mon chevalier," she whispered, " just a small taste."

Belle leaned down and captured his lips in a long sensuous kiss, feeding just enough from him to leave him sweating and desperate for more. She left the room through her secret doorway as two of her wereleopards escorted him out of her chamber, weak and trembling.

The memory fast forwarded to another door opening with London standing in it's frame wearing a black silk brocade robe trimmed with sable fur. A gift from Belle Morte especially for this night.

Asher had to look twice as he sat in his chair facing the fire. He sat in this same position almost every night, alone, unless directed otherwise by one of Belle's underlings. Beautiful Death herself never addressed him directly anymore. He saw the dark vampire in the doorway and for a moment thought it was Jean-Claude. His eyes gradually revealed that it was not in fact his former lover but the new Knight, the one they said was Belle's new toy. Yet Asher knew the truth. He knew this beautiful chevalier spent more nights restrained in a cross wrapped coffin than he did in Belle's bed. Just why he could not understand, for looking on him was like looking upon perfection. His dark brown curls, though not as lovely as Jean-Claude's, were soft and invited touch. His eyes, Asher thought, sparkled like two black diamonds. Belle regularly compared them to the less valuable onyx, but then again she never did see the true worth of those around her.

Asher rose and spoke with the practiced disdain he had come to hide behind these many years, "Why are you here?"

London shut the door and leaned against it. He untied his robe and let it fall to the floor revealing a body with defined musculature rippling under the surface of porcelain skin. He was perfect, save for several battle scars that decorated his chest.

"I have seen you looking at me, and thought you might be lonely."

"I thought, for a moment that..."

"...that I was him. I know. It is all right."

"What cruel trickery is this of Belle's? Are you here to torment me by dangling your assets in front of me like I am a mule inured to the plough? Only to walk away at the last moment? Or are you here to see the monster that folly and love has made of me?" Asher pulled his robe apart to reveal his mangled chest, where faded pink scars still seemed to weep with pain.

"Scars and wounds do not frighten or disgust me, my friend. I have seen worse on the battlefield. I have done worse to my enemy." He walked towards Asher until the two men stood close enough to touch. They were of almost equal height. "I see nothing here to turn my eye."

Asher looked away and sat down in his chair with a thump. He could see that London was aroused, but arousal was easily found in the confines of Belle's domain. Asher could not be sure that the beautiful chevalier's reaction was for him.

"Leave me be. I may have to endure the taunts and jeers when I am on display in the main hall, but here, in the confines of this room, I do not. Go!"

London knelt before him, running his hand sensuously along Asher's silk covered thigh. He truly was not aghast at the vampire's scars, and what he'd said before was the truth. Although of Belle's line, London was not a connoisseur of physical perfection. His needs were simpler than that. Her command was to make Asher smile, and that he would do. It was the only task set before him since he arrived at this golden prison that seemed tinted with kindness. Kindness was not a term often spoken at Belle's court. Cruelty. That was truly her favorite word. Unfortunately for London, and ultimately for Asher, he would not know the true depth of Belle Morte's capacity for cruelty until many weeks later.

Asher caught his hand and forcibly drew London closer. He could have broken it, but instead brought it up to his roughened cheek.

"Is this what you dream of, chevalier? This torn and mangled cheek sliding along your thigh? This scabrous chest pressed against your back?" He pushed London away and opened his robe revealing his penis, which was twisted and scarred as badly as the rest of him. "This grotesque cock in your mouth, unable to spill its gift down your throat? Scratching that soft perfection that is your cheek? Is that what you came here for?" Asher pushed the knight away, releasing him from his grip.

London sat back on his feet and rubbed his wrist which was throbbing and pink.

"I came here to be with you. To help you, if you will let me."

"I do not want your pity, or your help."

"What do you want?" London used his most seductive voice, which was seductive indeed.

Asher looked down at the vampire at his feet. The body was beautiful, the face, an angel's. Not his Jean-Claude, but Jean-Claude had betrayed him. The angel at his feet knew something of Belle's rejection. Perhaps he was as he seemed, and not simply another cruel taunt from his maker.

"What I want, mon chevalier, is to be touched. To be touched as I used to be. To be wanted as I used to be. Do you know what was once given up simply to spend a single night in my bed? Fortunes, fame, families. No price was too high."

London had heard the legends, and as he gazed upon Asher, he knew them to be true. The golden vampire was still beautiful, and London was certain that everyone, save Belle, saw his beauty but was too afraid of her to contradict. He could not imagine how anyone resisted Asher before he was scarred, for he doubted many could truly resist him now. It was only by Belle's decree that others tormented him. In a singular moment of clarity, London wondered why they listened to her.

"Then let me touch you."

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Asher broke the memory.

"Non, non! I do not wish to see any more." Asher tried to turn away, but London rose in a blur and gently caught his face.

"That night, and the other nights I spent with you, were the only nights of my vampire life that I know for certain I was wanted for me, and not for my powers, nor for the novelty of bedding a vampire of her line. I thanked you for those nights by selling you to Belle Morte, and I have lived in cowardice ever since."

Asher still could not look at him. Images from those nights with London in his arms assaulted him, and brought to the surface truths he did not wish to acknowledge. Truths about what desire for Belle Morte will make an otherwise noble man do.

