Note: Hola, mis amigos! "Mercenary" is a really short, insignificant chapter, but I'm hoping it will pave the way to a much, MUCH bigger chapter in maybe a week or two. Patience is a virtue; cultivating it will pay off big time when you see what I have in store for you, I promise! Thank you soooo much for taking the time to R/R!
Chapter Thirteen
Mercenary
Keeping to the shadows, the black-cloaked figure glided unseen through the dark streets. She cut through the warm summer air like a hot knife through butter. She knew not the discomfort brought upon the body by humidity. She didn't understand what it was to be hot, cold, wet, sticky or dry. She never had, and she had long ago accepted the fact that she never would. Once upon a time, though, when she had been but a girl, it had bothered her. She was not given the liberty to feel. She could see and smell and hear well enough, and above all else, she could taste, but her body was numb to any kind of touch, save the kind that would end her life.
Long ago, when she had been young and restless with the world, Isabella Rocio Montenga had held a passionate grudge against her father for the curse he had bestowed upon her. She had hated her mother for chosing him over suitors as grand as dukes and earls, even a prince or two. She had hated herself for being beautiful, but not allowed to associate with the young men because she didn't have a heart to give to them.
However, as the centuries wore on, Isabella learned to accept her individuality and use it to her advantage. She honed her powers and perfected the ancient deadly arts that were her father's legacy unto her. She became one with her inability to experience the sweet bliss of feelings. With no soul to call her own, she could not feel guilt, depression, anxiety or loneliness. And as the men got more and more beautiful every hundred or so years, she could easily move from one to the next without feeling heartbroken. That was another incentive; Her lovers would eventually die. Isabella would live forever. She was also one of the most inconspicuous assassins to ever walk to earth, for who would suspect such an innocent, pulchritudinous face? Being half Spanish gypsy, half vampire occasionally had its benefits.
Isabella knew quite a bit of magic, but she knew she was mostly hired for her clean kills and unrivaled ability to track down anyone in a matter of hours. Before the War had started, she had simply worked for whoever offered her the highest pay. Word of her expertise spread, and when the War began, Isabella knew she had to make a choice: Play mercenary for both sides, or choose to loyally serve one of the two dominant forces. Though she had been offered many glorious things to ensure she picked sides, it was not in Isabella's nature to be loyal to anyone; she had both of her parents to blame for that.
Maria Cortes had been a beautiful Spanish gypsy in 1632. Her tantalizing dances had called forth the attention of many interested men, from commoner to royalty. Her beauty, it was said, could rival that of any queen, whether she be Spanish, English or French. Not many knew that she was a witch, a skilled enchantress with both her body and her wand. Isabella knew that, had her mother not been blinded by such a thing as foolish as love, she could've been born a princess and have lived a normal life. Instead, Maria chose an immortal man to father her only daughter.
Alfonse Montenga had fallen victim to an unfortunate accident some two hundred years previous and was cursed to spend the rest of eternity as a vampire. Love, as it is a beautiful thing, was alien to him. Lust, however, was a different story. Upon hearing tales of Maria's incomparable magnificence, he had sought her out and won her heart. When word of their affair slipped to Maria's father, the man had been furious and had lashed out at Alfonse with the only thing in his reach; a wooden steak. Maria was shocked and ashamed to find, all too late, what her lover really was. The embarrassment was multiplied when her bastard child was born with albino skin and crimson eyes. Maria and her infant daughter were banished from the caravan. Prostitution kept bread on the table and a leaky roof over their head for sixteen years, until Maria fell ill with a terrible disease. A year later, Isabella was an orphan with no one to turn to. Until one day...
A black-cloaked man had come to her, saying he had known her father. Intrigued, Isabella went along with him as he asked. Her mother had always ignored her questions about her sire, and Isabella was more than curious about the man who had given her white skin and red eyes. And perhaps this man would have answers to her questions, like why she constantly had to prick herself to quench her seemingly insatiable thirst for blood and why she felt so uncomfortable in the sunlight. Imagine her surprise when her father's closest friend, a man with a thick, unfamiliar accent who called himself Dracula, told Isabella that she was only half human.
