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King's Pawn
A Forever Knight story
by Calliope Monsoon

To mortal eyes he was nothing more than a shadow against the
darkness of the apartment, although she recognized him as surely
as if it were her own reflection.  She stopped, and stood in the
center of the room, looking at him for several long moments,
before bending down and placing her suitcase on the floor beside
her with deliberate slowness.

"Arrived safe and sound?" he asked, and she thought his voice
betrayed a small note of concern for her.  But she told herself
that it was, if anything, a false note.  There was so much about
him that was false. She would need to remember that.

He didn't wait for her answer, but strolled casually over to a
nearby table and turned on a lamp.  "Better?" he asked.

She shrugged, trying to feign indifference although it *was*
better.  For a creature who was supposed to be the perfect
nocturnal predator, she didn't see in the dark very well.  His
lips quirked at her then in that strange parody of a smile, half
a sneer that he sometimes favored people with when he was
particularly amused by them.  He didn't press the issue, but
instead, reached down and picked up his wineglass before
gracefully seating himself in a leather armchair that stood next
to the table.

"Tell me," he said, pausing to take a sip.  "How is Nicholas?"

"He's fine," she said, managing to find her voice at last.  "But
I'm afraid he doesn't send his regards."

He laughed, then.  "No, I don't suppose he would, under the
circumstances.  Would you care for some?" he asked abruptly,
gesturing with his glass toward the kitchen.  "I brought a
bottle."

Again, he didn't wait for her to respond, but rose and moved
swiftly toward the kitchen.  In a flurry of motion, he was back
and offering her a glass filled with red liquid.  Numbly, without
thinking, she took it and stared at it.

"It's only blood," he whispered.  "It's nothing to be afraid of." 
Then he deliberately took a sip from his own glass.  "But be
careful," he warned, his voice suddenly becoming sing-song. 
"It's a vintage you're probably not used to."

"Why are you here?" she asked, still focusing her attention on
the glass in her hand.

"Always so direct.  That hasn't changed.  I'm here because you
called me," he said simply.

That was enough to make her look up at him.  She shook her head. 
"No."

"Yes," he returned, deliberately.  "I heard your call.  And I
answered it.  I always answer when one of my children is in
trouble."  As he spoke he'd moved slowly back toward her, an
intense expression on his face.  As he moved she felt something
ripple uncomfortably through her.

She ignored it, tried to push it away only to feel it coarse
through her even more strongly.  Still, she pressed on.  "What
makes you think I'm in trouble?" she asked, walking over to a
table and placing the glass down on it. Then she moved away.

If he was disappointed he didn't show it.  "You're my daughter,"
he said.  "You can't hide things from me."

"I'm not your daughter."

He laughed slightly.  "Of course you are.  Oh," he said, resuming
his seat, "you're as bad as he is, trying to deny it.  Do you
remember what you said to me the night I brought you over?"  When
she didn't answer, he continued, smiling, "It's not polite to
repeat verbatim of course, but I recall that you told me, in no
uncertain terms, exactly where I could go and what I could do
with myself when I got there."

"I still feel that way," she shot back, picking up her bag and
walking to the bedroom.

"I've always been near you, near you both."  He followed her and
leaned casually against the door frame.  "Frankly, I'm surprised
you survived."  She couldn't help but turn and glare at him for
that.  "It must be difficult.  He never gave you the things you
need, did he?  He made you live like he did.  And it's so like
him to think that it wouldn't adversely affect you, that it would
be no more difficult for you than it was for him even though he
had 700 years to build his strength and prepare himself for this
undertaking.  How much time did you have to prepare?"  

"Only what little time you gave me," she said bitterly.  "Which
was basically nothing!"

He feigned a wounded expression.  "That's not true," he said. 
"You knew it would come to this."

She whirled, not even bothering to temper her anger.  "I didn't
ask for this!"

"Oh, but you did.  From the minute you offered to help Nicholas. 
From the moment you became involved in our affairs you asked for
it."

"You brought me over simply to torture Nick!" she exclaimed. 
"Lets not pretend that it was anything more than that."

He nodded thoughtfully at her outburst.  "It started out as
that," he admitted.  "Though I have to admit that when I lured
you to that restaurant I was curious.  But I did it mostly to
fulfill my bargain with Nicholas."

"Right," she said sarcastically.  "And this is where you tell me
I've come to mean *so* much more to you since then."

"Oh, no," he said emphatically.  "That happened almost
immediately.  Even before I brought you over, actually."

"Sure," she replied, lifting her suitcase up onto the bed and
opening it.  She didn't, wouldn't believe him, not for one
second.  "If I was so important to you why is this the first time
I've seen you in nearly . . ." she paused and looked up for a
moment.  "Eighty years, is it?"

"You were so . . . hostile, on the few occasions that we met that
I feared my presence would do you more harm than good, would
cause you to become unstable."

