Shades of Gold

Title : Shades of Gold

Author : Marie Noire

Fandom : Anita Blake Vampire Hunter

Characters : Asher/Julianna

Rating : R

Author's Notes : Building on a shaky foundation, since LKH has told us next to nothing about Asher and Julianna except that they obviously loved each other very much. All we know about Julianna is a basic dossier on her appearance and that she liked to sew. I'm taking that quite a bit further. So, yes, there's a LOT of artistic license here.

Disclaimer : I don't own them! Laurell K. Hamilton does!

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All day, she'd been waiting in rapt silence, making absolutely certain that neither the Mother Superior nor any of her fellow postulates had any reason to so much as bat an eyelash at her. She had paid proper attention to her morning prayers, did her chores without a single complaint, and even managed to feign focus on Evening Mass. All in preparation for this night.

Now it was full dark and not a soul in the crumbling old convent stirred except for herself and the old tomcat that served as their mouser. He stopped in his pursuit of rodents just long enough for his eyes to flash the light of her torch. However, being a cat, he had better things to do than follow a silly human.

Clutching a small bundle to her chest, she stole off into the surrounding woods, her dark cloak trailing after her. With her dark hair and clothes, she was nearly invisible, but the moonlight glinted off of her pale skin, her white hands gleaming against the cloth-wrapped bundle.

Deep into the forest she ventured, swift and silent as a young fox. Only when she came to a small clearing did she stop. A cold fire-pit graced the treeless clearing, five stones arranged in a circle, each five feet out from the center. Upon this, she set to work, placing candles at each stone and starting a fire in the circle. Red, blue, yellow, green, white... one for each element and one for spirit. Within minutes, everything was ready. A handful of sweet smelling herbs in each hand, she walked in a circle, sprinkling the bits of dried flowers and leaves on each burning candle, chanting softly.

Her circle complete, she began to dance.

Never had she felt more alive than on this night, her senses so acute, her power swelling so that she could barely keep herself within her skin. With her circle closed, she tossed the remaining herbs on the fire, which smoked and crackled, the scent spreading outward. Softly, she began to chant, a song that her mother and her grandmother had passed down to her. Postulate nun or not, she was first and foremost a greenwitch. The women of her family came from ancient Celts and druids and even in these dark times, these Burning Times, she practiced her Craft carefully. A greenwitch was a healer and nurturer, a protector of animals and plants and whatever else she loved. It was this very nature, a departure from the love spells and curses and hexes that marked other kinds of witches for the stake, that had kept her very Catholic father from suspecting both wife and daughter of black magick. Still, he'd agreed to give her to the Church in order to allay the suspicions of others.

So, she kept her witchcraft, her intuition, even her better nature under a wimple and habit. She restricted any outward sign to herbal knowledge. Her sabbats were limited only to holidays, which luckily coincided with many Catholic occasions; Christ's Mass and Yule, Easter and Oestra, All Saint's Eve and Samhain.

Midsummer Night's Eve was more difficult, as it did not have a Catholic echo. But she'd managed and now she was dancing around her fire in her witch's circle with growing abandon. She threw off her cloak and outer gown without even thinking, dancing in only her white shift. Twirling and leaping, she raised her hands above her head and closed her eyes, using only the heat of the fire to guide her steps. Her young voice sang through the trees, her chant abandoned in favour of a wordless melody.

Suddenly, her skin prickled, as though a million tiny fingers had all tapped her at once. She swirled around, eyes open wide towards the darkest part of the forest. Before her dazzled eyes stood a vision the likes of which she had never known.

He was tall and silent as a ghost, moonlight glinting off of his pale eyes. That was as much detail as she got of his eyes, pulling her own gaze away quickly. Given the night, he could well be faerie... and mortals would do well to be wary of any unknown being. Instead, she took in other details. He was pale-skinned, his flesh so white that it gleamed, not a single hint of blush to his cheeks or lips. His clothes were dark, blending in with the shadows, obscuring his outline. And his hair, his hair was a deep golden blonde that caught the light like molten metal.

