My Little Ventrue Pt. 03 Ch. 10

"Did she eat any of these worshipers?"

"Na. Far as I can mind, she never hurt any of them. She hunted local tribes who didn't believe her. Found the mean ones, the ones that bullied or killed other tribes. Fed on them. She had a body, like I do now, and she'd leave the dream, leave her orgies and followers, and pretend to be an innocent lass. Other tribes would be more than willing to rape her, capture her, hurt her, and she'd feast on them."

Ok, maybe not such a naive young girl. But at the same time, she was. Having another's memories inside your mind was not something he could understand.

"And now?" he said.

"Wha?"

"You said you were prudish, before Vrall came to you."

"Oh! Damien Damien, aren't ye nosy?" She beamed up at him, and wiggled her eyebrows. "I admit, in my hunts I've come across a few interesting corners of the town. Told myself I was just looking for more minging folk, got involved in some places where bastards might be. But often times, it was a perfectly innocent hole in the wall filled with sex. I may have stuck around to watch... a few times. Maybe did a wee more than watch once or twice. Maybe I'll take you sometime? Found strange places, unusual places just... overflowing with sex. Unnatural even, folk just throwing themselves into these orgies. Felt like the sort of place Vrall used to hang out in."

"Unnatural?"

"Aye! Folk just donder into the room, and like they passed through a magical, invisible gate, they take off their clothes and join the arms and legs. And I admit, it worked on me. Felt... familiar too, like something Vrall had enjoyed."

Damien ran his fingers along the bald half of his head before combing his long hair down the haired side. "That... sounds familiar. Tony, and then Lucas, used a place where a leader's voice was compelling. More compelling than it should have been. The Prince said the same. Maybe another place exists, with similar influence?"

"Na leaders there, just a lot of legs."

"Still, the way you describe it sounds similar. Hidden influence." Sex holes were a thing, he knew that. Fifty years skulking around South Side and mostly Devil's Corner, he'd stumbled upon such places. He let them be, never went into them. Of all the sins he would punish kine for, guide them away from, people having sex with each other never seemed like one worthy of such treatment. Or, seeing people together like that just made him too uncomfortable to approach.

He never told Lucas that.

"Hidden influence. There could be something to that, aye. We should investigate later! I'll get ye laid in the most glorious way."

God help him.

"Like you did?"

"Hey! Just a couple times. Vrall had orgies in her past! And she's me." She giggled and jumped around in front of him. Ancient entity, or silly young girl? Leaning far more toward silly young girl when she was outside of her lair. "It's been a long while since I've been in these tunnels. I wonder if something's happened since I left."

"Maybe."

"Aye. Maybe something's happened down 'ere since then, and that's why the werewolves came?"

A coincidence? No chance in Hell. But, he nodded, and continued on.

"Have you fed since last time?"

"Na, nae since the Prince said I need to lighten up. I am very hungry. I can feel myself, Vrall, clawing at the walls, looking for food. I—"

He stopped. She stopped. They glanced at each other, and then back to the darkness ahead of them. It wasn't totally dark yet; the black tunnels were still a ways ahead. So as the group of men and women came out of the darkness, the glares and frowns on their faces were obvious. Very obvious. Six people dressed in typical street clothes, some ripped jeans and shirts and tank tops, some tattoos and some piercings. They looked normal. They did not feel normal.

"Who are you two?" A black woman came forward, long black hair, slightly tall, and sharp features. And like all the members of her group, she looked very fit; the jeans and tank top left little to the imagination.

Fiona gulped, loudly, and leaned up to Damien's shoulder. "That's them."

Yeah, he figured.

"I'm Damien. This is Fiona." His sword was along his back under his coat; a quick flick of the wrist and arm and he'd have it out, but he kept it sheathed for now. Far as he could tell, the werewolves carried no weapons, and their clothes offered little place to hide any. They were confident in their hand-to-hand combat then.

"Stephanie." She came closer, and closer, swagger to her step and curvy hips. An attractive woman to be sure, confident, and her dark brown eyes stared into him with all the intent and aggression of an animal whose territory had been violated. "You a vamp? Don't smell human." She came closer again, until she was only a few feet from him, and took a long sniff. "Definitely a vamp."

"Then you must be the werewolves I've heard so much about," he said. Fiona said nothing, but she'd drifted closer to his side, until her shoulder was nudging against his arm.