"You made me feel wanted again, then broke my heart." Asher turned back to look London in the eye. "And I know, I know that it was she, and not you, but it doesn't lessen the pain. And it does not change what I did to you for revenge."

London's face fell in puzzlement. "What do you mean?"

"Fine. It was your desire to dredge up the past and stare into its ugly face, then let us see it all." Asher used his new powers to pull them back into the past.

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The image of their bodies entwined on golden sheets filled the room. Asher and London became lovers, and London taught him that it was not impossible for him to feel pleasure once again. The two enjoyed each other's company for several weeks, until the night of a great party celebrating Belle's acquisition of a splendid new fleet of ships.

"Tonight I will be sold off as chattel, I am afraid, most likely to some fat Duchess or her equally porcine husband. Or perhaps both if I am sincerely fortunate!" London laughed softly as he slowly dressed. He wanted Asher to enjoy watching him and remember that it was he who had peeled his clothes off in the first place.

Asher lay on the bed, comfortable for the first time in years allowing his body to be seen totally nude. He looked in amazement at the vampire who casually buttoned his breeches and pulled on his boots at the end of the bed. He had never thought to enjoy the pleasures of the body again, but London had been patient and willing and generous.

"Je'taime."

London stopped and looked up from his boots. "What?"

Asher recovered himself and lied softly, "I said, I love the way you seem to laugh off your lot at court. It is not many who can joke about being given to a stranger who will most likely use your body for what may be considered 'unnatural purposes'."

London didn't press him, but he had heard what was said the first time. Although he was not in love with the man who languidly stretched himself out on the silk of the bed, London felt that in time, that might change. For now, within the confines of this small room, he had found a happiness that he had never hoped to find at court. He stood and joined Asher on the bed, laid next to him and propped himself up on his elbow. He reached out to tousle a blond lock that had fallen over Asher's face.

"I thought you were not hiding from me anymore?"

"I am not." Asher leaned forward and caught London's lips in a lingering kiss. "You should go. If you are late, she will be angry."

There was a knock on the door. Cristos, one of Belle's favored leopards, walked in with a note.

"For Asher." The leopard handed the note to London and disappeared out the door.

London gave it to him and Asher read the short note.

"It seems as though my presence is requested this evening after all." His face contorted in fear. "That can mean only one thing." Pain.

London rose and picked up his coat. "Perhaps it will not be as you surmise."

But he knew as well as Asher that Belle did not request his presence for her pleasure. Whatever she wanted from him would be be elicited with lash and steel, or perhaps silver if her guests were up for that sort of entertainment this night.

London moved to leave, not wanting to be late and all too aware of the fine line he already walked with his mistress.

"I will miss you tonight," he said. They were the last words he spoke as he walked out the door.

They were actually the last meaningful words ever spoken between the two men until this night, far under the ground of the Circus of the Damned. London saw Asher wince, but the memory continued.

London glanced around the grand mirrored ballroom of Belle's palace which was lit from every angle with glowing candles and sparkling crystal chandeliers. His attention was drawn, as always, to Belle where she sat on a raised throne at the far end of the room. Tonight she wore a dazzling gown of black silk embroidered all over with diamonds and crystals and shining silver beads. Her hair was tightly wound in an intricate maze of curls and crowned with a diamond tiara that was a gift from Louis XIV. The pale mounds of her breasts were dusted with a sparkling silver that made her normal radiant glow more celestial than ever. London thought she looked like the heavens at midnight made flesh.

Her laughter rang through the ballroom, and the guests revolved around her as usual. The human aristocracy that groveled at her throne drank champagne from fine cut crystal glasses, and her vampire guests each had their pick of blood slaves or her cats, for they strode naked and perfumed amid the crowd, offering neck or wrist or other more intimate sources of nourishment.

London stood to the side of a long banqueting table awaiting his instructions. He was dressed in a fine suit of dark gold velvet that Belle picked out personally for him to wear tonight. The lace that fell around his wrists was metallic gold and itched him terribly.

He had recently given up hope of being invited to her bed again, so instead he focused on his new found contentment. The only thought that went through his mind was the singular wish that whoever Belle had designed him for tonight would take his or her pleasure swiftly and fall asleep in time for him to retire to Asher's bed. As long as Belle forgot about him, he thought he would be all right. She had not so much as glanced at him since sending him to Asher and that simple distancing was enough to keep his ardeur addiction at bay. As a matter of fact, neither he nor Asher had been required since the night she made her empty promise. If he had had the benefit of years of court experience, London may have figured out her true intentions. But he did not. And as he stood there thinking of Asher's body pressed against his own, it was already too late.

A weretiger, in half man form, banged an enormous gong to garner the crowds attention as Belle herself floated gracefully to the center of the floor, where suddenly there appeared a large platform.

"Welcome, mes amis. It pleases me that you could be here tonight to celebrate my latest triumph!"

Grand applause erupted from all over the room. Her voice eased around the them like honey, twisting its sticky embrace around all who stood there admiring her. London was one of them. Her voice penetrated his mind and dripped over him in a lush wash. He was suddenly ensnared again, and found himself wanting to crawl on hands and knees to her feet. He saw her look right at him and smile, then look away. The tension in his body fell and he started to feel himself again as her gaze left his face.

"No!" He thought to himself.

Her voice answered.

"Yes, mon chevalier. Tonight you may collect your reward."

