#like he talks about his fathers “limp and bloody” body and the smashed in skulls of the bodyguards but his mother....

[thuringwedhil]

started to draw something inspired by the "king of beasts, father" scene + the following massacre from the darth plagueis novel and couldn't help myself but give the gremlin a pair of earrings ... as a treat

[dicenne]

Weekly Writing Challenge Week 17 - Hate Warnings:  Rape mention, blood, gore

He looked oddly calm after hearing the news, but all the signs were there.  Those that knew Dicenne well could see the seething hatred boiling beneath his skin, ready for some sort of release.  But not yet.  Screaming and breaking things wouldn’t do any good, no, this was far beyond that.  Far beyond anything he had ever felt before.  His jaw clenched repeatedly and his eyebrows pinched together just enough to make his thousand-yard-stare unsettling in the worst of ways.  His father knew that look well, although this time he wasn’t going to try to calm his son down.

‘Not enough evidence.’ ‘They all had alibis.’ ‘Kareenia’s state of mind makes her an unreliable witness.’

‘Witness.’  His nostrils flared at the thought.  No, she was the victim.  She was raped, beaten, and mutilated all because she said ‘no’ to the boy that liked her.  Not that anyone else believed her at the time aside from her family and close friends; such upstanding young nobles would never do such a thing, she must have been mistaken. It was that little smirk he saw one of the rapists give the others after leaving the Spire that pushed him right over the edge and then some.  There was no sense in trying to talk him down, red was all he could see right now and that was going to come out in one way or another.

He waited patiently, that enraged gleam in his eyes never once waned despite his mother trying to talk him down. He knew where they were and where they were going, that information was easy enough to find if you knew who to ask. They would be intoxicated after celebrating their ‘good luck’, and Dicenne would take full advantage of that.  Even if they stone cold sober, it didn’t matter, the plan wouldn’t change.  On his bed he sat for hours, clasping his hands together until his knuckles turned white as he stared at the far wall. Only when the clock finally struck one in the morning did he move.  His movements were mechanical in a way, as if he no longer had any control of his body - and in some ways he didn’t.  He tucked a couple daggers into his boots and one in his belt before picking up his freshly-sharpened, double-sided axe and headed for the door.

Despite the rage that continued to build, he did his best to stay out of the public eye, and at this time of night not many were out wandering.  Thankfully their final location for the evening was one of the boys’ private homes on his family’s estate.  No one would be around to hear a damn thing.

Dicenne stopped at the back door, pounding his fist against it a few times before he took a step back and waited.  He heard muffled voices from inside, laughing and obviously enjoying their freedom just a little bit too much.  This only angered him further.  The moment he heard the handle click, he raised his leg and kicked the door in with his full strength.  The door swung backwards with violent force as the frame splintered at the hinges until one of them snapped free, causing the door to slant backwards at an odd angle.  A sickening *crunch* and a startled yelp could be heard the moment the wood slammed into the first boy’s face.  Knocked back and face bloodied, he wasn’t going to be getting up anytime soon.

It didn’t take long for the others to get to their feet, although none realized what was happening, or who was at the door just yet.  One actually laughed at his buddy’s misfortune, although the moment he saw Dice enter the house, he choked on that reaction as his face went ghostly pale. Lips parted to say something, but it was too late.  Already Dicenne had lifted the large axe to one side and was swinging it horizontally towards the surprised boy.  He didn’t have a chance.  In a split second, the boy’s head was completely severed from the rest of his body before it crumpled to the ground.  It was such a clean cut that the head itself fell down atop the body, rolling until the cheek squished against the already bloodied floor.  Eyes wide in surprise, his mouth continued to open and shut for another few seconds until everything stilled.

Already Dicenne had his sights on the third closest boy.  Everything had happened so quickly that they were still unable to get their wits about them and act.  The axe swung upwards and then swiftly down in a wide arc, cleaving right through the top center of the boy’s head and splitting it in two all the way down to his shoulders.  Dicenne didn’t bother to pull the weapon free, instead he released the handle allowing it and the body to collapse in a gruesome heap.

The two that remained standing finally reacted, one picked up his dagger while the other, the one that had been turned down by Kara, bolted for the front door.  Coward.  Boy number one still writhing on the floor with the broken face was immediately put out of his misery as the heel of Dicenne’s boot smashed down against the center of his face.  His skull caved in with a satisfying crunch and his body went limp.

No time was wasted in pursuing his next target, a table was flung aside as the next boy held up his dagger in a defensive position.  He was the biggest of the lot, not quite as tall as Dice himself, but they had a similar build.  Before he had a chance to react, Dicenne charged the next boy in a maneuver so quick that all he had time to do was aimlessly slash his dagger down against Dice’s arm, leaving a lengthy, but shallow laceration.  However, the force of the collision flung the boy backwards into the opposite wall, leaving a large dent in the now crumbling plaster.  

The dagger had been knocked from his grip, but before he had a chance to reach for it, Dicenne was on top of him with his own dagger in hand pointed at the boy’s throat.  He had quick reflexes and managed to grab the wrist of Dice’s driving hand to push away just before any skin could be pierced.  There was a brief struggle of strength, the two seeming to be matched equally in that trait.  Wrong.  Dicenne released his non-grip hand and slammed the side of his fist down against the top of the dagger’s pommel, driving the weapon down through the fourth boy’s throat until the point stuck into the floor beneath.  He gurgled out something unintelligible before eyes glossed over in death.  

One more.

The final boy had a head start, but Dicenne was quicker than anyone ever expected, especially when the bloodlust took over.  He pulled another dagger from his boot and sprinted out the front door, running across the darkened field towards the main house.  The fifth boy was easy enough to find in the dark in his white button-up shirt, sobbing uncontrollably as he stumbled.  He didn’t even make it halfway before he was tackled to the ground and flipped onto his back.  

The apologies and pleas fell on deaf ears as Dicenne wrapped his hands around the boy’s throat and squeezed, causing the other’s limbs to flail beneath and squeak out a ‘please stop’.  Much to his surprise, Dice did stop.  Leaning forward until his bloodied face was close to the boy’s, he growled, “You didn’t stop for my sister, I’m providing you the same treatment you gave her.”  No chance to respond was allowed.  The dagger was forcibly driven downwards just below the center of the boy’s ribs and carved through flesh and organs all the way down to his crotch.  His blood-curdling scream echoed around the open field of the estate.  He wouldn’t die right away, but he would die.

Dicenne stood up, wiping the blade clean before he sheathed it back inside his boot.  He exhaled a breath it felt like he had been holding in since he first saw Kara in the hospital.  As much as he wanted to watch the life leave this boy’s eyes, he knew he had to go.  He jogged back towards the house, claiming his dagger and axe from the bodies he had left them in, as well as the fourth boy’s knife since it had his blood on it.  Eyes trailed over the scene of the massacre one final time before turning and heading out the back door.  It felt good, but it wasn’t enough.  He could only hope that they would be just as tormented in their afterlife.

@weekly-writing-challenge​ @karaamberlight​

[khaleesi-in-the-north]

In the Crosshairs (36/?)

Forgot to post this here

@kryptits

******

It’s nearly impossible to walk, let alone run. Each step is a new jab of pain searing through her leg. She’s able to push herself on, though, until her she accidentally puts too much weight on her bad leg and crumples to the floor.

                    All she hears is gunshots. Faster, closer, louder. They come from every direction and there’s no escape.

                    Breathless and close to tears, Margaery drags herself to the wall. She’s not even sure if she took off in the right direction. She whimpers as she pulls her wounded leg toward her chest. Loras’s makeshift tourniquet is still holding its own, but Margaery’s leg is becoming more and more hampered by the burning pain as the bullet lodges deeper.

                     She can’t stop here, not in an open hallway where she vulnerable from every direction. She needs to find Sansa.