"We're famous? Sweet." She looked over her shoulder to her pack. "Hear that Mason? Fucking famous."

Someone in the back shrugged and leaned against one of the concrete walls of the tunnel. "Suppose that makes you happy," the man said.

"Careful," another man said. "Careful with... with them. With her."

Damien leaned around Stephanie a little to get a glimpse of the new talker; another tall, muscled man like many in their pack, but this one refused to make eye contact with Damien, or with anyone around him. His eyes drifted and snapped around on the tracks beneath him, but never at anyone's eyes.

"David says be careful with you." Stephanie leaned down toward the short Scot, and tilted her head to the side. "Why's that?"

"I dinnae ken." Fiona looked up at the wolf, then around her and at the squirming man in the distance. "Looks pure barry." Sarcasm dripped from her tongue.

Everyone raised an eyebrow at her, Damien included. The fuck did pure barry mean? Fiona snirked, catching onto everyone's confusion; and refused to enlighten anyone.

Stephanie took a long sniff, and a sneer started to form, along with some growl sounds. "You're not human, and you don't smell like a dead girl."

Another of the wolves walked up from the pack. Normal height, with tanned skin and box braid hair. "I'm Clara," she said. Where Stephanie gave them nothing but sneers and growls, this Clara person seemed to at least offer a smile. "You're awfully close to our hunting grounds. And I assume you've been told about them, so no excuses. Leave."

"Clara... you in charge?" he said.

"Second in charge." She shrugged and folded her arms across her chest. So casual for someone in such a position. "Avery isn't here."

"Clara then. We aren't under Devil's Corner yet, not quite. We haven't violated your demand."

"Demand, heh." Stephanie stepped in closer to Fiona again, and glared down at her. "I'm more interested in why David's got a problem with her. You don't smell like a vampire, but you don't feel like a human. And," she took another long whiff, "you smell... weird."

"And ye smell rank." Fiona took a step back. Or she tried to, but Stephanie's hand snapped out to grab her wrist and yank her back toward her.

Fiona punched her.

Damien jumped as Stephanie fell backward ten feet. Fiona hit hard. It wasn't just the little girl punching the big bad wolf, it was the thing inside her too. Vrall. For a moment, just a second or two, the colossal shape of the enormous spider goddess appeared, gargantuan legs erupting from Fiona's back as her fist collided with Stephanie's chest. And along with her human fist was Vrall's open palm, three claws, that slammed into the werewolf and sent her flying.

"What the fuck!" Clara jumped back over to Stephanie, and the rest of the pack joined her. They picked the woman back up to her feet, and Stephanie took a moment to get her bearings. But she had no balance, not with spiderweb wrapping her arms tight to her torso.

Fuck.

"Dangerous! Dangerous. Spider, she-spider." David came closer, and the others came with him. "Spider, she-spider."

"Damien," Clara said, and she came up to him with a growl and sneer just like Stephanie's. "Get away from her."

"What? Why? She's no threat to you." He started to back up, and drew his sword as he did. The blade grabbed their eyes for a second, but only one, before their gazes fell back to the little woman beside him. She even hid behind his arm, but when he looked down at her, she had her own sneer on her face. If she was afraid, he couldn't tell; she looked more excited than anything.

"Because," Stephanie said as she waddled over to them, arms still trapped in the webbing around her, "she's Azlu."

And then her arms were no longer trapped. Damien's eyes went wide, and he drew his pistol in his other hand. But he continued backing up, and his eyes continued to widen, as the werewolves began to transform.

Fur overtook their clothes, and their clothes disappeared in the growing, overwhelming mass of muscle. Claws replaced their fingernails. Their hair changed, warped, turned into manes of different sizes along their enormous necks. Some of them had a couple beads in braids dangling from their manes. Others kept necklaces of string with teeth or talons dangling from their now enormous necks. All of them now with wolf heads twice the size of any wolf's.

He kept backing up. Fiona had frozen, but he pushed against her with his sword arm. Keep going, keep going. Slowly.

They were getting taller. The large muscles they'd already sported were now gargantuan walls of meat and strength. Some were eight feet tall, some nine, one of them ten. Their ears rose into points, and their mouths elongated into snouts with teeth bared. All semblance of their human gaze faded away, replaced with animal eyes, wolf eyes.

Fiona gulped again. He did too.

