Forgotten Gods.

Chapter Three

{Janos Audron}


Six nights later


Janos Audron was feeling cranky.

He stormed inis cis chambers, slamming the doors closed and allowing his robes to slip gently from his shoulders, letting them crumple on the floor in a lessless fashion.

This evening had not been a particularly good one. One of the main hunting tactics that the ancient vampires often used was to simply drop from above, pouncing on their prey and dragging them into the sky. His child, unlike the born vampires, did not have the wings with whic emp employ this tactic, yet he still wanted to try.

Janos shook his head violently, watching as dust fell from it and landed in a pile on the floor before magically being swept away. The result of Vorador’s attempt was one lump of the canzons now missing, one crushed human, and a bruised fledgling.

Vorador had been overconfident with his own abilities and had climbed up one of the canyon walls waiting for a human to walk beneath so he could drop on them. This was not a totally stupid idea; however the canyoere ere dry, the rock was weak and Vorador had kept going higher.

His child had come so very close to being crushed; Janos winced at how close he had been. The rock had naturally given way, sending a very alarmed fledgling and a chunk of stone tumbling down the side of one of the cliff. Janos had managed to catch his fledgling while the rock had fallen, landing on the startled human.

His child was a vampire... he would have been all right after the fall, maybe . . . But still, the idea of his child falling that far only to have rock to land on him was not a very pleasant one.

Janos sighed and collapsed into a chair. This had not been the first close call, there had been many. He was surprised he didn’t have grey hairs, he could already feel his sanity wearing thin. He sighed audibly; at least, his child was safe. Hungry, but safe. And that was, after all, what really mattered.

Janos stood and walked over to a desk. Opening a drawer, he retrieved a brush and tried to get all the canyon dust from his hair. He yelped as he tore a clump of hair out by its roots. He stared at it before resuming the brushing at a more gentle fashion. The me was was far to clear in his mind at the moment to even consider sleep.

The proud smirk as his child climbed higher, showing off to his maker, the started yelp as the rock groaned and gave way, the shriek of the human as it saw its death. Then wind in his ears, a cool body held nst nst his own, the pain as the landed, scraping his child’s back across the rough ground. He had looked up, gasping, feeling his child’s heaving breaths under him. It had taken him far too long to get off his chide. Far, far too long.

Golden eyes full of fright and shock had locked with Janos’, as his mouth had been partly open. Altogether, Vorador had appeared so very vulnerable, sprawled beneath him.

That terrible urge rose in him once again at that point, an urge he’d been having far too often lately. He’d so wanted to close his lips over the quivering ones of his child. The thought was a familiar one, one he had been having far to much as of late. But it had come so strongly this time that he’d had to clench his talons tight enough to draw blood to stop himself.

Janos had tried to ignore this urge for the past few nights and had only just last night given in to listening and acknowledging it. He couldn’t continue to ignore it. Something would happen. He always found that when you ignored a problem it only got bigger and eventually overwhelmed you. Just like the bloodlust: ignore it for three or four nights, and on the fifth night you would easily become a raving and feral creature seeking another’s death.

He did not want to lose his so well kept control, especially with his child, and thus he had acknowledged his own thoughts, thoughts he would normally reserve for the fairer sex, and had resolved to do something about them.

His felt his hand slide down the flat stretch of hiomacomach, and silently he cursed himself. He should not be doing this. But it was either this or something worse would happen, something he wouldn’t be able to control. So he did not stop when his hand unfastened his trousers and slid into them.

A long, slow exhalation hissed through his teeth as talons curled lightly in soft black curls before ghosting over the base shaft. He shuddered, wondering what it would be like to close his mouth over his child's, what would it taste like. Would it be full of the gentle caress of blood? Or his child’s own unique taste? Would he just lay back and allow Janos to kiss him or would he reach forward and deepen the kiss himself?

Would his skin taste like his mouth? He could imagine the faint shudder his child would perform as he let fangs slide delicately ovleshlesh, causing hairs to stand and goosebumps to rise. The image caused a deep and primal but quiet sound down low in Janos’ throat. His hand moved a little quicker, rising and falling, slowing down to caress the head, letting claws ghost over the tip. He shuddered as his breathing quickened.

The image continued to play out in his mind, his hands unbound, travelling slowly down his child’s flesh, getting lower with each movement, until they found his arousal and gripped it in a coxing grip, causing a cry to be wrenched from the now jerking body under him, his child trusting into his hand, vocalising each movement with guttural moans, sweet mewls shrishrieking cries.
Unconsciously, Janos’ grip tightened on himself, milking, and he let out a deep throaty growl.

