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There’s two things to come out of this bounty, Zani feels; one of which she could classify as good news, and the other one being not-so-good news.
The target she’d caught today was nowhere close to killing her, was some other middle-ranked vampire with a name she doesn’t even remember with how little she’d spent gleaming over his personal details before settling to get him immediately so she can clock out before overtime hits.
It’s that, she supposes, that causes this persisting ache resting just a few millimeters away from the tip of her tongue. She disarmed him quick enough, had knocked him down before he could land any attack that would impair her permanently and that was the fortunate part—yet it still managed to land a hit on her in the middle of its capture, something she’ll have to note back on and reflect on after she gets home in the middle of a warm bubble bath, this was the unfortunate thing.
Zani scrapes her teeth against the bruise on her lip, ivory red now staining its pearly white edges.
(It’s nothing to be worried over; this minor setback that doesn’t even classify as a setback when it barely even affects her wellbeing as a whole—plus, it’s not like she’s a hemophiliac in a life or death situation where she needs the blood to stop pouring out if she wants the chance to see another day of the sun rising from the west and setting by the east; she’d be dead a long time ago if that was the case.
Zani’s bit her lips plenty before Carlotta had started fussing over her lip care practices and reminding her how a Montelli is to keep up appearances, no matter how little time she spends in front of clients when her position was to be on the fields, no matter how small the effect of changing even the most minute detail was—her abundance of lip biting experience tells her that this wound will heal in a day or two, it won’t have any permanent effects on her physical cosmetics and she’ll just have to make sure to rub some ointment she can pick up from Rosemary’s all over for a faster recovery; end of story.
She wishes it could be that easy, but there is a new variable now compared to how she was back then, and even if this was just another mundane and almost harmless injury compared to the ones that’s taken the lives of many other allies—the one she has now will surely have something to say about it.)
When she looks over to her right, she finds her frightfully blood-hungry hunting partner just as she expects her to be. Unabashedly staring, unmoving in the slightest—Phoebe’s eyes look like they could drill holes into her as they fixate on the small gash on her lips.
“You like seeing me roughed up that much, little bat?” She’s amused, grinning just to let her know she’s acknowledged her stares, “Shall I let myself get cut more the next time we find some other unlucky soul to be put to rest?”
Phoebe snaps out of it, then, sharply looking away as she’s found out and Zani doesn’t call out the amber lightly dusted on her cheeks; “Please don’t think of doing such things, Miss Zani.”
Zani hums, nonchalant, “Mmh, as if I like it when some lowly bastard almost uppercuts me when I wasn’t looking.” She retorts, her voice as soft as ever even when the contents of her words are anything but. “Thanks for the cover, though—I could’ve gotten an even bigger wound if you hadn’t thrown a rock his way and caused the guy to faint.”
“I do what I can.” Phoebe says as she finds the courage to look back at her, pointedly still embarrassed and flushed from being caught blanking out on her lips—it’s not like Zani minds, she’d already expected it with her affinity for any kind of blood, even if Phoebe does suppress it better than others with her unbelievably high levels of self-restraint. “Shall we get back to Lady Carlotta? I can help you with the report while you tend to the wound.”
“You say it as if it’s a gaping hole on my back and not just some measly cut on my lip.” she shrugs it off, nonplussed, “I’ve gotten worse.”
“Still classifies as a wound, Miss Zani,” tuts Phoebe and she reaches over, just to take a better look at her cut. She holds her by the cheek, has to stand on her tiptoes because the difference in their heights are apparent even with the padded soles in Phoebe’s loafers helping to decrease it ever so slightly; “Shall we go to Miss Rosemary’s first? I wouldn’t mind the detour.”
Any normal person without her more than heightened instincts would’ve said yes, she feels. It’s an inarguably logical solution; Rosemary could’ve taken a gander at the cut to make sure that the risk of infection wasn’t to spread and it’s always better to prevent an accident early on than to let it build up over the course of minutes—it would’ve been silly if she had to use up some of her leftover paid vacation days just to lay around in her bed, suffering at the expense of a wound that wasn’t so major to begin with.
Still.
