My Little Ventrue Pt. 02 Ch. 12

Now he was really panicking.

"Don't worry about it for now. No one's going to rat you out, except for maybe Damien if he gets the chance."

"You guys spared him? He cut off Antoinette's arm and leg! He ... he..."

A flash of memory from the ball flashed in his brain. Epiphany hit him so hard, he blank stared at Julias with his jaw hanging.

I only know one other Kindred who has that weird, unknown quantity. Unpredictable. Hard to guess. I like it!

Damien. He meant Damien! No one had seen her heard of this vamp for fifty years, and the way his face looked when Jack stopped him, that man was beyond conflicted. And Jacob knew it.

"Jacob..."

"Jacob?"

"He knew about Damien. He ... he..." He could picture it so easily now, so easily that it was sickening. That old monster, manipulator, arranging events in the Danse Macabre, just to see ... just to see what Damien would do? What would happen to him, maybe? The fuck was that guy's end game?

Julias got up and started pacing, hand on a chin, other hand under his elbow, with that classic thinking look on his face. "If he knew about Damien, then he probably was in communication with Lucas before their suicidal attack. They were friends before." And then he punched his palm like a classic courtroom drama. "And he probably convinced him it was a good idea."

His sire stepped near the bed and leaned back against the wall with arms folded across his chest. "That does sound like something Jacob would do. And now that Beatrice works for him, he—"

"What!?"

"Yeah. You can trust her, but ... yeah even without her, he'll have some way to piece this together, eventually. Maria and Jacob aren't enemies, but if Jacob sees a way to turn this info into something he can use, then—"

Jack put up his hands and called for a time out. "Wait wait wait. Antoinette and the sheriff are alive, right? I like to think I'm on their good side. If Jacob moves against me, he'll be signing a death warrant."

"You think she'll fight for you, if it comes to that?"

"I do."

The words were out before he even thought about it. Julias blinked at him, and Jack blinked at himself, but there it was, he just knew.

" ... you love her, don't you? Not just kid stuff, but really?"

"Yeah." He smiled again, and his mind drifted back to what he'd done just hours ago, himself standing between Antoinette and Damien. There had been no hesitation there either, once he realized she'd lost the fight. He just put himself there, between her and death.

Then Julias got serious. He walked up to the side of the bed, reached down, and held out a hand to pluck Jack up onto his feet. "Viktor was a very powerful elder, but I knew I would outmatch him if I survived the centuries. I'm good Jack, I am very good." Then he put an arm around the kid, and gave him a half-hug while walking him toward the bedroom door. "And you'll outmatch me eventually too. I picked you for a reason, and you're proving it was the right choice."

"Arg, my ego, it's going to explode."

"Laugh all you want kid, but if you thought you had a bulls-eye painted on your back before, you're in for a surprise. I hope you're ready, because you're in the Danse Macabre deep now."

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~~Damien~~

He woke up with a scream.

The twisting world of black, death cries, and blood flashed in front of his eyes with the torrent of awakening. He tried to jump, to run like a terrified rabbit, but the chains that held him snapped with enough force to nearly break his ankles.

"Ah ... ah..." He looked around. Wrists were bound to the wall behind him, as were his feet. The room was just a metal box, not unlike Tony's room they used to hold their Lancea et Sanctum objects. The only light source was one of the LED wall lights the Prince seemed so attached to. Was it because the light was white? Faux sunlight? It always was an interest to the dragons, he knew, to explore how to obtain what was lost to them in the embrace. The ability to see the sun was perhaps the most romantic fool's hope.

The twisting of his flesh brought his attention back. Skin and muscled bound over each other to close the wound in his literal heart, and it was a painful process. Healing from the stake that someone had just plucked from his chest. Better than dying a second time though.

He looked down at himself. His clothes were full of bullet holes. Had he been shot?

Right, that's right. He'd been shot by his own followers before he killed them. Before Jack, riding his mind, killed them.

Before his body had been used to kill Lucas.

The reality of that fact sat on him with so much weight, he couldn't appreciate it. His sire was dead, and he had killed him. Jack, that tiny fledgling, had killed Lucas, but if Damien had been stronger and more secure in-mind, the Ventrue would never have gotten his hooks into his body.

