My Little Ventrue Pt. 06 Ch. 09

Vicky and Parker were still buried under the rubble. He looked up higher, ignoring the pain in his spine and muscles, and looked back to the source of the noise. Matthew, on the rampage. The giant beast roared fury as he ripped through the tunnel, barriers destroyed by the explosion; or the titan had succeeded in tearing through them. The beast sprinted down the tunnel, and gunfire erupted, but it was outside Damien's viewing angle.

"D-Damien?"

Oh thank God. He forced his head down to look at the face buried underneath his chest.

"Hey... F-Fiona," he said through clenched teeth. "Glad you're... alive."

Fiona frowned up at him, and started hitting his chest. "Ye fuckin bawbag! Tae fuck is wrong wit ye! Ye... didnae have tae... do that."

He tried to smile, and managed it for a second or two, before the impacts of her tiny fists against his chest triggered the assortment of broken ribs to revolt against him. He swallowed down the pain as best he could, and let his head collapse against the floor.

"You injured?"

"I'm fine, awright? And ye?"

"... not so fine." He couldn't find the resolve to dismiss his injuries, and more groans escaped him.

He could faintly remember the sight of Antoinette, filled with holes, a mangled corpse missing an arm and leg besides. She hadn't whimpered, cried, sobbed, or groaned. The steel resolve of the woman in the face of such pain, while he had to bite back his tears as he tried to roll off Fiona, was a testament to the difference in their abilities and age. It was a degree of resolve he strove for, and right now, it was ten thousand leagues beyond him.

But he bit down his pain and groans, a little, and smiled down at Fiona. "Can you move?"

"Aye!" She slid out from under him, and he coughed up some blood through clenched teeth. Shit, that was not good. Kine bleeding through the mouth was problematic, but if he was, a Kindred, it meant his insides were a broken mess.

Once Fiona was free of his body, he collapsed completely, and a few blocks of concrete rolled down from the pile onto him. That earned a short-lived scream, pain he was not expecting.

"Damien! Damien, ye fucking moron." She reached down, and tried to lift one of the blocks. She was a monster, after all, and spiders were strong for their size. But the blocks were heavy and large, and instead of lifting it straight off of him, she mostly rolled it off, and it crushed some flesh on the way off his body. "Shit fuck shit!" She set her hands on a block, and from a black silhouette of eight legs, started to spin webbing. The white thread, she shot out at the walls and ruined ceiling above, and its absolute stickiness was strong enough to get the weight off of him.

By the time she had the rubble off him, there were a dozen white threads latched onto what remained of the walls. Sighing, looking tired, she moved onto the rest of the pile, and started the same process. Damien lay there, and did his best to watch, but keeping his head up was proving impossible. He let it collapse, and listened.

"Vicky, Parker?" Damien said.

"They're alive." Sweating and grunting, Fiona continued to dig, and reached under some smaller rubble to grab their hands. It looked like his maneuver had been successful, and Vicky had protected Parker with her body. Ventrue resilience was a powerful tool, and in the moment, he was terribly envious.

More gunfire echoes filled the tunnels, along with animal roars that threatened to deafen anyone within half a mile; more than they already were. He felt the vibration of it through the tunnel floor, overshadowing the thunderous cracks of the rifles. Whatever was happening, it was beyond a bend in the tunnel, out of sight.

Vicky and Parker dragged themselves over to Damien, unable to stand, but in far better condition than him. With grunts and groans of their own, they reached out and took stock of him, lifting his broken hand, dented head, and other limbs. He shouted when they lifted his broken foot.

"If any hunters come back for us," Parker said, "we're fucked."

Vicky sighed, rolling her eyes. "Mekhet and Daeva, you break like porcelain."

Parker laughed. Damien clenched his jaw, until Parker peered down at him, and winced.

"Fiona," Damien said, "catch up with Matthew, and see if he needs your help."

"What? I'm na gonna leave ye, Damien, or the rest of ye. None of ye could fight a bee right now!"

He sighed, and turned his head enough to look up at the ceiling. Somehow, the hunters had managed to get explosives deep into the concrete, powerful ones. They hid the scent too, of themselves and the explosives. On top of all that, they used two different sorts of magical barriers to set up a trap, and get information. Maybe they hadn't counted on a werewolf springing the trap, especially Matthew, Avery's juggernaut, hence the hunter and her back up fleeing.