Zani can sense it, that palpable bloodlust looming in the air; it’s obvious with how Phoebe’s eyes dart for a split second every now and then to look at the blood itself and not her wound, her eyes dilating like they do every time she rips her tie loose and bares her neck for her to sink her teeth in—she’s not oblivious to these things, she’d be too dumb not to notice and dumbness isn’t a quality she’s known for, not when all it takes is one moment of weakness for her to face death in the eye and leave this world without being able to spend her pension fund.
Too many reasons circle her head—she’ll get addicted to this, far more so than you intended and ask for more to the point she’ll kill you entirely just to sate her bloodlust, you’re spoiling her with all this attention when you’re supposed to be using her, why the hell are you getting so soft for a vampire of all things?—and all of them are urging her to stop the hand propping her swordshield against a nearby tree, trying to will her into walking back to the Montelli residence before it gets too dark, before Rosemary has her evening break and close up shop for an hour or two, something that lacked efficiency in all regards when they’ll have to waste precious minutes of recovery away till she opens up again.
She doesn’t have to give in to her, all things considered. It’ll feel awfully horrible to deny her, even though her blood has never been a birthright Phoebe’s entitled to; it still doesn’t mean she has to offer herself up, not when feeding day was still a few tens of hours away.
So many logical reasons to deny her, Zani thinks that to be true—but none of those reasons were good enough.
There’s never been a good enough reason when Phoebe looks at her like she’s the only thing keeping her alive, she feels, even if it’s only because of the liquid gold hiding underneath her skin.
“Later.” she says and it comes out, anyways, the offer of a lifetime that she’s given her too many times. It always does when it’s her, always has been that way when it’s for her; “Do you want your fill, Phoebe?”
Phoebe blinks at the offer, eyes going wide and it’s strangely adorable how she tries so badly to conceal her bloodlust that keeps looming over them despite it all.
“...Huh?”
“It’s not much, but still;” she points back at the blood pooling on her lips, resisting the urge to lick at the taste of herself because she’s never really liked the taste of herself—and definitely not because there’s going to be less for Phoebe to take, “You wanna drink me up?”
The embers of a blush flicker against the lightness of her cheeks, and it’s all the proof Zani needs that she does want to be tended to like this, even when the next words that comes out of Phoebe oppose it; “...I don’t think that’s appropriate.”
“You already bite my neck off every other Wednesday, I’d argue this is far more appropriate compared to that.” Zani contests, leaning down against her weapon as she slides herself downwards to sit, “It’ll stop soon anyways and it’s not like this cut happened because of you—” she pauses, remembering again that it was due to her that she’s in a less unfortunate state because she’d dared to protect her then, and she always gives credit when it’s due, so; “well I guess it did, but it’s only because without you I’d likely have an even worse injury. That’s a victory in my book.”
Phoebe grimaces at the callback, memories of the fight flashing by her mind; “I wouldn’t exactly call it a victory,” she comments, regretful.
“What’s done is done. No use dwelling in the past, little bat—just consider this your reward for not letting me suffer a fate worse than a bruised lip.” she proposes, pulling on her hand to coax her into sitting on her lap—Phoebe has always liked that position most when she feeds her, it’s only fitting she does it now, too; “If anything, you’re just letting it go to waste if I just wipe it off.”
Anxiously, Phoebe lets her do as she wants—shifting into place as she holds her by the shoulder, tension-filled legs crossing over Zani’s relaxed ones.
Maybe she considers it a test; this little offer that Zani personally boxed up to be a present for her actions that saved her from egregious harm, or maybe it’s Phoebe’s strict adherence to self-restriction and abundance of piteous regret that she hadn’t done enough to make sure she wasn’t harmed in the first place that’s keeping her from letting loose at her injury.
They’ve never gone past their agreement of feeding once to twice every week, Phoebe’s always been conservative when it came to sinking her teeth into her sinews and lapping up at the ichor flowing out of her veins—the inner workings of her mind was a marvel when she compares it to every other vampire she’s had to kick under her heel all her life.
She’s endearing, this little vampire that has always seen her as everything more than someone who’s responsible for persecuting her kind, as someone who’s more than just her horns and tail and capability to fight—it’s the only thing circling her mind when she lifts a hand up to her face, gently offering her some slight of assurance.