When he came back to himself, fear had replaced desire and London scanned the room for Asher, but caught no sight of him. He saw Jean-Claude standing attentively behind Belle Morte with his hands at his sides, looking blank as he always did. Beside him stood Musette and her pet, a small child vampire named Valentina, dressed in an exact miniature replica of Musette's gown. It was a grotesque play on a mother and daughter, though the seemingly innocent girl at her side was no child, and had proved herself to truly be Musette's creature. Paolo was next, but beside him stood a vampire London did not know but by reputation, as he had been away from court since he arrived. Arturo.

Four weres, one from each of the great cat groups, lions, tigers, leopards and jaguars, dragged in a man covered head to toe in black leather, and stood him before the group. The hood covering his face revealed a flow of golden hair so bright that it rivaled the sparkling glow from the chandeliers above.

London gasped. Asher.

The irresistible force of Belle's call drew London from the crowd he had been hiding behind, and brought him kneeling before her. He now, too late, understood the choice of color for his clothing tonight. Gold.

"My guests," Belle began, "tonight you will be treated to a great homecoming spectacle. My beloved Arturo has returned to me after several years in the West Indies. Although his work there was tantamount to my acquiring this magnificent new fleet and trading rights to the riches that dwell in the New World, I am so very happy to have him home where he belongs." She pulled the swarthy vampire to her and bestowed a kiss upon his brow. It was a profane exhibition, for everyone in the room knew what his largest asset was, and it certainly was not his negotiating skills that had brought him such infamy.

Belle continued. "In honor of his return, I have offered him an entertainment." She looked to London, and then spoke to Arturo.

"This, my love, is a beautiful knight from the British Isles. He has become rather a disappointment though, you see. Perhaps you would care to show him what happens to disappointing vampires at my court. With the help of my Musette, of course. And her apt pupil."

But Arturo walked past London's kneeling frame to stop in front of Asher, who's identity for most was still shielded behind a mask. Only Jean-Claude had made a slight shift in weight, London noticed, when Asher had been brought before them.

"Who is this underneath all of this leather?" Arturo mocked, completely aware of who was beneath the mask. "The golden locks remind me of your Asher, no? But, no! I heard he was really and truly dead." The crowd erupted in laughter. They had seen enough entertainments featuring Asher to know that he was indeed not truly dead, though perhaps he wished he were.

Arturo ripped the mask off Asher's face and bent low so as to look at him closely.

"No, it is not Asher, certainly not. His face rivaled that of Helen. This face is just so much meat. And as for that legendary tool of his, I heard there is not much left between his legs to qualify as a man." And with that Arturo kicked Asher hard in the crotch, sending him to the floor, while laughter pealed through the cavernous room. But the golden vampire uttered no cry of pain.

London did not move.

Belle came up behind Arturo and wrapped her arm around his waist, peeking around his massive body like a giddy school girl.

"I assure you that this indeed is Asher, though I doubted you would recognize him. This is what his precious servant did to him. This is what happens to those who leave Belle Morte."

"What was her name?" Arturo, stepped back, "Justine? Juliette? I seem to remember that I was to spend the night with her, but I was robbed of my gift. Why was that, my Queen?" His mocking tone continued.

"She was a peasant, my love. Not worth your considerable talents. I doubt she would have survived you anyway, no matter how many men had had her before Asher. All serfs of course. Humans. I heard once that she could have littered the streets of Paris with the dead bastard children of her filthy human lovers. Yet in twenty years, not a single babe for her Golden paramour. What a shame." Belle's mocking was nothing new to most at court, but tonight she was displaying her true mastery.

London stared a hole through the floor. He had not known Julianna, but Asher had spoken of her as a sweet and gentle soul. The few stories Asher had chosen to share had filled his eyes with tears that London felt compelled to kiss away. Belle's hatred and jealousy was apparent, even years after Julianna's death.

Asher did not utter a sound, nor move an inch.

Arturo turned to London.

"And who is this handsome chevalier who kneels at our feet?"

"He is Asher's new lover." The crowd erupted in laughter again when Belle turned and looked right at Jean-Claude. "Perhaps, Arturo, you can have London tonight in the place of his servant that you never had your chance to fuck."

"Non!" Asher's voice raised in protest was not something the eager crowd expected to hear.

Belle smiled, turned to London, and whispered through his mind. "C'est magnifique! You have done far better than I ever expected, mon chevalier. He loves you!"

A shrill laughter buffeted through London's brain and he shut his eyes to the horrific truth of what she had tricked him into doing.

Belle then turned to the crowd, "Should I let the chevalier decide? Let no one say that I am not a fair and loving mistress. London, you may have the choice. Either you can spend the night with Arturo, or with me."

Silence castrated the excitement of the room. Never before had anyone been given such an effortless choice. Spend the night in luxury and passion with their Queen, or in excruciating pain as Arturo fucked and ripped your body to shreds in the pursuit of his own pleasure? The strange mixture of disappointment and relief amid the onlookers was palpable.

Belle's sudden laughter shattered the silence and the throngs of sycophants nervously joined in, unsure of her motives, but not wanting to draw her wrath. She addressed and allayed their fears at once.

"Did you think I meant for it to be that simple! London may choose to spend the night either with Arturo, or me. But whoever he forsakes, will spend the night with Asher."