"Good evening, mademoiselle." He finally said in a voice as rich as his hair and accented lightly with French.

"Good evening," she replied, straightening her posture. "Who might you be, sir, to sneak up upon me in such a way?" It was bold, questioning him this way... but he was obviously no ordinary creature.

He gave a small bow. "I might ask what a pretty thing like you is doing in the woods in the middle of the night, ma petite Catholique." He chuckled. The sound made her spine tremble.

"I was first to inquire, sir." She prompted him.

"I own these woods and the manor due West." He said smoothly, drawing closer.

"The Red Stag?" she frowned. Last she had known, that manor had been long abandoned and was believed to be haunted.

"Indeed. And now it is your turn." He nodded, the movement causing several locks of his hair to slither over his shoulder.

"I am... a postulate. From the convent nearby." She whispered. He had not said his name and she would not say hers.

"It is my understanding that postulate nuns do not generally prance half-naked around a fire on Midsummer Night's Eve." He smiled, teeth gleaming.

Her breath caught and she froze, actually feeling the blood drain from her face. How foolish could she possibly be! She should have fled the second she saw him! He would reveal all and if she somehow managed to avoid the stake, the Mother Superior would beat her half to death and turn her out!

When she had no reply, he tilted his head at her, perhaps sensing her discomfort. The golden hair once more flowed as though it were made of some material far denser than regular hair. This curiously human gesture made her relax ever so slightly. She took a deep, calming breath, centering herself once more. Mild but just a touch defiant, she looked up at him, daring to meet his eyes.

"Perhaps not most nuns, sir. But I am not most nuns." She said evenly. His eyes were not merely pale as she'd first thought. They were the blue colour of shadows on ice in deep winter. The contrast of his frozen eyes and rich, warm hair was startling, even breath-taking. However, achingly handsome though he was, even with the trickle of his power over her skin, she was safe within the confines of her circle.

And they both knew it.

He smiled, very slightly. "I can see that, mam'selle. I did not, for one moment, think you were ordinary, ma petite sorciere." He bowed low.

Her cheeks flushed at his title for her. His little witch. That term, which could be so accusing on anyone else's lips, was warm and even affectionate on his.

"Do you... what is your name?" she asked when he straightened, still smiling in his eyes.

"Alors, we have not been properly introduced. Forgive my bad manners, mam'selle. I am called Asher."

"You keep calling me that... mam'selle, I mean. You are French?" she asked, charmed by his suddenly cordial manner.

"Oui. I came from Paris." He nodded. "But you have not yet told me your name."

"Oh, of course!" she exclaimed, blushing again. "I am Julianna... of Huntingdon Woods."

"Julianna." He said, as though tasting the name and finding it delicious. "Given your activities, am I correct in thinking that you are... a witch?" At her suddenly bloodless expression, he raised his hands. "I assure you, I am no magistrate. I have my own secrets. I only ask because..." he grew quiet, considering. "I can feel it on you... a power... that I have not felt before."

She swallowed tightly and nodded. "Yes. I am a greenwitch. But how can you feel my power?"

"A greenwitch..." he mused. "I have not met a greenwitch before. That may be why it feels so different to me." He leaned closer, smiling once more, but playfully. "How do you think I felt it? You felt me, did you not?"

"You're not human." She said bluntly, squaring her shoulders as though guarding against an attack.

"Quite correct."

"Are you... faerie?"

He threw back his head and laughed, the sound rich and vibrant, tugging as something deep inside of her that she was not sure she liked being tugged. "Non, ma petite sorciere. I am not a faerie."

She crossed her arms, vaguely angry at being laughed at and by the effect that laughter had on her. "Well then what are you?"

He stopped laughing, though his strange, pale eyes gleamed. "I am...mmm... what is the English word? Nosferatu... vampire..."

"Vampire." She said, pronouncing the word in English whereas he had spoken it in French. One hand strayed to her throat, the other went to her pentacle necklace. "No, you cannot be. If you were a vampire, this would be glowing. All religious symbols repel the undead if there is faith."