“Hey,” Zani holds her by the cheek and tilts her to make sure she knows she’s the center of her watchful gaze, “you don’t have to pretend with me.” she placates despite the fact that she can’t say she’s always done the same with her when she tries to ignore the irregularity of her beating heart when she holds her hand so she wouldn’t lose her in a crowd. It’s hypocritical, maybe, but that doesn’t really matter now—she can confront her own mistakes later on, “I told you, it’s fine as long as you’re not preying on anyone else. You did what you could.”
Phoebe gulps, apprehensive.
“Are you sure?”
“Positive.” Zani nods, trying to string them along—there’s too much blood on her lips from all the buildup, it’ll fall down sooner or later if she doesn’t ease her into it now, “Just try not to accidentally puncture me with your fangs—I may not be a doctor, but I’m almost one hundred percent sure that’ll make things ten times worse.”
Phoebe notices it too, she thinks, and it’s only then that she nods back, accompanied by a not-so-frightened giggle that comes out of her at Zani’s small work of an attempt to lighten the mood.
A little less anxious, a little less regretful of the past—she closes her eyes and they lean into each other in sync, falling back into a practice they’ve perfected with perfect harmony.
The kiss that isn’t supposed to be a kiss is just as Zani expects it to be; their lips mash together like puzzle pieces made to fit one another and they whine in consecutive rhythm; it’s too close for comfort, too intimately unbefitting when juxtaposed with the professional nature of their relationship—but the lack of space is a conscious decision they both chose for themselves, they can always leave this out of the report they’ll have to make later down the line.
Phoebe’s hands slowly encircle around her neck as her tongue peeks out to take her blood for herself. She’s shy, she moves a lot and her tail has to wrap around her to keep her steady as she uncertainly licks at the wound. It reminds Zani of a kitten as she pokes around at the gash, biting down every gasp that threatens to spill out from the buzzing pain accumulating around the scrape.
And It hurts, of course it hurts considering she isn’t treating the rip with medication, considering she’s letting a risk of infection fester with their saliva overlapping into one right when it’s at its most vulnerable—she’ll have to make up a good enough excuse when Rosemary questions her, she’ll have to pretend like she doesn’t know why Phoebe’s lips are swollen red when they return to the base, ignoring all the stares headed their way as they walk back to her office with her tail everstuck around Phoebe’s thigh.
Alas, her common sense can’t seem to function as it should—any thought of pushing Phoebe away from her disappears into smoke the moment she feels her suckling at her skin, her fingers jab against Phoebe’s waist as a compromise, eliciting another round of mewls as they pull each other close, messily fumbling against one another.
It’s humorous when she thinks about it, her mind drowning into white noise to distract her from the pricking sensation at her lips; the thought of them getting this close, the thought of having her eat away at her like her life depends on it because in some ways it does—she hadn’t planned for this to happen, Phoebe had just slipped by all her defenses, implanted herself somewhere deep inside her system, and made herself a home within her mind without her realizing.
It had been simple enough back then, why she chose to pick her up; a stranger with a knowledge of the enemy could turn into a valuable asset if she played her cards right enough, and a vampire as pure and as harmless as Phoebe is—someone as pure and as harmless as Phoebe was with her unceasing love for humanity and a dismay for the fact that her kind had to brutalize them to stay alive is someone that even her employers saw having more worth in to keep alive rather than dead with a stake through her lungs.
(She says was pure and not is pure because Phoebe isn’t exactly that anymore, hasn’t been the same unparalleled beacon of self-restraint she was when she first met her, not since she took her under her wing and decided to corrupt her with a taste of her own blood.
Her coworkers had called her deranged, some said she’d lost her mind and Carlotta had eyed her like she’d traded her soul away to the devil itself. But Zani had her own reasons for it—there was no precedent for a vampire to stick to just animal blood for their entire life, they’d relinquish one day even if they tried their damndest to resist the programming in their heads to find a human and suck every single last drop of blood circulating through their hearts. It was better to ground Phoebe to her before anything got worse, she’ll say this each time anyone asks her why.
