My Little Ventrue Pt. 03 Ch. 06

"... ask."

"Wonderful." Avery leaned her butt against the neighboring table. "Last time we were here, or I was here anyway, was 1955. Spent a couple years here, made some friends, some not-so-friends. So all I want to know is how the old gang is doing, before I make my presence known. How's Viktor and Antoinette?"

Well, it's not like she was asking for secrets, and the information was harmless. Probably. And maybe a little information would get her something to eat before she went insane.

"Viktor is d-dead."

"... really?"

She nodded, and stroked her legs. Her suit was a tattered, ruined mess. Much of her skin was exposed, but at least she wasn't torn open anymore. If she'd been in any worse condition, she'd probably be in torpor by now, and probably half naked for the damage to her clothes.

"Viktor and T-T-Tony... dead, fighting, fire."

"Well I'll be damned. Two major pains in my asshole gone... and Lucas?"

"... also d-dead. Tried to kill the Prince. D-Died... trying." No need to bring Jack into this.

Jack. Heh, what would he do if in this situation? Kid had a way with people.

"Lucas dead too. God damn. Maria and Michael?"

"Alive."

"Ah well, can't have em all. And I guess Jacob is still alive too? Apocalypse will come and go before that bastard dies."

Avery knew Jacob. She knew of the others, but from the way she said his name, the tiny inflection of personal annoyance, she knew Jacob personally.

"He... he is."

"Damn. Old snake needs to die. But, three gone ain't bad. And with them out of the way, maybe I can get to know Garry a bit better." Laughing, the woman pulled herself to sit up on the table, and her short legs dangled off the edge. "He's still alive right?"

Did she like him? Figures a werewolf would like a Gangrel. And she had a bit of an attitude to her, like Jessy, like Michael.

"He is."

"Great. I'll have to pay him a visit."

Avery nodded, stroked her chin, and motioned for one of the pack to come closer. Another woman came over, tanned skin and dark hair, average height and a fit build. She had box braids for hair all the way down to her hip, and Natasha found herself admiring them. So pretty. Maybe related to Arturo, or from the same place.

"Yeah Avery?"

"Clara, keep an eye on things. I'm going to pay Garry a visit."

"Alone? It's almost sunrise too."

"Yeah alone. He knows me, and I need to scout the place out anyway. I'll be fine. Just want to double check on some facts and what our girl has told us." With that, Avery gave Clara a casual salute, and walked for the door. "Keep her around, but give her something to eat would you? Don't want to ruin any goodwill here."

Arturo raised a hand with a dismissing wave. "She drinks blood."

"So? Give her some of yours if you have to."

Stephanie laughed, and wandered off as Avery closed the door behind her. The others shrugged and returned to their own conversation, though Natasha could tell they were avoiding using any words or references she'd understand. Lot of 'prey' and 'target' and such.

"You... you guys are... less like a p-p-pack and more like a... family."

"That's what a pack is." Matt came up and sat beside her. So tall, so huge, and the friendliest of the bunch.

Arturo sighed, shrugged, and came to sit across from Natasha where Avery had been. "Yeah, we're a family. And you love your family, much as you hate them."

She knew that feeling. Lenny and George earned a smile out of her, no matter how hard she tried to suppress it, and she looked away to the pack hanging out in the corner. They had cut her up and gave her a night of pain and agony she'd never forget, but at least things were looking up. Relatively.

"W-What time... is it?" she said.

"Half an hour till sunrise," Matt said. "Basement here should keep you out of sunlight."

A basement? A far cry from her bed back home, but more than enough to block out sunlight. Probably. Should check it out, and with only thirty minutes to do so, she didn't want to waste anymore time.

"C-Can I see it?"

Matt nodded, slipped off the table, and scooped her up. So huge! He tried to be gentle, but her insides were still a punctured mess, and she groaned with each shift of limb to get herself into his big arms. Bigger than any of Jessy's ghouls.

Natasha, him and his buddies were going to kill you. They nearly did. Your insides are swiss cheese and your outside was shredded paper only a little while ago. Stop acting like horny Jessy, start acting like angry Jessy. Stop admiring his big, hard, muscled arms, and figure out a good time and place to stab him in his cute, cuddly face.

