My Little Ventrue Pt. 08 Ch. 14

"Hold still," she said.

He turned his head and glared up at her. She met his gaze, and the animal rage in them melted away. Slowly, she turned her head, bits of his pant leg dangling off her enormous teeth, and looked to where his leg had fallen. Damien didn't bother looking. The sound of his leg burning away into ash and cinders in a matter of seconds was sickening enough.

He looked over to Avery, and winced. In the thirty seconds of fighting, he'd done a lot of damage to the werewolves, but there were too many of them. Avery had surprised Maria, somehow being immune to her Nightmare, and that'd changed everything. Even as Maria broke the arms and legs of werewolves that came at her, she was just one person, with one arm, and it wasn't long before Avery got her hand around the tiny woman's neck, and lifted her once again. Werewolves healed broken bones in seconds.

And once again, Avery ripped off her arm, her one remaining arm.

"Enough!" yelled Avery, barking voice cutting through the madness around them, and bringing everything to silence. She tossed the limb aside, and it rolled over the floor toward Damien, before it burst into cinders, and faded away. "Enough. Show secrets. Now." Avery shook Maria, hard, and the tiny woman's legs dangled and swayed, like wind chimes.

"Fuck you," Maria said, glaring eyes staring hard at the werewolf.

Damien sighed, and let his head drop to the floor, temple pressing to it as he watched Avery and Maria. Jack and Jessy weren't going to get here in time. He'd sent the message five minutes ago, so unless they--

He whipped his head around to the tunnel, and he breathed a sigh of relief as someone stepped into view, a small man with two crows on his shoulders. Well, holy shit. Thank God for miracles.

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~~Jack~~

His friends circled above, and cawed a few points of interest. The werewolves were hurt, but recovering. The ones hurt by silver were recovering damn slowly though, and Jack knew they'd take days, maybe weeks to heal from wounds they'd normally heal in literal minutes, if not seconds. And the ones that weren't hurt by silver, did. One werewolf near Maria pushed themselves back to one clawed foot, and Jack winced as he saw, and heard, their leg snap back into place at the femur. Werewolves were ridiculously durable, and regenerated like an elder Gangrel.

Which just meant he'd have to break their limbs multiple times.

"You have five seconds," he said, and he lifted his left hand, fingers out, "to let her go and get out."

"Jack," Clara said, "we are here to--"

"One." He pulled down a finger, and steeled his gaze at Clara. A silent warning. He wasn't going to pull punches here.

"Jack!" Matthew this time, easy to tell apart from the others by his size. The giant roared. His leg was hurt, still bleeding. "We cannot--"

"Two... Three..." He nodded toward Damien, and his friend pulled himself across the floor toward the closest wall.

Arturo, and probably Caleb and Carter, judging from how sneakily they moved, spread out from the group, moving to the sides. Despite the silver-inflicted wounds still bleeding, the wolves moved as if the holes and gashes in their flesh didn't exist.

"Four..."

Avery let out a bellowing roar, and threw Maria back against the wall, near her coffin. He'd been worried the pack leader would kill her, but maybe they needed her to find what they were looking for. Or maybe it just wasn't in Avery to be that much of a bitch. Either way, it took Maria out of the line of fire.

Brave of Avery to come at him first. No vampire would do that. Elders didn't do things on their own unless absolutely necessary; they had bigger fish to fry. Instead, they sent armies, underlings, thralls or ghouls, or their childer. He didn't blame them, honestly. Antoinette wouldn't have been able to create Dolareido if she kept risking her neck. Jacob wouldn't be the deadly witch he was now, if he'd gotten his hands dirty every time something needed to be done.

Werewolves worked differently. They thrived on doing things hands on, on dangerous hunts, on growing stronger by testing their mettle, and surviving things that would kill almost anything else. And their leaders taught by example, if Avery was any indication. He knew she'd run at him first, and the others would collapse on him when she'd created the opening. He also knew he could break her, grab her mind and turn into her an obedient dog, and end this whole fight before anyone got hurt.

He met her eyes, reached out, and her necklace glowed blue. Wait, necklace? Werewolves were naked, nothing but fur. Why'd she have a nec--

Her claws met his body, and he yelled out as agony scorched through him. Her grip sank into his shoulders, claws cutting through his suit and into his muscle and bone, and she roared at him as she picked him up.