Phoebe, sweet and innocent Phoebe would have to surrender to those instincts even if she didn’t want to—it’s a matter of when she’d turn and not if she could resist. Zani had decided that it was a necessity to get her addicted to the sweetness of her blood—she wanted Phoebe to get addicted to the sweetness of her blood, to make sure that she’ll be so drunk off her taste and her alone that feeding off another human’s veins will twist her insides black and blue in disgust.
If she bound herself to Phoebe, if Phoebe can only come to her for the only source of sustenance that could keep her alive, if she could be the sole person in her mind and be the reason for whatever makes up the cells coursing in her veins—she’s effectively turning herself into a chain that grounds her every move. It’ll be a win for the Ragunessi at the end of the day, she’ll just have to bear with her teeth in her neck twice a week, and who is she if not someone who chooses to bear the cross of being someone who could make sure that every blameless child can sleep in peace?
That’s one less vampire to haunt the night, that’s one more vampire to be stored in her arsenal for them to use in this telltale war. That’s all to it—there’s no other reason as to why she chose to give herself up for the cause, she’ll tell herself over and over again whenever she sees Phoebe smile at her in gratuitous thanks that’ll trigger her senses to meekly look away.
This isn’t for her, it’s not to quell the aching desire that tries to rip open the cavity inside her chest and demand her to admit that there’s another, more emotional reason that formed the basis of their tethering in the first place—it’s part of the job, it’s something she has to do to keep others safe, she’ll remind herself this over and over again until even she starts believing it herself.
Maybe she’ll never be able to believe it—but it’s still the thought that she might that counts.)
Her thoughts begins to disappear as she feels the bleeding lessen and lessen by the minute and the lack of air starts to consume them both—Phoebe’s the one to pull away, her bloodied lips a careless afterthought.
“You satisfied enough, little bat?” she asks when they part, the flow of her blood drawing to a close, saliva trail snapping in half as Phoebe licks off the excess from her lips, “Do I still taste good even when it’s a result of getting a fraction of a beating?”
Phoebe winces at her outwardness, “Sure.” she replies just as quickly, but her eyes are clouded with a negativity that doesn’t exactly reflect the positivity that comes with her answer, “Yeah, sure you do.”
Zani holds her by the cheek once again, “Don’t worry,” she says to try and soothe her down, concerningly disturbed by the lack of mirth in her amethyst eyes. Here comes another playful reassurance, she guesses, just to make sure they won’t last so long; “Your two-in-one meal ticket and get-out-of-jail card isn’t dying anytime soon.”
Phoebe blinks at her, not quite understanding the meaning behind her words.
A reshuffle, then; “Me.” she says just to make it clear for her to get the euphemism with how much confusion Phoebe’s holding within her wordless gestures, “I won’t be dying anytime soon.”
(But it’s not like it matters too much if she does, really. Phoebe’s one of those few and far in between vampires, one of the good ones who had forcefully relegated themselves to feasting away at animal remains, had chosen to willingly hunt after anything non-human for the blood before Zani came into her life and at some point offered her neck in exchange for Phoebe’s knowledge and her prowess, she’s one of those rare vampires who manages to snatch away any sort of grudge one would hold against her specifically because of her kind; her own employers are proof of it .
The Montellis are fond enough of her by this point in spite of her more-than-human lineage, she has it on good instincts that Carlotta will still like her enough to keep her around, even if one day Zani’s unfortunate enough to land her head on a stake as a warning to all and any vampire hunters that come before or will come after her.
Not as a pet or as a prisoner like all those other meager vampires housed within their basements, still waiting for repentance for all their sins against the Ragunessi and the corpses they’ve left in their wake. Phoebe’s too good for that, she’ll always be too good for any of that—but perhaps as a confidant, someone Carlotta could trust just as much as she trusts Zani herself, someone Carlotta already does trust.
It’s the least she could hope for after roping her into this kind of life, Zani guesses.)
Phoebe blinks again, now understanding the not-so-idyllic way Zani refers to herself after her immediate clarification.
“Oh.” she’s frowning, unpleased as she contests; “But you’re not just a meal ticket to me.”
Zani chuckles, “Then I guess I’m just the get-out-of-jail pass?” she jokes again, unserious in every sense of the word.
