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The differences in last names was the first thing that she found catching her attention, she didn't know the last name he had used... it would be something she'd have to ask Iden about later. The comment on their relationship made her shrug slightly before hopping off the bar counter now. "And maybe I like being more closed about how we are to one another? After all, it's not really one's business," she told him, moving towards him now. Sitting at the end of the couch his feet were at, she perched herself onto the arm rest. Resting the glass of vitae on her knee, she looked down at him and thought of his words. Iden did seem to be embracing the demon in him more then ever before...but he still had some humanity. It was a question though -how long would it last and he stay the same? Shaking her head slightly, she leaned forward now on her knees and held the glass between her hands. "Why are you telling me these things," she finally asked him.

She smirked faintly at the possessive words he uttered to her, thinking about how Roan acts the same about Iden. She was about to retort to him with a sarcastic question when she noticed the look in his eyes now. Opening her mouth to denounce his words and defend herself as well as Iden, she stayed silent for a few more moments before looking away and trying to surpress a shudder. Unable to do so, she looked away from him now, letting her hair fall before her face. She wanted to say that Iden would still hold onto the last bits of humanity out of sheer spite and stubbornness... but how far would that go? She knew he was right and couldn't object to him, so she grew silent and kept her eyes averted from him.

Ahh, so you DO know Im right....

*The dark Corbin-twin stood up slowly, his tail suddenly a terrifying whip, baely retsrained, his smile a fanged promise of pain, his lean figure the ultimate predator and hunter... and Bella was his target.
When he moved, it was like a serpent striking, his speed was unholy, but all his did was to appear behind Bella, his light dextrous hands falling to her shoulder, thumbs gently massaging out the tense lines of worry he found there.*

I will tell you a story. It begins one rainy night in May, under a full moon, in a deserted alley. Two figures soon come into view, and from the way the walk and talk, they are clearly lovers. The one shorter than the other, the most defining thing about them is the wings one bears on his back, broken and dishevlled, but nonetheless, both sound happy.
This then is Roan and Ragnarok Blazeheart, on their way home after a happy hunt and succesful outcome. The moon blesses their unholy union, the fanged kisses exchanged and blood spilled somehow RIGHT in this instance.

A shot pierces the night. It should have killed. The specially designed round SHOULD have lodged in Ragnarok's chest and exploded there, killing him in an instant. The aim was dead on, the silence of teh gunman, the way he masked his presence, expert. A shame then that Ragnarok is no more an angel than he is a human, and that Roan has sharpened his reflexes. The wine of a bullet is too loud. The speed of a hybrid Fallen and Cainite too quick. A metal gauntlet blocks the shot and crumples the bullet in its path, the flash of the explosion that follows the only real impact the shot makes.

Fury rises in the Beast of Blood. No mere human mercinary is a match for her. Nor for her fury when it comes to family. And Narok is her everything. She is beyond fast, beyond strong, beyond rage. The hitman stands no chance and the chase is breif, futile, and ends her way as it always must.
Crashing off a rooftop, Iden is smashed to the floor under her weight, cursing his employers, awaiting his death as a fist rises against the moonlight, fangs roaring out threats to decimate his very soul for his attempt on the Fallen... but the fist is caught and does not descend.
For all the ire in the woman, she stills as Narok strokes her hand, speaks of the mans uncanny ability to hide himself form them until almost too late. Had he been any closer... Narok would be no more.
A better idea occurs. The fist finally descends, and darkness claims the mercenary.

*Seraphim's hands worked lower, the curl of his fingers warning that to try and move at this point was to incur major damage*

When he awakes, the mercenary finds himself in darkness still, but that does not take away form the fact he knows he is bound. Pain leaps across his temples, and there is an awful ache in his shoulders, he cannot feel his arms. He has been bound with his arms above him then for some hours. Even to move is pain, but as sound filters in to him, he tries to twist and see who has him. Memory comes flooding back.
Fear lurks in his mind as he sees the woman come toward him, with her Fallen partner. He knows that he wil not survive the ordeal to come. He knows he will experianc epain liek no other. His stubborn resolve kicks in. It takes three months before his name is drawn from him, but when it is, it is like some switch is thrown. He knows his fate.
Such cruelty, form an ex-angel as well as the cainite woman... he begs for death, his last shreds of will clamouring for him to avoid becoming as they are, to stave off the horrorific inhumanity of these beasts who torment him nightly.... but it is in vain. He tried ot take Narok's life. He will not be forgiven.
In the last months of the year of his imprisonment, Roan alone works on him. His mind is turned in on itself, he is mentally tortured and debased, whiel his body is gratified and given pleasure, the two working terrible damage on him when combined.
Finally, in May once more... he is Sired, his soul turned fully to black, his body rebuilt as an undead, no will left in him to deny it.

*again, Seraphim shifted his hands, working up Bella's spine, his fangs prominant as he recounted his brothers history*

His experiance is not over. He is a broken toy, a damaged man, his skills locked away behind apathetic doors and the pain of his Embrace. He no longer recalls what freedom is, what it is to lose. He has been lost for a year.
This is where I come in. As a new brood member, he will spend his next year with us, the rest of his brethren, learning OUR way. And learn he does. At my hands, I show him debasement. I show him torture. I give him power over his victims, and I give him the pain that reminds him of living. He hurts and he IS hurt in turn. He re-awakes the predator in him, the killer who shoots with one shot, but now Iden tames this creature to HIS will. Never again will he shoot to kill. No, he shoots to torture. TO bring his prey down so he may work his dark will against it. And he is GOOD at it.
The next May, he spills his first blood into the Vaulderie, and he drinks of our blood as we do of his. He is one of us. Iden Blazeheart, the torturing beast, our Cerberus.