Gasps replaced the nervous laughter, and whispers of "do you mean she truly intends to spend the night with Asher?"

Belle's games had rarely reached this level of viciousness. Behind her Musette practically drooled with anticipation. The look on her face saying that she was already planning to beg Arturo to allow her to at least watch, if not participate. Paolo barely contained his disappointment at being left out of the equation. Valentina, at a little under one hundred years had mastered the vampire talent of a blank and disinterested look. And Jean-Claude had gone as still as death itself. Nothing in his stance or visage betrayed what might have been churning under the surface. He had learned his lessons very well.

Belle bent low and forced London to look her in the eye, "Well, mon chevalier? Do you spend the night with me, or do you give your lover his heart's desire? To return to my bed, to share it once again."

"B-But, but you hate him, you will abuse him." London was shaking. Her proximity was burning through him. He thought about begging her not to touch him, for if she touched him, he would never be able to resist. He was falling apart, and the ardeur was coming at him in soft soothing waves. She was smothering him with it.

"I give you my word, mon chevalier. You understand the weight of a master vampire's word, do you not? I give you my word that Asher will enjoy every moment in my bed tonight and for many nights to come, that I will love him as I used to, that I will forgive him for leaving me and bring him back into the warmth of my embrace. I will give everything back to him, perhaps, even his beauty if the power exists. If he comes to me tonight, tomorrow he will smile as he has not smiled in years. I give my word."

She scraped her fingernails down the side of his cheek, drawing a small amount of blood which she licked off her fingers.

"Of course, if you forsake my bed tonight, you will never be invited back. On that I give my word as well." She rose and turned to hook her arm in Arturo's.

London could not speak, for Belle released just a bit more of the ardeur over him and he was helpless. Stifled under her power and her pull, London could think of nothing but satisfying the thirst that raged through his body. A thirst only she could quench. He quickly forgot about the last few weeks. About nights spent in Asher's arms with no expectations and with no regrets. All he wanted was to taste her once again. And the thought of being banished from her body forever was more than he could bear.

"So what will it be, mon chevalier?" Arturo grabbed his crotch to the great amusement of the crowd, highlighting the enormous bulge that threatened from inside his breeches.

"Make your choice." Belle's voice held no laughter this time.

"You, my queen, you." London fell to all fours and let spill the tears that stung his eyes.

The crowd cheered. They would not be denied their favorite entertainment after all. Asher continued to look at the floor. He never moved.

Belle led London out of the ballroom, and bade Jean-Claude to stay and enjoy Arturo's return to court.

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The memory ceased, and Asher wiped the tears away from his own cheeks.

"She released the ardeur. She used your addiction against you. I should have known." Asher pulled his hand out of London's.

"Asher, there has never been any apology uttered, in any language, in the history of the world that could ever come close to how I feel about what I let happen to you. Arturo..."

Asher raised his hand, "Please do not speak of it again. You could not resist that kind of power. How can I ask you to apologize for something that I myself was unable to fight? When I was in her favor, I did that and worse. But I was so full of anger that night that I forgot my own past. One should never forget."

Asher knew that he had done the same to others, but that night the hurt and despair he was feeling over Julianna and Jean-Claude was still so fresh, and London's betrayal was more than he could stand. But it did not end there.

"London, do you remember what happened after that night?"

"I know it took you many days to recover."

"Not to me, to you."

London knew right well what happened. It was the worst night of his life.

"I was sent away. She banished me, never to return."

"Do you know why?"

"I speculated, and Jean-Claude has told me that she feared the power I gained from feeding the ardeur."

Asher sighed, "Yes, Jean-Claude can say that now, but he would not have dared to breathe it then. He was finally in her favor once more, you see. But I, I had nothing to lose."

London looked at him with disbelief. "You confronted her about her own fear?"

"I encouraged it." Asher felt his body grow very heavy as the truth of his words hit London.

"Explain."

"I told her that you boasted to me that each time she fed from you, you felt a rush of power so great that it was worth a month in the box, or any other punishment she could derive from you, even sharing my bed."

"So she sent me away." London looked down. Whatever Asher had done it didn't matter, he felt he had deserved it.

"I used your deepest secret against you. I used your pain and your addiction against you. I used every intimate detail you shared with me against you. I told her everything. Her fear of you was very great. As was my hatred of you."

Too many years had passed to roil up the rage and despair that this information might have brought even a century ago. London and Asher were both tired of being victims of Belle Morte. And now, here in the present they had something else. A new life, with new promise.

"She made monsters of us all." London rose and leaned resting his hands on the mantle, staring into the bluish propane flames.

Asher carefully got up and stood behind him and lightly put a hand on London's stiff shoulder. The body underneath the black silk shirt still responded to his touch.

"But we are not monsters now. Not anymore. I read her letters, remember? Penelope would not have given you such tender words if you were. She sees the men beneath the monsters. In both of us."

London breathed, "Penelope."

"She is the most important thing in this world to me now, London. I want her to be happy. And if that means being with you as well, then that is what I want."

London turned to look into Asher's eyes, to see if he truly meant it.

"You would willingly allow she and I to come freely to each other's beds? Even after I..."

"Yes." Asher answered before London could finish. He was secure in Penelope's love now. She was right, nothing but death would part them. So if they could draw a man, a good man, a noble man, into the warmth of their love, what could possibly be wrong with that?

