The Wolf and the Unicorn

She reached into a pouch at her belt and fumbled with the clasp, her vision fading in and out from the combination of pain and loss of blood. Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, the pouch opened and she groped blindly inside it for the small treasure that would make all the difference. She grimaced as she realized there were only three left; she'd need to do something about that soon to avoid a disaster. She pulled one of the shining red spheres out and shoved in between her quivering lips, biting down hard and revelling in the rush of energy that filled her, replenishing all she'd used this night. As the blood-hunger left her, she Healed her ruined arm so that not even a blister remained to testify the terrible burns she'd sustained. Sheathing the scimitar, she bent to retrieve the book and sword that the now-ashen Ba’ali had dropped, and then headed back to check on the Kindred they'd been torturing earlier. Time for some answers...





His present situation was, Beckett mused, only a marginal improvement over being staked. True, his pain had vanished at the swordswoman's touch, but once again he was helpless and unable to move or even to close his eyes. He could see thin tendrils of smoke rising still from his chest where the Ba’ali has poured god-knows-what on him, but thankfully could no longer feel the agony of his burning flesh. Since she'd simultaneously paralyzed and anesthetized him, he'd been unable to do much more than ponder his current situation and wonder at the identity of his erstwhile rescuer. She was Kindred, of that he was fairly certain. Her skill with the sword suggested the possibility that she was Brujah, but the anesthetic touch was something unheard of in all the Clans in these modern nights. The only Clan he'd ever heard of to possess such an ability was the long-vanished Salubri, and the thought that perhaps one of that Clan had survived and had conveniently shown up tonight to rescue him was so absurd that he dismissed it immediately. No, he reasoned, there was another explanation. He didn't recall feeling anything of the sort, but perhaps he'd been so far-gone with pain and delirium that she'd injected him with some sort of painkiller and he'd not felt it. Or maybe there was a thaumaturical cause; that was a possibility. Beckett's mind wandered so deep in thought that had he been able to move, he would have jumped in startlement at the swordswoman's sudden return.





She flashed a smile so brief he later wondered if he'd imagined it. "Sorry I had to paralyze you like that; unfortunately, it's a case of taking the bad with the good. It was the only way I could stop your pain at the moment." Her voice bore the trace of an accent; Italian? No, that wasn't it... She eyed him warily. "I'm going to release it in a moment, and when I do, it's going to hurt like Hell, I'm warning you. I can take care of some of your injuries here, which should make the pain bearable, but the rest are going to require more attention than we can spare here and now. I suspect that there's more of the Pack around, and as much as I'd love to send them all to Hades, neither you nor I are in any shape to take them on right now." She reached one hand out and laid it on his forearm, closing her eyes. The pain burst anew through Beckett's body, and he doubled over, retching. Strong hands gripped both his shoulders and he felt a sudden rush of pleasure more intense than he'd felt in decades. It coursed through him like a lover's caress, pushing aside pain and leaving sweet healing in its wake. He stopped shaking and raised his head to look at her barely in time to see an eye in the center of her forehead closing.





"You...you're Salubri!" he breathed, unbelieving.





She stepped away immediately and eyed him warily. "Please tell me I didn't just go and heal a Tremere. I've done some damned fool things in my life, but that would take the prize."





He shook his head, and the room whirled as vertigo assailed him. "No, no, I'm not a Warlock," he moaned, holding his head, desperately willing the room to stop spinning. "I'm Beckett, of Clan Gangrel. No Tremere will ever hear of you from my lips. I swear it."





She placed a hand atop his head, and the vertigo slowed but did not stop completely. "In that case, I don't regret saving you from Yeqon's tender mercies." She handed him a ruby-colored sphere the size of his thumbnail. "Here, this will help; you've lost a lot of blood, and we need to get out of here."





He took the globe from her and examined it. "What's this?"





"It's a Blood Pearl. There should be enough vitae in there to sustain you long enough for us to get to safety. Neither of us is in any shape to hunt tonight, so we'll rest up and feed on the morrow."





His eyes widened as he scrutinized the Blood Pearl more closely. "I've heard of these, of course, but I've never seen one before this. Where did you get it?"





"I made it. Now are you going to use it, or just play with it? I have another you can examine to your heart’s content once we are safely away."





Grinning sheepishly, Beckett put the pearl in his mouth and bit down. He gasped as the vitae within gushed forth like the finest wine, and its potency left him shaken. "Damn, woman! Whose blood did you use for that, Saulot himself?"





She chuckled. "No, it's mine; and if you have a problem with having drunk from me, so to speak, I'll be happy to make amends to you another night. Now, come on!" She hauled him to his feet with surprising strength and shoved a book into his hands. "Hold onto this, I want to look at it once we are safe." She then took hold of his free hand and all but dragged him out of the torture chamber.





*****

"Welcome to my humble abode," she said with a self-deprecating laugh. "It's not much, but it's mine bought and paid for." She turned the key and thrust open the front door, revealing a room furnished with an eye for comfort rather than style. A pair of mismatched, overstuffed couches and a battered table that had started its life as a packing crate sat in the center of the room, and all four walls were lined ceiling to floor with overfilled bookshelves. She unbuckled her sword belt and set it on the table before collapsing onto one of the couches. Beckett set the book down beside the sword and settled into the other.





Meeting her gaze, he grinned. "You know, I don't even know your name."





She sighed and appeared to consider for a moment. "Antigone. You can call me Antigone."





"Sophocles, eh?" he replied, raising an eyebrow.





"Something like that." She stood and stretched before walking into the next room. Beckett took advantage of the moment to scan the titles on the shelves, and gave a low whistle of admiration. "Nice library you've got. I may just spend the next few years here."