My Little Ventrue Pt. 07 Ch. 17

He nodded as he looked down. Christ, she was reading his mind.

"Yeah, I understand. And... and for once, I felt it was worth the risk. With the curse, I knew I could do it, and... and..." His face disappeared in his hands, and he leaned forward until his elbows rested on his knees. "I had to do it. I had to stop them. I had to... to get her, Antoinette. I had to get her."

The great elder, done with her lecture, reached down, took his hands, and nudged them aside. He looked up, and she smiled down at him, a mix of pity and knowing on her face.

"You did, my love. Revenge has been had. Are you satisfied?"

"No! No, I'm... I'm not satisfied. I feel horrible. I feel sick. I... fuck, the things I did."

"The things it did, Jack."

"I let it. And for a bit, a part of me liked what it did. Fuck, I told a guy to cut his own guts out." He shivered as he looked away. To Dominate someone to the point they'd not only commit suicide at order, but do it in torturous manner, was a level of Dominate he doubted many Ventrue ever managed. "And, fuck me, it's not even that that's bothering me. Killing those hunters, even in the brutal way I did, that's not what's eating at me."

"What is?" She sat beside him again, and resumed her previous position, hooking her right arm over his shoulders and pulling him to her chest.

"Killing Angela. Or rather, letting Beatrice kill her. You showed up, and the things you said, about Athalia..." It was enough to shatter the curse's grip on him, just like last time when he saw his mother in the hospital. "It wasn't supposed to be like that, you know? It wasn't supposed to be this... execution scene. It was supposed to be a battle! We were supposed to take her down in a big fight, and it'd be... I don't know, epic I guess." At least, that's what he'd been expecting. The curse, on the other hand, had been expecting to put Angela through some twisted shit, like a regular Jigsaw, but worse. "But we didn't do that. We executed her like a wild dog, while her mom watched, screaming and crying.

"Fuck," he continued, "I sound pathetic, don't I? You're centuries old, and must have been through a lot of horrible shit, right? This must sound like... it must sound trite." That borderline sounded like an insult about her age. Shit. He winced, but managed a small shrug as he smiled up at her. "You know what I mean?"

"I do, my love. I do. Another harsh reality, is that revenge is never a glorious battle, where the party seeking vengeance wins through grit and effort. And it is never the delicious dessert many others think it will be. Revenge is a messy affair at best, a colossal nexus of ruin at worst. Perhaps most surprising, is how revenge will always involve others, whether you wish it to or not."

"Athalia." He gulped down the rising bile in his throat he knew wasn't there. "I've... really fucked up, haven't I? I let Jacob capture Elen, and I've strained our relationship with the Begotten and Uratha."

"Perhaps." Her voice had a hint of anger, but also a touch of contemplation. She was looking for something from him. He knew what.

"And I've strained our relationship. I made you worry. Hell, I made Mom worry."

Bingo. With a subtle smile, she nodded.

"I will not punish you, my love. And I do not imagine Michael will either. For all your rashness tonight, you defeated the hunters without a single casualty. While it frustrates me to no end that you gambled, the reality is that your gamble paid off. We will worry about Elen another night; Jeremiah and Angela were the threats, while she was but a tool." A very scary tool. "And, while that blasted spirit has taken the shaman, I acquired many artifacts tonight to add to my collection."

He blinked at her, and the smile she gave him made him shiver again, for a completely different reason. It was easy to forget sometimes, that the Prince was a dragon, a member of the Ordo Dracul, and she was devoted to her covenant, a covenant that did secret things in the dark. Now she had Elen's book, and her artifacts. Just because she wasn't as nasty as Jacob, didn't mean Antoinette didn't do her own dangerous, maybe even nefarious things in secret.

"Can we... not talk about unusual, spooky, magical things for a while?" he said. "No talk about the curse, or Crúac rituals, or flesh magic, or magic of any kind? Kinda just want to do the vampire thing for a while. Normal vampire stuff."