He nodded. "True. And if I meant you harm and you were calling upon your Goddess to protect you via that little star, it would burn. But I do not mean you harm and you are not depending on it for protection."

Well, that did make sense.

"How can I trust you on that? You are not a new vampire... you are a master. I can feel it." She asked, gauging the prickle over her skin.

"I am a master, oui... though only just. I have not been a master for very long." He admitted, moving to sit on the ground with his legs folded neatly, looking up at her. Sensing that he was trying to appear less intimidating for her sake, she sat as well, each of them as close to the barrier of her circle as possible.

"What is it you want, Asher?" she asked. "Why have you come to me?"

"I found you by chance." He shrugged elegantly. "The manor is nearby and I was out here to... hunt." He had the grace to look sheepish.

"You said you would not harm me." She reminded him sharply.

"And so I will not. Vampires do not have to kill when we feed for the most part. Our chosen victims often do not even remember ever being drunk from. We can bend the mind and body to enthrall them." He explained.

"How is that not harm?" she asked, touching her neck where her pulse lay fluttering.

"It can be made not to hurt and some vampires, like myself, can even make it pleasurable." He explained.

"If you are trying to convince me, it is not working." She replied.

Again, he tilted his head at her and the image of a curious bird flitted through her mind's eye. "I am trying to convince you of nothing, ma petite sorciere. I am merely stating fact."

"You said you were here to hunt. Am I your prey?" she asked point blank, tiring of this game that she didn't know the rules to.

Her bold question seemed to make him consider, for he bowed his head slightly, his eyes fixed firmly on her throat. "I would be lying if I said I do not want to taste your blood." He said at length, his voice as low and soft as the banked fire. "Yet, 'prey' is not quite the word for it." He stood in one swift motion, coming to stand at the very edge of her circle, hand raised as though to touch the invisible barrier. "You are safe from me in your circle. I cannot cross it." He whispered almost mournfully. "Unless you invite me."

"Why would I invite you?" she asked, biting back a warning for him not to get so close. She didn't know what might happen to him, but she knew it would not be pleasant.

"Precisely my point." He sighed deeply. "Why would you invite a monster in?"

"You are not a monster." She said automatically.

He looked into her eyes, their gazes meeting steadily as she refused to look away. There was a slight pull to his gaze, but she did not feel the need to do whatever he said. "Not a monster..." he echoed. "Then why not let me in?"

"Because I do not know your intentions. You are a hungry vampire and I am but a human." She replied matter-of-factly.

He smiled slightly and although she looked for fangs, she could not see them. "You are not a mere mortal, Julianna. You are a witch and, as such, you have some natural immunity to me."

Her skin warmed in response to the sound of her name. "Some, so you say. That will not stop you if you choose to overtake me. Witch or not, I am no match for a master vampire."

"You are for this one." He said simply.

She swallowed. "And what's to stop you from coming in here and killing me, or worse, if I invite you in?"

"Your star, for one." He said, gesturing at her necklace. "It will burn me if I touch it... and I cannot capture you and make you remove it."

That sounded so reasonable. And she did believe him. Not because of his handsome, earnest face or his sincere eyes... but because of the gentle vibrations of his power that flared and dissipated likes waves. If he were trying to be underhanded, it would be more obvious, she thought.

"I invite you in, Asher." She said slowly at last, her expression soft.

His pensive expression gave way to one of gentle wonder. "Do you truly? You trust me enough?" he asked, his voice no more than a whisper.

She nodded. "I do. It is probably foolish of me... but I do trust you." She extended her hand to him, so no mistake would be made. "Come to me, Asher."

Asher closed his ice blue eyes and, for a moment, seemed to breathe in the night around him. Tentative, he touched his fingertips to hers and she gasped at the trill of power that played over them both, hers mingling with his in mutual curiosity.

