Shadows and Light Ch. 15

Just a clarification. Simon was human before Pru turned him. He and Ian met when Ian took some refresher classes at the University when Simon was 18 and a freshman.

Isabelle's family line derives from the Central and South American Jaguar. A small percentage carry the recessive gene that makes them black. These are called panthers. Panther is a common name, not the actual name of the species.

Chapter 15 Frantic

Isabelle drove as if pursued by demons. Something was wrong, terribly wrong with Ian. She didn't know how to sort through the new sensations that Ian had awakened in her when they exchanged blood. It had only been a few days. She felt connected to him on a primal level and right now her senses were screaming at her that something was wrong.

The day had started normally enough. Ian had gotten a call that had pulled him from their bed. Simon, he had told her. He wanted Ian to come up to the cabin for the day, he and Finn had found some things and wanted him to see them before anyone else did. Simon was also apparently ready to let them have Cullen's body for burial, finally. Isabelle also got the feeling that Ian and Simon had talked about Finn and that Ian was worried about him. She had objected to being left behind, quite strenuously objected. She finally agreed to stay behind when Ian admitted that he didn't want her to suffer any flashbacks, especially since she had been having more nightmares now that she had started seeing Dr. Halloway. She also had an appointment with Jack and he didn't want her to miss it. It was important, he argued, for her as well as their relationship. Reluctantly she had agreed, feeling a little lost and alone with him gone.

Just after one in the afternoon she had been driven to her knees, screaming with a blinding pain in her head. She had come too on the floor of the foyer with the entire household, including John, surrounding her. Something was wrong with Ian, very wrong, he had been hurt. There was shock and fear, right before the blow and somehow she knew it wasn't just an accidental injury.

Isabelle had grabbed John. He hadn't believed her that Ian was in trouble. His mistake. Isabelle had let him have it with a slap that had all of her 120 pounds behind it. That and the fact that she had screamed in his face was hard to ignore.

"Get your ass moving before you lose another son, you bastard! If Ian dies because you're draggin' your fuckin' feet I'll rip out your heart with my fingernails and feed you to the fuckin' rats piece by piece! NOW MOVE!" She was nothing if not direct. Screaming at Charles, the butler, to call Witherspoon and get reinforcements into the cabin she had dragged John to the nearest car and shoved him in.

So John Sterling rode shotgun. He glanced at the dark haired beauty that had shoved him into the car and had been driving like a maniac. She had changed from the frightened child she had originally seemed, to a strong willed, stubborn woman that refused to continue to be intimidated by him. He couldn't remember the last time he'd been slapped, or struck in anyway, barring Ian's aborted attempt several nights before.

He had failed Richard and then Cullen. Somehow Cullen had fallen victim to the same bloodlust that had consumed Richard. And he had not noticed. He had failed Cullen, failed to see what was happening, failed to save him from himself. Losing him was like loosing Anne all over again. He had been the only part of Anne that he had been able to hold onto over the years.

Ian was in trouble and he sensed nothing. He had failed to maintain a strong blood bond with the artistic child that he neither understood nor had wanted. He had been a quiet, reserved child that seemed to know that his father did not want him. Cullen had stepped in to fill the gap and he had been grateful. He felt guilty about that, even as he had done nothing to make amends. He admired the man Ian had grown into, admitting that he had had nothing to do with Ian turning out so well. He had never bothered to cultivate a close relationship with him, and very slowly John had begun to see that that was a mistake. Never did he feel that as keenly as when, during their confrontation about Finn, Ian had raised his fist to him. Finn had every bit of Ian's love and loyalty, and if he pushed his disapproval of Finn, he would lose what little relationship he had with Ian.

Finn had left the house with his male lover and again John felt the disapproval and anger at his son's choice. His youngest, only twenty-seven had wormed his way into his father's affections without seeming to realize it. He was young, ambitious, business savvy but with a large streak of loving kindness and a great sense of fun. He was one of the few people in the world that could make him laugh. His heart twisted with the thought that if Ian was in danger, Finn certainly shared it. Their last words had been harsh. My last words he admitted to himself. Finn had told him baldly that he loved him and was disappointed in his reaction. That ate away at him; he couldn't remember the last time that he had told Finn that he loved him, if he ever had.

All of his children were extraordinarily different from one another. But Finn and Ian seemed to share a love of life and a lightness of heart that Richard and Cullen had never had. He shook his head free of the cobwebs of the past that clung to him.

Half way through the trip Isabelle had cried out in pain and nearly run off the road. "He's hurting," was all Isabelle could say. She tried to drive even faster, instinctively blocking the pain enough that she wouldn't wreck the car. She didn't block their connection completely; afraid somehow that she would loose Ian forever if she did.

They were on the last leg of the trip back to the cabin where it had all started. The road now twisted and curved into the hills and Isabelle had not slowed in the slightest. The dusk was rapidly growing and there was the occasional deer by the side of the road. The small sports car hugged the curves well even though she was going about 20 mph too fast.

Isabelle was muttering under her breath now. "Almost there baby. Just hang on. Just hang on. We're coming. Shit, gotta drive faster. Almost there." Over and over like a mantra to keep her from falling over the edge of madness at the thought of losing Ian. "He's hurting, oh God I think he's dying! No, no, no!"

They pulled up to the cabin, the lights blazing from the windows and Isabelle was out of the car before John had a chance to suggest a plan of action. He could hear agonized screaming coming from the cabin now and he was right behind Isabelle as she crashed through the screen and then the front door.

Following Isabelle's flight to the small bedroom where he had first met her, what he saw stopped him short. It would be etched into his mind for the rest of his existence.