"It must be her choice though, Asher. Her choice. I will not have her presented to me as a gift, an offering, as in the courts of old. I will not have her treated as such."

Asher leaned back and smiled. This knight was already protecting her honor. "Nor would I, mon ami, nor would I."

The two men parted company, unsure of what the next few days or weeks held in store. But at last the past was out in the open, and the only direction either of them ever wanted to go again was forward.
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Chapter 13- Conflagration by nicola71
It was close to two-thirty as Asher hurried to his suite. He had opened his connection to Penelope as he left London's room and felt a wave of pain and unimaginable sorrow flow through him. Penelope had shared everything with him in the last hour and his only desire now was to comfort her, take her into his arms and hold her until the pain faded away. It was his pain after all, his pain that she had willingly taken from him. He opened the door to find Penelope sitting cross legged on the bed, waiting for him. Her eyes were red and brimming with the remnants of tears she had cried for them. For both Asher and London.

She ran to him and jumped into his arms, burying her face in the soft waves of his golden hair. She let her body give way to the almost violent sobs that she had been holding in for the last hour. Asher had given her the memories of Belle's court, and now he felt his own familiar mixture of rage and sadness swirling through his servant. He held her tightly to his body, absorbing her warmth and her sobs, her scent that he loved so much, and walked them back over to the bed where he laid down with her in his arms.

"You do not have to say anything, bien aimèe, I know," he stroked her hair and kissed the tears that ran down her cheeks. "No more tears, please. Those memories cannot touch us now."

Despite the emotional roller-coaster, Asher found that he felt quite calm and contented. The horror of his past did not seem to affect him as much as it had even a few weeks prior. Despite being upset at causing her to experience his pain, Asher felt light, and for the first time in centuries, free from the overwhelming weight of his past. Touching Penelope these last few weeks had brought him such joy and peace that as he looked on her he wondered why he had ever resisted the connection. It was such a different experience than what he had shared with Julianna. Not better, just different. But then again, he was different now.

Penelope sat up so that she could look down at his face and allowed Asher's hands to soothe her. She had been alone in her room when he entered her mind and asked her to sit and clear her thoughts. He channeled her powers over memory to share those images between all three of them. He wanted her to know, to see not only what Belle had done, but also how much her letters and friendship had meant to London. Somehow Asher felt she truly didn't know just how dear she was to the lonely knight.

He began to unbutton her blouse. Asher wanted to use what was left of the darkness to seal their bodies together, to touch her as deeply as he could.

"No." She stopped his hands, and softly commanded with a trembling voice.

Asher didn't try to hide his disappointment, "What is wrong?"

"There is something we must do before dawn. Something you should have done long ago."

Penelope scurried off the bed with almost frenzied speed and went to the enormous armoire that held Asher's most treasured possessions. She opened the massive doors and revealed the portrait that Belle had sent him as a special gift. A reminder of what he meant to her. Vulcan. Penelope pulled it off the nail that held it to the inside of the door and disappeared into her own room.

"Penelope!"

Asher ran after her. He was unsure of her intentions, and had not even realized she had noticed the painting.

"No! Asher, this must come to an end!" her voice drifted through the portal that separated their suites.

Asher stopped short in the doorway when he saw her.

She stood there with the portrait in one hand and a small black bag slung over her shoulder. Penelope had planned to do this from the moment the images and memories that Asher had shared began to fade from her mind. She had spied the painting one night when Asher opened the door to get out something to show her. She spent quite a bit of time looking at it when Asher was dead for the day, and had decided that it was time for it to go. She had simply been waiting for the right time to approach him about it. She was going to help him destroy one more of the silver threads that still tied him to his maker. She reached her hand out to him and he took it, pulling her close enough so that he could put her palm over his heart. For once he felt relief that it was not beating, for it would be pounding out of his chest with trepidation and fear.

"I do not know if I can do it," he said, running a finger along the top of the rough canvas.

"Then we'll do it together." Penelope smiled and brought his hand to rest at last over her heart, which was beating fiercely enough for both of them.

They ascended the stone staircase and found two guards at the door. Claudia and Fredo were working the overnight as usual. Since things had been quiet as of late, they were okay with letting the two go out on their own, especially after Penelope told them they were going no further than the employee parking lot. Fredo would stand outside the door, but he would not interfere in their business.

Once outside Penelope led Asher to a deserted section of the lot, far enough away from the building to not cause alarm. She set the painting down, face up, and stood back and opened the bag. Inside there was a can of lighter fluid and a box of matches.

"You mean for me to burn it?" Asher had never contemplated destroying it before. It was a constant reminder of what he had become to those who had once thought him beautiful. The deformed god of the forge. A cuckold, and a pariah on Olympus. So hideous that he was forced to exist among iron and flame, with hammer and anvil as his only companions.

"Yes," she said with an icy determination that he had not heard before, "burn it."

Asher looked down at his own face staring back at him. It was the only portrait Belle ever commissioned of him after he returned to court. He knew for certain that she only did it to shame and humiliate him. For centuries the portrait hung in the dungeon, in the entrance way to the torture chamber. It was a not-so-subtle warning to those who had disobeyed or disappointed and were taken far beneath the golden luxury of the palace for punishment. For centuries it was his face, his scarred and ruined body, that was the last sight their horrified eyes saw as they entered a room where most never emerged alive or intact.