Ok, so, whatever the necklace was doing, it stopped his mind from being able to reach hers. Good to know, but too little too late. That was one powerful necklace.

"Will do what I did to Maria," she barked between snarls. "Teach you a lesson."

Jack knew what it felt like to lose his limbs. It wasn't a memory he looked forward to re-experiencing.

Avery leaned in closer, until her growling snout was only inches from him, and her predator eyes were wide with animal rage. Her grip tightened, and pulled, and holy shit, there was enough strength in that grip to throw a car.

But his arms stayed where they were. The werewolf howled and pulled harder, but vitae coursed through his limbs, through his body, and out from the wounds her claws had created. Blood pulsed out from the holes, against her claws, defying the werewolf's will.

It was Jack's turn to snarl, and he slammed his head forward against her snout. Crunch. Her tight grip gave him more than enough leverage to put power into it, and he grinned as her blood gushed from her wolf snout and onto his forehead. He licked it off his lips. Damn, that tasted good.

Howling in surprise and fury, she let go and fell back, almost falling over as she clutched her face with one hand. The pack was surprised, but only for a moment, and they rushed him from the sides.

But before they reached him, Jack snapped his gaze over at one of the rushing werewolves, and glared. Just like the time he tried to get into Sándor's mind, he was met with a gate, and there was something growling at him from the other side of it. Though in the werewolf's mind, the gate felt more like rough foliage, a line of trees, the entrance of a dark, cold forest tipped with snow and dotted with rocks, and carcasses.

Jack was more skilled now, compared to then, better at controlling the curse. Back then he'd been worried about destroying Sándor's mind if he kicked down the gate. Now, it wouldn't happen. And even if it did, he wasn't going to just let them injure him, not after what they did to Damien and Maria.

And judging from the looks in their eyes, he wasn't sure they'd be able to stop themselves from taking things too far. Supposedly werewolves had a habit of going berserk when transformed into their Gauru form, and after seeing their leader get their face smashed in, several of the wolves roared fury that sent a thrill through Jack's body. Sounded an awful lot like animals going berserk. The thrill dancing up his spine was his curse reacting to their anger, anger that had their eyes wide and their mouths open as they looked at him like he was their next hunt. If he wasn't careful, they'd kill him.

He smashed the thick line of trees blocking him inside the werewolf's mind, and found the human half, Caleb, standing next to an enormous wolf. The wolf snarled at him, and lunged. But it was pointless. Jack snapped a hard glare at the beast, and a moment later, the wolf fell to the metaphorical floor of the metaphorical forest, whimpering, defeated. Caleb fell a second later.

Caleb wasn't immune to his Dominate. And his wolf half wasn't immune to his Animalism.

Back in the real world, Caleb turned, and with a roar of agony and fury, threw himself at the other werewolf charging Jack. The two went down in a heap, and claws found fur as they cut into each other.

Jack faced the remaining werewolf, and did something the fucker probably never expected from a Ventrue. He came in closer. The giant beast faltered, trying to slow so he didn't overshoot and tumble over Jack. An opening, and Jack stepped into it with a snarl and a grin. He poured his vitae into his arm, into the blood that flowed out of his wounds under his suit, and fueled a simple uppercut straight into the titan's belly.

Connection. His fist crashed into a wall of steel muscle, but an Uratha wasn't a giant gargoyle. Muscle bent, and the wolf's body absorbed the impact as Jack's feet were driven into the floor. Crunching ribs and damaged organs, Jack felt them. The wolf went up ten feet into the air, momentum carrying him over Jack's body, and he crashed into the remaining desk, shattering it on impact. It was a darker wolf, with a few gunshot wounds that weren't healing, and he curled up in a ball to clutch their stomach as he vomited blood.

Turning to watch what happened was a mistake. Another werewolf came at Jack's back, and claws sliced down from his left shoulder, down across his back, to his right hip, and his suit jacket and shirt shredded like paper. The claws struck against his skin, but didn't penetrate any deeper than skin deep. Blood gushed out wherever claws met his body, and blocked the inhuman weapons from getting into him.

But the claws still burned, almost as bad as fire would. He felt them cut through the summoned blood, and almost get past it, felt it down where his Beast controlled it. Werewolf claws were not normal claws.