Damien looked over to Fiona as she moved over to sit beside his shoulder, and set a hand down on his neck. She frowned at him and stroked his skin. It felt nice.

"You're limping," he said.

"Ye're more broken than a crushed box. Stop worrying about me." Fiona shrugged and looked down at her legs in front of her. One leg was torn up, blood dripping from the wound. It wasn't like Damien's legs managed to cover hers perfectly, after all. But at least nothing she had was broken. "Ye going to be... ok, Damien? Ye're... ye're beat up, in a bad way."

He stared at the blood on her leg, the exposed, pale skin, and sniffed. As his vitae did its best to mend his wounds, at least enough so he'd be able to use his limbs, it drained quickly. In moments, he was starving, and staring at the slow, dripping blood, of Fiona's leg.

Pain, white fire, almost cold like ice on his withered veins, demanded he heal. And he was healing, thick Kindred blood pulling into his wounds and forcing his bones back into alignment while mending ripped muscles and tendons. It was slow though, very slow compared to the Uratha. Hours, instead of minutes. He wouldn't be able to completely heal his wounds without going to sleep for the day, and a belly full of blood.

There was no one to feed on, though. He could feed on Vicky or Parker, but the Vinculum was to be avoided at all costs, not to mention addiction to vitae.

There was Fiona. He stared at her wound, glared at her, and he felt his fangs start to emerge. Thoughts melted away, buried in the agony, and gave rise to an animal need inside him. He was vaguely aware it was there, demanding he give in and let it feed. How long had it been since the Beast in him was let out, frenzy driving Damien to feast? Decades. Many decades. It was a forgotten feeling, the rush and exhilaration of the animal within, caring about one thing and one thing alone. Blood.

He wanted hers.

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

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

~~Julias~~

The three of the Invictus council watched the screen, and sighed. In their primary meeting room where the three did their usual private conversations, the giant touch screen on the wall allowed them to sort large amounts of information and break it down together. Right now it was showing a blueprint of Dolareido, and had various glowing dots. GPS signals from the phones Invictus were carrying.

Unfortunately, it was only the Invictus showing up, and that provided no end of frustration to the council. Garry didn't let them put trackers on his Kindred. Understandable, but still frustrating.

One of the lights lit up. Jonah's light. A second later, the three council members received a message on their phones.

"Looks like Mister LeBrun's run his distress app," Maria said as she moved over to the table to sit. Jonah was a serious sort, so if he was the one pressing it, it was worth considering.

Michael sighed, growling at the phone. "Not the hunters one, though. Seems he's in a fight with Carthians."

"That's Madam Herrington's team." Julias matched Michael's sigh, and sat back, putting his ass to the edge of the table as he watched the screen. The three dots were moving around in the same area, instead of sweeping the area like they should have been. "It wouldn't surprise me if she picked a fight with some Carthians."

"Give my childe a break, Mister Mire. Herrington's been learning to temper her impulsiveness."

"I wonder," Maria said, "if her relationship with the Uratha has helped calm her nerves? Having a strong man to hold her in his arms, instead of a host of weak and helpless ghouls, may be settling her."

Julias laughed and shook his head. "Maybe, but I doubt it'll last."

"The relationship?"

"No, her being less impulsive, if she is. Sorry to say, Mister MacDonald, but I've got thousands of solid hours of work with Herrington at my side. Impulsiveness is in her bones."

The man laughed and shrugged. "What do you propose we do about this situation?"

"We can't let this go unanswered," Julias said. "Whoever's to blame for this scuffle needs to be punished. We're busy hunting hunters. Covenant squabbles are not allowed."

The two elders nodded.

"I'll go deal with it," Michael said.

Julias blinked at him, and watched as Michael headed for the door. He was a tall guy with a big frame, lot of muscle, with a shaved head and a single chain that connected nostril to ear. He looked like a Carthian, except for the ten-thousand-dollar suit he wore, a shade of blue so dark, it almost shined with stars.

"Garry might drop by," Maria said. "We can't escalate the situation."

"I won't escalate it. I'll settle it. If I have to break some arms, I'll make sure to spread the pain around."

Julias shook his head. "What if it's the werewolves? Eric's with Herrington, and we know Avery has a half dozen of her pack helping the Carthian sweep teams."

"Then I'll break them. Put them in their place."

"We're trying to be friends with Avery, aren't we?"