                    Margaery crawls along side of the wall, following it. Her injured leg lags behind and Margaery is barely able to drag it along. The shag rug scrapes along her calf, leaving a faint trail of nearly dried blood.

                    Toward the end of the hall, the sound of the gunshots ahead of her has become much louder than those she abandoned at the staircase. A wisp of deep red hair sticks out of the room in next to her. Relieved to have finally found Sansa, Margaery crawls forward at a reinvigorated pace.

                    A barrage of bullets whiz out of the room and plaster the hallway wall. That’s enough to stop Margaery in her tracks. A few rounds return fire back into the room, before the chamber barrel locks up, signaling that it’s empty. “Son of a bitch,” Sansa curses.

                    “Sansa!” Margaery whispers as loudly as she can without making it obvious to the enemy that she’s there.

                    “Margaery? Baby, what are you doing?” Sansa whispers back. More bullets whir between them.

                    “Come on Stark! We both know you’re out! If you surrender, we can play nice, I promise. Cersei always saw potential in you. I think she’d even be willing to take you under her wing if you give in before it gets too ugly,” Jaime Lannister calls out his offer.

                    Of course Jaime is involved. He never set off alarms quite like Cersei did, but he was no saint either. His presence is evidence enough that he has some level of involvement with the mob, even if it’s only as his sister’s protector.

                    Sansa scoffs. She locks the chamber of another gun and pulls the trigger, but that one’s empty as well.

                    Jaime tuts. “We have your sister. She’s not dead. Yet.”

                    Sensing a continuation in the lull, Margaery scoots closer to the edge of the door. She can see Sansa now, head leaned back against her barricade of a couch, legs sprawled out in front of her. After a moment of contemplation, Sansa’s gaze falls on Margaery.

                    “How many?” Margaery mouths.

                    Sansa holds up one finger. Margaery scoots a few inches from the edge and opens her vest. She gestures to the ammo, asking whether Sansa’s gun will work with what Margaery has left.

                    Sansa nods. She slides the gun to Margaery.

                    There’s a thud in the room, then a clap. “Good choice, Stark. It would have been such a pain to explain why there was brain matter all over Myrcella’s volleyball trophies.” Jaime’s steps get closer and closer.

                    As quickly as she can Margaery reloads the gun. Jaime’s steps pause the moment the chamber clicks shut.

                    Sansa mouths “Go!”. Limp leg and all, Margaery spins to the doorway and holds down the trigger without much of an idea of where she’s shooting.

                    Jaime’s eyes blow wide. He steps back in surprise, but there’s not time for escape. Bullet after bullet strikes him, splatters forward out of his abdomen and arm as he instinctively tries to block the bullets. Then his body crumples to the floor.

                    Margaery doesn’t know if he’s dead or alive, but there’s no time to let her mind linger on the ethical question of what she’s done.

                    Sansa scrambles out of the room, looping an arm around Margaery’s shoulder before Margaery can even get to her feet. She helps Margaery up and takes the gun. “Nice shot babe.”

                    Sansa leads her to the end of the hall, then right. “She shouldn’t be too far. There was no where else for her to run to.”

                    “The plan won’t work anymore,” Margaery hisses as her leg grazes the wall. She’s slowing Sansa down. Had Sansa left her, she might have already found Cersei’s hiding place. Sansa readjusts her hold on Margaery.

                    “Sure it will. I shoot her in the face, then we run like hell to get whomever is left and get out,” Sansa rebuts.

                    Margaery gives her a pointed look. Much as she tries to hide it, the strain of Margaery’s weight is visible in the lines on Sansa’s forehead. “If it comes to that, I want you to leave me. Don’t worry about me.”

                    Sansa halts without warning. “That’s not an option. We leave together or we stay together. I’m not abandoning you.” She starts pulling Margaery along with her again, as if that’s that and there’s no if ands or buts.

                    Except Margaery has several on her tongue. She settles for, “I can’t run. I can barely walk, or have you not noticed?”

                    Sansa stops outside of a large room. She unravels her arm from around Margaery. “We’ll figure it out.” She cocks the gun chamber. “Stay here.” Finger looped around the trigger, Sansa heads into the room.

                    Margaery leans against the wall to relieve the strain on her leg. She’s sure Sansa will be gone just a moment, but she takes the opportunity to shut her eyes and attempt to clear her thoughts.

                    That is her mistake. Her guard let down, she doesn’t have time to react when the footsteps ascend on her.

                    Before Margaery can spin around, the cool metal butt of a gun smashes into the side of her skull. “That’s for my son!” The blow sends Margaery into the wall, blinding her from the force of the blow. The warm trickle of blood begins immediately, but the next blow comes sooner, in the exact same spot, with grater force. “My brother!” Cersei Lannister screams, barely louder than Sansa’s own screams for Margaery.

                    Margaery crumples to the ground, but someone grabs Margaery’s hair and yanks her up. Margaery yelps as her neck is forced back. A pair of stronger hands pin her arms against her back.

                    “Let her go!” Sansa shouts, her shoes squeaking against the floor as she skids to a stop.

                    Cersei cackles behind Margaery. “You’re not in a position to make demands, little girl.” The cold metal barrel of a gun presses lightly against Margaery’s throat. It draws a path down the column of her throat, stopping right over her pulse point.

                    “Tell me, Ms. Tyrell, how is your grandmother? The last time I saw her, she was in quite the conundrum,” Cersei whispers in her ear, mocking her.

                    Margaery tries to jerk out of the stronghold, but only succeeds in tightening the grip Cersei’s lackey has on her. For good measure, Cersei kicks Margaery’s wounded leg. Margaery barely manages to stay upright.

                    Cersei lets go of Margaery’s hair, but keeps the gun in position. Sansa points her gun straight at her, trying to lock an aim on Cersei. But Cersei has Margaery as a human shield. Sansa’s eyes lock with Margaery’s and the first thing Margaery notices is the fear. Utter terror that there’s nothing she can do to save Margaery and the flash of desperation to do just that.

                    “I should have figured she was with you from the start. I’d heard the rumors: the Stark girls lived. I thought you and bloody sister would have been too stupid to pull it off. Fault me for underestimating a pathetic girl and her wild sister,” Cersei begins. “It’s no matter now. I won’t make the same mistake twice.”

                    “All I need is two shots to kill you and your henchman,” Sansa threatens.

                    “All I need is one to take everything you hold dear. Again.” Cersei presses the gun harder into Margaery’s neck. Margaery shuts her eyes and takes a deep breath. How would Loras suggest she get out of this? In her own element, Margaery could have talked her way out. At the very least, she could exploit Cersei’s disdain for her enough to distract her and give Sansa some sort of opening. Except the only person Cersei couldn’t stand more than Margaery was standing less than ten feet away with her own arsenal.

                    “It’s nice to see how much you’ve grown,” Cersei continues, stepping around Margaery to taunt Sansa, though the gun in her hand never leaves its mark on Margaery’s throat. For good measure, her lackey wrenches Margaery’s arms farther back. A loud popping sound causes Margaery jump, not realizing it was her own shoulder until the pain rockets through her socket. “This victory would be far less enjoyable if you were the same pathetic little bird you always were. Watching everything your father built crumble was delicious enough. Your father should have learned to keep a better eye on his family’s company. Do you know how good it felt to light your home in flames along with everyone in it?”

                    “I imagine it felt similar to how I felt when I murdered your son,” Sansa clenches her jaw. If Cersei’s aim was to enrage Sansa into an act of stupidity, it as backfiring.

                    On the other hand, Cersei has little control over her own anger issues. She releases a frustrated groan. Without warning, she whips around and smacks Margaery upside the head with her gun. Margaery stumbles, unable to hold herself up. Only the henchman’s hold keeps her upright, but at the cost of further separation of her shoulder. Her shoulder feels as though it will rip off, forcing a scream out of Margaery.

                    Sansa’s gun fires a single shot, but nothing comes of it. Meanwhile, Margaery can feel blood dripping from the new gash on her head. Once more Cersei presses the barrel of the gun against Margaery’s temple. She yanks Margaery’s head up by her hair.

