Lestat, come to me. Hatshepsut let her words flow into the night, the stars visible in the warm darkness as she stood perched upon some rock ledge of the great mountain. In the morning, her eyes would behold greater things, but for now, she had been content to cloister herself among the faceless stone obelisks.
The Egyptian had caught his bitter scent as she traveled; surely he had followed her here, the dark angel, beautiful killer. "Yes," she whispered to herself, crossing slender forelegs as her gaze searched Nut's dominion for any sign of Akasha's beloved. "I know who and what you are, my demon."
Any resident of Karnak or the surrounding cities, even to the smallest village, knew the story of Akasha and Enkil. It was an old tale, now relegated to childhood fables, but Hatshepsut knew better than to dismiss such an outrageous tale, for it had been from the blood shed by the two paragons of darkness that Lestat and his murderous bedfellows had sprung, in time. But she did not fear him. The Egyptian feared little, and only that which she did not truly understand.
Silently, she awaited the fallen one, a sphinx gilded and set upon a pedestal of rock.
The wolves he had met here almost drove from him the bloodlust of a thousand years, though moments such as tonight rocked to his very core. The white wraith slipped between trees and rocks, counting down the minutes until he could slip out of the shadows and into the silver moonlight. He had scented her briefly before, but had not been able to find her. Perhaps she had alluded him, or had other things on her mind; whatever the excuse, Lestat would think little of it after tonight.
Her call issued forth as the sun's last rays melted into the earth, and Lestat smiled his wicked grin as he galloped toward her. The Egyptian had known of him, had known of Akasha and Enkil, had known what Akasha had done to Enkil for him; it was strange to think that his secrets had been known by a stranger before he even knew her name, though part of it thrilled him, too. He was famous in her land, famous for something devious and threatening and altogether as anti-de Lioncourt as he could possibly get.
Perhaps that was why she had kept him around.
When he arrived, she was seated atop a stone tablet, her slim forelegs crossed before her. She looked every bit the queen she was. Lestat slowed his pace, taking a moment to drink in the sight of her, wishing he could stay like this forever: watching her from afar. But it was not to be. She had called for him.
The white wraith picked his way carefully to her level, climbing the stone pillars at odd angles to reach her. She was beautiful, Hatshepsut. The Queen of Karnak. Finally, he reached her side, but instead of any normal conversation or greeting, he simply bowed himself in front of her and whispered, "Beloved, I have come."
He appeared, moon-pale and savage, as seductive in his approach as he ever had been. Even she did not know her every reason for keeping Lestat near her, only that she desired his company with a hunger that penetrated her very core. She gazed upon him, knowing such a lust was not gathered in the flesh, in her loins, but rather in her soul.
"What have you been doing in our separation, my fallen angel?" the Egyptian murmured softly, making no move to stir from her respite as her lapis eyes moved to hold his own. Perhaps he had been engaging in the murder of innocents, or those not so innocent — the devil must slake his bloodlust somehow.
But Hatshepsut was glad he had followed her, stood before her now. Pleased with his ethereal presence, she awaited his words before she spoke. Some force of spirit had led them here, and theirs was a purpose needing to be discovered, but, though she would never admit it, the petite Regent was unsure of where to start.
A pair of gemstone eyes fell upon him as he approached, wringing the very breath from his lungs. Once his bow was complete, Lestat settled himself nearby, carefully turning his ears toward her voice. What had he been doing? A smirk graced his dark lips, though it was in stark contrast to his words. "I'm afraid I have been quite tame of late," he confessed with a shrug. The world had been quite bright without his darker presence to cure it of its disease.
"This world is quite boring," he complained, looking over the outcrop on which they sat. The packs seemed traditional, at least the one he had encountered, aside from the relationship of its alphas. "Despite that, I have gathered some information on one of the packs in the area. It is led by a mated pair, though the woman hinted that they share an open relationship." Lestat turned his grey eyes back toward the Egyptian Queen, waiting for her report. What had she learned of these lands? What would they do now that they had arrived?
Lestat spoke, and Hatshepsut let herself be lulled by the exotic flavor of his syllables, so different from her own. They had been born — though one could argue that Lestat's 'birth' was quite unlike her own — countless hours and countries apart, yet here he settled himself alongside her now, and the Egyptian breathed in the scent of him, and was content.