Arturo followed, and the two of them descended a stairway into the basement underneath. Building didn't have power, but Arturo brought an LED lantern, and set it on the table. A big basement, filled with old machinery. Something like a desk you could sit at, with spools on each side, and a motor that did... something. And there was newer equipment too, pressing equipment of some kind. So not exactly new, but newer than a lot of the old North Side district.

But the most important part was checking for windows. No windows though, just basement wall and lots of cobwebs. Fucking webs.

Matt set her down on the table next to his friend's lantern, and she did her best to give him a smile. Hard, with the searing pain still working through her chest, but something about his puppy expression made her want to smile at him. Give him a dog treat.

Good god she was already thinking of werewolf jokes. Jessy would be proud.

"Cobwebs... here t-too." She sighed, and tried to dust herself off. Mistake. Groaning, she set her hands back down, and sighed.

"We won't ask what you were doing in the path of our hunt," Arturo said, "but think you can spare us your name yet?"

"... Natasha." Might as well. Nothing she'd heard would suggest she had cause to withhold her name. But they'd been hunting something in the tunnels, and they weren't telling her about it, so she wouldn't tell them about it either. Let Antoinette be the mediator of information in that department.

"Natasha. Cute little thing aren't you?" Arturo grinned, folded his arms across his chest, and looked at her. "Could fit you in a thimble."

"If... if I had b-blood, I'd..."

"You'd what?" His grin grew.

"I'd stab you."

Arturo laughed, put up his hands before setting them down behind him on one of the machines he leaned against. "Can't take a compliment?"

"You're... playing with me."

"Am not. Sexiest little vampire I ever got my claws into."

Sexy? He thought she was sexy? Cute, and... sexy? He was a flirt, a sexy man, confident in his looks and charm, and smarter than he let on. He had those eyes, Mekhet eyes, analyzing and planning steps ahead, mind running thoughts when he wasn't saying anything. She knew how he thought, and he thought like a snake, weaving and winding complicated paths of decision chains. He was dangerous! Dangerous, and... he thought she was sexy.

"... you can... m-m-make it up to me."

"Ha, you want blood? I can't just grab someone off the street without attracting attention."

"... g-give me yours."

He opened his mouth to say something, but stopped himself. He eyed her, thinking a million thoughts a second no doubt, same as she was. Could she drink a werewolf? Would he taste like dog? Would there be a bad reaction? Would he even give her blood, or deny her any for what he might consider an insult? She bit her lip, and waited. God, she was so damn hungry, hungry enough to ask her captors.

"... will it hurt?"

"N-No."

"Will I sleep when you're done? Comatose style, like I hear humans do when you don't kill them?"

"Maybe? I... I need... n-n-need to drink, and... need a lot. You might... m-might sleep for a day? But, you're a... a... werewolf. You'll heal fast, right?"

Arturo tapped his chin, and looked to his friend. "What do you think?"

"Avery said don't give her blood at first. But she changed her mind, so... go ahead? I'll keep an eye on her. Besides, she's got maybe twenty minutes of night left. Not like she's going anywhere."

Natasha sighed, and rubbed her arm. The suit was ruined there, and her fingers found naked skin. She was pouting. On purpose too, like Jenning might if she wanted to manipulate someone, men in particular.

She'd changed a lot since joining the dragons. Had to think on her feet, instead of mindlessly following Invictus protocol.

"Alright." Arturo walked up to her, and leaned in close. Very close. He put his hands on the table beside both her legs so he was nose to nose with her. Dark brown eyes, with an edge to them, a bit of steel in his gaze that his friend completely lacked. And with his jaw-length, messy black hair, tanned skin, and tall, lean build, he... he was sexy. Or she was just so damn hungry she couldn't tell the difference between attraction and bloodlust.

Or she'd combined the two. Some people did that right? Combined things in their minds, and became unable to separate them. Jessy's fault.

She put her hands on Arturo's shoulders. Warm, so warm. And... inhuman. So close, she could feel the beast in her gut trying to read the beast in front of her. Drinking another beast? Kindred didn't do that, not normally. Kindred should never drink another Kindred, ever. But a werewolf was alive, so she didn't have to worry about vitae addiction. She did have to worry about not knowing what sort of madness this might bring.

So hungry though. So damn hungry. Her fingers were shaking, and her fangs were coming out before she wanted them too. It was enough to widen Arturo's eyes, and she could hear his heartbeat increase. He was anxious too. Good, it wasn't only her. The warmth of his skin around his neck found her drifting fingers, and she tugged on the thickness of where his neck connected to his shoulders to bring him closer. The werewolves were all fit, tough looking fighter types, types Jessy would no doubt love. And Natasha couldn't help but let her mind wander as she breathed in the smell of flesh, of human-yet-not-quite-human skin, oil, musk, life.