                     “Ah, ah Ms. Stark. You almost hit your little puppet.”

                    Despite blood trickling over her eye, Margaery can tell that Sansa is terrified of what Cersei could do. Her face isn’t stone cold composed, but there are traces of worry, her eyes becoming puffy.

                    “I’m not a puppet,” Margaery grimaces.

                    Cersei keeps her focus on Sansa. “I don’t know what you intended to gain from your little smear campaign. To ruffle my feathers? Or perhaps it was a little present for your whore for sparing you a few fucks. I certainly hope it was worth it, Ms. Tyrell. Your sick arrangement with Ms. Stark is the end of you.”

                    “That was all me, you bitch,” Margaery snaps, partially invigorated by the insults to her work, partially in the hope that it might provide the needed distraction. “Hard as it may be for you to believe, more people than an undead mafia were eager to talk about how your family screwed them over. Sansa, shoot her! The North needs you and Westeros needs to be free from the Lannisters. End this all now!”

                    She wonders if her brave face is convincing or if Sansa can see straight through her façade. Her pulse races from fear that this is it and she can feel her hands shaking. Truth be told, even her voice sounds shaky to her own ears.

                    There’s so much she wants to experience, places to go, people to meet, to visit the catacombs beneath Dragonstone, to taste Braavosi hen in Braavos. She wants to tell Sansa she loves her and to kiss her again. Each second that passes, another of these hopes slips away. Because she won’t make it alive. One way or another, Cersei will be her undoing. But she can still be Cersei’s downfall.

                    Cersei struts back into position behind Margaery. Her henchman grunts and pulls her up higher, forcing her to stand upright. She stares back at Sansa, begging for her to fire again. There’s no doubt in her mind whomever is pinning her could snap her neck in a heartbeat.

                    “You’ve destroyed everything your father ever built. No wonder he pushed you away after Robert’s death,” Sansa says, slowly inching forward, her demeanor no longer fearful.

                    Out of nowhere as the statement is, it gives Cersei pause. Sansa smirks, “You had my family killed because your business was falling apart. Now you’re on your last breath as a mafia and you still can’t let go of those tactics. History won’t remember you as a mafia boss. When I leave here, it won’t remember you at all.” There’s a twinkle in Sansa’s eye. Confidence, that Margaery assumes must mean she has an out.

                    Cersei scoffs. “Say goodbye to your whore.” Cersei presses the gun against Margaery’s temple. Sansa nods, setting off a rapid chain of events. Margaery drops all of her body weight, surprising the henchman. He maintains a tight grip on Margaery’s arms, so her shoulders wrench back again, further damaging the already dislocated one. However, the guard stumbles forward a step, lowering his head in the process. Simultaneously, Cersei pulls her trigger. The bullet hits her henchman in the side of the head, killing him instantly. Sansa’s gun fires a microsecond later, tearing through Cersei’s abdomen.

                    It’s not enough to send her to the ground though. Cersei re-aims her gun downward and fires a series of bullets. Most miss, but one strikes Margaery in the collar bone. Before Cersei has the opportunity to revel in her almost victory, a single bullet rockets through her head, a perfect shot from behind, exiting between her eyes.

                    Margaery grabs at the new wound in her arm as the blood starts streaming out. Laying down, she hears footsteps in both directions. Sansa shrieking her name, the footsteps that race past her, Arya screaming that they have to go.

                    She tries to call out, but the words won’t come. It’s only screams of pain as her shoulder burns, spreading deeper. She wonders if this is what Renly felt like. If perhaps he will be waiting to greet her. Would he tell her job well done. Would he hold her as she mourned the life she could never share with Sansa, as she would do the same for him and Loras?

              The wound on its own likely wouldn’t have been too bad, had she not already lost so much blood. As it is, the room begins spinning. More footsteps race by her, but they sound like the distant thumping of a bass, nothing more. Then Sansa is gone. She takes everything with her.

[talesofzero]

Carpe Noctem - Ch. 27

AU; Chapter 27 - Fiat Iustitia Et Pereat Mundus

More or less the final main chapter. Melodrama abounds.

~2700 words

Wataru and I always joked about who would win in a fight, and we’d had our spats. But this was different. This wasn’t for punishment, not him losing patience with me, not some harmless bout.

His hands shot toward my chest anytime he came within range. He wanted to tear my heart out. He wanted me dead. Well, it wasn’t really him.

My only thought was to stall. His reach was longer than mine, and if I made one wrong move, I was as good as dead. If it had been some other vampire aiming to kill me, I would have had little trouble moving in close and ending his life first. But this was my brother. I could only hope for an opening to knock him out.

In the cramped quarters between homes, I leapt back from him over and over, always fearing my back landing against a wall. He closed each gap I made in an instant, one hand outstretched to grab or kill me.

I had to buy more time. Useless as he was, Father wouldn’t abandon us. He would show up eventually to help.

Any moment now…

If that bastard did abandon us again, I would come back from the grave just to kick his ass.

Despite his empty eyes, Wataru wasn’t as mindless as he appeared. I was wrong to think I was leading him, as I saw the walls in my peripherals narrowing into a corner. He’d herded me right where he wanted me.  

With my options limited, I tried to dart past him. Immediately, I realized my mistake. His hand caught my throat and slammed me into the wall. The wooden structure crackled at my back.

“Wataru,” I hissed, catching his eye. The familiar song of hypnosis tinted my voice. “Stop.”

His eye flashed red for an instant, just long enough for me to know he was fighting, just long enough for his fingertips to pause against my chest. It gave me enough time to grab his arm and snap the bone clean in two.

Though he didn’t make a sound, his grip on my throat eased. Shoving myself from the wall, I placed myself in his guard. “Wake up!” I roared, grabbing his head in one hand and smashing it down onto the dirt ground. The crack of his skull rang up into my shoulder. As I knelt there panting, he remained still. Blood pooled out in a dark stain around his head.

I may have overdone it, but his heartbeat remained strong in echo to mine. Leaning in close, I breathed a sigh, “My apologies, brother. But please stay down.”

Regaining my feet, I looked back to the wolves. Nazca stood over Shep’s fallen form. The poor boy’s tail was tucked between his legs, though it was clear he was trying to look menacing in case of trouble. Gido, as always, had vanished from sight. I had to hope Father had tailed him.

“Nazca,” I called. The wolf’s ears perked up. “Try to drag these two to safety, somewhere out of the sun’s reach. If Wataru wakes, he shouldn’t hurt you, but stay out of his way just in case.”

He gave a nod. I had no choice but to trust him based solely on that. The sky was beginning to lighten.

I could still feel Gido and Father’s hearts, both racing now. They weren’t too far. I dashed down the nearest alley as half the sky stained the deep blue of the ocean. If the Sun caught me, so be it, as long as it caught Gido as well.

I came upon him in the middle of a crossroads, covered in nicks and gashes from the rapier clutched in Father’s hand. It hung limp in Father’s grasp, fallen to his side. His breath rattled like Zero’s had after that damn arrow hit him. The gash in Father’s shoulder, Gido’s cutlass, and the smell of wolfsbane in the air told the rest of the story.

As I rushed in between them, Gido stepped back. It seemed I’d arrived just in time, or something had stopped Gido from delivering a fatal blow.

“Sorry,” Father murmured at my back. “Let my guard down.”

“It’s alright, Vati,” I said. “Find a safe spot. Rest.”

His slowing heart raced a few beats. He always was easy to please. As his dragging footsteps grew distant, I stared Gido down.

“Enough running,” I said once again.

He said nothing, his lips pulled into a frown.

“Let’s end this.” I took a step forward, and he staggered back. It seemed all that talk was for nothing once he truly had to face me.

“Is Wataru alright?” he asked.

My blood boiled for a moment. He’d been the one to put Wataru in danger in the first place, but my confusion overwhelmed my anger. “What?” was all I could manage.