"Go. Kindred. Leave." The one that was Stephanie towered over them, and made a few attempts to brush off the webbing stuck to her arms. She wasn't bound anymore, but it was sticky stuff. "Leave girl here." Her voice was a snarled mess of deep growls and heavy slurs.

Good God, she was massive. She was haunched forward, like she'd start running on all fours at any moment, and a few drops of drool fell from her chops.

Run. Get the fuck out. The beast in his chest freaked, screeching in all the blind fear he expected of a scared, tiny animal before the wolf. Vitae jolted through his limbs, demanded he run. His weight pressed into the balls of his feet, and he forced himself to stop shaking as he took another step back.

All of them had changed, and all of them were glaring at Fiona. The light caught in their eyes, reflected it slightly. Twelve eyes in the dark coming closer, and closer.

"What is Azlu?" he said. Should be running. Could he run with Fiona next to him? Mekhet were fast, but Fiona probably wasn't. Probably.

"No talk! Azlu. Must. Kill." Clara, or what was left of Clara, stomped toward them, in close, and growled as she lowered her head. A giant wolf's head to match her absurdly massive body. "Go."

He gulped. Like staring into a volcano. Way too close, way way too close.

"Wait, please," he said, "Fiona's done nothing to harm you. You have to explain why—"

Claws came down toward him, massive. For a flash moment, he thought he was looking at Jessy, and those enormous claws she'd attacked him with a lifetime ago. Claws big enough to cleave him into pieces. And this time they had what must have been six hundred pounds of muscle and strength behind them.

He jumped back. Her claws crashed against the concrete beneath him and tore through the metal of the tracks. The tunnel rumbled with the heavy impact, and the following roar of anger vibrated his bones and skin as it echoed. She was fast. He was faster.

He used his sword hand to grab Fiona's jacket, and threw her back as the other wolf Stephanie jumped at her. The wolf's immense body slammed both sets of claws against the tracks beneath them, and she tore through the metal and concrete with all the rage of Goliath.

"Stop! We must speak!" he said, but they weren't listening. The other four werewolves broke into sprints, each of them a hulking mass of death and snarls.

He glanced behind him. Poor Fiona, he'd thrown her a good distance, some ten feet, and she'd landed in a roll over the tracks. Hopefully she didn't break a bone.

Mistake, glancing back. Clara followed her swipe with another, and this time he wasn't so fast dodging. Or she was getting faster. How could something that huge move that quickly? He'd danced around Jessy when she had gone full Gangrel psycho on him—no, not entirely true. Jessy had managed to cut into him. And Clara managed to cut him too, her claws finding his chest and tearing through it skin deep.

And just like Jessy's monstrous claws, the werewolf's claws did more than just cut cleanly, they burned. Like fire. Like fucking acid. He screamed as he jumped back to land beside Fiona, and grabbed at his chest. It was worse than Jessy's claws, more like someone had taken a chainsaw to his ribs. Four long gashes ran down the chest of his shirt. His thick, Kindred blood held to Clara's claws, but there was enough of it for a couple large droplets to splatter on the dark concrete beneath them.

The six beasts charged.

Fiona got back to her feet. He reached out for her to try and grab her, turn, run, get the fuck away, but she pushed his hand aside, and swiped her palm across the air.

In a flash of spider limbs, an eruption of white covered the wall. Damien jumped back again, gasping, eyes snapping left and right as the thick vines attached like living ropes to the tunnel walls. And when they tightened, they made a sound like metal.

A spider web.

The wolves crashed into it, and it stopped them. All of them, all six of them came to a halt as their fangs, claws, and mass collided with the wires of white. Some of the white wires yanked on the concrete bricks that lined the tunnel walls, and several of the bricks ripped free of their holds where the spider webbing was attached to them. The werewolves howled and roared, clawed and bit at the webbing, but they weren't going anywhere.

Or at least, they weren't for a few seconds. Clara snarled at Fiona, stared straight at her, and opened her palms wide before her claws began to glow a subtle crimson. Struggling against the white rope that stuck to her fur and wrapped around her the more she struggled, her claws found the webbing, and began to cut through it.

What the fuck.

"Come on!" Fiona grabbed his wrist, and started running. "Ye ken the way down to the maintenance tunnel below 'ere? We can get back to my lair from there!"