“No.” Phoebe rejects that part sternly too, choosing outright to give her a title that she sees fit despite her unprompting for one, “You’re my friend, Miss Zani.”
She’s a little bit dumbstruck by that word, friend, though she’d chalk that up to the fact that they’d just spent the past few minutes sucking each other’s faces off; “How we interact with each other is not exactly how humans would describe… friends.”
Phoebe shrugs, “Well, I’m not entirely human, so that doesn’t really apply to me.” She retorts and that is true, Zani acquiesces, but it’s not like vampires do that either—at least from what she knows. Phoebe opens her mouth again to speak, though, so that’s a question she can save for some other time; “It’s just that…”
She stops and the last end of the sentence fizzes into nothing, something else left unfinished without a conclusion. It’s not like her to do these things and Zani’s curious, she’d offer her a credit for her thoughts and so she signals her to continue; “That…?”
Phoebe sighs, looking down to focus on her fidgeting fingers.
She finishes her sentences, still; “…I’m scared that you’ll get too hurt one day and leave me alone on my own.”
Zani shakes her head, tilting her chin up so Phoebe won’t miss the sincerity in her eyes; “You won’t be alone, Phoebe.” she says to calm her down softly, an attempt to keep her worries at bay as she pats her head out of endearment and it’s another form of reassurance in itself; “There’s other hunters back in the Family who’d be more than glad to fetch you up as a companion when I’m gone.”
Like the travelling twins who’d decided to stay in Ragunna for some time now, who always liked hearing her share her thoughts on whatever new doctrine they found as they passed by shops in Ragunna’s main district, or that Captain and his little sister with the spirit living inside her suitcase—Phoebe had mentioned wanting to be friends with them, she thinks someone like her could melt their hearts when given enough time.
But it's not enough, not by Phoebe’s standards; “I don’t want anyone else.” She objects and the frown that hasn’t left is another implication that she doesn’t seem to like the sound of that, of the thought that she can switch her away for someone else so easily and it won’t leave a gaping hole that no one except her could ever fix up and fill; “I only want to be your partner, Miss Zani.”
The bold declaration sends a rush up to her ears—her tail starts to wag, softly swaying against her stomach just as it had been when they not-kissed. She has to quickly grip the appendage before Phoebe could notice her breaking composure.
There’s two meanings to the word around here and Zani knows which definition she’s referring to, the one that suggests the mutualistic nature of their relationship and not the romantic one shared between a pair of lovers that hold each other the same exact way she holds her from time to time.
It doesn’t stop her from thinking for a split second; that maybe there’s some part inside of Phoebe that would ever see her with the other meaning of the word.
Zani’s the one to look away this time, unable to look into her eyes oozing with integrity under the evening light; “…I don’t think my blood’s that delicious, Phoebe.”
“But you’re not just my blood bank.” Phoebe goes again, and it feels like she’s just dead set on making sure Zani won’t be able to sleep so peacefully today, not when she’ll spend the night repeating every single word verbatim on repeat; “I like you for who you are, Miss Zani. No one will ever be able to replace you.”
Perhaps it was all the blood rushing up her head with how flustered she’s getting, perhaps it’s an olive branch given to her by her own body for her to grasp onto before Phoebe can notice how unprepared she had been at her sudden confession that isn’t exactly one—but the gash on her lips start to bleed again, and Phoebe jumps at the sight, bloodlust heightening once more despite her trying to get off her lap just so she could drag them down to Rosemary’s before nighttime falls.
She could use this for her own good—there’s no use in moping around when there’s an advantage right within arm’s reach, she should’ve gone sooner, but some part of her doesn’t want to let go of Phoebe just yet.
“Guess I still have more to give, huh.” she mumbles, trying to make sure she sounds as nonchalant as she usually is while she licks off some of her own blood for a momentary reminiscence of how she tastes and good grief, how does Phoebe find her so delicious when she tastes so plainly dull and feverishly metallic like this? “Go on, little bat. Don’t let even a single drop go to waste.”
Whatever Phoebe wants to say in complaint evaporates into the air the instant Zani pulls her in again.