“You smell like his blood. Is he alright?”

“He’s fine,” I growled.

He swallowed. Then nodded. When he spoke, his voice wavered. “The house with the flowers in the window, back the way you came – go there when this is over.” A tear rolled down his cheek. “My god, it’s finally over.”

I took another step toward him, my hand reaching out on its own. And again, he stepped back away from me. His cutlass, stained with Father’s blood, clattered to the ground.

“Go back there, Phantom. Promise me you’ll go back.” More tears followed, bleeding out from under the mask.

This time, I didn’t give him the chance. In two quick steps, I stood close enough to rip the mask away. His eyes were puffy and red with exhaustion, yet they were the same brilliant blue as the sky overhead. “Richard,” I breathed. My hand came to rest against his cheek, and he leaned into my touch with a pained smile.

“Promise me, big brother.”

“I-I promise.” I couldn’t recall what I was promising. I only knew he was here now, my little brother. There was ground beneath my feet once more.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I can’t stay.”

No, I had him back now. He couldn’t leave again. I wouldn’t let him. I wouldn’t let anything hurt him ever again. I would protect him. I would-

“Let it end,” he said.

My heart burst again, a cavernous, bloody hole in my chest.

“But you’re back,” I said, dazed. “It’s you. I know it’s you.”

“He’ll come back. He always does once the sun sets. Phantom. Please.”

“I can’t,” I choked. “I can’t kill you. I can’t lose you again.” I clutched his face in my hands, tears pouring from my eye. “I can’t hurt you again. I’m sorry,” I sobbed. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

Pushing up to his toes, he placed a kiss to my forehead and shushed me as though I were the younger one. “You don’t have to kill me. It’s alright. I should never have asked you to. But let it end.”

He placed his hand to my chest and shoved be back hard enough for my back to hit the wall. Again, he took a few steps back, out of the shadow of the house shielding us and into the sun’s burning rays.

“Richard,” I gasped, stumbling forward to grasp at him. Even with my glove, the moment my hand found sunlight, the sting made me jolt back. I couldn’t imagine my brother’s pain as he fell to his knees, steam rising from his skin.

“It’s okay-it’s okay,” he lied. He forced his eyes up to mine, a bright, brilliant smile easing onto his face. “I know Gido always wanted to make you hurt, so it’s cruel of me to give him what he wants like this, but I’m happy you’re here with me. I didn’t want to be alone.”

His breaths became ragged gasps for air, and I started toward him again. I wanted to pull him to safety, but if I couldn’t have that, I wanted to hold him close while he burned.

“No, Phantom, you have to live,” he said as a crack appeared in his cheek. “I’m not mad at you. I wouldn’t have traded those years with you and Daiba for anything. I want you to be happy like that again, with him. So live for them. And for me.”

His cheek began to crumble away, graying into ash and falling like snow. It infected his eye until he mirrored me. As I tried to find something to say other than an apology, he turned toward the sound of uneven footsteps. A young boy with rattling breaths hobbled toward us, his hair a mess of auburn. Blood dripped from his chin with his every lurching step.

“Sammy,” Richard called, and the boy’s red-hued eyes lit up. He collapsed into Richard’s awaiting arms as they too crumbled into dust. “I’ve got you,” Richard cooed as though speaking to a pet, as I felt sure he was.

“I’m sorry,” I said, this time to the boy. I doubted he heard me. His eyes fell shut as he rested his head in Richard’s lap, his breaths softened into nothing as Richard ran his vanishing fingers through the boy’s hair.

“It’s alright,” Richard said, a soft, contented smile on his face as he watched the boy. “It’s so warm. I’ve missed the sun.”

Finally, his body could no longer sustain him, and he fell away completely into dust. The boy lay alone with a pile of clothes. Unable to bring myself to leave him, I reached into the light and snatched him out of it.

It felt wrong to hold him, but nothing felt right anymore. Ducking into the still-shadowed alleys, I returned to the square where I’d left Wataru and the wolves. No signs of them remained. With the sun bearing down on me, I was left with no other choice but to hide away in the home with the flowers in the window. I had to return there anyway. I couldn’t deny my brother his last request.

The door was open, and the darkened staircase was an inviting reprieve from the blinding sunlight. As I carried the boy down, I felt the echoing drum of heartbeats. My family must have found the safe house as well, allowing me to finally breathe a sigh of relief.

It wasn’t until I reached the bottom of the steps that I noticed the two forms huddled in the corner of an open cell. They were much too small to be my family, yet their hearts beat as mine. Gido must have turned others, then.

That explained why Richard wanted me to come back, to take care of Gido’s newbloods, the poor things.

Settling the boy’s body on the floor, I crept toward the cowering forms. With no idea how they might react to me, I had to be prepared for a fight.

“Are you awake?” I called, my voice raw and hardly recognizable as my own. “Excuse me, I mean no harm.”

One of their heads popped up from being buried against the other, and a growl began. Just as the thought of a feral rang in my mind, it tackled me to the ground. Brown eyes hung over my own, tips of blond hair prickling my cheeks. He reared back to slash at me.

“Daiba,” I said as though the name were foreign to me. His hand froze in the air. “Daiba… Tadashi Daiba…” I couldn’t find anything else to say but his name, over and over. Perhaps that would make it real.

“It’s me, Daiba. Harlock. Captain.”

Of course, he didn’t understand. If anything, he found my scent familiar. His eyes remained fogged, his lips drawn into a snarl. I moved slowly so as not to startle him, bringing my hand up to my mouth to tear open my palm with my fangs.

He perked up at that, leaning down to latch onto my hand without hesitation. He gnawed on me like a dog chewing a bone, just like he always had. Daiba. This was Daiba.

He gave a yelp as I sat up and threw my arm around him. Despite his hissing and struggling, I buried my face in his hair. The smell of him brought back a torrent of memories, of the way he’d sneak into my bed or lounge in my lap like a lazy cat.

“My little Daiba,” I hummed as I found myself crying again. This made him still. His growls warbled into purrs. I must have held him for hours, until he fell asleep once more.

I would have been content to remain like that all day, having someone to hold onto once more. But my head snapped up as I suddenly recalled the other one. His heartbeat tipped me off, a frantic trill. He must have woken and noticed me because he’d pressed himself into the corner, clutching his head for protection.

Daiba gave a grumble as I set him down. It seemed he truly hadn’t changed from the clingy newblood I remembered. “Hang on,” I said. “I’ll be just a moment.”

As I eased closer to the other one, his trembling increased to violent tremors. Definitely another feral. “It’s alright,” I called regardless. “I won’t harm you.” Flexing my hand broke open the wound again, and I held it out to the boy.

But he turned and slammed his back further into the corner, terrified of my outstretched hand.

He looked so certain I would hurt him.

Yama.

My Yama.

I fell to my knees in front of him as he tried to fuse himself with the stone at his back. “Yama,” I breathed. “Yama, it’s me.”

But when I reached for him, he screamed, bringing his hands up between us for protection. It was like a knife to the chest. Daiba appeared then, pressing himself to Yama’s side and purring like a roll of thunder. Perhaps Yama imagined him like Mii-kun, as he clung to Daiba in a frightened daze.

As much as I longed to hold them both and to ease Yama’s fears, my exhaustion was catching up to me. I couldn’t recall the last time I’d slept properly, and crying had left me drained. “Ah, liebling,” I sighed only to realize my English had failed me. A quick shake of my head cleared the blur from my vision for a moment. “Please be here when I wake,” I said as I settled myself to the ground beside them.

I must not have looked threatening that way to Yama because Daiba’s purring infected him. It made for a nice symphony to help ease me into sleep. By some miracle, I had no nightmares.

And by some greater miracle, I found them both snuggled into my grasp when I next opened my eye. Some sound had woken me, but I let my eye fall shut again. The mumbled voices I heard were familiar enough to give me no cause for alarm.