"An open relationship?" she parroted scornfully, already unimpressed with the seemingly orgiastic sexuality of whatever ruffian group Lestat had stumbled across. He was a carnal one; perhaps such things interested him, but the small Regent was not given over to such things. "They are godless heathens," Hatshepsut muttered dismissively, "to be so swayed by their genitals, like the savages we wrestled out of Karnak."
"I met a man named Njal Sveijarn. I know nothing about him, and yet I liked him immediately. There is a pack of wolves who live beside a Swiftcurrent Creek, and while this man was one of them, and had been for some time, he was intending to move his family away and depart their waters. Why, he did not say. He also informed me of a pack who lived upon a nearby mountain, that it would be wise to stay away." Her lapis eyes flickered once with cool amusement. "Thus far, he has been the only wolf with whom I would consider an alliance."
Lestat nodded to her scornful query, a twist of his lips at her disgust. The white wraith had always been a carnal creature, but to openly and outwardly share two lovers was not something he condoned by any means. If the heat of the moment led to multiple lovers in the darkness and intimacy of one's den, well, that was a different matter entirely. "Be thankful you do not live there. It is a pack called Blacktail Deer Plateau." Funnily enough, he did not recall seeing any blacktail deer around.
Hatshepsut dove into a story of her own, one more touching than his, to be sure. She had met a man from a pack called Swiftcurrent Creek - the name rang a bell - and immediately liked him. A spark of jealousy lit within his heart, but Lestat was careful to keep its flame contained. Hatshepsut was not a woman to be controlled. She spoke of another pack, upon a mountain, and he wondered if it was the pack called Sunspire, but held his tongue. "I am glad you found this Njal, Beloved. You will be safe with him." How he knew his, Lestat did not say, though he was certain of her fate.
She would have liked to hear Lestat argue with her — his words were always tinged with the faintest sarcasm and suggestion. But he did not, and so they moved along in their conversation. The Egyptian wondered at the true thoughts about Njal behind her consort's eyes, but again, his cool nature and general reservation held such knowledge away from her.
"You will not join me?" Hatshepsut asked quietly, lapis eyes laid gently upon those of her exotic companion. Preternatural as he was, the man could not wander forever; soon snows would be upon them. He had come from the mountains however, changed forever by one who called him Wolfkiller, and — "Lelio," the bantam woman murmured, using for him the old, old name that Magnus had given him, "where will you go?"
"I may," he conceded with a nod in her direction. "I have not yet decided if this place is for me. Given my...proclivities, I do not know if these peaceful lands will hold my interest for long." Hatshepsut knew of what he spoke; Lestat was not a normal wolf by any meaning of the word, and although he was devoid of color, he was not devoid of life or humor. He had seen little that would keep him tied to this place, save for the beauty that rested in front of him now.
"I will visit you and speak with Njal when this pack is formed. For now, I think I will learn more of the area. Perhaps find myself a bit of trouble." Lestat smirked, a broad gesture that left his mouth gaping for a brief moment, before flitting back to a softer smile. "Aside from Njal, tell me of your travels since we parted, Beloved. Any brutes I must track down and slay for you?" His eyes glinted mischievously as he spoke, a lightness to his tone that hinted at levity, though he was serious with his proposal: he would hunt down any man whom Hatshepsut deemed unworthy enough to live any longer.
"Ah," she purred, "perhaps not. There do not seem to be many of the unrighteous for your feasts, Lestat," Hatshepsut observed softly, her eyes holding a bright affection reserved only for him. He spoke, and the Regent leant into his words; she enjoyed the cadence of his voice, and though she would not call such emotion 'love,' for she loved only Neferure, perhaps her emotions toward Lestat bordered the same.
"Keep me appraised of your trouble," the Egyptian laughed, "though I daresay I shall know of it before we meet again." The man before her was given over to sensation, to flash and to passion; the calculating fire of his mind complimented well the cool hunger of her own. "None yet," Hatshepsut lilted airily, "but I am sure there will be enough enemies for the both of us, in time. I have not gone far, but I have seen the sea. Such a deceptive, ugly place. I do not like it."
They spoke for some time before parting ways, Hatshepsut remaining upon her chosen ledge, gold eyes watching Lestat disappear into the night.