In a slow movement, like a cautious cat, he stepped over her border of herbs and song, joining her in the circle. The fire flared to life gently and she soon found herself face to face with this most beautiful of males. Up close, his eyes were even more stunning, glimmering like blue opals at her. His long hair hung past his shoulders in waves of spun gold. Two large, pale hands grasped her shoulders and she took a hold of his wrists instinctively, though whether to fend him off or hold him in place, she was not certain.

"What are you doing?" she asked warily.

He smiled, fangs now visible. "It is Midsummer Night's Eve... 'tis a night for dancing, is it not?"

"Yes..." she nodded, relaxing a little. "But there is no music."

"You should know that no foolish instrument is needed, ma petite sorciere. The wind and the crickets and the stars are enough." He said, drawing closer, guiding her hands to slip around his neck. "Just move with me... I would have you in my arms if but for a moment."

"Perhaps... more than a moment." She finally smiled back shyly, starting to dance along with him, allowing him to lead her. His embrace was strong and oddly comforting despite the coolness of his skin. Gradually, she drew closer, resting her head on his chest, her feet barely moving as they simply swayed together.

She almost didn't register the sharp pain of fangs piercing her neck; yet even when she did realize what he was doing, she didn't struggle. Pleasure coursed through her young body, heavy and liquid, filling her. She sighed softly, a small moan in her throat, her hands stroking through his golden hair with gentle encouragement.

He pulled back slowly, his eyes wide though his expression was one of tenderness. He seemed unable to speak for the moment and so he leaned in, licking the last drops of blood from her skin. "So sweet..." he whispered, his voice so warm it was all but a physical caress. "Any other would try to fend me off... or smother me closer out of pleasure. You... simply caressed me."

"Is that... good?" she asked, still shaking slightly.

"Oui, ma petite sorciere." He answered, pressing his brow against hers. His skin was warm now, his face flushed with her heat, yet she did not feel cold herself. She clung to him gently, breathing in, savouring the scent of the forest, the fire... and him.

"Dawn is drawing near, Julianna." He whispered into her hair, regret plain in his voice.

"Yes." She nodded in disappointment. "If I have not been missed already, I soon will be." Yet she made no move to leave the safety of his arms.

"And I must seek my retreat from the day." He nodded, pulling back to look at her, his pale eyes filled with longing. "I want to see you again."

She smiled, tears of happiness stinging her eyes, though she had no idea why she would feel so uplifted by that simple statement. "Do you? I wish to see you again as well."

"Then meet me here tomorrow night." He suggested, his tone slightly pleading. "Slip away as you did this night."

She nodded. "I shall try. If anyone noticed that I was missing tonight..." she drifted off, then shook her head. "I will be here if I can, Asher. I promise."

"I will wait for you." He nodded, leaning in and brushing his lips over hers. "For as long as it takes for you to return to me."

She caught her breath, fingers tracing over his exquisite face. "I will come back, I promise." She whispered, lips tingling from that feather-light touch. On impulse, she leaned up, kissing him back, not willing to let him go just yet. It was the first time she'd ever kissed another and her heart thundered in joy, her entire being swelling up with adoration for this beautiful creature, she'd only just met. In response, he gave a low groan, parting her soft lips with his tongue and feasting on her sweetness with a passion that rivaled his feeding of earlier.

When they parted, it was with panting breath and acute reluctance. "Until the night." He breathed in her ear before disappearing as though he'd never been, the only proof left being the vibrating tingle shimmering throughout her body and the warmth of his kiss.

As quickly as she could, she gathered her things and doused the fire, fleeing back to the convent as swift as her legs could carry her. All the while, her mind was whirling. A vampire... she had allowed a vampire to feed from her. She had allowed him to kiss her and she had kissed him! Utter foolishness, and yet... and yet... how could she possibly resist him? His beauty, his passion... his gentleness. Had he meant to harm her or use her, she felt certain she would have known. Granted, vampires were reputed to be able to make a mortal doubt their own mind and senses, but she did not feel violated in the least. She felt she could gladly give herself over to his embrace if he so asked.

Perhaps it was vampire magick or the like... but something deep inside of her knew that he was as powerless against this as she was.