Penelope handed him the can of lighter fluid.

"Asher, take it."

He took it and then took a deep breath that he did not need, once again reverting to his human habits only when at his most emotionally vulnerable. He squeezed the fluid in a random pattern over the canvas. He remembered the artist. A human who had studied with Giovanni Battista, and was more used to painting cherubic angels than the demon who stood before him that night. The man was so frightened already that Asher fed that fear with threatening glances and vicious comments. It was a time in his life when he only found relief in causing pain and distress to others. Not, he thought, my most shining moment. The poor man nearly passed out twice before even finishing the initial sketch. And now here he was in the middle of parking lot ready to reduce that little man's labors to dust and ash.

When it was empty he dropped the can to the ground and turned to see Penelope holding out a single match.

With a sigh, Asher took it and struck along the side of the matchbox, watching the flame as it burned strong in the curiously airless night. His eyes glazed over as he held it, hand trembling, over the painting. Penelope reached and steadied his hand.

"You are so much more than this." She motioned to the figure in the painting. That man standing at the forge was hurt and angry and despised himself. He wanted to die, but lacked the courage to follow through with the act. He was a monster. But here, in the early hours of yet another morning, he was no longer that monster who peered sightlessly into an abysmal future. He was a man. And he was loved.

He repeated in an almost inaudible whisper, "I am so much more than this."

Asher dropped the match and watched as fire rolled across the canvas in a furious wave of blue and orange. The thick brush strokes crusted over to black and the layers of paint curled and turned to ash floating away on the sudden gentle breeze that surrounded them. Asher held Penelope's hand as they watched Belle's attempt at torment disappear into the starry night.

When nothing remained but the charred and empty frame and the last flames fueled by the lighter fluid began to die, Asher turned and knelt in front of his servant. He wrapped his arms around her, his head resting in the soft cushion of her breasts. She trembled slightly, more from the poignancy of the moment rather than the cold, though she only wore jeans and a thin silk blouse.

Penelope stroked his hair and kissed the top of his head, muttering tender phrases in the French she knew brought him comfort.

Asher pushed back and looked into her eyes as emotion boiled through him making him feel alive and warm. He had imagined this moment very differently, but he could not wait another second to tell her how he truly felt.

"Je t'adore*."

"What?" Penelope held his face in her hands.

"I love you." Asher smiled and repeated, "I love you! I love you! I love you!"

Penelope stifled his last 'I love you' with a kiss, a kiss filled with love and passion and understanding. The salt from her tears mixed with the blood from his and they kissed and kissed until Penelope had to breathe. She fell to her knees, melting into his arms and through their connection Asher knew she was happier in this moment than she had ever been in her entire life. That he was responsible for making her feel that way gave him more joy than he had felt in a long time. She loved him. He loved her. What was started in that damp corridor centuries ago, was at last truly complete here in a deserted parking lot.

Asher and Penelope walked hand in hand past Fredo who politely looked away. With his lycanthrope hearing it was impossible for him not to overhear what had been said between them.

As the couple disappeared through the door, Fredo walked over to the smoldering remains of the painting and cleaned up what was left. Being a closet romantic at heart, he didn't mind in the least.

************************************************************

They spent what was left of the darkness making love with tender passion. They held each other tightly as the last of the shuddering waves ebbed and left them both satisfied. This was their eternity. Asher folded his long frame around her and wrapped her in a protective embrace. Her skin against his, her scent filling his senses, her breaths as they calmed against his body, all enlivened him and in his joy he silently cursed the rotation of the Earth.

"I feel the sun pressing against us," Asher said with sorrow. He could not remember ever feeling more sorry for a dawn than he did at this moment.

Penelope rolled over and brought his head to rest on her chest so he could hear the subtle beats of her heart. He had died in her arms before, but somehow this morning was very different.

"I'll be here when you awake," She kissed his head, "I'll have the bath drawn, and maybe some..."

"Raspberries. They were always my favorites." Asher finished her sentence.

"Raspberries it is." Penelope knew before he spoke the words and smiled.

Several moments of comfortable silence passed as they bathed in the warmth of their love.

"Penelope?"

"Yes, my love?"

"London is a good man." Asher's thoughts had drifted to earlier events.

Penelope knew that Asher wanted to talk about London, but she wasn't ready. Tonight she had finally heard the words she'd imagined him saying for three hundred years, and wanted to think of nothing else. But she also knew he was saying it out of love. Somewhere in the night, or in the middle of their tender lovemaking, something clicked. She was never more sure of anyone in her entire life, as she was of her master and she knew through the marks that Asher was sure of her as well. There were no more questions between them. They were standing exactly where they wanted to be, hand in hand.

"I know he is a good man, Asher. I've known that for longer than you have."

"Then I think you should show him how you feel."

"And what of you? Will you continue to avoid Jean-Claude? Anita?"

Asher thought for a moment about what he was about to say. He couldn't deny that he had been thinking of his other lovers and longed to be in their arms again. There was a different kind of safety in Jean-Claude's bed, one he found it difficult to put to words, but one he found it even more difficult to live without. He felt that if Penelope asked, he would surely be able to give them up, but he also knew she would never ask.

"Do you wish for me to go to them?" Asher knew that he would be welcome back whenever he chose to return.

