Roswell Fanatics

Disclaimer: Roswell does not belong to me, nor do the ideas pertaining to Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Angel, Laurell K. Hamilton's Anita Blake novels, or Christine Feehan's Dark Series.




Author’s Note: Little Extras is a collection of ficlets related to Little Slayer and the forthcoming Little Vampire. They will be updated only on the Repost Board as per my agreement with Kath. These tag fics are glimpses into our characters’ pasts, and the postings may be rearranged as I write them to go in chronological order. So far only three have been written, but two are in the planning stages. The ratings may vary from CHILD to MATURE depending on who is being portrayed, the vampires being more violent and sexual than the humans. Also, I would like to note that the fabulous banner was done by qt4167013.

Collection of fics:
Khivar fic- title undecided, unwritten
Little Mistress- Tess fic, rated MATURE, complete
Little Knight- Max fic, rated MATURE, unwritten
Little Squire- Nicholas fic, rated MATURE, unwritten
Little Watcher- Valenti fic, rated YTEEN, unwritten
Little Victim- Vanessa fic, rated TEEN, unwritten
Little Twins- Alex and Isabel fic, rated CHILD, unwritten
Little Siren- Maria fic, rated CHILD, unwritten
Little Cowboy- Kyle fic, rated YTEEN, unwritten
Little Werewolf- Michael fic, rated TEEN, complete
Little Chosen One- Liz fic, rated CHILD, complete

Khivar

Little Mistress

Tess watched the knights from beneath her hooded cloak, her blue eyes captivated by one particular knight. He was young and beautiful, his hair a raven black that brushed his broad shoulder, and eyes the color of a sunset. She wondered what it would be like to have that beauty for eternity.

The year was 1190, and King Richard the Lionheart had managed to rally all noble-minded men, and those who could not buy their way out, to him to fight the heretic Moors and reclaim the Holy Land from Saladin. In her mind, it was a fool’s quest.

Saladin was Khivar’s puppet, and this Crusade was nothing more than a game to her sire. He loved to see the death and destruction, the blood drenching the sandy plains on which the battles were fought. She had to concede that she found it a beautiful sight as well. Tess had always been able to feel the madness of the campaigns above her when she slept beneath the blood-soaked ground to hide from the beating sun. When she awoke among the bodies with her fellow vampires, it was a feast.

But would she one day she this beautiful man lying on those fields? Would she see him without his arms? Would she feed off his bloodied corpse?

Tess decided she would not. In a time such as the one she was now living, beauty was something she held too dear to her to be wasted. She would keep the young knight by her side for eternity. After all, had not Khivar promised her a new plaything? A smile drew across her lips, revealing her fangs for only an instant before she rose from the table and walked away from the tavern.

The stable nearby smelled of hay and equine discharge, a stench that was repulsive to her delicate nose. The horses reacted to her presence with panic, stamping and whinnying so much that the stable lad woke from his position in a hay bale. She smiled, creeping up behind him in the shadows and implanting a suggestion in his mind, and then she led the entranced man to an alley to wait for her prey.

It was not a long wait. Her quarry walked out with the other knights, though he seemed the only sober one of the company, and was also the only man not lured into the next tavern by buxom wenches holding mugs of ale.

Her smile grew as she triggered the thought of attack in the stable lad and struggled with him briefly, careful not to use her full strength, allowing herself to become disheveled before she screamed for help. It was only a moment before her knight reacted as she knew he would.

He had seemed young in the tavern surrounded by drunk, battle-tested knights, but she saw now he was even younger than she had suspected. It looked as though he had just won his shield, and the ideals of chivalry and righteous causes still ran strong in him. Obviously he had not had the experience to show him that just causes did not exist in the world.

He dispatched the harmless stable boy with a sword hilt to the back of his head, and then helped Tess up courteously. “Are you injured at all, my lady?” he inquired. He spoke English, but with enough of an accent that she knew he was of Norman descent, but no noble.

“Nay, kind sir,” she assured him, coyly staring up at him. She had discarded her cloak before the assault, and had made sure that her coif came askew so that her blond curls brushed her milk white shoulders. She forced some fake tears to well in her eyes as she clung to him. “I am just a little faint.” She glanced at the boy and affected a shudder. “What a horrible man,” she commented.

“Come my lady,” the knight said, escorting her toward the tavern he had just exited, “We must make sure you are well. What business could such a gentle lady have wandering around at night?” he inquired as they entered the still noisy main room.

“I fear I am not quite the lady you perceive me to be Sir…” she trailed off prompting him for his name.

“Maxwell Evans,” he supplied, “And what do you mean? It is obvious you were gently bred.”

Evans, she mused, a fine Saxon name. His mother must have married one. “Born, Sir Maxwell,” she replied, “But not bred.”