Jack spun around, and grabbed the hand of the werewolf. They'd expected to do more damage, from how they'd stopped after the one slash. Gave him just enough time to get a grip on her wrist, and slam his hand down on it with the other. Bone cracked, and his driving fist crashed down on the wrist hard enough to push the broken bone through the flesh.

The werewolf shrieked and tried to step back, but he held on, and yanked. The pain must have been excruciating; he knew from experience. Before the werewolf realized he'd yanked on her, the momentum carried him forward toward her, and he kicked. He was no martial artist, but a side kick was simple enough, easy enough to use the whole body to drive a shit load of force into. His foot collided with her knee, and she shrieked again as she fell to her side. The moment her shoulder landed with the floor, Jack drew back his other foot, and kicked her like a football.

Physics didn't like that. His right foot drove into the werewolf hard enough to break every rib she had, and send her soaring through the air a good thirty feet, but the impact also meant his left foot flew out from under him. He landed on his palms, and another wolf dove at him. Probably thought he was wounded, or maybe that he couldn't fight on the floor.

He rolled onto his back as the wolf pounced on him, and tried to bite his face off. He got an arm underneath their neck, holding them back, but it only took them a second to realize he was strong enough to keep their teeth at bay. Instead they switched to their hands, and started slashing. Each rake of claws against his skin, shoulders and chest and arm and face, each was met with flowing, dark blood that protected him. But pain snuck through, getting to him, his Beast. Those claws were brutal, and they were going to wear him down.

Jack you moron. Let me out. Let me fight!

Fuck you. You'll kill them.

Only if I have to. I'm better at this than you. Let me kick their asses!

Shut up shut up!

He pulled his feet up underneath him, and kicked upward. With the ground to his back, he had good leverage to drive his weight into it, and his strength up into the werewolf's stomach. A lot of strength. He poured his vitae and his frustration into the kick, and the werewolf flew into the air, up and up, until they collided with the ceiling fifty feet up, hard enough they cracked their skull. Brains rattled, they landed hard, and Jack smirked as they bounced. Heavy things go crack and crunch when they fall from high heights.

He got back to his feet and found most of the pack ready for him, though now they were circling him and weighing their options. Two werewolves had jumped Caleb, and were trying to get through to him. They would. Jack didn't have the time to properly brainwash him.

Clara stood a little further back than the others, analyzing, looking for the right moment. She meant business, despite the sadness in her eyes. It hurt to meet her gaze.

Sighing, Jack reached up and tugged on his suit jacket shoulder. "Not again." A small tug was enough to rip the whole damn shirt and jacket off, leaving him shirtless, and he threw them to the floor as he glared at the wolves. "Just pack up and go, guys. Don't make me crack every single one of you in half until you do."

Taunting them was a mistake. The biggest werewolf charged him, and the whole damn cave shook with each slam of his feet. Paws? Nah, closer to t-rex feet than a fucking wolf's, with how big those claws were. He tore up the floor, literally, as he ran for Jack, and Jack stood his ground. Just a little guy, standing as a t-rex ran at him with mouth open, ready to gobble him up.

Jack met the man's crazed eyes, and reached out again. Again he found the gate of the man's subconscious, and he kicked it open, breaking down trees as he exposed the forest within. Physically strong as Matt was, mentally he was no different than Caleb. The crazy anger and rage that poured out of him, a berserk fury of aggression and need to destroy, none of it saved him from Jack's grip. Crushing his wolf and human halves was easy.

The man slowed, and slowed, and eventually came to a stop. He stared down at Jack, eyes shaking as the man struggled to escape Jack's Dominate. But he couldn't. He twisted and turned, pulled away, but came back a moment later, as if an invisible leash bound his limbs.

"Now!" Jack yelled. "Everyone's going to calm the fuck down! You're going to leave, and--"

Avery appeared over Matthew's head, healed, with something massive and black in her hands. She must have noticed when Jack Dominated Matt, and grabbed it then. Smart. Really, really smart. Smart enemies were a giant pain in the ass.

She threw the grand piano down at him. That was a lot of weight, and wide, and it came at him at professionally pitched baseball speed. The best he could do was raise his arm and block as much of it as he could.

It shattered on contact. The wood came apart over his arm and continued into him. Piano keys, piano wire, wood, it all slammed into him, and as much as the shield his blood provided protected him from any serious wounds, it didn't stop inertia.