I heard yelling soon after, enough that I could only pretend to still sleep. And pretend I did. Daiba was growling about something, but Yama remained close enough that I could smell flowers with each breath.

“Harlock!” Tochiro snapped, loud enough to break through to me. “Wake up!”

“No,” I said.

“We’ll have to carry him back,” Emeraldas said.

“What about Daiba?”

“Zero can get him.”

“He’s going to rip Zero’s throat out.”

“I doubt Zero will mind.”

“He won’t! And that’s the problem.”

“Quit talking about me like I’m not here,” Zero snapped.

A smile tugged at my lips. I felt far too heavy to move. Even speaking felt impossible, but I managed some slurred attempt at communication. “S’everyone alright?”

“I guess?” Tochiro said. “Léopard and the others are helping get your dad, Wataru, and the wolves back to the ships. What, uh, happened to Gido?”

“Gone.”

“Oh… well then we’d better, um-”

“Promethium called a meeting,” Zero said over him.

My eye snapped open. “What?”

“It seems she found out the Lords were congregating here without her, and she didn’t care for it. She’s on her way. Léopard is shaking in his boots.”

That would be Hell to deal with. With everything else going on, I didn’t need that too. “Can I… just sleep now?” I sighed.

Zero laughed. “Go ahead. Rest. We’ll take care of you for now.”

As my eye fell shut once more, I saw Daiba gnawing on his hand. Of course, I could leave things to him and the others. Neither Tochiro nor Zero had ever let me down. All would be well.

At least until Promethium arrived.

[howboutdemwings]

