Fickle Flame | OT7

Blood In The Air

The sky is beginning to turn a darker shade of blue as the two figures hike the remaining trail into the upper ven. By the time they reach the glade their shadows are stretching long on the ground and the first stars are starting to appear in the east. The great maple is just ahead in the center of the glade, surrounded by wildflowers of all colors. Warren glances over at his companion, his eyes taking in the small beads of perspiration on her neck. The day was warm, the heat still lingering, and will for hours into the night. He shifts his pack to his other shoulder and reaches out and takes her hand, giving it a light squeeze.

"Thanks for coming up here with me, it really means a lot having you here. I'm kind of nervous."

"You're welcome. I just want to see how ridiculous you look with the facultas." Shayne smirks and cuts her eyes at him.

The facultas is a part of the ritual of becoming a tribal leader among humans. It's a collection of symbols that imbues the wearer with strength and power, or so the elders say. The world has been in chaos for many decades, long before either of them was born, ever since the vampires came out of hiding. It didn't go over so well, for anyone- vampire or human. There was a worldwide retaliation and manhunt, or rather a vampire hunt. People, humans, came out in droves and assembled military units to massacre the 'monsters'. But, oh boy did it not go as planned. Vampires are otherworldly, pure power, and relentless in protecting themselves. It was a bloodbath in more ways than one, the human population dwindled almost instantly. They became the minority, the outcasts... the prey. Humans eventually created tribes and clans, moving about in the shadows, forever trying to escape the inevitable fate of being food. They brought it on themselves, really, their cruelty sealing their own fate.

"If I look ridiculous it will be your fault."

"Well, damn...I guess you're right," she laughs.

His hand still gripping hers, he pulls her closer and slips his arm over her shoulders. "I have faith in you, though." The heat from her body radiates under his arm, his palm resting on her bare shoulder where the flesh is slick with sweat. She slips her arm up under his pack and around his waist, her thumb tucking into the top of the side of his jeans.

As they approach the giant tree, the sun sinks below the horizon. They slip off their shoes and begin climbing the lower branches. High in the eaves of the tree is a platform with high walls that blend into the branches. Shayne is the first to approach the platform, she reaches up and pushes against the hinged door that would give them access to the platform. She lets out an exasperated sigh as the door only budges a few inches.

"This thing is heavier than I thought it would be."

"Here, let me try." Warren steps up onto the branch next to the one Shayne's on, extending his arm and gives a push against the door. His reach isn't quite long enough, the door just bouncing in place.

"You need to be closer. Here, put your foot on my branch and I'll stabilize you," she offers, holding her hands out. He places his foot between hers on the branch and leans into her, her hands move up to grab fistfuls of his shirt. He shoves the door up and it resounds with an echoing thud as it swings open against the platform. He steps back, her grip releasing from his shirt.

"Go ahead, I'll be right behind you."

She tosses her pack up through the opening then grips the edge. Pushing off from the branch she levers herself up to her waist. She struggles slightly, barely managing to finally pull her legs up. "You'd think they'd have a better way to get in here," she shakes her head with a rueful smile.

He chuckles from below. "If any of this were easy, then it wouldn't be as fun."

Once she clears the opening, he grips the edge and follows her up. She sits back and watches as he pulls himself through. Making note of the way his back muscles bunch and pull against his black tank top and how the dark hair at the nape of his neck is slightly damp, beads of sweat tracing a path down before disappearing below his neckline.