"Not this instant!" Penelope laughed, "But yes, sometime soon I think you could make a 'date' with them."

"Will you also make a 'date' with London?"

"Asher, I promise I will when I am ready. And not before. But I will not have you abandon those that I know you love any longer."

"I love you." He placed gentle kisses on her breasts.

Penelope slid down along his body so she could take his lips in a short quick kiss.

"I know."

Asher laughed, "All right. I will speak to Jean-Claude and Anita about making a date. Are you happy?"

"Immensely." Penelope entwined her legs with his.

"Penelope..." His voice quivered in desperation as he struggled against the dawn.

"I love you, Asher." She whispered and kissed him one last time.

And with that Asher sighed and died with her breath on his lips.

**************************************************************

The next morning Penelope was up and out early. She had much to do in order to prepare for Veritas's opening which was approaching with speed. But as promised, Asher awoke to a hot bubble bath and a bowl of fresh raspberries that Penelope had dragged Jason all over the city to find.

Asher loved her. But that was not the end of her worries.

Penelope was more than a little stressed about completing the task set before her by Jean-Claude. She knew that reproducing the charm against Marmee Noir was impossible, but she did not exactly know how to tell him. There was no way she could do it, for she had tried and tried for decades. Her grandmother never saw fit to teach her. She never saw fit to teach me much of anything, Penelope thought.

Helene had been a mysterious woman, even to her own granddaughters. She took precious care that the girls were never privy to any of the more untoward goings on of her household, and when Penelope was thirteen and first began to show signs of magical ability, Helene sent her away to become a student of Socrates, with whom she was acquainted. Penelope had shown that she had a fine mind, and Helene told her that once she had disciplined her mind and body with Socrates, then she would teach her how to tame her magic. It was a promise Helene would never keep. What control Penelope did have over her magic was taught to her by a woman that Socrates employed for that purpose, and she was not nearly the accomplished sorceress that Helene had been. But nevertheless, it was enough. Penelope's abilities, particularly where memory was concerned, flourished.

When Helene first told her that she would be leaving their little cottage in the country for a faraway island palace, Penelope begged to stay, for she couldn't imagine being parted from the sister she loved dearly. She had not been separated from Julianna since the day her little sister was born. The girls slept in the same bed, read from the same books, and just about did everything else together every day. They both wept but no amount of tears moved Helene. She was adamant that Penelope go. She promised Penelope that she would come back for visits and be home for good before her twenty-first year.

But her twenty-first birthday came and went and after fifteen years Helene was dead and Julianna had come to stay with Penelope until Socrates could find a suitable husband for her. It was his promise to their grandmother that Julianna would be well taken care of. Penelope thought with bitterness that he did not fulfill his end of the bargain. But that was in the past, and she had let go of her anger with Socrates long ago. She tried very hard to keep her mind focused on the present.

And in the present of course, was London. Asher had been adamant that she no longer deny her attraction to the Dark Knight, and that it was her choice to bring him into her bed. But Penelope worried that by taking her relationship with London further, she would simply be imprisoning him once again. Certainly she knew her bonds were not as painful as Belle Morte's, but she didn't want him to be tied to her when she could not fully commit herself to him. She cared about him and maybe even loved him, but she loved Asher first. For the time being, as she often did with difficult emotions, she tried to put them far out of her mind. But Asher was doing his best to make that impossible.

The next week Asher and Penelope sat working in what they had finally decided was their office, while workmen feverishly made last minute adjustments upstairs. Asher at the large mahogany desk and Penelope on the leather couch. She had convinced him of the need for computers and so each of them were working off of their own laptop. Penelope had thoroughly enjoyed teaching Asher the rudiments of using this new technology, and he was doing his part not to let frustration get the better of him.

Veritas was coming together nicely, and was quickly becoming the most anticipated opening in the city. Newspaper and magazine articles lay on the coffee table all touting expectations of Jean-Claude's newest venture to be the epitome of class and decadence, as well as speculation on the mysterious Asher and his equally mysterious Human Servant who would be running the establishment.

Asher was doing a good job of patting down his own incredible nervousness about being in the spotlight. Despite Penelope's love and the love he had found with Jean-Claude and Anita, he was still self conscious about his scars, and was not anxious to answer any questions about them, nor read of suppositions in the tabloids that so enjoyed nosing their way into Jean-Claude's world. But he also couldn't help but wonder about how much attention Veritas would disturbingly bring to Penelope. She had spent centuries hidden away from the world but in a week or more there would not be a person in St. Louis, or perhaps even in the entire country, who had not heard of her. He was already bracing for the Council's reaction to his new servant, for in the weeks since the ceremony not a peep was heard from them, which was highly suspect. For now, Asher decided they would just handle the attention when it came, and he hoped that Penelope was up to the task.

He decided to approach the subject of London once again and spoke evenly without looking up from his laptop.

"I have asked Jean-Claude to bring London to Veritas as head of security. He should be here soon to orient the new staff and survey the security systems." He paused for a reaction and when he got none, he continued. "I believe he will find the music and clientele more suitable than Danse Macabre. I think he has had quite his fill of the modern club atmosphere."