The weight of the piano struck him into the ground, hard, and his skull slammed into the stone floor even harder. He heard a crack, and blinding pain flooded him. And then, blackness.

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Fucking. Finally.

Don't mind me, Jack. Bit of a drop in your concentration -- and consciousness -- there. Too bad.

Grinning until his cheeks hurt, New Jack pushed himself back up onto his feet. He poured waves of his vitae into the crack in his skull, and the bone sealed snug. Old Jack was like a child behind the wheel of a Lamborghini. No grace at all, and wasted power.

Bits of piano surrounded him, completely smashed. Avery, panting heavy, stood beside Matthew, and she dragged the man off and away. He didn't fight back; brainwashing hadn't been completed. Damn Avery interrupted before Old Jack could get his fingers into the man's consciousness very deep. Useless kid.

Jack snickered as he watched her drag the sandbag away, and his eyes drifted over to Caleb. His struggles were fading too, faster than they should have. Making the man fight the people he loved was probably too much to ask for without more than few seconds of Dominate and Animalism. If he'd had the time, Jack could make the man slit the throats of everyone he loved in their sleep, but no way he'd get that deep into the man's head in a few seconds, not with all the other werewolves there to stop him.

Clara took a step toward him, and he grinned at her. The shock in her eyes said it all. She knew.

"Jack... don't..."

"You fuckers could have left," he said, "but your noses are so far up your asses, you don't seem to get that you can't just do whatever you want."

"Jack... Please, just--"

He leaned down to his bare wrist, bit into it, and gave Clara his best devil's smile as he yanked back his head while swinging his arm out. Blood. His blood. With an effort of will, his blood gushed out from the wound, splattering over the floor in a big circle. Will kept the blood from immediately turning to cinder and ash. Will infused it with the Discipline. Will, would summon his legion.

The moment the ring of blood landed on the floor, Clara dove at him. What a bitch. She landed on him, pinned him, and got to tearing, claws slicing at his chest over and over. Well, he had been distracted. He'd have done the same thing.

But he wouldn't have done it with that look in her eyes. The other wolves, they looked angry, aroused with blood lust, and hungry for the hunt. Her? She looked sad. Fucking annoying.

He snapped his arms out as hers came down for the tenth time in two seconds, and he squeezed on her wrists. She howled, a lovely sound, and stood up to try and get away from him. Being that he weighed almost nothing, she had no trouble standing up, but he came up with her, grip still on her wrists.

"Jack's not home." Grinning at Clara, squeezing until her bones snapped in his grip, he flipped his legs up and pressed them to her chest. And pushed.

The slide and thunk of joints coming out of sockets was beautiful. The tearing of flesh, more so. But what really got his vitae pumping was the shriek of utter agony from Clara, as he ripped off her right arm. He'd planned for both, but physics were a bitch, and once the right arm came off, his pushing pressure against her chest caused him to spin off her, and he had to let go of her left arm so he could land on his feet.

Howling like an animal in a bear trap, Clara fell back and scampered away, getting back to her feet behind Avery and clutching the shoulder socket where her arm used to be connected. The arm, now in Jack's possession, shrank. The fur sunk into the skin, clothes emerged, and the mass vanished, leaving him holding a normal human arm.

"Vampires can regenerate lost limbs," he said. "Maria and Damien will be fine eventually. But still, you deserved this." He winked at Damien as he waved the arm around in the air, and laughed. The man stared at him, not finding it funny for some reason. Church boy had no sense of humor.

He assumed werewolves could regenerate lost limbs, too. But if they couldn't, ah well.

"Jack!" one of the werewolves said, one with a few bullet holes in him.

Damien snapped his head to the dark werewolf. "Arturo."

"Ah, Arturo," Jack said. "I'd make some joke about beating you to death with your buddy's arm," he gestured to the arm, "but we know it'll take a lot more than something like this to kill you." He tossed the girl's arm over his shoulder, reached down, and grabbed something else, something that just so happened to be near him on the floor.

A silver sword.

The werewolves stared at him, some of them with eyes widening as they glanced down at the gleaming blade in his hands. Clara's glare lacked the rage the others had, but there was plenty of fear there, and seeing her take a step back from him as he waved the blade around was just marvelous.