Taking a deep breath, he slowed his hand. Would his child know and understand what his sire was doing? Would his eyes be full of innocence and trust along with hardly understood lust, or would they burn molten goldh deh desire? Would he reach up to touch his sire in return? Janos gasped and his hips jerked on their own as he imagined calloused fingers sliding over his flesh, whispered words of trust or of yearning, needing, wanting.

Would he beg?

Janos purred as his other hand smoothly ran over his chest and abdomen pausing to tease at allready hard nipples. His hips were snapping into his hand of their own accord, even as his wrist starto aco ache. The images kept coming, blunt human-ish fingernails soon to be claws digging into his skin as his own talons rubbed small circles over his childs opening.

Legs spread, exposed, completely vulnerable and offered up to him like one of the human sacrifices. A louder cry escaped the vampire as his hips sped up, snapping hard into his hand. The chair groaned, moving along the floor a little. So close. He wanted, needed, yearned for it; but would never have it, he could not allow himself to have it.

Being swallowed by his child’s tight heat, hearing moans of pleasure laced with pain, blunt nails breaking his skin and snapping, bucking hips. His child clinging to him, as if he was the only solid thing in the world, whispering words and pleas not to stop, ever. Arms and legs wrapped around him so tight it would hurt, and still that heat, so very tight.

Janos bellowed as he came, white hot flaming electricity shocked through him, causing him to arch and continue his cries that echoed out into the night, but not past his door due to enchantments placed around his room.

Eventually he came down, shuddering in the velvet chair. The heat of his seed lingered on his flesh for a few more moments before it slowly faded due to another spell, his chest heaving and his pants pooled around his ankles.

This madness had to stop.


{Vorador}


The following night


Vorador wandered the marble and ice hallways, heading towards the library, where he knew his sire was at the moment. He walked directly towards it, knowing full well he would get lost if he wandered through other corridors. His sire had yet to show him the aerie. He had only seen the library, where his sire had begun to teach him how he should live, a room that Janos had given him to sleep in, and his sire's room.

He liked the library. It was full of interesting things. Janos often encouraged him to take books back to his room with him and had allowed him any book he liked. He’d found several interesting ones; some talked about far away lands and of ancient battles, and he learnt a lot from them.

Opening grand doors, he was proved right about his guess of his sire's location. Janos sat hunched over the table where he was usually reading; but this time no book sat open in front of him, he simply sat hunched over the bare table, head in his hands, obviously thinking.


“Master?” Vorador looked down at his sire

Janos did not respond, although he wanted to smirk. No matter how many times he told his child not to call him that, the fledgling still persisted. Janos disliked being referred to as 'master' as it reminded him of his cruelty towards this fledgling, the fact that this beautiful creation now shared the curse of immortality and banishment from the wheel because of him, and of course his own inappropriate desire's towards his child. All of it tortured Janos. Yet Vorador had forgotten he was ever human, he seemed totally preoccupied with his sire and everything Janos did, be it a mere expression or a free falling dive. All of it fascinated Vorador.

Leaning forward, Vorador tried to look at his sire's face. But, to his surprise, Janos turned away, so he nipped lightly, catching his sire's ear, making him shudder and turn back with a slight smile on his face

“Imp”, Janos breathed, tilting his head up to nuzzle under his child’s chin, letting out a small contented sound. Then, he slowly pulled back.

“sire”, Vorador breathed, blinking at Janos, “what are you thinking?”

His sire smiled up at him, reaching forward to move a wayward lock of thick black hair from his eyes,

“What makes you think I was thinking?” Janos asked. Vorador looked confused and Janos easily relented. “I am considering when to go to the Circle, they must be told of you.”

“The circle?” Vorador asked slowly. “What about me? Where will I go?”

“That is what I have also been contemplating,” Janos replied. “I would rather leave you here, it is safer, and I would be quicker alone, but - ” he paused, thinking of the best way to put this. Giving up, he merely said, “I don't think I could ever leave you”


* * * *

Vorador watched with a heavy heart as his sire turned away from him and fatowatowards the balcony

“I must go to the citadel”, he sighed at his fledgling's despondent expression overlying a slight fear at being left alone. “I have to arrange a meeting before it can happen. They always wish for these arrangements to be made in person, telepathy can be cloudy at times.”

Janoacheached out and held his fledgling to him. Vorador sighed; he disliked appearing weak to his sire, but in all honesty he did not want his sire to go.