They were disgusting memories, blurry images of his friends dying by his sword — not friends, he thought they were thugs. At the worst of the flashback, he saw his sword cutting off the head of his mentor so that it fell to the floor — mentor? He had never taught him anything, and Damien had spent fifty years alone.

"You look conflicted," the sheriff said.

Damien gave a small grunt. " ... you spared me."

"Yeah, we did!"

Natasha. The girl's voice had found a volume Damien had not expected. She was no longer bound, and someone how given her some proper clothes, something quiet and boring of course.

" ... then. Not now, then," he said.

This time it was the sheriff's turn to grunt, barely audible. "Oh, during the purge. Was that a mistake?"

"Of course it was." Fifty years, fifty fucking years he slunk around Dolareido like a weasel. For God, he had told himself. He was suffering for God.

Now he was suffering for nothing and no one and it was all meaningless.

He raised his head and forced himself to look around. Natasha and the sheriff were standing next to each other, close enough that their similarities were all too obvious. They were in the room with him, and behind him was a simple metal door, closed. They wouldn't be able to get out unless they were let out, so one of the Prince's thralls must have been on the other side.

They treated him like he was dangerous. That made him smile a little, but it didn't last. All that work and now he was just a trapped rat with nothing left. Lovely.

"Perhaps. You did nearly kill Annie," the sheriff said.

Annie? Ugh. Even Natasha looked at Daniel with a quirked brow. To hear the cold and quiet sheriff use such a cute nickname was very odd.

"But I failed."

Daniel stepped in closer, but his expression was as blank as always, with monotone eyes behind boring teacher glasses. "Because you're too smart."

" ... excuse me?"

"I spared you because I saw that look in your eye, kid." Daniel raised a gloved hand and put a finger to his own temple. "When everyone else was just mindlessly following orders, Lucas's orders, I saw your eyes. You were thinking, analyzing, trying to figure out what was going on, how, why, who, and where to go."

Damien had never expected the sheriff capable of so many words. Had Damien been like that? The memory was a lifetime ago

Daniel reached out and put that tapping finger against Damien's temple.

"And I knew you were worth sparing. The Prince does everything she can to encourage self-awareness in our kind, and when I saw you had those eyes..." This time, Daniel poked him in the chest hard enough to nearly break bone. "I saw the same look Natasha had. I embraced her only weeks before we started the ... you know the rest."

Damien wanted to vomit. This waxing about self-awareness was garbage ... wasn't it? He looked back, and thought of his sire, standing in front of over a hundred Kindred and giving a rousing speech about God, being God's monsters, and serving in his grand plan. It had all made so much sense, without any real, concrete evidence to support it. And Damien could remember trying to push down that voice in his head that demanded he question it, and instead just accept it.

"You're a very powerful Mehket for your age, Damien." The sheriff reached into his trench coat and pulled out something wrapped in leather straps and old strings. With slow fingers, he unwrapped a small blade. An innocent looking thing, small, a knife you'd store in your sleeve. "So I know you have the sight. Auspex." Daniel put the innocent blade into Damien's hand, and leaned in a little closer, close enough that Damien could see past the glasses and into the man's eyes. "So see!"

Both Natasha's and the Bishop's eyes went wide at the sound of the sheriff raising his voice. They didn't recognize it, so completely alien.

Damien looked at the small blade between his fingers. He knew this blade; he'd seen the Bishops and the Archbishop with them, so long ago. Damien had never managed to get his hands on one. They carried them on their belts, and every newcomer had just assumed they were for protection, or decoration.

But the emotion that poured from that blade into his mind was not so innocent. For just a single moment, all he could see was the flash memory, blurry, a mirage of hazy faces and moving bodies. He recognized the church he used to go to after hours, after the sun had set, after the living had gone home and the dead came out to preach of their unholy mission.

Then the vision changed. One of the Bishops, and the Archbishop Lucas, standing about with a Kindred between them. Someone tied up, someone with their hands and feet cut off, someone they were killing.

"The city is ours," Lucas said. "It is mine. And all will bow to me." His voice sounded like one of those classic cartoon villains, complete with the blatant laughter with head raised to the sky.

Time froze on that single moment. He didn't want it to, but the vision, the sight felt otherwise. His vision passed between each Bishop and the Archbishop, all looking at each other and the Kindred they were butchering. They were all laughing. Arrogance was on their skin like boils. Pride dripped from their teeth. Righteousness and delusion soaked into their bones.