It’s a pitiful attempt at having the final word—a last-ditch effort to make sure Phoebe can’t say anything else that’ll make her want to disappear from the earth’s surface—but it works, somehow, maybe it’s the blood helping and Phoebe melts into the taste of her for the nth time, knowing it won’t be the last.
Zani can get addicted to this, she feels; to the muffled sounds she elicits whenever her tail grips to Phoebe’s thigh to inch her ever closer, to the friction they make as Phoebe moves in her lap which’ll eventually result in the throbbing between her thighs. Her plainly dull and feverishly metallic taste somehow gets ever so slightly sweeter when it’s accompanied by the shy licks of Phoebe’s tongue and it’s dizzying in all the right ways that she hadn’t even known existed in the first place.
Maybe there’s a science behind that, maybe it’s how her brethren stomachs this deeply immoral ritual, maybe there’s something in the enzymes of her saliva that coagulates her blood into something sugary that it’s worth risking death over and worth destroying the lives of the families she tries to keep safe every day and every night. She wouldn’t know, she doesn’t have the time to think about it all.
There’s nothing left to sugarcoat when she pulls away—Zani’s always liked seeing her like this; all she can see in her vision is the sight of Phoebe rosied up under the dawning light, her signature open-mouthed smile baring her fangs wide as she gulps down every last speck of blood she can give her.
“Sorry for the hassle…” the apology is the first thing that comes out of her mouth even when it’s not her fault, not when Zani was the one to give herself yet again as she always does, “…Thank you for taking care of me, Miss Zani.”
But that’s just how she is, even after all this time. The girl has always been a little too soft, has always been a little too gentle when unprompted with the potential loss of another human life and it’s a wonder she’s even survived this long off of non-human mammals alone until she started offering Phoebe her own blood to taste.
“Don’t mention it,” Zani answers, curt and simple, watching as Phoebe reaches out to her, fixing her tie that’s long gone loose from their ensuing tryst.
There’s still just a tiny bit more blood on the corner of her lips, Zani notices. She smears it onto her pointer finger without realizing and places it onto the entrance of Phoebe’s mouth, just because she can, and only retracts it after the girl dots her tongue forward, cleaning her glove stain-free.
Carlotta will ask her about it if she’s not distracted by the thought of the matriarch from the Fisalias sending gifts her way—she’s always been the only one Zani can’t quite hide anything from, she’ll ask her why she didn’t use this method instead of something so glaringly intimate reserved just for couples. Zani will just as steadily reply that it’s inefficient, that it’s better to let Phoebe tap into the source and take all of it as she pleases. It’s less trouble for them both; a win-win situation at the end of it all.
All of that is a truth, really. She wouldn’t be lying about it.
(And it’s another truth that she could get addicted to all of this, she keeps on thinking as Phoebe tidies them up without her asking—but that could be considered a lie with all the hidden facts at play and Phoebe has never been someone to like lies. Zani knows this because she’d said something once, along the lines of Imperator above pronouncing that lying was a sin; that it’s something she’s read in one of the copies of the doctrines she’d read from old scriptures that she’d find tossed away after some Sunday sermon near the Cathedral.
Zani remembers this because Phoebe had preached this so seriously that one’s first impression of her wouldn’t be that she was a religious vampire, that she was just another one of Imperator’s stunningly beautiful devotees who’d shed their freedom to pledge themselves to a life of chastity, someone she secretly knew would have made her waver in her tracks one day, if she allowed her to come close enough, if she dropped her defenses even for a single moment and she’s—
She’s getting off-track, she realizes as she’s noting down every single instance of her remembering a quirk of Phoebe’s character that people don’t normally remember in such heightened detail. None of that matters too much right now, not when the point to be made has been stated in the first place.
What matters is that the wording isn’t quite right. To say she can get addicted implies that she isn’t yet addicted—and that’s the part that ultimately could be seen as nothing but a lie. Phoebe has never liked lies, Zani reminds herself again and again—so she supposes a slight correction is due to fix it up into a truth.
Maybe, just maybe, somewhere in the deepest part of herself that she’s yet to let out, not when she’s scared of losing her because of this feeling and the fear is less out of losing a valuable asset and more out of losing someone she’s cherished so dear—it’s more truthful to say that she already is.)
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