*His hands came back to rest on Bella's shoulders, his fangs right by her ear as he hissed*

And then one night.. he came across you. Would you like to hear more?

*his eyes bored into Bella;s as he smirked and continued his tale, never letting her go, never releasing his hold*

Roan never forgave her Sire and the men he worked for for her death. She never looked back to the Camarilla. In fact... she actively started her own war against the ancients, and against the Syn, and was unqiue in that she was succesful.
In the space of a few decades, she brouhgt down enemies she should not have been able to. All this was attributed to her pack. To our war machine. Systematic, relentless, our targets were clear, their weaknesses exploited to the full.
It was inevitable she woudl one day go after Ashen. Or at least that she woudl try to for my sake. His childe was a good start... especially as you were with the Syn Deciet, another of her targets.
It took planning... but in the end, even that ******** up little monster of a faun was no match for us. Not comibined. Not with our war so far advanced and the stakes so high. I dont know whether he cared for you, but he couldnt afford to let you fall into our hands, yet in needing to defend you, he made his own downfall so EASY.

Iden claimed possesion almost immediately after he saw you. As we were closing in on Ashen himself, who was I to deny my dear little brother his desires? It was a shame, I had desired to use your blood against your sire, but I didnt need it. So I let him have his way.

Im glad I did. He has ideas even I dont think of... You were his prize possession for so long. He drew out your blood binding. He took his time. Made you beg for each drink. I remember the early nights... the cathedral rang with your screams and pleas, and only one or two of us knoew what he was doign to you... the others didnt see until later. He always DID like the colour of your skin. And the fact the silver colour of Haemoxinate complimented it so well.
Bast, I spent hours helping him melt enough down to fill the wounds he carved in you! His name. Over and over. He can be so... possesive. Its really rather endearing.

Im sad to say you gave in rather quickly after that.... the Bella I know is most comfortable in her cage, the one place she is safe from the rest of us. She is a submissive, mindless slave to his will. He is still so proud of you, but Im afraid you rather lost your fire... especially when we brought Ashen in. Now THAT was a meal. You have such a pretty voice when you cry my love...

*Seraphim's countenance was horrific. He was actually smiling with happy reminiscence. Worse though... now he had finished his tale, his hands seemed to take life of their own, pressing into Bella;s skin... and sending ram rods of pain through her, over her skin, marking out from the inside outwards Iden;s fluid script, Iden;s name, all over her, again and again in shades of agony.
It was of course superficial. If Bella believed it was happening, it WOULD. The marks wou;d indel themselve son her ksin until she could soak the damage away over several nights. If she did not believe it, there would only be the brief sensation of pain before it stopped. Like a memory, or a vivid dream.
Either way... Seraphim leant in to bite her neck, brazen and confident, not caring if his trick worked or not. Chimestry had come to him almost too naturally*

Unable to tear her eyes from him, she found herself frozen in place like an animal caught in bright lights. She was surprised that Iden had taken to her upon first seeing her... but it was a different Iden and he probably didn't hold back his feelings or thoughts... If she could of found her voice, she would of said that any Ice wouldn't have true feelings, but not able to find/use it, she stayed quiet. Shuddering at the thoughts of how he had abused her and used the Haemoxinate on her and created his own tattoos, Bella tried to look away from him, but still found herself frozen. Her pale purple skin did seem to pale a bit though at the thoughts of what had happened to her... and how he had found a way to break her.

Her back arched outwards as her mouth opened and she was finally able to utter a sound. The pain was all too real to her, she could feel the name being carved into her body.. all over her body just as he had described it to her. At first, she was able to hold back to just a whimper, but she found herself growing louder as the pain grew and spread. But before he could bit her neck though... she heard the distant (to her mind) sound of a gun being fired. In the back of her mind, she could hear the faint words that Iden had said his words of possesion over her...

Yes. It grows. But it is also reigned in...so very much unlike the tales you spin.

That much was true. He highly doubted what he did would be reflected upon in his alternate self. He was reaching out through the bond, offering a sense of calm and clarity. He tried to offer her a sense of peace while he confronted ((and was hopefully not massacred by)) the alternate Corbin.

Too loud? There are other means of making a point...but I find myself far too fond of these methods. It draws attention.

He was half tempted to call to Roan through the clan link...if this turned ugly, he'd be glad for her aid. But then...there was his wounded pride, and the notion that his closest companion in these past months was being so violated by the touch of his "brother"...no...he'd apologize to Roan later. For now...

So. Now what do you do?

Now? Now.. there is nothing more I need do. Restraint is one thing Iden, but even the stringest chains wear thin with time. The first indulgence... that is hard to make. But after that, the secon dlittle slip isnt so hard. The third, you make a note and promise never to do it again.. but the fourth is easier. It feels good. By the fifth... the chains are practically snapped. It;s like making a sandwich. One spoon of horseradish starts out enough, but then, your tastebuds adjust and it isnt enough so you start having two... Soon, you have so much horseradish, you cant tell if the beef is even still in the sandwich and then one day you dont even notice when the beef has fallen out...

*Seraphim grinned and stepped back further towards the shadows*

You WILL play with me, Iden DeSeer. As will you all. Make it fun. I may even let her live.

*And then he was gone*