It made him want to vomit from his dry, empty stomach.

Damien dropped the blade. Again, the dead of silence was all that greeted him of the metal room, until the blade tinked against the floor. It might as well have been thunder.

He looked down at it, at the two other Mehket in the room, and then away. Everything was a joke, just one big fucking joke.

"Some will say Lucas only grew so desperate tonight because his half-century torpor damaged his mind." Daniel shook his head, picked up the small, once-innocent blade, and stared at Damien from only inches away. "But we know different. Your sire was a monster long before then, and he slaughtered dozens of Kindred to spread his churches."

"I ... he..."

"He sired you for the same reason I spared you, Damien. You have potential." The sheriff poked him in the forehead, and eased his head back to keep it upright with his fingers. "You have a brain. So tell me if I'm wasting my time, and should I just kill you?"

"Longinus ... was it all a lie?" His faith, his beliefs, God, Longinus, the afterlife, damnation, was it all just Lucas and his plans for control?

Daniel sighed, stepped back, and started wrapping the knife up before handing it to his childe. "The Lancea et Sanctum are in many cities, and many are just as violent as Lucas. Many are not though, and some even preach of tolerance. And ... you saw what Lucas did. His faith had some merit." The sheriff winced then. The sight of the Prince getting struck by a blast of lightning from the now-disintegrated blade had been nothing short of godly.

Even the sheriff was admitting to the possibility of God then? But Lucas was just a zealot with typical aspirations of control? Damien coughed on the laughter trapped in his throat.

"God should have struck my sire down."

"Yeah, but they didn't. So I ask again, should I just end you? Do I need to kill you to protect Jack?"

"The boy? ... no." Damien shook his head again, and let out a blatant sigh of exhaustion and defeat. "I have only myself to blame for that, and..." And the kid just took advantage of the crack his doubt had already put into his walls. " ... but all I have are my words."

"My childe seems to trust you, and I trust her judgment more than mine." Daniel sighed, shook his head, and stepped up to the door. A small knock-knock later, and it opened from the outside. "I'm leaving you here for now. We'll be back later to discuss it."

" ... ok."

What else was there to say? They were letting him live. Or rather, Natasha was keeping him alive.

He tilted his head to the side when he looked at her, eyebrows furrowed with confusion. It didn't make any sense! He mouthed 'why' at her, and she returned his gaze with a timid smile.

"I saw your eyes when you k-kidnapped me, and ... when we were alone in your alt-t-t-er room." She squirmed a little. Such a tiny thing, weak and pathetic, and...

No, not pathetic. Not weak. Lucas was still in his head, preaching about strength of faith, courage to follow orders. It made Damien squeeze his eyes shut to force the reflex down. Lucas was dead. Think for yourself.

If he wasn't chained up, he'd probably have fallen to his knees and starting weeping again.

"My eyes?" he said at last.

"I could t-t-t-ell you didn't want to be d-doing ... what you were doing. You ... you have..." She looked down, frowned, and stepped toward Damien. It was the first time he'd ever seen the girl look so certain. "You have nice eyes."

Eyes. All in his eyes? The image of Jack's eyes hit him then, big, green, and ripe with humanity.

Damien chuckled. He thought he'd crushed his own doe eyes long ago. Apparently not. He managed a nod then, smiled, and let his head droop.

"I'll see you tomorrow," she said, "I want ... t-to t-talk." She even giggled, a sound that had Damien's eyes wide even as they were still looking at the floor. "I won't shoot you this time."

" ... ok."

There was something peaceful about defeat. He couldn't really fight or struggle anymore, all he could do was accept it. He'd been wrong to listen to Lucas, and it had taken all this fucking insanity to make that finally click. Maybe ... maybe he could start over.

A second chance? Sounded like a miracle.

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~~Natasha~~

One of the Prince's many thralls closed the door behind her. How many kine worked for her? How many was she capable of keeping seduced with her Daeva disciplines at once? It was scary just how strong she was.

Scarier was how just a couple hours ago, the Prince was a mess of flesh and ash and bone on the floor. Natasha shivered at the thought.

" ... are you ok?" Daniel said. He'd been looking at her, and only managed to ask once he looked away, hesitant to ask probably.

The two of them were down in the tunneled halls of the tower. It'd been a long, long time since she had ever seen these halls. She was impressed that the Prince had managed to update the lighting.

