Aud still lay healing, fitful sleep doubtlessly disturbed in frustration at reconciling herself to her new station as a slave. I could never accept such a thing myself, but a werebeast's needs are different. Like Haydee, the selkie craved her gilded cage deeply, far more deeply than freedom. Maybe even so deep that she could deny it to herself, even as she effectively chose daily to stay.
As Edmund Dantes kept his dear Haydee, I would keep my Aud in luxury and love, until her gratitude and devotion were returned to me tenfold.
The night brought me no sleep. The morning brought me a tall blond in expensive clothes with a black leather messenger bag over one shoulder.
I was immediately struck as I'd been by the people on the bus, as though I were seeing someone wearing another person and persona like garb that never quite fit.
It's difficult to define. Like a woman who's dyed her hair slightly outside the palette allowed by her coloring. A man who's lost a leg and walks with the slightest of hitches on an extremely well crafted prosthetic. A sociopath who's looking on some terrible accident with a crowd of honestly horrified people and chosen a facial expression to appropriately match theirs.
I found the feeling utterly unsettling and thereby recognized the doppelgänger.
"Don't worry," The offputting creature acknowledged, skipping a greeting altogether. "Most werebeasts are disturbed by me. Like frightened dogs sensing an earthquake."
"Are you as wrong as you seem?" Inherently deceitful things are often disarmed by a direct question, but there was no effect.
"Yes, and you're already on my shitlist for dragging me halfway across the states instead of putting up your pathetic fight immediately like a normal werebeast." The spiteful monster sneered at me. "Maybe that shows sense for a weak-ass seal, but what the hell good is a werebeast with a brain? Nearly as irritating as the vampire that refused to shoot you and have done with it, because it 'spoils the purity' of the hunt." Grudgingly, the doppelgänger added, "Points for cleanup work on that
gangrel
and his gas station attendant though. Almost professional, that."
I nodded to accept the open insults and backhanded compliment, seeing no reason to agitate such a horrid creature. Especially in my helpless state.
The doppelgänger retrieved a camera from the messenger bag and turned my head physically for straight on and profile shots. I didn't like that, but it's at least not yet conclusively identifiable data with current technology and occasionally being caught in photos is hardly to be avoided these days.
I balked at the fingerprinting kit that was pulled from the messenger bag next. I'd been avoiding such an intentional record of my prints for years.
"Better not make me do this the hard way, werebeast," I was threatened. "Might make someone think you planned to make a run for it."
I nodded again and extended my hand.
I'd submitted to both the fingerprinting and a bite impression when the puta got a steel scalpel out of the bag next.
Back in Viricum, starting sometime before 500 BCE, I forged steel instruments myself. I also kept slaves, but never took glee in their discomfort as the doppelgänger seemed to in mine.
The tribe of lycanthropes I traveled with took over a settlement there as they found the Noric steel could be forged from iron mined in the mountains. Noric steel was especially prized as the iron used to make it naturally occurred with the right amount of carbon for a strong steel alloy. Not that we understood the science back then.
Bored with constant raiding, I took to blacksmithing. Working on the forge and creating beautiful and superior weapons captured my interest for years. But I did need slaves, for both support in the manual labor at the smithy and to help with ordering material and selling product.
Slaves were usually the non-combatants taken in tribal warfare and most often integrated fully into our tribe within a generation or two, automatically in the case of boys who proved able to "take the bite" and become Berserkers themselves.
Berserker bites are like vampire bites in that successful turning was based on genetics and successes become both extremely long-lived and infertile (although, a Berserker bite is survivable if the affected appendage is cut off immediately.) Unfortunately, the tradition was to administer a testing bite on boys' left pinkies before their first raid, which was usually before the conception of their first child. As more female slaves were taken than males, fidelity was imposed on neither gender, and paternity was based on parental relationship vice sperm success, the male carried recessive gene slowly died out in most tribes.
The proportion of male to female slaves and frequency of male slaves becoming warriors meant a lot of my slaves were female. I didn't take advantage though, because the motivation was never clear. Besides, sex between women had no consequences in that culture, so I wasn't hurting for lovers such that I'd be tempted to take advantage of those who worked for me without choice.
The last sparks of the day flew off a new blade I hammered as Cera walked up to my workshop wearing a loose gray dress and brown leather sandals. I tossed the hot blade in cool water with a smile. Cera only ever came to see me for one reason.
"Hello, stranger," I greeted her teasingly. Both of us knew very well that she only visited my shop while her husband was out raiding and he'd only just left again after spending months at home with her.
"Don't be mean," she sauntered in and put her hand on my bare shoulder, smearing the sweat and soot down to my bicep, "you know I get lonely."
"You should have married a farmer instead of a warrior then, huh?" I set down my hot hammer and tongs to give the sexy little bronzed brunette my full attention. "Have yourself a warm bed every night of the raiding season."
"What farmer could afford to buy his wife jewelry like these, though?" She showed off her shiny and intricately detailed torc and bracelets.
"Whore," I accused jokingly. Everyone knew that she and her husband were childhood sweethearts.
"If that's what you really think," Cera put her other hand on my other shoulder and laid her head against my shoulder blade, "You can certainly pay me before we get down to it, if you want."
I laughed, "I've had you for free for far too long to start paying for it now, Cera."
Turning to her, I took her arms in my hands instead, leaving inverse smear marks with my dirty hands on her clean biceps.
She stood up on her tiptoes to kiss my waiting lips. I kissed her back, pulling her into a comfortable embrace. Then I paused as I felt something I hadn't expected to feel.
"You're pregnant?" I asked stupidly, laying my hand flat on her growing stomach.
"Yes," Cera confirmed, putting her hand over mine on her baby bump, "four months now."
"That's lovely," I kissed her again, more gently. I'd been with many pregnant women before, so I wasn't nervous and knew I needn't be delicate with her. Delicacy simply always seemed right when a woman had life developing inside her though. "Come with me."