She actually had to laugh at that.  "That is *such* a load of
crap," she said, a small, bitter smile on her face.  One of his
eyebrows rose in mock confusion, but he remained silent.  "You
thought that having to teach me how to survive would make Nick
want to be a vampire again," she said matter-of-factly.

"Which unfortunately backfired on both of us," he said almost
under his breath.

She shook her head.  "You're really very tiresome," she said,
then stopped herself.  She wasn't about to tell him that she'd
seen through his little game plan early on even if Nick hadn't. 
Let him think she'd only just recently figured it out.  It gave
her an advantage, no matter how small.

"And now we have the matter at hand," he said, a small smile on
his face.

"Well, I'm afraid that's just going to have to wait.  I've had a
very long night and I'm tired, so if you don't mind . . ." she
said, indicating the door.  Her dismissal did not please him. 
She could see that in the sudden tightness in his eyes and around
his mouth, in his sudden smile which was a bit too sharp and
dangerous.  But a very large part of her didn't care.  She was
tired, and she resented his intrusion into her life, especially
at this time, at this juncture, when it was important to her that
she find her own way.  She couldn't very well do that with him
hovering over her.

He took a step toward her.  Then another.  She didn't move, but
continued to glare at him defiantly.  He stopped just inches from
her, towering over her, an indefinable gleam in his eye as he
looked down at her.  "I've left you to your own devices long
enough," he said quietly.

"Which is exactly what I wanted," she countered, just as quietly. 
They were practically whispering.

"And what has it gotten you?" he asked.  "You're a weakling.  A
mockery."  He began to circle her slowly.  "An aberration," he
hissed into her ear.

"I see," she said, staring straight ahead.  Her expression was
neutral.  "And you want to teach me."

"If it's not too late," he said craftily.  "I only want to help."

She shook her head.  "I don't think so," she said, stepping away
from him.  A heavy hand on her shoulder stopped her short.

"I'm afraid I must insist.  This is long overdue."

For the first time she was afraid.  In his way he was right. 
Wasn't that the very reason why she'd left Nick, moved on, so
that she could grow and learn, and discover her limits.  But what
was being offered now . . .  He would teach her just enough so
that she'd be dependent on him, and in the process he'd learn a
hell of a lot more about her.  He was so predictable sometimes.

And the problem was she wasn't quite sure how to get out of this
one, particularly when he seemed so determined.  And she didn't
think she was up to just playing along, not with what she
suspected he had in mind.  Calling Nick wasn't an option.  This
was something she would have had to face anyway, sooner or later. 
Leave it to the bastard to make it sooner, she thought bitterly.

"What?" he said, his lips near her ear.  "No snappy come back? 
No sharp retort?  You disappoint me."

"Good!" she said before she could stop herself.  His fingers
tightened on her shoulder almost imperceptibly, then they
loosened again, and became a gentle caress.  She suppressed the
urge to shudder as his hand moved slowly up her neck.  He walked
back around to face her, and his finger gently stroked her cheek,
lingering for a moment.

Then he drew back his arm and slapped her.

She'd been half expecting it, but she didn't turn her head fast
enough and caught most of it.  It was sufficient enough to knock
her off her feet, though she realized he'd gauged it so as not to
throw her into the far wall.  Small pinpricks of light dotted her
vision for several seconds as she lay there stunned.
He stood across the room, hands clasped in front of him, waiting
patiently as she rose to her feet.  The next move was hers, she
knew, but she had decided long ago not to play his game, and now
was not the time to change the habit of several lifetimes.  So
she stood there looking back at him for several long seconds. 
Then she gave a small laugh.  "Is this where I'm supposed to
lunge at you?  Or would you prefer it if I became a quivering
heap on the floor?"

He surprised her by throwing his head back and laughing.  "Ah,
you thought to disappoint me again.  Quite the contrary," he
said, smiling.  "This is more promising than I'd hoped."

That disturbed her, and she hoped it was simply a ploy on his
part.

"I think we're done.  For now," he said, nodding.  "You should
get some rest.  You've had a very busy night."  His tone had
become sickeningly paternal, and did she see a glimmer of warmth
in his pale blue eyes?  He reached into his pocket and pulled out
a sheet of paper which he held out to her.

She looked at him questioningly for a moment, but refused to take
it.

"Janette's club," he explained.  "In case of emergency."  He
placed the slip of paper down on the bureau on his way out.

She looked up at the space where he'd been standing for several
long minutes, until she was sure he was gone.  First thing
tomorrow she'd go see about an alarm system for this place.  She
didn't delude herself into thinking she could completely prevent
his access, but she'd sure as hell make it difficult.

Striding deliberately over to the bureau, she snatched up the
piece of paper and without even looking at it, she tore it up
into tiny pieces.

The End