Isabella cast those thoughts far from her mind. She had a job to do, and now was no time for reminiscing. Being only half vampire, Isabella was not given the ability to shape shift into a bat, but she had been graced with wings. Springing into the night sky, she stretched out her arms and, with a sickening rip of surrendering flesh, felt her leathery wings unfold and bear her upon the summer breeze, off into the distance as she followed Luna's scent.
~*~*~*~*~
Ron felt cold; cold and empty. Groaning, he pulled his weary body to his knees; instantly, the world began to swim before his eyes. It took him a moment to steady himself and stop his vision from spinning. He leaned down and braced his hand against the unforgiving stone floor, but his grip slipped and he crashed down to the ground again, his side stinging with pain when he hit. He felt warm, sticky liquid on his bare torso; confused, he ran his hands through it and peered at it through the blackness. The scarlet glimmer of his own blood shimmered in his eyes as it dripped down his fingertips. It was then that he felt the throbbing in his neck. His bloody hand went to nurse the pain, and when it did, it encountered two half-healed holes. Ron winced when he touched them and remembered; Luna leaving, him chasing her down, missing the train, running to Isabella...
Suddenly scared, he bit his tongue against the pain and probed the wounds. He let out a huge sigh of relief when he felt his vein a few centimeters below them. Isabella had done as he had asked; taken her share of blood and gone. He was at no risk to become one of her kind.
Dizzy from loss of blood, he slowly rose to wobbly feet. Isabella was nowhere to be seen, so Ron assumed she had left to find Luna. Lightheaded, he pulled his shirt on, swiped away the drying blood on his neck, and stumbled out of the dark room. Outside in the alley, dawn was breaking over the rooftops. As he took in a deep breath of the crisp morning air, feeling his head clear as he did. Thinking somewhat straight again, Ron felt a sudden pang of instinct in his stomach. Something wasn't right. He wasn't sure what, but he knew he had to get to Luna before Isabella did. Fully awake now, Ron broke out into a run, the hilt of his sword bouncing along beside him, a constant reminder that he didn't have time to let his personal wants interfere with his job. For the first time in his life, though, Ron found that he didn't care.
He rounded a corner and came to another door. Impatiently, he pounded on it until the doorknob turned. A drowsy young man in his nightshirt stood in the doorway. He blinked a few times at Ron, and then his eyes snapped open in recognition.
"Ronald Weasley," He stammered in a lilting Scottish accent, his face burning red at being caught by such a prestigious figure in the War while he was in his pajamas. "How can I help ye?"
"I need a broom, William. The fastest you've got. And I need it now." Ron said, glancing around him anxiously to make sure there were no eavesdroppers. William didn't miss the urgency in his superior's voice.
"Aye, I've got what ye need. Come, come inside and I'll get her for ye. Won't be but a minute."
"I don't have a minute," Ron said as he followed the younger man inside. He didn't know how far ahead Isabella was, but he knew he needed to catch her as quickly as he could. He had to get to Luna.
~*~*~*~*~
Two hundred and fifty miles away, Luna leaned against an evergreen pine tree, watching as the sun set below the gigantic treetops. She knew these mountains were nothing compared to what lay ahead of her; even now, she could see their faint outlines in the distance, calling her, taunting her. Remembering her.
A cold wind blew past her, and she gripped her cloak tighter around her slender body. Earlier the previous morning, she had awoken in a cold sweat. Terrified, she had drawn her sword and was ready to fight before she realized she had been jarred out of sleep from the stopping of the train. As she calmed her body down, she had realized that something wasn't right. She sensed that she was caught in the middle of a deadly trap; death was lurking in those snow-capped mountains, and yet, she felt as though something was coming towards her from the other end.
She had spent today hiking the invisible trail that would lead her back to Damien's base, looking over her shoulder every so often. She made sure the winds reported to her on the hour, but they had no news for their mistress. Luna had shrugged the feeling off, figuring it was just her gut anticipating what lay ahead of her. Now, however, she was certain it was more than that. The wind carried no information, but her woman's intuition told her otherwise. Something was going on, and the cards weren't stacked in her favor.
Luna maneuvered so that her back was to the tree, enabling her to see what was going on on either side of her. She felt the weight of her blade as it hung against her left thigh, and her wand dangled against her right hip, in perfect reach of her left hand when she went to grab it. All she could do now was wait...wait and wait and wait until it came. It wouldn't be long now.