"Not if they violate the Masquerade. Besides, it's Garry I'm worried about having to deal with. Avery is reasonable. Tones is just a moron." With that, Michael closed the door, and was gone.

Julias sat down next to Maria, and looked at her. The small corpse lady was looking at her tablet as usual, and scrolled through pictures with scans of ancient texts. Looked like Latin. Julias couldn't read it, but it also included some pictures, drawn in ink on the parchment, and it didn't take a genius to guess they were pictures of spirits. A bit of fire, with eyes. A gust of wind, with eyes. A pool of water, with eyes. She scrolled to the next page, and more pictures awaited, animals with strange features, like foxes with multiple tails, or deer with antlers of colossal proportions.

"What's this?" he said.

"Research. There are spirits in Dolareido, but trying to communicate with them has been frustrating."

Ok, that was a little surprising. He didn't expect her to straight up answer him like that. Dodge the question, sure, but direct honesty? The only Kindred he'd expect that from was Jack.

"You've been trying?"

"A passing curiosity of late."

"You know Avery won't approve."

Maria shrugged, and scrolled to the next page. No pictures, and a wall of Latin text Julias struggled to understand. Something about a wall between two worlds.

"I am not Minerva. I can fend for myself, should those dogs come to my door. And, I do not know whatever it was that let Minerva perform such successful experiments."

Successful experiments? "How much do you know about her experiments?"

"Terribly little. Only that she spoke to things on the other side, and reached across the wall. How she did it, is beyond me."

Julias nodded. Either that was all a misdirect by her, to convince him that she didn't know how to do whatever it was that Minerva did, or she was telling the truth. From the way she said it, his instincts said truth, but she was much older than him, and had the better poker face.

"I wanted to ask you," she said, "about Beatrice Damor."

He leaned back in his seat and raised a brow. "Oh?"

"You two seem to be quite in love."

"Yeah, we are." Dangerous territory. Hopefully the Lucas and Maria comparison wasn't going to be made.

"Do you plan to marry her?"

He chuckled and scanned the corpse's face, looking for hidden meanings in the cracked flesh. "You think Kindred should marry?"

"I... do not subscribe to ludicrous notions. We are immortal creatures, and we are not human. The sanctity of marriage and the roof it provides mean little to our kind. And yet... I often think of it."

"Think of marriage?"

"Something akin to marriage, yes. Two Kindred, forever devoted to each other—or at least for centuries. Hundreds of years ago, such pairings in Kindred were not so rare."

"Hundreds of years ago, Kindred could subjugate entire villages, get a castle for themselves, and become self-made nobles. A different time."

"Indeed."

"But, if you're asking would I spend the next few centuries or more with her, hell, maybe even eternity, at my side? Yeah."

Maria sighed, but didn't look his way, eyes still on the tablet. Didn't look like she was reading though; rather, she stared off into nothing, the tablet in front of her. He couldn't tell what brought on this topic, but it wasn't like Kindred didn't regularly sit and daydream about what ifs.

"You should tell her that, Mister Mire."

"It'd sound an awful lot like a marriage proposal."

"It would."

"I... I'm not sure how that would go, honestly. Triss is—"

"Tell her, Mister Mire. Ask her." Maria lifted her eyes from the tablet, glared at him with enough frustration in her gaze to cut into him, before looking back to her studies. This time she did resume reading, and Julias knew better than to interrupt her, especially considering the look on her face.

It was strange to see Maria being emotional like this. Romantic. But it wasn't like he disagreed with what she was saying. Hell, it was the fifth secret he was going to share with Triss and Jen, that he wanted to marry Triss; or at least commit to that in the way Kindred did.

"I think I will."

"Good. Be—"

A phone ring came in, his phone. Sighing, he got up and answered it. "Madam Leauvion, why the call?"

"Mister Mire. I... I wanted to inform you that we had to end our sweep early."

"What? Why?"

"Mister Terry felt it best to end it prematurely. Tensions were high."

Ok, not good. "Why are you calling me, and not Mister Terry?"

"He... left, Mister Mire, on his own."

"On his own? Oh for fuck's sake. Thanks for telling me, Madam Leauvion." He hung up, and sighed as he headed for the door.

"We warned you, Mire," Maria said. It was obvious he'd been talking about Jack, of course.

"I know, I know. Guess I just expected... I'll talk to him."

"Please do. Your childe has been a blessing to the Invictus, and it would pain me to see him perish due to bad decisions. If he left his mission without a companion, he will be easy prey for hunters."

