My Little Ventrue Pt. 05 Ch. 14

He kept moving. The forest greeted him, familiar, home. The trails where prey ran, the sights and sounds and smells, he knew them all. The little flits of drifting essence, the ephemera entities, spirits, manifesting, growing, building up, becoming. He sped past a critter, a squirrel maybe, body glowing green and partly see-through, eyes deep and dark. There was an owl, with eyes like the night sky. There was a fox with several tails, and it screeched before disappeared into the forest, as did the others. Everything wanted to get away from the intruder, the Goliath, ripping and tearing its way through the green and brown of the woods.

Where was the voice? Gone. It abandoned him, left him to run from this monster alone. And it was gaining on him. He threw his belly to the forest floor, and forced himself under a giant log, something ancient and part of the land, something that offered him a nod with eyes opening in the lines of the tree's bark.

The monster didn't care. It slammed all four of its hands down into the enormous piece of ancient wood, and ripped it apart. In the shower of bits of bark and death, it threw its mass forward, taking down two more trees with each shoulder, and sending them forward in a mad spin of inertia. One of them hit another tree, and went into a spin, bouncing around against rock and earth until one of its branches caught Eric in his side.

Pain. He'd always thought you weren't supposed to feel pain in a dream, not pain like this, pain that scorched up the spine and gave you a headache, made you want to vomit. Pain silenced for a moment, before it doubled again when his body collided with something, the length of his wolf body curving around it before he slumped to the ground. A stump had blocked his flight path with all the grace of a car crash.

The world blurred around him. His body was heavy. His fingers didn't respond; right, he had paws now, not hands. But he knew how to use paws, and they weren't responding. His lungs had stopped working, diaphragm no longer pulling down. Nothing was working. He was a lump, a pile of flesh, pulsing with agony and crying tears — that's why everything was blurry, his eyes were filled with tears. Or, blood.

The monster crouched down over him, glowing red eyes glaring into him. Its face looked human, for the most part, except for the massive horns, and as it growled, shark teeth joined the list of inhuman features. One of its four hands reached out, and picked him up. He was a wolf, against a twelve-foot gargoyle creature, and he was going to die.

The monster grabbed his head with one hand, his back legs with another, and started to tear him in half. No questions, no words, nothing to explain this pointless murder. Skin, muscle, tearing, bones separating, crushed into bits, grinding into—

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

He sat up in bed with a jolt. Where, where was he? Right, the hotel. Where was Kat? Right, not at the hotel. What fucking time was it? Sunset.

Christ, sunset? How long was he asleep? Must have been over ten hours. What in the... oh fucking hell. He looked around himself, and winced as he felt the wet sheets. A cold sweat soaked the bed, and himself. His dreams hadn't been doing that since his first change, but whatever that dream was, it scared him fucking shitless; evidence was there in front of him, whether he wanted to believe it or not. He'd probably have literally shit the bed, if it'd gotten any worse.

He got up out of bed, and headed for the shower. His feet were like cinder blocks, dragging, knocking against the door frame and the hallway. Some random, shitty hotel, so he blamed his clumsiness on that. And the weight of his body? Had to be the shitty bed. Shit bed, shit hotel, shit sleep, and now he had stubbed toes. Even if the vamps can track you, you really should sleep in your proper bed, Eric. At least then you can sleep deep and proper.

He got to the bathroom, set his hands on the tiny sink, and looked into the tiny, warped mirror. Looked like shit. Felt like shit. Everything was shit.

"What... the fuck was that?" He held a hand up to his face, stared into the mirror, and cradled his jaw. No idea, no idea what that fucking was. The dream was vivid, blatant. His dreams often were, since the changes had started hitting him. There was usually a voice in his dreams, and it talked to him, that much he managed to wrap his mind around. But that thing, that giant fucking gargoyle thing, was not like anything else.

It found him. It ran him down in his dream, and killed him. Holy fuck, he could still remember the sensation of pain, unimaginable pain, in his bones and muscles as they started to tear to pieces. Saran wrap being pulled apart, resistant and pliable at first, before it started to give way in a bloody mess. He now knew what it felt like to die, in the most horrible way possible. What a lovely memory to have drilled into his mind for the rest of his life.