Matt was watching, she could see it in the corner of her eyes, but his expression was wide with curiosity. She didn't like having someone staring at her, but she could barely offer the mental awareness to notice him once Arturo's neck got within biting distance.

"Little vampire scared now?" Arturo said.

She growled, a dark, tiny noise, but a growl nonetheless, and bit him.

"Ow, hey... hey..."

Oh... god.

Life, warmth, the precious overflowing power of thick blood flooding the tongue. The taste, the sweet nectar, the heavenly drink. Ambrosia trickling down her withered insides, filling them with life long gone, sending tingling waves into her extremities as her Kindred body did what it did best: turned a living thing's blood into vitae within her corpse. Her shredded muscles closed, and healed in moments, and her aching joints sang with relief.

But it wasn't the same. It was different. It was... better. The flood of the Kiss was always exhilarating, and when you got to do it slowly, tenderly, it was pleasure and bliss. But this werewolf, this creature holding himself out to her, his blood was different. It was... was... she didn't know. Couldn't describe it, couldn't put her finger on it. But every gulp was a jolt of energy through her, a blast of power down her spine, of vitality into her core.

She didn't know what cocaine felt like, having never done it as kine. But this must have been a decent comparison.

And she wanted more. She tightened her grip on the werewolf's neck, and pulled him in closer. He was still conscious, and that meant she could keep drinking, drinking, and drinking until her belly was full, wounds healed, and her dead heart beating with more energy than she knew what to do with; a fresh meal awoke the blush of life whether a Kindred wanted it to or not. A little groan came out of the huge beast, and her hands drifted down from his neck to his arms, before one reached under it to touch his hard chest. More.

Arturo started to lean in closer, but not on purpose. The telltale signs of exhaustion were hitting him. Exhaustion, and the blissful pleasure of the Kiss done gently, sensually. But he was light now, with the strength of a vampire in her arms. She held him up, and suckled a few more mouthfuls of blood from the big man, and the hard muscle in between her fangs.

She stopped. So full. Anymore and she was liable to puke just from running out of room in her belly. Full, and high on the energy of it, of werewolf blood coursing through her veins. She licked the man's neck, sealed the puncture wounds, and moved the big guy over into Matt's hands.

"You ok buddy?" Matt said.

"Y... yeah... I um... just let me sit for down a bit."

Matt nodded, and helped sit his friend down against the wall by the staircase before coming back over to lean against the table Natasha was still sitting on. And he stared at her, eyes still wide, and cheeks a little blushed.

Natasha looked down at herself. Her skin was no longer pale with a vampire's typical corpse look, but flushed with the blush. Happened whenever a vampire drank, not her fault! Not her fault her clothes were torn open either, and a lot of her skin was exposed. Very much a lot of it, now that she looked down and noticed. Her breasts were only just barely covered by bits of shredded shirt, but her legs, stomach, arms, all of it was open to their eyes.

And the two werewolves were looking at her the way Brad and Isaac and Vincent and Chris had.

No, no no, stop thinking like that. Just the blood giving you a major high, like it always did. Borderline Stockholm syndrome here Natasha. These animals tore you up only hours ago. Remember the sensation of claws and broken ribs piercing your lungs?

"Thank y-you." She shook out her hair, and hugged herself in a futile attempt to cover up some of her exposed body. "So, you um... can you please make sure... K-Kindred don't normally sleep so exposed, and—"

"We'll be taking shifts to keep an eye on you," Matt said, hands up again. "I mean, we are sorry about what happened you know? Thought you were our prey and all that. Shouldn't have happened."

"Then why not let m-m-me go?"

"We will, once we know we can get back to the hunt without vamps getting in our way."

"I... I d-don't know if... they'll step aside... just for my sake."

"We'll cross that bridge when we get to it. So uh... you just want to... lay down or something?"

Art chuckled. "Maybe cross your arms over your chest, Dracula style?" Laughing, but breathing deep, exhausted, and struggling to keep his eyes open.

Stab him. Stab him while he's sleeping.