Ian was naked, covered in blood, bound spread eagle on the bed and screams like he had never heard before assaulted his ears. Simon, naked, was on top of his son. His powerful muscles clenched and flexed as he forcibly thrust himself into Ian's body. Ian's head was pulled back and Simon was biting him, again and again, savagely drinking from his throat.

Isabelle didn't pause, she changed. There was no other word for it. He had seen lycanthropes change form before. It took about 10 seconds while their bones shifted, lengthened and the other changes kicked in. Before she had taken two steps into the room, Isabelle just changed. It was instantaneous. One minute she was running and the next a Black Panther covered the rest of the room in one leap.

Simon turned, blood dripping from his mouth, and for one moment John saw his eyes widen in shock. He was then buried under a black ball of roaring fury that went for his throat, clawed at his chest and nearly knocked him through the small window on the wall behind the bed.

Screams and roars filled the room as they tumbled off the foot of the bed and onto the limited floor space. Sleek black fur and golden-tan skin struggled together, quickly covered with bright red blood as panther/Isabelle struggled in the limited space to assuage her rage on the man that had hurt the man she loved. Her rage was broken only by the awareness of Ian's cries behind her. Simon stopped moving under her, and the keen need for revenge was rapidly replaced with the need to comfort Ian.

John took all of this in with a single glance. With three steps he was up on the bed tearing at the ropes that held Ian's arms to the headboard and a second later had taken care of the ropes that bound his ankles. Rolling him over with shaking hands he instantly knew that he was in trouble. Ian was deathly pale from shock and blood loss, gasping and sobbing between cries of pain. Bloody lash marks covered his chest, belly, arms and across the right side of his face. His throat was covered in bites that oozed blood. Biting open his own wrist he cradled Ian in his arms and held the wound to Ian's mouth. And for the first time in five hundred years sent a prayer to heaven that this time he had not come to late, that he would not lose this child he had never wanted, and had never appreciated.

A very human, very naked and blood covered Isabelle crawled around the corner of the bed looking dazed. Catching sight of Ian she burst into tears and jumped over Ian to the other side of the bed.

"IAN," she shrieked through her sobs, "DON'T YOU DARE DIE ON ME. IAN, LISTEN TO ME!"

John could feel the deep twitch that ran through Ian's body at the sound of her voice. His eyelids fluttered and he swallowed the blood in his mouth reflexively.

"Ian honey, open your eyes, "she begged. "Open your eyes baby, it's Isabelle. You're safe now babe. Come on, open your eyes.

Ian swallowed again, his left arm coming up reflexively to hold his blood source close to him.

"That's it babe," encouraged Isabelle. "Drink, sweetie. Stay with me."

After a few moments Ian opened bloodshot eyes. Pulling his father's wrist from his mouth he frantically tried to communicate.

"Finn," he whispered hoarsely as his father tried to replace his bleeding wrist to his mouth.

"It's all right son," his father soothed. "Drink, you've lost a lot of blood."

Unfamiliar feelings swirled in him and the sound of his father calling him son. That and he realized that it was his father's blood he was drinking, not Isabelle's.

"Father, Finn," he rasped out. "Danger, basement, Pru. Resurrecting Cullen, sacrificing Finn, save Finn." Ian's eyes were desperate and pleading.

John looked at Isabelle and she gave him a wide eyed look.

"I'll go check," he said after a moment. He was up and out of the room in a flash.

Isabelle nodded and put her own bloodied arm to Ian's mouth. Ian's eyes were closed again; his brief surge of alertness was spent. He wavered in and out of consciousness as Isabelle forced him to swallow her blood or drown.

"Drink love, drink, I've got you." Isabelle held him as close as she could without actually climbing into his skin with him. She anxiously listened to every breath as it got steadier, deeper, and stronger. His eyes flickered open and his lips formed a faint smile.

"Love you," he whispered softly, his deep brown eyes holding hers.

"I love you more."

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After a brief rest, Isabelle started the daunting task of trying to get Ian on his feet. She pulled out a tank and sweats that had been left behind in the dresser and put them on quickly.

"I need to rest Is, please," Ian groaned, as Isabelle pulled him to an upright position with his feet over the edge of the bed.

"We have to get you out of the cabin," Isabelle responded, wrapping the top sheet around him toga fashion. "I don't know why, so don't ask. We just do."

Ian staggered to his feet, with Isabelle supporting quite a bit of his weight. He caught sight of Simon's bloody body on the floor, at the foot of the bed and blanched. Isabelle looked up at him when he stopped and followed his gaze. She was at a loss as to what to say. Even now she wasn't quite sure what had happened to her, and how she had managed to kill him.

"Simon," he whispered, "Oh God."

"Come on," Isabelle urged, her throat dry, "Just come on."

Ian followed her urging, fighting the tears and the maelstrom of emotions that were battering him. Simon had betrayed him, raped him, tried to kill him, but at the same time was the man that had been his friend for almost 20 years. Pru had done something to him, something terrible, he was sure of that. But now he was dead. No chance to find out what had gone so terribly wrong. He had seemed so totally in love with Finn. Ian had never seen him so happy. Finn, Oh God, Finn, if they made it out of this alive he would be devastated. Ian realized that they were outside the cabin when the freezing ground hit his feet. Isabelle staggered under his weight as she led him to the small car that she had driven up. With some difficulty she got him into the back seat. The car was still running and quite warm inside

"Ian, Ian," she said softly and stroked the side of his face to get his attention. He turned to her, his tear-streaked face tearing at her heart. "I am going to go help your dad, ok?"

Ian nodded, and Isabelle pressed a quick kiss on his lips, shut the door and ran back to the cabin. Cursing the freezing rocks on her bare feet she hobbled back up to the stairs.