Nasty nightmare? It was unusual for a nightmare. God fucking damn, he felt like shit, like someone had run him over with a truck. He didn't feel like someone had torn him in half; still breathing, after all. If someone had run him down though, hopped out of the truck, and beat his ass with a baseball bat, he might feel like this. Except the pain wasn't in his body, wasn't in his bones or muscles like it felt like it should have been, and it wasn't real pain. Something in his brain told him he was fucked, and needed to lie the fuck down, told him he was beaten and bruised, even though he didn't feel like it.

He stared down at the sink. Red eyes. Glowing, red eyes. Maybe a spirit, like the ones in the alley? No, those his instincts told him were spirits. They smelled like spirits; what that was, his human brain wasn't able to put a finger on, but they did. There were spirits in his dreams, but they couldn't have been real, just dream things spawned by whatever was clawing its way out of the depths of his subconscious to talk to him.

He looked at the mirror again. Everything turned double, and started dancing around. Colors blurred, bleeding over each other. Hallucinating? No, he knew this feeling, the same feeling of being in a choke hold. Except you were normally lying on the ring floor during one of those, not standing.

He collapsed. One of his hands managed to grab the sink basin on the way down, but he went down anyway, bodyweight jerking on the sink hard enough to half-turn his body with his shoulder as a pivot point. He almost wrenched his arm out of the socket, but let go at the last moment, other shoulder slamming into the floor.

"Fucking... shit..." He gasped for air. For a moment, for a painfully long fucking moment, he felt like the wolf in that dream again, after he was slammed into the tree trunk. A sack of broken flesh, lying down, unable to do anything. He turned his head and stared at the crummy ceiling. It was spinning.

Breathe. Breathe. Get some air into your fucking lungs.

He forced in the air, slow and deep. His body ached, or fake ached or whatever, but it was nothing he couldn't handle. The problem was his brain didn't want to function, didn't want to uptake the oxygen. Christ, was he having a stroke?

No, that made no sense. Wrong symptoms, and his new body didn't seem like it'd ever get a stroke. Something else was happening to him. Fuck, fuck fuck fuck, what was happening to him?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

He took a taxi back to his new home. Thinking he could get a better night's rest at some random hotel backfired, apparently. No, there was no way the shitshow that was his brain right now was caused by the hotel, unless there was a gas leak in the hotel and he borderline died. Now back at his Invictus-bought penthouse suite apartment, he could catch his breath, take a shower, get dressed, and get ready for work.

Hopefully. The ride up the elevator did not go well. He was in the suit he wore the night before, and that was the only thing that got him past the concierge, considering he was dragging his hands against every surface so he didn't fall over. It was a damn expensive place to live, and lot of the people coming and going were dressed in tuxedos or other expensive, ridiculous suits. Some women were dressed for nights at the opera, while others were dressed for high price nightclubs where they'd blow a blue collar's monthly wages in a single night, on heroine. Everyone looked like they bled money, and at the moment, he very much did not, tripping over himself like he was dying.

Fuck, maybe he was dying. Was that dream a premonition? That gargoyle, demon, whatever the fuck it was, belonged on a god damn cathedral, casting judgment on everyone passing by. It did not belong in his head. It wasn't supposed to be there, that much his new senses could tell him. If it didn't belong there, the fuck did that mean?

He pressed the button on the elevator, and did his best to not look at the tiny dog sitting in a woman's purse; dog didn't bark, so, props to her for good training. Concrete weighed on his shoulders, and pulled him into the side of the elevator. Stay standing, just stay standing. Another person came on, older dude in a suit with a mustache, maybe visiting someone. Eric managed a small nod. Be polite to the strangers, and let everyone look at you like you're drunk, just don't prove it.

His floor, finally. Only a few other apartments on this floor, as each apartment took up a corner of the large building; ridiculously fucking huge apartments. He forced in another breath, and made for the door, swallowing down the nausea in his stomach, and ignoring how the hallway attempted to thwart him like he was in fucking Inception.

He smelled someone, someone familiar, and recent. She'd been here before, and he could smell her again. Gulping, he opened the door.

Yeap, there she was. Sitting on his couch was Jessy Herrington, with Kat cuddling into her tits. She was wearing a white shirt, buttons undone far enough to show a bit of the black bra underneath. Looked great with the black jeans.

Even feeling like he was about to pass out, his dick loved to give him a quick rundown. God damn it.

"You look like shit," she said.