“Tess!” A laughing woman, her breasts spilling out of the top of her dress as one of Maxwell’s drunken companions slobbered on her, leaned toward the vampire. “Have you finished your night’s work then? Would you care to join us?”

“No thank you, Agnes,” Tess responded, masking her distaste of the human she had pretended to befriend.

Agnes caught sight of Maxwell and grinned. “Perhaps not finished yet, then.” She moved toward Tess’ chosen prey, and the blonde repressed a warning hiss. “If you’d prefer a real woman just ask for Agnes, Sir Knight, I know how to please a man.” She gave him a lascivious smile and then led the inebriated man upstairs where there were rooms suitable to her purpose.

Tess clenched her fists at the wench’s tone. She had been her Master’s mistress for a century and knew more ways to pleasure a man then any tavern slut. Maxwell was staring at her now, and Tess made herself relax, bringing an embarrassed flush to her smooth cheeks and breathing more deeply so that her breasts strained against the neckline of her kirtle.

“I am Tess Harding,” she proclaimed, holding out a hand, “whore by profession.” She said it bluntly, knowing it would fluster him; he was such a green knight.

And it did, she could sense his discomfort as he took her hand and pressed a courtly kiss to the back of it. “It is an honor to meet you, Lady Tess.”

She smiled at him and gave a little laugh. It amused her that he would still treat her as a lady when she had just told she was the complete opposite. She would have great fun with this one. “You must allow me to repay you, Sir Maxwell,” she suggested, leaning into him.

His heart was beating faster. Tess could sense the increased flow of his blood just beneath his delectable skin. Her tongue darted out in anticipation. “Oh, I couldn’t,” he protested, nervous.

“Please,” she laid a hand on his arm and he looked into her bright blue eyes, “You must allow me to repay you.” She put enough insistence in her voice that he would think it was his choice when he awoke in the morning, but she had managed to capture his mind. At his nod of acquiescence, she stood and he followed her.

He had not had a lot of experience she realized as he fumbled with the stays of her bodice. Well, she would have centuries to teach him. Tess pushed his hands away and swiftly untied the restrictive garment herself, then she stripped off her kirtle and turned to him, naked. Maxwell was trying to avert his eyes. Tess moved to him, kissing the large pulse in his neck. She heard his swift intake of breath and looked up at him.

“May I?” she asked softly, her small hands unbuckling his broadsword. He nodded, watching her as she laid the sword aside and reached for his tunic, her cold hands on his warm stomach as she slid the shirt off. He was perfection. Tess pressed a kiss to the skin above his heart as she ran her nails up his back and her palms across his muscled abdomen, letting them drift downward to his breeches.

She led him to the bed in the small room she had bought a week ago, and then their bodies spoke to each other. Tess gasped at the rush that went through her body as he thrust into her. The beast within her began to clamor, begging for his blood as well as his body. She waited until he had gone rigid with release before striking. His cry of pained surprise mixed with the pleasure of their joining and she held him fast, using her superior strength to keep him from struggling away.

She fed off his young, fresh blood until he weakened, his body going limp, and then she rolled him off of her. Staring down at him she tore her wrist with one of her fangs and forced the viscous fluid of her blood down his throat. The connection roared between them almost instantly and Tess blocked it from both sides. She did not need to know his thoughts, and he would not accept hers.

Tess, where are you pet? The voice, old and powerful, echoed in her head.

I am here Master, she replied eagerly, as she wrapped a strip of cloth around her bitten wrist. Khivar would lick it closed when she returned to him.

Dawn approaches my pet, her master informed her, come home to me.

Yes, she hissed. The abruptness with which Khivar’s mind left hers made her feel bereft, but she shook it off, used to the sensation. She slid off the bed and began gathering her clothes. Her human toy shifted on the bed, his gorgeous eyes fluttering open.

“Tess?” he murmured.

She gave him a smile, kissing his mouth. “I will find you again,” she assured him, “Sleep now Maxwell.” The suggestion took hold immediately and his eyes closed. Tess licked her lips, his blood still lingering in her rosebud mouth. A light snore issued from his own, and the vampire stroked his raven head tenderly before she dissolved into mist and streamed out of the tavern.

Her first servant. Tess found an air current and zipped along it. Her master was not too far. She would reach his side before dawn and inform him of her plans for Maxwell. It would be good to have another companion other than Khivar and his mindless minions. Not that she minded Khivar, he was just so powerful and industrious. His plans of war and devastation took up most of his time. Tess had taken this time away to remind him that she had priorities too, and they didn’t have to include him.

It appeared to have worked, for as she rematerialized by his side, he immediately began to feed upon her mouth. He broke away quickly, his black eyes angry. “You taste of another man.”