"Normal... vampire stuff?" she asked, an eyebrow raised. "I received word from Elaine not long ago. She will arrive in three days. With the hunters defeated, I believe I will host a ball, both in her honor, and to celebrate your victory."

"A ball? Like, last time?"

Antoinette laughed and stroked his buzzed hair. "Yes, though with, perhaps, less sex. I do not wish to scare my new childe with such displays, yet." A thought danced along her eyes, he could see it, and she looked up before tapping her chin with her left hand. "I would not be surprised if Jennifer tries to escalate that situation, in an attempt to push Beatrice past her sorrow, now that vengeance has been had."

"I doubt it'll work. When Beatrice killed Angela, she was... she was pretty..." Broken.

But, sad as that was, sad as he felt he felt about Athalia, and about how Angela died, and the thousands of animals he sacrificed, he smiled. Yeah, tonight sucked. It really sucked. Clara, Triss, Othello, and Damien all nearly died. The slaughter had been a hectic mess that didn't go the way any of them thought it would. Azamel was injured, and might die. And Athalia lost her daughter, something Jack doubted she'd ever forgive them for. But for all that shit, he had so much to be happy about. Stop being a dumbass, stop focusing on the negative, and look at the positive.

He smiled because Damien saved Sándor. He smiled because the hunters were all dead, every one of them except three, who were now prisoners, and some leftover drifters. He smiled because none of his friends or crew died. He smiled because Julias's murder had been avenged. He smiled because, now, he could begin to heal, and so could Beatrice. Maybe his mom could, too.

And, maybe his sister could, too.

"And, I would not be surprised if Elaine attempts to escalate the situation in a similar manner. She will delight in teasing you, knowing that you are my lover." She chuckled, a hearty sound rich with joy and memory, and she shook her head to dislodge it. But her smile remained. "I feel that, perhaps, I corrupted her when we were younger."

"Wait, you corrupted her?"

Antoinette nodded. "Indeed. We visited each other dozens of times in our most promiscuous years. I taught her much of the joys of sex, and how to relish each orgasm with precision and delight."

Jack stared at her, and gulped. "So, um, you've... slept with her."

"Indeed, hundreds of times."

Antoinette's story about the orgies she'd had with kine, when she'd owned her own castle, now suddenly included another vampire, another dominant figure doing things in the middle of all that flesh. Good god.

"With kine around?"

"Oui, though there were many times no kine graced our bed, and we had only each other for company. She is quite talented in the erotic arts." She said it like it was the most casual thing, that her ex-girlfriend from centuries past, was someone she'd fucked a fucking fuckload. When she saw his expression of shock, she laughed again, and rubbed his buzzed hair. "You have nothing to fear, my love. We were never romantic with each other. Friends with benefits, as it is said. But I know Elaine, and she will tease you for the game of it. Be careful with her."

Friends with benefits. Uh oh. The phrase hit a note in his head, and he couldn't help but sit up straight. And naturally, Antoinette noticed, and the evil grin she donned struck him still. He knew that grin. That was her 'I've thought of a new personal barrier of yours to shatter, my love' grin. Double uh oh?

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~~Damien~~

He woke up with a jolt, sat up straight, and regretted it instantly. Through the pain, he reached for his sword. Gone. He reached for his pistol. Gone. He reached for his silver knife; still there.

"Calm yourself, Damien," a familiar voice said. Half of him shivered a bit at the sound, and another half relaxed as he attached a person to the familiar voice. Vrall, Fiona's monster half. Fiona was here.

Damien eased back, and felt his spine press to a rock. A turn of his head showed it was the altar he'd been shot on. Beside the altar and beyond it, was a gigantic creature, looming, two massive horns donning its... his head. Sándor. If the gargoyle was just standing there, not trying to rip him in half, then Damien had been successful in freeing him.

A smile sneaked onto his face as he looked around some more. Yes, there was Vrall in her spider silk dress. She was hovering over him, her eight spider legs pressed to the grass, and her two human arms reaching down and stroking through his hair. Beside him was Othello, and Clara in her human form. She had a knife in her hand, and was leaking blood from her wrist into Othello's mouth.