Lair? Lair! He scooped the tiny girl up into his hands, and started running. The werewolves wouldn't be able to get into her dream lair. Probably.

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~~Antoinette~~

It was the third night since the meeting. The third night without talking to Jack, her love and joy. It was killing her.

The Primogen meeting had gone about as well as expected, at least until the Fiona girl came in. All of Antoinette's hatred for Azamel rose to the surface rather suddenly when the beast in her gut had jumped up and bared its teeth at the monster. The reaction had been abrupt, and she wasn't prepared for it, the strange presence of a Begotten, the way they dripped of something primordial and unknowable.

She had not been kind to Fiona, none of the Primogen had. And she saw how it upset her love. Fiona seemed like the friendly sort, the sort to shatter ice with her warm personality and joyful voice, and it had worked on Jack all too well. Manipulation? Unlikely, given her young age, but it did not change that Jack had become friends with the Begotten. And that terrified her.

Antoinette sat in the depths of her tower, the chandelier of blue flames lit, and her table covered in objects and laptops and devices calibrated to see ephemera, once lit by the blue. It was difficult to focus on her research and resume delving into the secrets hidden in Twilight. Twilight, a silly word to describe the hidden things in their world. She hated it, hated such dogma, hated how the Uratha held such things as sacred or as secrets to be kept. Knowledge of the world should be shared.

Fools. They would never understand how important it was for them to work together and share what they knew. In a hundred years when human kind would be colonizing Mars, when space stations would become vast cities, and the Earth could no longer hide their kind easily, what would rigid beasts like Uratha do? Let alone the Begotten, and their hungers.

"P-Prince." Natasha stepped into the laboratory, dressed in her usual business suit. Though, instead of pants, she wore a skirt that stopped at the knee, some pantyhose to darken her legs, and her suit jacket actually sported some cleavage. It looked delightful on her small body and tiny curves. Perhaps someone or something had awakened her sexual awareness, or appetite.

"Vola, you look charming."

"I d-do? Thank you, I... I uh, have been... trying to expand m-my wardrobe."

"Oh? Then please, if you ever wish for aid in such matters, I would be glad to provide assistance. You are a dragon now, Vola, which means I can help you in many ways. And your sire has as much interest in fashion as a rock." Antoinette could — and did — dress her ghouls in many fashions for fun, but to play such games with a Kindred, one with many decades under her belt, could prove especially fun indeed.

"D-Daniel is... yes, he is... trench coat man," she said. The two of them laughed; it was true after all. Natasha looked around a few times, no doubt coming to terms with her sire's absence once more. If she knew where Antoinette had sent him, she would have been upset. Best to keep such matters a secret, even from her new student.

"Did you bring the object I asked for?"

"Yes Prince. It... it took some thinking, t-t-to find what you wanted. But I found an old necklace, one that I wore a lot in... that time. A gift from... my parents." Vola walked over to her and set the necklace down on the table in front of Antoinette. "It holds a lot of memory. Reminds me of that time... b-b-before the embrace."

Perfect.

"Thank you, Natasha. Your necklace will be unharmed, I am sure, but be prepared for the unexpected. What we are about to do is dangerous."

"D-Dangerous?" Her brows furrowed, and she looked across the table of objects and devices, the room and its symbols drawn into the floor, and toward the center of the symbols where she no doubt anticipated her necklace would be placed.

"Indeed. Come." Antoinette picked up the necklace with all the care of a great artifact, one tablet as well, and walked toward the center of her laboratory. "The ghostly images we expose with the help of these devices from the Ordo Dracul are ephemera. Ghosts, though more often, the shadow of them and their passing."

"Those s-scary occult objects are possessed by ghosts?"

"Not exactly. These tools allow us to see the scars. You could think of them as the echoes of events, in much the same way ghosts are the echoes of people." Such wonder and terror the Ordo Dracul had shown her long ago when she joined the order, centuries ago in Europe. All a blur now, faded hazy memories.

"Daniel discussed ephemera with me, but I've... I don't know. These words feel weightless. I just see... images of things. They respond, s-s-sure, but—"

"Yes. You are a skeptic, Natasha Vola, and I appreciate that. I value that." She pat the tiny girl on the shoulder, smiled down at her, and took the final steps into the center of the enormous symbol upon the floor. "Come." Sitting down on the floor on the side of her leg, she set the necklace upon its center as Natasha sat next to her.