“I will be gone for a short time, a few hours at the most,” Janos reassured. "Eat and sleep, it would do well for you.” And with those words, his sire dropped from the balcony in a precise dive.

Vorador watched his sire sail over the winds until he could no longer see him, and then he sat down on the marble of the balcony and waited.


{Janos Audron}


Janos smirked as he landed delicately on his balcony. His chair had been dragged out here, and positioned so it was facing out. In his chair slept his fledgling. He shook his head lightly. Well at least he had slept.

He watched his child sleep for a moment, how the faint light of the stars played over his face, the slight frown and the quiet sounds of sleep.

“Come on, wake up,” he said softly, nudging his fledgling lightly. Vorador muttered something incoherent and turned away, bringing his legs up to him.

Janos smiled, a little more mischievous than usual, as he slowly wandered behind the chair and tipped it backwards. His fledgling let out a muffled sound. Janos pushed the chair forward, catapulting his fledgling onto the marble floor. Janos sniggered as his fledgling glared at him. Shrugging, he muttered,

“Earthquake test.” He pulled his child to his feet, ignoring the continued glare. “Come on.” He guided his fledgling towards his own bedroom.

He knew putting Vorador in his own room was a pointless exercise, but he thought that with enough coxing the fledgling would get the message and stay in his own bed for at least a day. But so far his efforts had been in vain. Every day, after dawn, Janos would feel the mattress shift and feel a strong arm wrap around his waist before finally a tired voice would tell him to sleep well.

Once he had shooed his fledgling into his own room, he made his way towards one of the balconies. There was still a few minutes before dawn and he wanted to breathe fresh air before he slept. The cold air always cleared his head and stopped foggy thoughts from running rampant in his mind. This was why he always did his best thinking when he was in the air.


{Vorador}

Vorador knew he was dreaming the instant the foggy haze of silent sleep cleared, revealing a blurry and twisted version of Nosgoth. He found himself in a cavern. He could hear drizzle outside, andhe was glad to be out of the rain, as he knew what it could do to him. Curiosity pushed against him and he moved forward into the cavern.

Vorador smiled when he saw his sire. He was perched bird like on of the many rocks in the dark cavern, twisting his body to reach his back, tending to something. Vorador strained to see what he was doing, curious. He stopped for a moment when he stepped in something wet that did not burn him. Looking down he saw blood, quite a lot of it, it lead towards his sire.

Vorador took a closer look at this sire, only now seeing it. Blood matted in his hair and ran down his body, leaving striking red lines down the pale blue skin, and as Vorador made his way towards him he saw why his sire was twisting himself to reach his back. His wings, that normally arched powerfully from his back, hung limp, broken, twitching, trying to move.

They had not been broken, Vorador realised as he approached, they heen een shattered. The small fragile bones jutted out at impossible angles, and many feathers littering the ground soaking up the blood.

Vorador felt his heart come into his throat. He remembered his sire's stories of the wars and what the Hylden had done to captured vampires, how breaking their wings had been one of the Hylden’s most brutal tortures. This was mainly because once shattered, the wings would heal incorrectly, never again allowing flight; Vorador knew that Janos and any other winged vampire would rather die than lose their wings.

Janos turned an eye towards Vorador and hissed. Vorador jerked backwards. His sire's eyes were clouded and feral. He recognised this look, but he couldn’t remember where from. His sire's humanity and rational mind had been eroded away, buried under the animalistic attribute that had taken over due to his pain.

Vorador felt warm bloody tears spring to his eyes as Janos ignored him and turned back to trying to tend to his shattered wings. Vorador took a step closer, holding out his hands in a peaceful gesture. Janos paid no attention and was caught by surprise when Vorador laid a gentle hand on his sire’s shoulder.

The shock of being touched made Janos jerk backwards, hissing, broken wings trying desperately to open. Vorador winced as he heard a sharp snap as another bone broke inside the mass of tattered feathers. Janos hissed louder, still trying to open shattered wings. The display didn't last long as the pain surged up, causing the feral hiss to turn into a loud whimper. Vorador watched as his sire's eyes clouded more so and he fell forwards into him.

Vorador lifted his sire and gasped as he turned to dust in his arms.


* * * *


Opening the door quietly and stepping around a stray beam of light that escaped the cins ins Vorador made his way silently towards his maker. Slipping under the sheets next to his sire he instantly felt better, safer and happier, his sire was alive and unharmed, he scoffed that he had been worried by such a strange dream. His sire opened bleary eyes and glanced at him before giving a watery smile and collapsing back into the sheets and pillows.