She cuddled into him. “You did promise me my own pet,” she reminded him, “I just found him sooner rather than later.” He swept her into his arms and took her below the earth to their resting place. “Tell me how your plans go Master.”

“First tell me of my new servant,” he countered, laying her down. Dawn was coming faster now, Tess could feel the vile sun pressing on her.

“He is my servant,” she corrected instantly, tone sharp, “And he is an English knight.”

Khivar swore, “You would bring an Infidel into my court?”

She laughed, “You forget my background, Master. Was I not also once an Infidel?” He grumbled, turning away from her. “Come Master,” she coaxed, “Tell me of the Lionheart.”

“Salah al-Din Yusuf ibn Ayyub will do what is required of him,” Khivar said, “Malik Ric will not win Jerusalem easily.” Her master laughed heartily. “Allah Tess, we will keep this Crusade of the English going until every last one of the dogs is dead.”

She frowned at his use of God’s name. But Khivar had no fear of the Saracen’s holy Allah. He had no fear of anything. “Does it matter if the English aren’t the only ones to die?” she inquired slyly.

The sun broke out far above them, and the breath and life was stolen from their forms before he could reply. The two soulless ones lay as if dead beneath the earth, waiting in a dreamless state for the next moon to rise.

When it did, Tess rose hungry and left the bed in search of food. She found it in a serving wench outside Khivar’s tent. She tossed the body aside, drained off blood, and entered to find her master sitting at a table. He was older and thus able to rise before her. He never waited. “Master, I am going to my servant now,” she told him, “I must make the second exchange.”

“Maxwell will not be where you left him my pet,” Khivar replied, looking at her with an amused expression. She hesitated and stared at him, the demand obvious in her blue eyes. “You were once mine as he is yours, that makes him mine as well. I traced your thoughts to your knight’s. A very interesting pet, Tess. I find it highly entertaining that you would turn so pure a soul.” He rose and came to her, laying one brown hand along her white cheek. “I have taught you well, I fear you will not need me any more.”

“Perhaps I will not,” she said agreeably, “Now tell me where Maxwell is.”

“Can you not find him yourself?” Khivar inquired. His tone was mild, but she could sense the bite behind it.

“I do not have your delicate touch Master, he would be aware of my intrusion.” She met her master’s eyes. “I have no wish to let him know his fate before he has turned.”

“He has been called to Malik Ric’s camp, to fight among such legends as Sir Robert of Locksley and Sir Hugh of Ravenskeep and even the mighty King Richard.” He gave a derisive laugh. “They will all have their heads handed to them on a platter.”

Tess pursed her lips. “May I go now Master?”

“Yes, Tess,” he said, “Go to your pet. But be careful, there is a Slayer nearby. I would not wan to lose you before I am ready to.”

She dropped him a mocking curtsey and then took to the wind, reveling in the night air. Her relationship with Khivar was complicated, but she did not know how she would live once free of his grasp. Mayhap she would travel to Spain or France and create havoc there. Or she could go back to England and away from this ‘Holy Land’. Yes, it would be good to sleep in her own soil again.

The screams and the smell of smoke caught her and she dropped to the ground. The English were burning a village. Tess wandered through it, keeping to the shadows. She watched as knights raped young village girls, as old men were put under the sword, as running children were caught and thrown into burning buildings. The violence was beautiful.

Her body started humming with awareness and she knew Maxwell was nearby. “Stop!” She heard the shout and slid into a deep shadow, watching as a young woman came tearing by only to be stopped as a burning home fell in her path. Maxwell came running around the corner, his body covered in chain mail. Tess licked her lips in anticipation as she watched the two.

The girl brought up her hands, seeming determined to fight, but Maxwell held up both his hands, his sword still at his waist. “I don’t know if you can understand me,” he said, his voice even, “But you can’t go that way. If you travel that way,” he pointed past him, the way they had come, “There aren’t any soldiers. You’ll be able to get out safely.”

Her eyes narrowed, but she sprinted past the knight, looking back only once. Maxwell sighed and put his hands down. Tess read his weariness and discovered his intentions to head back to camp. He was feeling ill at all that his fellow knights were doing to these innocents. The vampire frowned and traveled unseen behind her chosen one. He was so good, but all that would change. Soon enough he would revel in the corruption around him. She could hardly wait.

Tess moved past him and went to wait on the pallet in his small tent. She heard him speaking lowly to someone outside. The young voice that responded told Tess that he was speaking to his squire. There was a clang of metal as the squire helped him out of his mail. “I’ll get this polished and your horse prepared for the battle tomorrow Master Evans.”

“Thank you Nicholas, I’ll retire now.”

“Yes sir!”