She shook her head, got off the table, and found a corner to sit in. Once the sun started to rise, the overpowering urge to sleep would hit her, regardless of how she was positioned. She didn't like doing it in front of others, let alone dangerous strangers, but at least falling asleep wouldn't be an issue.

She gave Matt and Art a final look before she closed her eyes. Matt was smiling like a big dumb puppy, and Art was smirking like a sneaky cat. Perhaps a better comparison than Lenny and George.

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~~Jack~~

Jack hid in the shadows, and watched. Not that he could do that very well, but that's why he had Amanda with him. Young as she was, her cloak of night was at least strong enough to hide them from some kine when combined with some sneaking and darkness.

He looked through the window of the second floor of the home. A woman was asleep, blankets tight to her shoulders like a cocoon. Every so often, she tossed, turned, and let out a little whimper as she trembled. But the noises passed as she wrapped herself tight, and drifted asleep once more.

God damn it.

Jack set his forehead against the glass, and stared. She was crying in her sleep. Every so often, he could hear her murmurs, mentions of his name, why did he have to die.

Amanda set her hand on his shoulder, but he shrugged it off. Not yet, he wanted to watch a little longer.

Mom got up from bed, and walked off for the kitchen. He listened, ear to the glass, and found the old, familiar sound of her steps. He found the hum of the air conditioner too, and the annoying whirr sound it made when it got too hot for it. Mom had given him the better air conditioner for his room, and she'd taken the noisy one. Still hadn't taken his back for herself.

She came back with a glass of water and some pills in her hand, popped them, and sat on the edge of her bed. All alone. She looked so damn alone.

The weight of the empty room crushed Jack until he felt his skull splitting open against the glass. He could open the window, say hello. Hell he could just knock, and she'd hear him, and he could wave. She'd be elated to see him alive. They'd hug, and he'd tell her everything was fine, and that he'd moved on with his life but needed to pretend he was dead. She'd understand, smile, kiss him goodbye, and forever be happy.

Yeah right.

Mom climbed back under the sheets, and curled up into the fetal position on her side. She shook a few more times, little tremors in her shoulders, before she drifted back to sleep again.

Jack pushed away from the window, and walked away, eyes still on it. Maybe something would happen that'd... maybe something could happen... maybe he could...

He turned, and walked away faster.

"She looked so... so fucking sad," he said.

Amanda nodded, and stepped beside him. Both of them were in suits and walking the streets; odd for two young people to do in the late evening. But any nearby police or prying eyes wouldn't be able to notice them with Amanda keeping the cloak of night up. It'd been tough to ask her for the favor, but he needed to see, he really needed to see. And now he wished he hadn't.

"It's... it's really hard, Jack," she said. "I spied on my family more than once. A lot more. It was over a year before my dad could sleep the whole night without getting up to work on things in the garage."

"Time heals all wounds?"

"I guess, yeah. But I'm not going to lie to you, my dad is different now, and... it's different for parents, when they lose a child."

Well, he had to give it to Amanda, she wasn't as soft as he thought. He half expected empty platitudes, cheerful words encouraging him, explaining that his mom would be fine. She'd get over his death, maybe find a man; she hadn't had much luck with relationships after Jack's dad died. She'd be fine, he'd expected Amanda to say.

He smiled at her. "I appreciate the brutal honesty."

She smirked and pat him on the shoulder. "I knew you would."

"You did?"

"Yeah I got the impression last time we talked that you don't really care for typical social niceties."

True that. He nodded, and smiled at the Mekhet.

"Sorry if that makes me a bit of a downer."

"Not a downer, just someone who dislikes the subtleties of the game. I noticed it that first night we met, at the Invictus ball. You don't like the Danse Macabre."

"Does anyone like it?"

She laughed, and the two of them rounded a corner to find their drive waiting for them. One of Madam Jenning's ghouls she was letting Miss Pol borrow. They hopped into the backseat, and started the drive back to the Invictus domain of South Side.

"Some people like it. Doesn't the Prince?"

"Yeah, I think she does. She wants the break, but she also likes the Danse more than she lets on, I think." He chuckled, rubbed his buzzed hair, and stared out the window at the passing street lamps. Careful to avoid details about the Prince, but he could chat a little. And Amanda was growing on him. She liked to gossip, and as much as he considered himself above it, it was a tempting vice.

Better than focusing on his mom, and how miserable she fucking was. If he'd been blushing life, tears would have been streaming down his cheeks. He might be able to be that open with Antoinette, but not Amanda.