Maybe. He might be easy prey. Or he'd kill them all.

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

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

~~Natasha~~

Chaos erupted. Once the strange faces on the wall spotted her and the others, there was no chance any of this was going to go well. She'd hoped to eavesdrop and then leave, but this place, this giant room of flesh and the dead, was alive. It saw them, through her Cloak of Night, and now the hunters were together, four of them, hiding behind some pulsating mounds of flesh as they readied their guns.

Natasha broke, dropping her Cloak of Night, and grunting little squeaky grunts as she pulled out her own pistol, her back to the flesh. "S-Sorry," she said. "It's... hard t-to keep it going in here. So many eyes now." Hundreds of eyes from the wall of red meat behind Elen were looking, staring, gaze flitting about randomly.

Triss nodded and shrugged, before peeking over the mound of flesh they hid behind. "Hello there!"

Natasha raised an eyebrow at the Nosferatu, and grimaced as she looked to see what weapons the witches would bring to bear. Oh, right, they had none. She looked Jen's way too, and grimaced twice more. The Ventrue was too young for this, and unarmed except for a knife, the worst of the blood clans to not have a ranged weapon.

She expected the witches to be panicking. They weren't. If anything, they seemed eager for a fight, grinning and licking their fangs as they peeked around the flesh mound to scan the room. It was true that the witches hadn't had a proper confrontation with the hunters like Tash had, and that this would be their first crack at it, but it was the most horrible circumstance possible. No room for error here, and no back up yet. Would Daniel or Antoinette come? She checked her phone, and—no signal anymore. Of course not.

"So that's Elen," Aaron said. "And the Romanian guy is Sándor?"

Tash blinked at the Gangrel. Romanian? She peeked around the mound of flesh to see if she could still see the man. She could. He was standing now, shirtless, and she had to admit, really damn sexy. Sándor had dreamy blue eyes and a defined chin, with some short, dark gruff on his face that matched his buzzed dark hair. He might have been twenty-five years old. But, there was no way she'd be able to guess his nationality at a glance, or from the scant few words he'd said. Aaron could, evidently.

She nodded at him, and switched the safety off on her pistol. "It looks like he's b-being controlled by Elen and her magic." A far better explanation for how a fellow paranormal could have betrayed them, than the thought that maybe a paranormal simply wanted to help hunters out of the kindness of their heart. "I d-d-don't know how, but we should... we should kill the hunters, capture Elen, and... m-maybe detain the Begotten."

Jen nodded from her spot behind a giant rib bone jutting from the bloody skin floor. "Agreed, but I don't see how we're going to do that. I—" Shards of bone shattered outward from her position, and she squeaked before flattening herself to the rib as best she could, back to it and arms held in snug. Gunfire.

Tash stuck her head out, and managed to get a peek of Sándor. He was coming closer. Sticking her head out earned the ire of the hunters, and they unloaded at her, bullets slamming into the flesh around her. The alien flesh that encircled them acted like any human flesh would, when hit with a sudden assault of high speed metal shards. It rained blood, bullets tearing into the masses of red, spraying the crimson everywhere, and ripping up chunks of flesh to go with. The faces on the wall groaned and screamed in pain, but the hunters continued firing. They were connected to the chamber, somehow.

"Tash," Triss said, "this Begotten dude. He strong?"

"V-Very!"

"Othello, Aaron, you two take him. Don't kill him if you can, but if he gives you no choice, rip off his head. Expect to get shot. I'll be right behind you, and I'll engage the hunters close range. Tash can shoot them." She looked over Natasha to Jen, and made a gesture, pointing at her own eyes, then Jen's, then at one of the hunters, then a fist grab in the air. Probably a gesture for Jen to Dominate one of the hunters once the chaos started.

The boys nodded, and ran in. No fanfare, no waiting for a 'go' order or anything. Witches did everything on the fly, and Tash was going to have to get used to that if she was going to survive this insanity. She stared at Othello as he jumped over the flesh they hid behind, and ran toward the awaiting hunters, and the monster.

Daeva were fast. He might not have been as fast as Natasha, but he was still fast. And Daeva were strong. Like Nosferatu, a Daeva could punch through concrete if they had the years and the vitae, and Othello had those things. It was almost unfair. He darted around the hanging chains, and came at the hunters, chuckling softly as he closed the distance in seconds.