Vorador leaned forward wrapping an arm around the lithe figure next to him and burying his face in the crook of his sire’s shoulder, his tongue lapping at the skin for a second, reassured and comfortable Vorador closed his eyes and Janos opened his.


* * * *


Vorador woke cold and feeling as if he'd been beaten with a large branch. The ebony wings covering him did little to warm him; they only created a closeness that he needed desperately. He shifted slightly. sma small movement did not wake his sire, but it made him shift also, moving closer to his child.

Vorador smiled and curled tightly around his sire. His dreams that night had sparked a strange fear in him, one of being alone. He suddenly felt very empty, and the idea of being alone when he had been this close to someone was terrifying. He knew what would happen if they were separated. He would die, he would not be able to live; the idea of breathing alone was enough to bring agony to him.

He must snap out of this, his sire was not dead; he was lying here, with him, making small sleep sounds against his child’s hair. Vorador tightened his arm around his sire's waist, pulling them closer together, burying his face in the bend between his sire's throat and shoulder. He could feel his sire’s slow throbbing pulse against his closed mouth, and his faitchitched.

But stronger than that was the sudden feeling of comfort. They would never separate, never. Life, unlife or death, they would always be together. This thought warmed Vorador slightly. The fear that had been growing inside of him lessened as he realised he need never be alone. He smiled once more, not fully content, but happier than he had been a moment ago.

The sun was beginning to set casting orange fire onto the velvet drapes as if having one last desperate attempt at light when the darkness was all too powerful to avoid. Vorador could feel this, he didn't need to see it. He was calm as the fireworks of dusk set in. He sighed against his sire, knowing they would have to move soon, he didn’t want to . . .

Awake, it was rare for him to have this kind of closeness to his sire; he shuddered, knowing that there must be something wrong with him, because when awake his sire was constantly reaching out to him only to jerk away moments later, turning away from him, and not even looking at him.

He remembered something, although it was foggy and hard to piece together, so much so that he half believed it to be a dream or some other fabrication of his mind.


He was gripping his sire tightly, so much so that his hands hurt, and he was swallowing mouthful after mouthful of his sire’s blood. It burnt his tongue like liquid fire; he licked at the spilled blood moments before his mouth opened fully and locket itself to the wound in his sire’s throat. Vorador jerked as he felt it surge into him, heating him. His mouth widened, pressed harder to his sire drawing harder sending rapturous sensations through him. Sweet and luscious, the blood filed him. He could hear his sire’s gasps of breath as he gave away its life's blood to him. Then he felt the small wound begin to close, and he tore madly at it, making his sire cry out
He shuddered at the bleary memory and yearned for it to happen again.


Vorador watched his sire as he moved in his sleep. Just small, unconscious movements. He seemed too wonderful to be real. Even as Vorador held onto him with a fierce grip, he could hardly believe such a creature could exist. Vorador wondered if he would always see his sire this way, as some . fo. forgotten god, or would time erode away his admiration for the one that made him. He hoped not.

He found it fascinating to watch him.

{Janos}

He woke slowly. Sleep clung to him like silk covered iron, pulling him back down into its smooth depths. There was weak warmth in front of him and he nestled into it as deeply as he could go, gently nudging forwards before opening his eyes slowly and looking up, finding the golden eyes of his fledgling staring at him. Janos couldn't place it but something behind them had changed.

Janos opened one of his wings slowly, hearing the small bones click as he tried to shake the stiffness from them; small black feathers fell as they always did in the evening. The arm around his waist let him go a little too slowly. But Janos had to admit the instant it was gone he missed it not merely for the warmth it offered, which was small, but mainly for the feeling of just being touched.

He watched as Vorador rolled slowly over until he tumbled from the bed. He smiled; his fledgling always did that, never sitting up and sliding from the bed, always rolling until he tumbled onto the hard floor.

Janos smiled to his fledgling before sitting up and opening his wings. Twisting round, he gently began to preen, pulling the small dead feathers away from the healthy. His claw slid over one of his largest feathers. It was as long as his arm from wrist to shoulder; he watched as it loosened and fell, almost without any coxing. He watched it land on the cold, marble ground. He hated when he lost the primary feathers, losing one was OK, he could still fly, but it was awkward. He hated being grounded; it was like a human losing his legs and arms. Janos would sacrifice anything to keep his wings . . . he glanced to his fledgling . . .


He would sacrifice almost anything, but not that.

* * * *

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