Oh. Clara had given him blood. The last time he'd awoken from torpor, he'd had to fight a mild vitae addiction, and partial Vinculum with Beatrice. A werewolf's blood would elicit no such reaction, and from what he could gather, it was potent blood. The hole in Othello's chest began to close almost immediately; not completely, as it was a large wound, but a day's sleep with some wolf blood in his gut would heal that, Damien was sure.

"Thank you," he said to Clara, licking his teeth the moment the words were out. He could still taste her. It was different from both kine and Begotten, richer, and so full of life it was almost overpowering.

"Don't sweat it. You did good, real fucking good." Clara put the knife away, and gestured to Sándor. "Tall, dark, and handsome over there owes you his life. Well, he would have, but he saved our asses. So, kinda even, I guess."

Damien grinned slightly, and looked to the gargoyle. "Is that so?"

"It is," Beatrice said. She was sitting on a nearby rock, one of the stones in the center of the clearing. Jennifer and Aaron stood beside her. "He interrupted Jeremiah's ritual, which you missed. Fucker nearly killed Azamel."

"Is Azamel—"

"She lives," the gargoyle said. And then said nothing. The creature's voice boomed, and Damien found himself staring at him for more than a few seconds, before he looked around yet again.

Clara chimed in. "She's been hurt badly. Mark says she's going to stay in her lair for a while. He helped her get back."

"What of the hunters? Jeremiah, and Angela?"

"All dead," Beatrice said. There was no joy in her voice, and that confused Damien. Why wasn't she happy?

"Mission successful then?"

The Nosferatu nodded. While she was sitting on the rock, she had her left arm out and draped over Jennifer's shoulders, as if she'd fall over any minute. She looked like she might.

"Yeah, mission successful. The Prince showed up with the sheriff, and took Jack out of here, along with Harcourt and the two hunters who surrendered. She took Jeremiah and Elen's shit, too."

"What of Elen?"

She shook her head. "Don't know. She didn't have her, and Jack didn't kill her."

He tried to sit up again, and again regretted it. Looking down revealed many holes in his chest, mostly closed but not completely. The rifles had pushed their bullets straight through him, so healing wouldn't be as bad as it could have been, but it was still a painful task, and he looked forward to sleeping come sunrise.

"She escaped?" he said.

Beatrice shook her head. "From the look I saw on Antoinette's face, I... I don't think she did. I don't know where she is, though. Maybe the sheriff took her when we weren't looking."

He shivered again, thinking of the magics the strange shaman had done. The symbols carved into the flap of flesh he'd ripped apart would never fade from his mind. The sight of the corpses on the trees calling out his location, and the sound, wouldn't either. The corpses were silent now, but still there, and he grimaced as he looked at them, before back to the spider woman stroking his head.

"The hunters are defeated," he said. "I... I think that means we won?"

"Yep," the werewolf said, getting to her feet. Her wrist wound didn't close as quickly as it would have if she were in her werewolf form, and Damien glanced to it for probably a little longer than he should have. A lick of his fangs earned a subtle, but very real jerk of his hair from Fiona, hidden so the others wouldn't notice. Ok, yeah, don't go staring at other girls, even if it's just because you're hungry.

"Sándor," Aaron said, walking over to the colossal creature as if he was walking over to just another vampire. "The others said you ate Jeremiah."

"I... did."

"Do you eat the flesh of humans to sustain yourself?"

The titan shook his head, and began to walk around the clearing circle. He had no trouble scooping up corpses, one per hand, and setting them in a lone spot by the clearing edge. He wasn't so big that a human body fit into his palm like a fork, but he was fifteen feet tall, and was big enough he could scoop each up and hold them, like a human holding oddly large dolls. If the humans were alive, it would have been terribly uncomfortable, their own weight causing them to folding like pretzels around his fingers and palms.

"I... feed, upon those I hunt. They must know that I hunt them, and it is that fear I feed on. I... often eat the flesh. I often must." With time, he collected all the bodies, including the ones crucified to trees, and sighed as he looked down at the pile of dead.