Come And Knock On My Door with @InMyOwnMhis

Jagger -Aching face? Check. Swollen neck? Check. Diminished life capacity? Checkmate. It was brutally sobering that a night with such a small amount of bloodletting had so obviously left me with fewer sands in my hour glass. I was well acquainted with going without before I hesitantly bellied up to the old vein tap. Safety nets were powerful things. Haven had been mine. There was security that came with having a familiar to sustain you. Without that catch all I was staring down a thousand stories about to take the free fall. Yep. It had just become real. Shit. I felt doubly cheated, the high from my roughing up had worn off; standing in was an ice pack to the face and the phantom pains of Assail’s hand around my throat, taking up residence where my mother’s cross should be. I wasn’t one for materialism. I liked my domain tight, clean and uncluttered. This was the singular exception when it came to possessions. The loss had sent me reeling back into mourning with an immediateness. The ache was as fresh in the frontal lobe as if I’d only just lived her death. Course, it had never been further away than lurking anyway. I hadn’t bothered with a glass for the whiskey, opting to keep up the black eye, bruised nose image I was working by drinking directly from the bottle. I was on swig three when the pounding at my front door came along with the shout of my name. You fucking kidding me? Assail had had me followed? Clearly it wasn’t the silent brothers with that set of lungs. Great. The slumber party I’d never wanted was standing on my doorstep with the burning ball of fire about to debut its-deadly-to-vampires rays. If Assail had sent a watchdog for daytime hours, it wasn’t going to bode well if I turned him away. Not to mention if I did that I’d be just like… Yeah, wasn’t gonna finish that thought. Well played, ya fancy bastard. What in fresh hell had I gotten myself into by attempting to do the bloody right thing? I gave the knob a sharp twist but before I could open the door even part way, I was shoved back by whoever was behind it. So reflexes were toast, too. Yippee. There was no missing what had crashed through my door. It sure as hell wasn’t a thug. No. I shook my head in protest as what registered in a few very disorienting moments was a male that was flanked by a set of opalescent wings in my entryway, his bronzed skin set off by a light that -felt- like it came from him. That had me blinking a few times… In his arms was the limp and beaten body of a fair-haired female. She was clearly broken, complete with a savage gash at her throat. A portrait of both beauty and agony . My stomach twisted and my eyes flashed back to the male. Thoughts were traveling at the speed of light through my weary mind, too many things to say, too many questions. Until I latched onto what hung around the male’s neck. Briny tears pooled and risked a spill and without conscious thought, I closed the three of us in together. The question was my only and it flew out without any pomp and circumstance.- Where did you get that? Lassiter: <I waited for the door to close behind us and looked around the space we had intruded upon. It wasn’t much but the windows were covered and that was all I had hoped for in terms of the immediate when my foot had been pounding on the door. Looking down at the female, I checked to see if she was still breathing then moved past the shocked guy I assumed was Jagger so I could lay her down on his couch. Surely he wouldn’t mind...it’s not like she was going anywhere in the next twelve hours anyways, she might as well be as comfortable as possible given the beating she had taken. As my hand brushed her hair back from her face again, I realized he was talking to me. I shook my head, of all the first things to say…> THAT? Dude, she’s nearly dead and you want to know where I found her? <Turning around to face him, my gaze was all steel and disapproving attitude until I got a better look at his mug. Seems tonight was the night for fists connecting with faces in Caldwell. There was light bruising around his throat that looked to be the vague shape of a hand and he had a solid black eye which skewed his features to a degree that paired with it. In his hand, which lacked any evidence of bruising or scuff marks was a bottle of amber liquid I guessed to be whiskey. He was nursing his injuries, much like I had seen the Brothers do and if I had to guess, it had been a one sided fight. I set aside my nosy inquiry and scrubbed over my face as my aggression toward his question simmered down and I moved back over to the girl, pulling the card from her pocket.> I found her in a fucking alley, watched as some asswipe dumped her and took off. Your name and address were on her when I checked her pockets, so here we are. <Turning back to male, I held out the card> You are Jagger, aren’t you? Jagger -I watched in disbelief, my mind still on that cross -my mother’s cross- hanging from his neck. I didn’t have the wherewithal to be bothered when he laid the female on my couch, but was snapped to attention when he relayed that my name and number were in her pockets. For a minute I wondered if maybe the skull smash had left something cracked because this was starting to be like a whole lot of Jagger-In-FuckNoLand. The rest of what he said filed in out of order behind the soldier of my name. Beaten. Dumped in an alley. Alright, this was way more Dicken’s than Disney and here I was with Ghosts-of-Daddy past right here in my living room.- I’m Jagger, yeah. But I don’t know her… -I could barely stand a glance her way, not out of disregard but because that whiskey wanted to burn its way right back up and make an escape. How in the hell had she ended up with my number and address? I lifted my hand to my face, the scrub doing nothing to erase the scene, instead it manifested in sharper relief. I wracked my brain and finally it dawned. She had to be Haven’s doing. Or her father… Lhance. That was the only explanation. I could contact them in the evening, thank you ball-o-sunshine.- There’s someone I can call when the sun drops. -I wanted to ask about the cross, I wanted to walk right over and take it off his neck, but with an injured female on my couch, I stuffed my own shit, having no damn clue what to do or say next.- Lassiter: <The confirmation of Jagger’s identity wasn’t necessarily needed, given that the female was stuck here while the sun was out doing its daylight thing, but it was good to know we had, at the very least made it to the right house. Beneath the scent of alcohol on his breath, lingered the confirmation I needed that Jagger was indeed a vampire. I paced back and forth in the small living space as my mind began to work through the “how tos” and in what order when I realized he had spoken again. Stopping directly in front of Jagger, my brows knit in confusion.> Excuse me? You’re going to do what when the sun drops? <I laughed without humour and shook my head while pointing in the direction of his couch.> Does it look like she has that kind of time to you, buddy? No. She’s waiting for the Reaper himself to arrive and collect her innocent soul. I am not about to allow that to happen. She needs blood. Your blood because she sure as shit isn’t going to heal on mine. <As I spoke it dawned on me that he was avoiding her, as I spoke, his eyes had landed on everything else they could but were steadfast in doing their best at staying off her broke, unconscious body. Nope. Not cool. If he wanted to play the avoiding game, I was going to put an end to that fast. Grabbing Jagger by the upper arm, I pulled him over to the couch and stared down his beat up profile while forcing him to look at her, allowing him no opportunity to avoid her any further.> Can you not hear the weakened thuds of her heart, it has already slowed considerably since we arrived only minutes ago. You may not know her, but if we wait, like you’re suggesting, she’ll be dead before long and I simply cannot allow that. Jagger -Oh. God. No. My eyes had nowhere to go but down but my body tried for escape, the grip of the golden male wouldn’t give and I was forced to face the reality he was suggesting as my heart pounded in the rhythm of doom. My lungs were paralyzed and I tried to draw oxygen, coming back with a big fat empty.- I can’t! She’s better off in the fade than she is at my vein. My blood is corrupted, I’m tainted… spoiled, unworthy… I won’t… no! -With escape impossible, I was left to crumble to my knees, shoulders sagging while tears burned down my face with a liquid heat that rivaled that of the whiskey that had recently flowed down my throat and my arm was left up north, in the male’s grip. Why… why was this angel’s life left hanging in my hands? She hadn’t deserved this any more than the savagery that brought her here. If taking the vein had rendered me so stunted and emptied my soul, the thought of her at mine was ruination. Closer to her, still shielding my eyes, I could hear her slowed pulse and I knew the male was not bluffing. If I opened my vein for her, her life would be salvaged by something soiled, and she was… pristine. What if she would choose to deny it if she knew of my past? The nature of my sire. How he had treated females thusly. And… what if the act alone unleashed something in me that was the very thing I had always fought to become? Rhuin. I could barely mutter the words. I could hardly acknowledge this cruel twist of choices.- I am no one’s salvation. Lassiter: <Denial of my request was something I was used to hearing, especially if it was from the Big Guy in the sky. My jaw dropped in shock as Jagger refused to help the female. Certainly I hadn’t expected him to jump for joy over offering his vein, but flat out refusal wasn’t something I had even considered. As he crumpled at my side, I watched the bottle in his other hand slip from his grasp but didn’t bother making a reach for it to save the contents from spilling all over the carpet. My head shook in an effort to try and rattle free another approach that would have him agreeing. I didn’t understand how he could view himself as tainted or unworthy. And I certainly didn’t understand what was with all the stubborn male I was being forced to deal with of late.> It’s bad enough I have the Brothers to deal with, now you give me civilians who don’t want to listen either? This is NOT the kind of overtime I was expecting. <I didn’t care if Jagger could hear me complaining to God, he seemed off in his own world of hurt and misery anyways, I simply needed to file the complaint so I could carry on.> What now, huh?! < I had hoped forcing Jagger to see the gravity of the situation would work to my advantage but instead I now had two damaged vamps on my hands and not a clue at how to deal. After a moment of thinking, I released Jagger’s arm and rubbed my hands together and as a brighter glow than I normally casted began to illuminate the room, I crouched down next to him. I spoke his name softly and when he turned to face me, my hands moved to the wounds on his neck and face, healing the bruises and taking away the swelling with a little further effort. Maybe if I fixed his physical injuries he wouldn’t feel so damaged and I’d be able to convince him he could do it.> Please reconsider, Jagger...I can even wipe your memory of us after you help her. You won’t remember a thing. Jagger -Conversations with God? Actually sounded more like a union worker issuing a formal complaint. Could this dude really be an angel? Something told me the Magic 8 Ball would answer “Sources say yes” but I’d donated mine to Safe Place when they’d had a drive that Haven had told me about. Damn it. Guess I’d never know. The word that hung most in the background was “civilian” the first part of which was “civil.” But half of my genetics were anything but. I was on the precipice of catatonic, about to give myself over to the numbness that would make the decision moot, when the male released me. My head still hung heavy only swayed when I felt his looming presence drop to my level. Were his hands glowing? Sanity came into question but before I could go down that rabbit hole, he laid hands on my injuries. I felt a warmth replace the pain that was served up courtesy of the SUV window and Assail’s neck hug. My breathing leveled out as I was suffused by a peacefulness that defied logic, reason… and a sound mind. What in the actual…? His plea felt soft on my ears but not at all light on conviction. My eyes were magnetized to the cross around his neck which seemed to shimmer while basking in the glow of his skin. I wanted to rage against this outcome. I wanted to fight against exposing the girl to my sickness, but there was something else I was denying in the process. I had so focused on the monster of my father’s legacy, I had forgotten he wasn’t all that made me. Smacking me in the face with reality was a sign, the cross the male had come to wear. The one I thought I’d lost. A loss that had reinforced the decisions I’d made for myself. There it was, returned to me, under circumstances so strange I couldn’t deny the message. It was incredible how something so silent could actually scream at you. I swallowed hard. Once. Twice. Three times before the vocal chords agreed to get with the program. I didn’t give an answer, but I had come to one.- What’s your name? Lassiter: <Slowly I pulled my hands away from Jagger’s face and throat when I was certain I had reversed the damage he had sustained from only God knew whom. When I finally got a clear look of his face, no longer obstructed by the deep purple bruising and swollen flesh, my jaw dropped.> Holy shit high in the sky. It’s you. I should have fucking known. <Shaking my head in disbelief, my fingers went to the cross around my neck. The metal was warm from my skin but just like before, the images held within the item flash-carded through my mind on instant replay all while I stared at the face in person.> How did I not...My God. I must be failing somehow to have not realized. <My brows knit together and without saying another word, I looked up to the ceiling, muttering a few choice words to my boss about his twisted sense of humour as I grabbed ahold of the chain and lifted it up over my head then reached over to return it back to its rightful owner.> This is yours. <Once the chain settled around Jagger’s neck, the warmth I had felt from the item had relocated deep inside me, leaving me feeling accomplished and pleased about having so quickly and successfully returned it without even trying, much like I had found the necklace without trying. A low laugh parted my lips and I dropped my hands out of his personal space, finally feeling ready to answer his question that remained hanging in the air between us.> My name is Lassiter. And I promise, I'm not always such a shit show like you just bore witness to. Jagger -Despite the world of fuckery I found myself basking in, the reaction to sight of my must-be-healed face earned a chuckle. It was lost on me how in the hell this winged-male knew me but his next move had me going with an internal jaw drop. Without a request or further word, my eyes tracked every move as he carefully handled the cross with as much consideration as I would. When it returned around my neck, the weight barely registered but the breath I’d been holding since realizing its loss was expunged from my lungs in a full body sigh of relief. My eyes flicked up to his, my gaze a penetrating force.