Asher sat behind their desk going over the final list of employees. He had recruited several of the new Hyenas to work as well. As luck would have it, one recent addition to Narcissus's pack was actually a sommelier. Narci herself, had declined the invitation to the opening. Fine wine wasn't her thing, she said, and anyway, there was a rather large private party at her club that night. Penelope frowned and wondered if their guest list would be affected. Asher simply smiled and gave a polite, "I do not think so, bien aimèe, I do not think so." He made a mental note that sometime soon he was going to have to introduce his servant to the Oba. Already too much time had passed, but he counted on using Veritas as an excuse. So far it was working.

"London?" Penelope tried to keep her voice as even as possible but she shifted her body slightly to un-tuck her legs from underneath her as she sat on the couch.

"Oui. Is that a problem?" Asher had been trying to gently nudge her in London's general direction this evening. But to his amusement, he found his servant to be as stubborn as he was. He smiled. Asher loved a challenge.

"Not a problem." Penelope didn't look up from her computer. She was careful to keep her swirling emotions well hidden from Asher. She changed the subject. "You know, the paneling is lovely, but I was hoping for a picture or two to break up the monotony. Are you planning on completing your 'to do' list anytime soon?"

Her rather snarky comment and tactful change of subject elicited a small chuckle from the vampire.

"I'm working on it, bien aimèe. Great artwork is not chosen overnight."

"Nor in several weeks it seems," she muttered, knowing full well that he could hear her.

"How is your 'to do' list coming along? Did you manage to purchase towels and a suitable blanket for that chilly leather couch so your precious ass won't freeze when I fuck you into it?" Asher could match her snark for snark.

Penelope's lips drew back in a wicked smile. "As a matter of fact, I did." She stood and reached into a shopping bag to pull out a thick soft black blanket, large enough for two. She bent over and spread it on the couch, and in that position looked back over her shoulder at him. "Do you care to test it out?"

Asher shut his laptop and sat up in the chair spreading his legs slightly and running his hand down the length of his thigh as he got up.

"I thought you'd never ask."

************************************************************

Penelope and Asher cleaned up in the newly installed shower and used the towels that she had recently purchased for the bathroom. When they were clean and dressed once again, Penelope held her wrist out to him.

"For tonight."

She meant for him to be fed with her blood when he went to Jean-Claude and Anita, with whom she was aware he had arranged a 'date'.

Asher fed from her and kissed her once more before leaving her to finish work for the night. It was hard to watch him go, but she shielded any feelings that might cause him to renege on his promise and besides, she had mountains of invoices to go over. Penelope anticipated that she would be there until the early hours of the morning. Castor was sitting just outside the door, as he was her bodyguard for the night. Pollux had gone with Asher. The brothers, as she had discovered, were now their constant companions. They didn't speak much, but Penelope figured that they would when they had something to say.

knock, knock

"Come in," Penelope shivered as power seeped into the room before its bearer.

"Good evening, Penelope." London entered the office tenuously, as if unsure of his reception. He knew his power had preceded him and he had not meant for it to be so overwhelming. He was still struggling with his new levels. His trademarked ensemble was a simple black silk shirt and pants, shiny black loafers and a gold belt. His hair was slicked back giving his masculine beauty a fearsome tint. He was orienting the security staff tonight and had not wanted to seem soft in any way. It had worked. But he still radiated sex from all sides.

Penelope felt her pulse quicken and her insides begin to churn. She suddenly lost all train of thought and had to look away to get her words out.

"Good evening. Everything okay with security?" Thankfully she had something to talk to him about other than the fact that she wanted to tear his clothes off.

"Yes. At some point in the next few nights, I will need to discuss some things with you though. With you and Asher. I must work a few more nights at Danse Macabre until they replace me there."

"Sure. Whenever you want." Whatever you want, she wanted to add.

London stood there as if waiting for her to say something else, so she did.

"Is there anything else?"

"I heard you were still looking for proper music for the opening?"

"Yes."

The music had been almost as much a sticking point between Penelope and Asher as the Italian wine, but after an hour on the couch, Asher saw fit to go with his servant's suggestion of a more modern type of music. The classics were not forbidden, but for the opening Penelope wanted something smooth.

"Well, I've brought you two CDs of a jazz trio that I think would be perfect for opening night. They are local and play in many of the area clubs. Humans, but musically talented."

"Discriminating now, are we?" Penelope smiled and teased before she could stop herself.

"You know what I mean," London returned her smile, his confidence building one phrase at a time. "They are not opposed to performing in preternatural clubs. I thought perhaps we could listen to a few tracks tonight?" Music had in the past always been a place where they could come together.

Penelope breathed in hard. She felt her desire coming off of her in waves and surrounding London, pulling him closer and closer, but she was just not ready. Not yet.

"That would be lovely, London, but not tonight. I don't anticipate getting back to the Circus before three or four, and I don't want you waiting around for me. I'm sure you have other things you might like to do." The words came from her like daggers, when they were meant to be a shield.

"Of course. I'll let you get back to work then." He turned to go, but then sensing her desire and knowing his own, decided to say what he was truly feeling. He turned back to her.

"When you finally decide to call me, I will come to you. But not before. Only when you call." And with that, he left her alone.

Penelope tried to get back to work and ignore the aching in her heart and body, but found that for once in her life not all the work in the world was enough.



* Je t'adore, as I am told by my friend, Passibetta, is a much stronger sentiment of love than Je t'aime.
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