"I... feel like shit." No use arguing, no energy for that. He dragged himself over to her, and collapsed onto the couch hard enough to launch her an inch into the air. "Tried to get some sleep somewhere safe, alone, away from fucking... everyone. Guess it didn't work."

"Didn't sleep?"

"I did, just doesn't seem to have worked."

"I figured you wolves were basically unstoppable juggernauts, always at your prime?"

"Yeah, I was feeling like that for a while, too. Knee is healed, and... yeah." His head collapsed onto the couch back, and he turned it enough to look over at Jessy. The woman held his cat snug to her, and raised her enough so Kat could put her two forearms against her shoulder, near Eric.

Kat offered him a few slow blinks, before turning her head to nudge into Jessy's neck. The purrs were audible, and ridiculous. Traitor.

"The place smelled like cat shit, F Y I. I cleaned your litter box."

"... seriously?"

"Well, I mean, I called the help and had them do it." Jessy laughed, and nudged her cheek into Kat's head for some rubbing. "I am far too important to be cleaning litter boxes."

He laughed, then groaned. Dizziness overwhelmed him, and faded away with each pulse of his heart. Ok, yeah, no laughing.

"You were supposed to work tonight, right? Take the night off."

"I... I think I might just. The music would make my brain explode."

"Guess that means I won't be feeding on you tonight."

"Sorry."

"Ah that's ok. I wouldn't want to catch whatever parasite's fucking up your brain anyhow." She kissed Kat's head, got up, and started walking around, Kat's forearms still on her shoulder, and butt sitting in her arms. "How's your dad?"

Knowing the Invictus could monitor his expenses was horrible, and embarrassing. His life was enough of a train wreck, no need for all those eyes peering into it, with his purchases on a list they could analyze and laugh at.

"As useless as ever, and dead set on not getting better. Man just doesn't fucking care."

"Your mom died, right? Were they close?"

Eric lifted his head, and raised a brow as he looked at her. What a way to approach a sensitive topic, for any man; girl was exposing his psyche with all the grace of a wrecking ball.

"They were close. She died of cancer."

"Cancer's a bitch." Sighing, Jessy continued around his place, and peeked into his cupboards. "Empty." She checked a drawer. "Empty." And another. "Utensils." Then a cupboard. "Empty." Then she checked the freezer and fridge. "And a whole fucking lot of meat. I bet Kat loves that."

"I... it's... it's the only thing I can stand eating anymore." There were other things too, bones, strange organs not normally sold that he asked a butcher for. He kept them in the back of the freezer, to avoid having to look at them until it was easier. And to avoid unwanted topic conversations.

"When did she die?"

"Must be almost twenty years now."

"Dad ever find another relationship?"

"No." Eric wanted to get up and watch Jessy closer, make sure she didn't touch anything. Stupid. It was her apartment, really, and it wasn't like he had anything in it to hide. The biggest secret he had was the brains and bones and hooves in the freezer, and she'd already moved on from that.

"Probably very depressed, especially after his son's career and marriage were ruined by a knee injury."

"Thanks a lot." Groaning, he crawled over onto the rest of the couch, and lay on his back, head on the couch arm. "And you? Tell me some shitty stuff about your past."

"Don't really got one."

"No past?"

"I mean shitty stuff. Got no baggage." With a shrug, she came back over to him, and sat down on the glass table, Kat still in her arms. Damn cat looked perfectly happen to go coma in Jessy's ever petting embrace. "Kind of silly, isn't it? So many vamps got a story, some fucked up path that led to their embrace. That poor kid Jack was an attempted murder by an enemy vamp. Natasha, I know her siring led to the death of her parents. Julias, well, Viktor sired him without telling him what was happening; now that's some fucking scary shit. And my sire, MacDonald? He's old as dirt and can't remember the details, but he tells me he had to fight someone else to the death for the right to be embraced, bare hands."

Jesus, that was grim.

"But not you?"

"Nah. My parents and I never got along, so I ran off when I was pretty young. They didn't try and find me. Years later, I'm working a shitty factory job in North Side, and got into a bar fight on the edge of South Side, near the Carthian district. Apparently I'd got into a fight with a ghoul, who are fucking strong as shit compared to normal kine. Still kicked his ass, though. Broke my arm, but kicked his ass. Michael thought that was boss, so he spent a couple years grooming me, then sired me. Here I am." Shrugging, she gave Kat another kiss. "I had a cat, back then. But after my embrace, he didn't like me. You know how cats can be, when they're old and you try and introduce them to new cats; or in this case, a vampire. Too much of a change for an old boy like him." That put a thought in her head, and her eyes looked up, drifting. "I suppose that is the biggest baggage I have. Lost my cat when I was embraced. Maybe that's why I like you so much."