- Many thanks, Lassiter. I am about to return the favor. Maybe complete with shit show. -My eyes shifted back to the girl who looked near lifeless. A new dread took up residence in my chest and I thought I might start my shit show with a spectacular return of my whiskey to the surface. I lifted my hand, noting the tremble, gently pushing a lock of her hair from over her eye. Who could do this? Who could disregard a female in such a manner? The echo in my head bore my own last name in answer. I looked back at Lassiter, to whom I owed a debt, my voice was meek at best.- Will you be able to heal her when I am done? My blood is...an abomination. Lassiter: <It was clear my returning the necklace back to Jagger had a weighted effect on him, one I should have expected perhaps given the strong images that had hit me when I found it, but nothing about me being here in his place with a battered female was what I had expected of this night. I had thought I had already filled my guardian duties, but apparently not. Leave it to the Big Guy to throw a wrench into my plans of returning back to my BFF back at the manse. She’d keep just fine though... hung on the wall exactly as a good flat screen does. Jagger’s exhale had my eyes lifting from the golden cross as it rested upon his chest up to his serious gaze and as he spoke, something about the way his voice sounded had me mentally lifting a brow. I didn't understand what he was getting at, how could helping another cause a shit show? Wasn't this a normal thing for the fanger types? All the Brothers did it back at the mansion. Well, the ones who were able fed from their females and they kept their lady’s thirst quenched in return. Granted, it was almost always paired with a tumble between the sheets. Only in the case of feeding from a Chosen was sex rarely involved. The thought had me clearing my throat just as I watched his hand reach over to brush some hair away from the unconscious female’s busted eye. Yeah...so...that was definitely an act of intimacy if I had ever seen one. Perhaps that's what he was getting at, maybe he was used to the feed and fuck way of life. Though, there was no way this female was in any shape to participate in that kind of activity and maybe that was what he meant by his own shit show. Was worried about sporting wood with me next to him? Hell if I knew. I could deal if that was the case. Or I could even offer to step outside. That could make him feel more comfortable. Right. So deep in spiralling thoughts, I was, cycling through the what- the-fuck-nows that when he spoke again, I nearly missed his question.> Huh? <My head shook while confusion washed over my face, perhaps I had heard him wrong.> Dude. You feed her and she’ll heal just fine on her own. What she needs is blood...none of her injuries are fatal from what I can tell. Plus, I sincerely doubt your blood is anything but exactly what she needs which negates any sort of suggestion of it being an abomination. Just get to, you know… <flashing my pearly whites at Jagger, I brought my wrist up to my mouth and mimed biting into it before hovering it over the female’s mouth.> ...should be easy peasy. No? Jagger -Easy. Peasy. Yeah, that was a fuck no. While dread built with the fury of a hurricane in the trappings of my ribs, I could hear the female’s heartbeat slowing. Lassiter was right. She didn’t have the time to wait out the daylight, she didn’t even have the time for me to sell my plight to the… angel. That’s what he was, wasn’t he? Only he lived and breathed and was very much standing in my living room, not off on a Cumulonimbus frolick. The explanation would have to wait until after. Reaching into my back pocket, I pulled out my switch blade. The demons rose to my brain with a quickness, taunting my choice with haunting reminders of the vile blood that had made me by half. A female taking my vein had never been on the table. Closing my eyes, my hearing sharpened to that dull, weak thudding in her chest counting down opportunity with a somber suspense. Physically I was headed on the fast track to paralysis and inability to do shit. My fangs stayed retreated, cowering in fear, not offering up their services. Those sharp canines were staying loyal to me, betraying her, but I knew that was coming, didn’t I? I met Lassiter’s gaze again, holding out my knife to him.- You’re going to have to tap my vein and now. She’s not got long. And one other thing. Whatever you do, you can’t leave me alone with her. At all. -My voice cracked unsuspectingly at the admission, portraying my inherent weakness, the one that came from Rhuin. What if this act woke some dormant beast inside of me? What if saving her meant the demise of my character? This somehow felt like skydiving only I didn’t have chute.- Lassiter: <Waiting for Jagger to answer my question felt like a lifetime of moments, suspended in the air surrounding us along with my expectation and his reluctance to hop to it. I was dumbfounded as his eyes closed and lost my pierced brows to my hairline at the sight of a pocket knife appearing in front of me. It seemed he was intent on doing exactly the opposite of what his natural instinct should be. Did that mean he also didn't have the usual sexual urges, too? I wasn't about to assume because up until now, all I had managed to do was make an ass of myself on repeat. As he held out the blade, I took it from him and convinced my brows to drop down to their usual spot on my forehead so they could knit together in confusion. This was most definitely way out of the ordinary. But so was this whole fucked up situation and if he needed me to play slip slide with the blade to his wrist and hold his hand like a bottle to save the girl, I wasn't about to leave him without aid. The very fact that he went from suggesting we wait until sundown to agreeing to help meant I had made the right decision to shove my way through his door. Nodding slowly to his requests, I grabbed ahold of his hand with my free one and without giving the action any further consideration or analysis, I quickly drew the point of the blade over his wrist, running parallel with the tendons and opening his vein effortlessly. I didn't concern myself with the pain he likely felt from the knife gliding through his flesh, no doubt it ranked low on his list of booboos given the black eye I had healed for him only a few moments ago. As soon as the bright red fluid raised to the surface of his skin, I moved his wrist to the female’s barely parted lips, pressing it against them to open her mouth a little further so the blood flow could make its way to the back of her throat thanks to gravity. He had said I was going to have to do the work which I didn't mind, even if I didn't understand why. I didn't dare chance a look his way but with the way his body had gone stone still next to me, I could hazarded a guess he was likely freaking out some. My wing closest to him spread out and curled around his body, pulling him in closer to my side, hoping it would help relax him even a little while I did my best to block his view of where his hand was being held captive at the female’s mouth. My voice was quiet as I spoke, hoping it could reach into her unconscious mind.> Come on, sweetheart take what you need. Jagger -I inhaled in relief as the blade made like my flesh was butter, the streak of pain the least of the penance I felt I deserved for what I was about to subject an innocent to. In giving to her, I felt as though I was taking something irretrievable from her. Only the cross so recently returned around my neck held me to the deal and something about the angel who’d returned it to me. Seeing my blood -his blood- ratcheted up the internal cringe to a point of outright rejection to what was happening. In some sick macabre twist, I wondered if this was the way I was meant to go. If my death were to be some poetic warp of irony - saving a life with the very blood I wished to extinguish - perhaps I’d actually check-out with some honor. “Here lies Jagger son of Rhuin, male of worth.” Yeah. Nope. That shit wasn’t in the cards. Besides, it wasn’t my intention to go out with a bang, but to slip into death without any pomp and no one left behind to tell my tale. When Lassiter pressed my wrist to her mouth, the meeting of her lips felt soft and I was rendered a helpless volunteer. My heart pumped painfully, delivering what she needed, while I was doing a mental sprint far, far away. I was removed from my body but aware of the slight shake that had joined the party when I was blindsided yet again. One of those wings cocooned me, bringing me closer to its owner. And I broke. Fiery tears escaped the corners of my eyes, rebelling against my statued state. I’d been rejected by the only male I’d ever known. Not swaddled or held. Not verbally commended. Rhuin had even wished me into death. And now…. Now I was funneled into the reality of what he had deprived me of in a small act that had a monumental effect. I couldn’t comprehend anything on the global level of meaning, but knew in a moment this is what I had suffered to experience for so long. I didn’t know what to do, how to cope or understand as the experience played WWE with my feelings. My world started to spin erratically, when something stopped it. Suction at my wrist. A soft gasp. I sagged against Lassiter as our sleeping beauty showed first signs of revival.- Lassiter: Oh, thank fuck. <It didn't take long for the girl’s natural instincts to kick in, and even while her body lay broken on Jagger’s couch, I exhaled a sigh as she began to take weak pulls at his vein. I was beyond grateful for one damn thing to go as it should. Finally. My eyes didn't leave her face out of fear that she might suddenly catch herself a case of the all-dones far too soon. Even to a non-vamp like myself it was clear her blood loss had been paramount. Thankfully she was up for the fight and continued to suck down his blood while I kept his wrist at her lips. The weight of Jagger’s form as it sagged into my side did not go unnoticed however, and for a brief moment, I looked over at him to check that he hadn't passed out. My heart twisted inside my chest and stuttered a couple of times at the expression on his face. It was utterly devastating to witness such upset and defeat on another who should be exuding pride and joy. While I didn't quite understand the tears that were staining his cheeks, my wing tightened around him in reassurance while my fingers that continued to grasp his hand and forearm loosened just enough so that both thumbs could brush back and forth over his skin, offering more physical comfort in any way I could. The guy looked like he needed a hug in the worst way and if I had been confident it wouldn't send him over the edge, I might have chanced wrapping one arm around his shoulders too. But his earlier words continued to echo in my mind and so, I held his wrist steadfast to her lips. The muted and weak sounds the female made as she swallowed at Jagger’s vein were encouraging and just as I knew his blood would help her, something inside me felt the need to affirm the evidence aloud.> Look, Jagger. Some of her colour is returning. And listen...her heart. It seems stronger, no? <I paused long enough for him to be able to hear the truth of my words for himself before continuing.> That's all because of you. She was on the Fade’s doorstep but your blood called her back to the land of the living. Even the gash across her eye appears less gnarly, too, you can't deny. <A small grin took hold of my lips and as I turned my head to see if he was looking for himself, I whispered quietly, hoping it wouldn't destroy our tentative life saving venture.> There is no way your blood is contaminated with the way it's healing her so quickly. I told you it was all she would need, didn't I? Jagger -It was difficult to feel victorious with the knowledge that with her growing strength she was ingesting more of my contaminated plasma. My heart was stretched like taffy, gripped between distress and relent and… relief. I felt a surer latch on my wrist and in a moment of what seemed preordained, a slight loosening of Lassiter’s grip, followed up with a gentle pass of his thumb. The urge to go fetal was strong and my power to resist it lessened as her heartbeat drummed louder, stepping her away from fatality. I was trapped in this triangulated maze of emotions I couldn’t process, leaving me despondent. I heard the easy encouragement when Lassiter spoke. It wasn’t overly pushy and I was overwhelmed with the sense I couldn’t let him down by being the coward who refused to witness what he was touting. That would be failure. My head felt weighted as it lifted from my shoulders and there was no denying the change in the female was remarkable. Her colorless skin had taken on a dewy glow, which stood out in contrast to the gruesome purple that framed her eye. My teeth clenched. I heard the whispered words, but my mind rejected what Lassiter was saying. He didn’t know. He couldn’t know. He wouldn’t have brought her to me had he known. Fuck. Would he regret this too? Would the gravity of what I had done by saving her life sentenced him to regret and God knows what else? Shit. Angel. The man in charge would know. Turning my head in weary relief towards Lassiter. The confession spilled out with the barrier of my self control temporarily lost. - He did this to her. To them. To all of them. -shaking my head- You have to heal her… save her… Soul. -For as much as I knew my father was dead, this display of a ravaged female clinging to life at the tap of my vein left me with the three dimensional, in your face vision I’d never known. Virtual reality was bad. Reality reality was a nightmare.- Lassiter: <Have you ever experienced a moment where you are so sure of something and expect a certain reaction that when you don't get it you need to do a double take? Yeah. That was exactly where I had found myself. Hello, Confusionville. Population: One. I could see with my own glowing white eyes the healing effects of Jagger’s blood and yet, he was still insisting she required saving. My eyes shifted past his face that was etched with worry and concern and landed on the long forgotten tipped over whiskey bottle.> Just how much did you drink before I invited myself in? <This time I hadn't expected an answer from him, in fact I hadn't really meant to speak my query aloud but I was back to speaking to myself as a means of working through shit because it was starting to get beyond capacity up in the grey matter.> Did you drink so much your vision is wonky, buddy? She's healing amazingly and her soul is perfectly intact seeing as she’s still alive. There isn't anything more for me to do… <I paused my out loud thinking and rewound what he said in my mind. The first part made no sense. Who was the “he” Jagger had been referring to and what did he mean by “all of them”? So many questions and I had no idea how to make sense of what he was talking about. I shook my head and as I collected my thoughts, piecing them together to form an actual question I hoped he had an answer to, I barely noticed the sucking sounds at Jagger’s wrist had slowed even though my hands kept it gently pressed to the female’s lips.> Who are you talking about, my man? Do you mean the limping asshole who dumped her in the alley? He only had her, nobody else with him. <Quiet stretched for a few moments and my gaze held Jagger's as I waited for him to clue me the fuck in. As his mouth opened and closed a couple of times, the answer I once again wasn't expecting came and not from Jagger but from the female who, up until now had been unconscious and mute. Her voice was raspy and quiet, clearly she had worn it out during her struggle but despite that, it didn't lack conviction and was full of malice as she spoke, leaving us both shocked into silence.> “Rhancid...piece of shit.”