It seemed obvious that the man didn't like who he was, or at least didn't like how his Horror operated. Fiona had to feed on the fear of the guilty, and it only worked if they deserved to be punished. A more specific taste, but she didn't have to literally eat and kill her prey. She only did that if she wanted to gorge herself. If Sándor literally had to hunt and kill — or eat — his prey to sustain himself, that was a far harsher hunger to satisfy.

"Jack," Damien said, "or the Prince, should be the one to welcome you to the city in an official capacity. Has he, or did the Prince when she was here?"

The titan nodded, a lazy and tired motion, before he started digging up the ground with his claws. The earth gave way to his fingers easier than it should have. His nightmare, his rules.

"Yeah, Antoinette told him he had to drop by for a sermon," Beatrice said. "But, he doesn't need a fucking lecture. He's here. He—"

It was Damien's turn to shake his head. "You know the Prince is going to want to speak to him, explain the rules to him." Blinking, Damien looked to the gargoyle. "That is, of course, if you plan to remain in the city. It's not your home, is it?"

"It isn't. And for now I... I will... remain within my lair."

"It is nice in Dolareido," Vrall said. "Now that the hunters are dead, there is only peace in Dolareido... of a sort." She smiled down at Damien, leaned down, and kissed his forehead. He tried to lift his head so he could properly kiss her, but craning his head back didn't agree with him, and he stopped the motion short before he could ruin the moment.

Only when Fiona pulled away, did he notice Beatrice looking at him. There was venom in her eyes, and sadness on her face, and when she noticed him noticing her, her eyes fell away. Or maybe, it was when he noticed her noticing both him and Fiona, that she looked away. Right, Julias.

Something had happened. Something, while he was deep in his forced torpor, had destroyed the joy he would have otherwise expected to see upon learning the hunters were defeated. No one looked happy except for Fiona, and even she seemed worried. Did everyone care for Azamel this much, or was it something else? Jeremiah was dead, dead at Sándor's hand, and yet the gargoyle seemed morose. Angela was dead, surely at Beatrice or Jack's hand, and yet Beatrice seemed quite defeated.

Was this how he'd have felt, if he'd managed to kill Antoinette and Daniel, when he assaulted the Elysium Tower? If the revenge he'd wanted for so long had been obtained, would he have felt defeated for acquiring it? Perhaps, especially once Lucas's madness became obvious.

"Can you help me up?" he asked.

"Of course." Vrall held him up, and he hooked his arm over her shoulders. Her feet, or rather, pointy blade things, never touched the ground. If she did try to walk on them and them alone, she'd likely sink a foot into the earth, considering how sharp they looked. But with her eight spider legs, enormous and smooth, jutting out of her back and tapping along the ground around her, her foot points stayed an inch above the ground, hovering.

"I'd love to get a drink," he said, "but I need to speak to Michael and Maria."

The werewolf, of all people, was the first to get up and agree, nodding. "Makes sense. Burning resources hunting for hunters that aren't a problem anymore—"

"No, wait," Damien said. "That isn't true. Harcourt said there were hunters still in the city, maybe a dozen."

Beatrice shrugged, as if the effort to lift her shoulders was colossal. "Harcourt will deal with them. And the ones that don't listen to him won't be a big threat without Elen to let them cheat shit."

True. The shaman's magics allowed the hunters avenues of attack and retreat that bordered on cheating.

He laughed, and leaned the side of his head toward Vrall. His temple met one of her gorgeous horns, rather than meeting her actual head, but it was the side of the horn, and he set the weight of his head against it.

"It's hard to relax, isn't it?" he said. "I'm trying to relax, about our success, but a part of me is telling me I shouldn't relax, that I should keep my guard up."

He shouldn't have said that. Everyone looked at each other, and where he should have found shock or confusion, he found only knowing eyes. They all felt the same way, and while he'd only thought Fiona and Jack were in the know about the mysterious threat lurking within Dolareido, their expressions suggested otherwise. Everyone knew about it, or knew about something.

Lovely.