Title: Red Touching Yellow
Fandom: Blade: The Series
Pairing: Krista/Chase
Rating: PG-13
Word count: ~1110
Author: Harper
Disclaimer: I don’t own them.
A/N: I’ve had this sitting around on my hard drive for a while. I wanted it gone, so I dusted it off and here it is. I make no claims of quality (it’s quite possibly abysmal). Also, I know that the title refers to a coral snake and that Chase’s resemblance to a coral snake is minimal, but I always liked the saying.

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This is a war. Use every weapon available.

Maybe Blade had said it, or she’d said she’d do it, or maybe no one had said it at all. Maybe it was just a convenient rationalization that sprung immediately to the fore of her mind, first as a whisper when Chase had slid the smooth silk of the robe across her shoulders, and then as a deafening boom as Chase’s lips had touched hers.

Chase was duplicitous. She was, if not completely evil, then at least wildly sadistic, brutally vindictive, and about as cuddly as a cobra prepared to strike. For all of her talk of gestures of friendship, Krista was fairly certain that Chase hated her with a deep and abiding passion that probably threatened to eclipse the strength of the sun. As such, Krista wasn’t entirely sure of her motivations in offering this opportunity at alliance. Join me, Chase said, as if she were a leader with something to offer. As if she weren’t Marcus’ swiftly fading right hand woman. As if Krista hadn’t already replaced her.

In most people, she would have dismissed the little monologue as indulging a bit of malevolent hubris before the inevitable fall from grace. But coming from Chase… well, the look in Chase’s eyes had been serious. If she’d learned nothing else about the blonde, she had seen firsthand that Chase was a survivor. She would be as underhanded and as dirty as she needed to be when fighting her battles, but even when she lost, she’d somehow come out on top. Whatever game Chase might be playing, it was a serious one.

“Wait,” Krista said, voice hoarse and scratchy. Chase had already moved – no, more like flowed – away from her, expression hardening into the blankly furious mask typical of her muted rage.

“What?” The word was a hiss, and Krista couldn’t shake the snake imagery. This time Chase called to mind a rattler. They’d been the terror of her childhood in North Carolina, the ominous hissing rattle giving the barest hint of warning before their lightening fast, vicious, and often fatal attack. Just like Chase, she thought. One moment, hidden in the grass, basking in the heat of the sun and as happy and content as any cold-blooded thing could be, until its position was threatened. And then you had only moments to negotiate pain and destruction. Move slowly, balance the sting of a bite with the chance of placating it, of showing your deference and removing yourself as a threat? Or, run and risk startling it into action? Because the rattler was quick and remorseless. There would be no sense of guilt for destroying you, even if the only thing you were doing was trying to get out of its way. And so, then, for the ones who didn’t run – for the brave, or perhaps foolish – was it all about the hope that your reflexes were quicker?

Or maybe you tried another route. Maybe you tried to charm the snake, tried to lull it into a false sense of security before striking yourself and rendering it incapable of causing damage.

Marcus was too blinded by lust to see the danger in incurring Chase’s wrath.

And Krista? Got lost somewhere between the curve and sway of Chase’s hips and the glint of wickedness in her eyes.

“I just thought you might try harder to convince me,” Krista murmured, tone smooth with a hint of self-satisfaction even as she shrugged her shoulders guilelessly. The jade, silk robe that Chase had eased her into fastened in the front, though those ties remained undone. Krista took a purposeful stride forward, feeling cool air along the length of her exposed thigh and up and across the cut of abdomen bared by the shifting fabric, something in her thrilling at the look of vicious triumph that eased across Chase’s face.

Maybe even vicious as they were, all snakes could still be charmed.

******

Krista’s arrival into Chthon had infuriated Chase for many reasons, some of which were more clear than others. Marcus’ favor had been obvious, of course, in the way he brought the newborn to his side. But, Krista wasn’t a trusted confederate. She wasn’t a new turn who had served Chlthon loyally for years to earn the privilege of entry into the family. She was defiant and untrustworthy and yet still Marcus quickly eased her into Chase’s place, trusting her far more than was warranted. Chase wasn’t sure if she was angered more by Marcus’ stupidity, by his perfidy, or by her own inability to completely ignore why he was so enthralled. This stupid newborn, with her stubborn refusal to accept their way of life and all they could offer, with her constant scorn of their type, and with the subtle yet still glaring way she flaunted her rapid ascendency even as Chase felt her influence waning, had engendered a hatred inside of Chase that began to rival that of her hatred of Frederick.

Yet still, she burned for her. She couldn’t decide if it was simply because she wanted her for herself or because she wanted to take her from Marcus. Because, and there was no unnecessary guilt or remorse here, she did want to take her from Marcus. She wanted to see the look in his eyes as Krista stood behind her as her loyal servant and trusted lieutenant. As her lover.

And then she wanted to watch him explode into a fiery ball of ash and light.

It was almost like a fairy tale, or as close to one as Chase was willing to get.

“You’re right,” she said, a cold, pleased smile sliding across her face. “I’ve been terribly remiss.”

******

Krista took a deep breath. This was her moment. Her foot was hovering above the ground; the hiss and purr of hidden danger had stiffened her spine and put the most primitive part of her on high alert.

Fear and anxiety trickled through her, leaving her chilled and charged. The oddly appealing sensation was equal parts fight and flight, but the truth was, with the way Chase’s eyes were fastened on her – dark and calculating and full of something unspeakable that made Krista burn – there was really only one option.

When she spoke, her voice was low and scratchy, and the honey slow husk of her North Carolina accent was thick enough to be audible even to her own ears. “Why don’t you work on fixing that.”

Chase was still smiling, and Krista could just see the tips of her razor sharp fangs. She wondered, ever so briefly, just how many snake charmers ended up getting bitten.

She wondered, too, how many enjoyed it.