"I'm ... ok, yeah. Ok." She hugged herself, nodded, and started walking. " ... sire."

"Yes?" He didn't turn around to look at her, he just kept walking.

But before she could stop herself, she had reached out, grabbed his hand, and forced him to turn around and face her. She was frowning too, even glaring. She tried to tell herself to stop, but it wasn't working. Frustration was overriding her ability to think and calculate, but she didn't care.

"You ... you ... you idiot!"

" ... excuse me?"

"Idiot! Y-you ... you d-didn't ... you shouldn't ... you're not my master anymore. Why did you let Lucas ... nearly ... k-k-kill the Prince!" Her other hand trembled, but she kept her grip on him with the other. His actions made no sense, and he had to answer for that!

She couldn't have been the reason. Daniel and her hadn't spoken in decades, not really. So why?

He looked at her, and the weight in his eyes struck her cold. Her hand fell away from his, and her eyes were trapped in his own. The sheriff removed the glasses too, as if he was trying to break her heart when he gazed at her. But, despite the sadness on his face, the lanky man offered her a small smile.

"Sorry. Sire and childe. You know the tale."

"That t-tale doesn't ... it doesn't apply to us! I left ... left the Ord-d-do Dracula when I was young. We haven't ... we don't..."

Then, he turned around, and got down on a knee. Like some sort of knight, he reached out for her hand that she had let drop, and put it back into his.

"W-w-what are you-"

"I am old, Natasha. Four decades of us separated is not long. I watched you grow from a distance, kept my eye on you, and let the years go by. You grew into into a very intelligent Kindred, extremely useful to the Invictus, and ... someone the Prince and I want to keep around."

They had been watching her? Both Daniel and the Prince?

"B-b-b-b-but ... you know why I left the Order." Because your ideologies were terrifying.

" ... I do. The Ordo Dracul seeks to transcend our curse, to understand it, and that is a scary thing to consider to someone like you, who prefers hard facts, numbers, money." He chuckled.

Who was this man holding her hand? He never chuckled before, not ever. He never even used to smile, like he was now.

"I remember the work you showed me ... at ... that nest." She motioned with her free hand to the tunnels behind her, where somewhere they had stashed away a Wyrm's Nest. "It was supernatural!"

"Kindred are supernatural."

"But—"

"You saw what Lucas did, Natasha. Do you still think we are nothing more than parasites, or a disease?"

She frowned and lowered her head. Truth was a harsh mistress, and it had slapped her in the face when Lucas had somehow called upon something divine or magical to attack the Prince. The lightning strike was seared into her memory.

"I..." Take a moment. Think it through. Be careful with what you're thinking, Natasha. "I ... I want t-to know ... how he did that."

"He called upon—"

"No, no I mean ... really understand."

Daniel tilted his head to the side, got back up, and turned to put his back to the wall. His gaze was quiet again, but at least he kept his glasses off.

"The Coils of the Dragon, the Cruac of the Circle, the Miracles of the Sanctified. They do not easily fit into tidy boxes that you can file away, Natasha."

"That's fine! I ... want to learn." She stepped toward her sire again, and offered her best 'I'm sorry' face. She knew how to look apologetic. Maria had encouraged that skill.

"You want to rejoin the Order?"

"Yes!"

" ... what of Vivienne?"

"I ... she..." With a sigh, Natasha joined her sire against the wall, hands behind her and one foot kicking at the floor. "She ... she's moved on."

"Like you did with me?"

The parallel was definitely there, and it hurt. "Maybe. She'll ... she'll ... either she'll rejoin the Invict-tus, or ... she'll ... I don't know."

"Well, with Lucas gone, there's no reason you can't speak to her." Sighing, Daniel looked down at the glasses in his hand, and mirrored his reflection in them. "Don't do what I did, and just watch."

Easier said than done. Natasha felt abandoned by Vivienne, betrayed even. But then, that was just perfect, wasn't it? She knew how her sire felt now at least, and after a few seconds, she smiled up at the lanky man beside her. If this relationship could be saved, then hers and Vivi's definitely could be.

"I'll give her a few days and see what she does. B-but I will talk to her."

"Good." Daniel returned her smile -- such a wonderful thing to see on his usually stone face -- and gestured back down the hall with a nod of his head. "What do you plan to do about the Bishop?"