The tent flap opened and Maxwell entered. “He seems eager,” she commented dryly.

Her eyes, long adjusted to the night, saw him place a hand on the hilt of his sword. “Identify yourself!”

“It’s Tess,” she replied calmly.

“Tess?” He sounded incredulous.

“Have you forgotten me already?” Amusement colored her tone. She sensed the blood rush to his face.

“No, of course not,” he said hastily, “I was just surprised. What are you doing here?”

“I haven’t finished repaying you yet.” She rose from the pallet and went to him, kissing him deeply. She sensed his blood rush from his face to his manhood. Breaking the kiss, she led him back to his bed.

“But, Tess…”

“Hush,” she scolded, “You go into battle tomorrow, let me give you this night of pleasure.” She pushed him down and straddled his waist, her hands sliding under his white tunic. “Let me make you remember me,” she purred. He rose on his elbows and captured her lips with his own.

“I will never forget you,” he murmured against her mouth.

She grinned and let their connection open, flooding his mind so that he couldn’t think. She tore her lips from his and vanished their clothing, bringing his hot skin in contact with her cool flesh. Tess rode him hard and fast, eager for completion. She scraped her teeth over the big pulse in his neck, her tongue licking over the scar she had left, and then she bit down.

Ecstasy washed over her as his blood trickled down her throat. Maxwell threw back his head and screamed. She bit her tongue and thrust it into his mouth, making him swallow the scream and her blood. Their second exchange was complete, and Tess felt the ties between them binding each closer.

“Master!” The squire’s voice was frantic and he ran into the tent, the candlelight illuminating the scene on the knight’s pallet. Nude, Tess still had a leg on either side of Maxwell’s naked body, blood running down her throat from her mouth. She stared at the boy. “Demon!” he yelled, and ran.

Tess gave chase, pinning him to the ground beneath her. She placed a hand over his mouth to keep him quiet and concealed their forms from discovery. “Hush Nicholas,” she ordered him.

He bit her hand and she squirmed above him. Male as he was, she felt him harden as the action made her breasts jiggle. “Demon,” he spat, “What have you done to my master?”

“I’m making him immortal, Nicholas,” she whispered, pressing her self against him, “Would you like to be immortal too? Would you like to never fear death?” His eyes, wide and scared, took on a gleam. Tess knew what words to use. He was not like Maxwell. This Nicholas was impure, he would take advantage of the situation. “Would you like to be by my side for eternity?” she cooed, kissing his neck.

“Yes,” he hissed, “Yes, please.”

She grinned and bit him gently. Khivar would be pleased with another minion, he had killed one just a few weeks ago, and this Nicholas would be a good replacement. Besides, his blood was exquisitely tender.

Tess took Nicholas to ground with her that night, keeping him in a state of oblivion. It was nearing sunset when she awoke with a pain filled scream. She clung to herself, frightened for the first time since her death. Maxwell was injured and dying.

She waited impatiently for night to fall and then burst from the ground in a frenzy. She took to the air, traveling to where she had felt the killing as she slept and then rematerialized amid a field of dead bodies. The banner of the Lionheart was torn and bloody and the ground, the pole it had waved from stuck through a soldier’s chest.

Tess moved on, she waded through the bodies, ignoring the still-living’s cries for help and the others of her kind that had come to feed. She focused all her thoughts on her servant until she got a lock on his position. She ran, tripping several times along the way, until she came to a pile of bodies. Tess threw them off, heedless of the blood beginning to stain her dress and splatter on her moon-white skin.

When the last body was gone, she found Maxwell. He was still alive. “Maxwell!” he shrieked, shaking him, “Open your eyes!” she ordered, reinforcing it with a compulsion.

His eyes opened a slit; the fringe of dark lashes encircling his dark golden eyes fluttered. “Tess?” he groaned weakly. “Where-“

“Do you want to die?” she demanded, not really caring if he did or not. He would die and then live again as she wished it. He was hers for eternity. How dare those Saracens try to take him from her!

“No,” he replied haltingly, “I want to live.”

“Then you shall,” she promised. She turned him easily, revealing his neck already covered in dried blood and dust, and she sunk her teeth into him. “You shall live forever.”

“Vampire!”

Tess’ head shot up to look at the one who had shouted at her. The voice had a heavy Arabic accent to it, the English word foreign sounding. A girl stood a few feet away, her shoulders set in a determined manner, there was a wooden stake in her hand. Tess recognized her as the one from the village Maxwell had helped escape.

She stood to face the Slayer, for it could be none other, her blond curls blood-drenched and blowing in the night wind. She would dispatch of this nuisance quickly and get back to the matter at hand. Tess glanced down at Maxwell as she moved to intercept the Slayer.

He would be hers for eternity.

End

Little Siren