"Because I have a cat?"

"Because you have a cat. A dumb, loving cat."

She was definitely dumb and loving, no doubt about that. At least Kat didn't like the other Uratha; probably their military vibe putting her off.

"Guess that makes me lucky."

"Damn right. Lucky you have an awesome cat, because cats are awesome. Lucky you're a werewolf, because that's awesome. And lucky you caught my eye, because I'm awesome." Jessy winked at him, before she started rubbing her face on Kat's head. Kat returned the gesture, head bumping her and purring like a lawn mower.

"Not so lucky last night."

"Yeah, you really do look like shit. Couldn't have just been a bad day's sleep."

"I... I had this dream. Do vampires dream?"

"Sorta." She came over and sat down on the arm of the chair his head was on, so only an inch separated his head from her butt. That was fine, it was a great butt. "Kindred have torpor, where we go comatose during the day. We dream then, pretty vivid, weird shit sometimes. It gets really nasty when we purposefully go under for years at a time, to suppress our blood lust. The dreams get nuts, and you're stuck in them, for years. Lot of vamps wake up from that a different person."

"... that is some scary shit."

"Right? I haven't done one yet, and a lot of us don't until we've got a century under our belt. It's generally not something to look forward to." Shrugging, she stood back up, and sat down on his stomach instead. He braced for pain, but, his new body handled her weight fine. He felt like utter shit, but at least his muscles weren't fucked. "You?"

"Dreamed I... dreamed I was a wolf, last night."

"Sounds almost blasé, a werewolf dreaming of being a wolf." She leaned back over the couch, butt on his stomach, and lifted Kat up and over her shoulder to set the feline on a nearby cat tower, before she got comfortable on his gut, her elbow on the back of the couch, chin in her palm, face toward him.

"Except my dreams talk to me. Talk talk to me, as in, call me out by name, and... tell me things."

"Sounds creepy. What sort of things?"

"This fucking Uratha shit came with baggage. Something about ancient beings and the duty I've inherited from them." He threw up his hands, before setting one on his forehead. "I'd just love it if everyone left me the fuck alone."

"That include me?" Raising a brow, she licked a fang, and waited. He thought she was joking, but, it seemed like she really wanted to know.

"Fuck no, you're one of the few people that seems to be upfront with me."

"Ha! Well, it is the norm for vamps to lie, cheat, manipulate; s'why I told you to play the field. What about the dogs and monsters, they fuckin' you over?"

"Avery wants to... adopt me into the fold."

"Typical."

"Azamel wants me on her side, but as far as I can tell, she's got no rules beyond that. Simply help her out if she's under attack. Otherwise, do whatever I want."

"But Julias wants you to work with Avery, and the Invictus think you should stay where you're at." Laughing, she shook her head, like it was a song and dance she'd heard before. Probably was. "I wouldn't want to be in your shoes, despite all the luck. I see the hospital bills."

"You do?"

"Yeah. I put you on the Invictus payroll, and that comes with chains. Course, that was before you got your paranormal badge, and now you have some rights; or at least, more than kine." She reached down for his jacket, and spread it, before she started tugging on his arms. "Come on, help me out."

He raised a brow again; doing that often with her. Eventually he conceded, and helped her slide off his suit jacket. She got to work on his shirt buttons next, humming as she undid them. No grins or mischievous smiles, despite his expectations, only a small smile as she undid one button, then the next, and the next. If he didn't know better, he'd assume she was his mother, taking care of him because he was sick.

"Gonna get some vapor rub for me?" he said.

"Ha! Don't think I won't. You're a man, which means you're a big baby when you're sick. A big, dumb, very sexy baby with a really nice six pack." She whistled as she pulled his undone shirt out from the waistline of his pants. With some effort, she got the shirt off entirely.

"Strange looking baby."

"Yeap." She pat his chest, chuckling, before she undid the button and zipper of his pants, and yanked those off too, before sitting back on his stomach and pelvis. Now all he had left was his boxers. "But I'm not your mom, I'm your babysitter. Ever had the babysitter fantasy?"