[inmyownmhis]

Come And Knock On My Door (with @HowBoutDemWings)

Jagger

-Aching face? Check. Swollen neck? Check. Diminished life capacity? Checkmate.

It was brutally sobering that a night with such a small amount of bloodletting had so obviously left me with fewer sands in my hour glass. I was well acquainted with going without before I hesitantly bellied up to the old vein tap.  Safety nets were powerful things. Haven had been mine. There was security that came with having a familiar to sustain you. Without that catch all I was staring down a thousand stories about to take the free fall.  Yep. It had just become real.

Shit.

I felt doubly cheated, the high from my roughing up had worn off; standing in was an ice pack to the face and the phantom pains of Assail’s hand around my throat, taking up residence where my mother’s cross should be.

I wasn’t one for materialism. I liked my domain tight, clean and uncluttered. This was the singular exception when it came to possessions. The loss had sent me reeling back into mourning with an immediateness.  The ache was as fresh in the frontal lobe as if I’d only just lived her death.  Course, it had never been further away than lurking anyway.

I hadn’t bothered with a glass for the whiskey, opting to keep up the black eye, bruised nose image I was working by drinking directly from the bottle. I was on swig three when the pounding at my front door came along with the shout of my name.

You fucking kidding me? Assail had had me followed? Clearly it wasn’t the silent brothers with that set of lungs.  

Great. The slumber party I’d never wanted was standing on my doorstep with the burning ball of fire about to debut its-deadly-to-vampires rays.  If Assail had sent a watchdog for daytime hours, it wasn’t going to bode well if I turned him away.

Not to mention if I did that I’d be just like…

Yeah, wasn’t gonna finish that thought.

Well played, ya fancy bastard. What in fresh hell had I gotten myself into by attempting to do the bloody right thing?

I gave the knob a sharp twist but before I could open the door even part way, I was shoved back by whoever was behind it. So reflexes were toast, too.

Yippee.

There was no missing what had crashed through my door. It sure as hell wasn’t a thug.

No.

I shook my head in protest as what registered in a few very disorienting moments was a male that was  flanked by a set of opalescent wings in my entryway, his bronzed skin set off by a light that -felt- like it came from him.  That had me blinking a few times…

In his arms was the limp and beaten body of a fair-haired female. She was clearly broken, complete with a savage gash at her throat. A portrait of  both beauty and agony . My stomach twisted and my eyes flashed back to the male.  Thoughts were traveling at the speed of light through my weary mind, too many things to say, too many questions. Until I latched onto what hung around the male’s neck.

Briny tears pooled and risked a spill and without conscious thought, I closed the three of us in together. The question was my only and it flew out without any pomp and circumstance.-

Where did you get that?

Lassiter:

<I waited for the door to close behind us and looked around the space we had intruded upon. It wasn’t much but the windows were covered and that was all I had hoped for in terms of the immediate when my foot had been pounding on the door. Looking down at the female, I checked to see if she was still breathing then moved past the shocked guy I assumed was Jagger so I could lay her down on his couch. Surely he wouldn’t mind...it’s not like she was going anywhere in the next twelve hours anyways, she might as well be as comfortable as possible given the beating she had taken. As my hand brushed her hair back from her face again, I realized he was talking to me. I shook my head, of all the first things to say…>  THAT? Dude, she’s nearly dead and you want to know where I found her?

<Turning around to face him, my gaze was all steel and disapproving attitude until I got a better look at his mug. Seems tonight was the night for fists connecting with faces in Caldwell. There was light bruising around his throat that looked to be the vague shape of a hand and he had a solid black eye which skewed his features to a degree that paired with it. In his hand, which lacked any evidence of bruising or scuff marks was a bottle of amber liquid I guessed to be whiskey. He was nursing his injuries, much like I had seen the Brothers do and if I had to guess, it had been a one sided fight. I set aside my nosy inquiry and scrubbed over my face as my aggression toward his question simmered down and I moved back over to the girl, pulling the card from her pocket.>

I found her in a fucking alley, watched as some asswipe dumped her and took off. Your name and address were on her when I checked her pockets, so here we are. <Turning back to male, I held out the card> You are Jagger, aren’t you?

Jagger

-I watched in disbelief, my mind still on that cross -my mother’s cross- hanging from his neck. I didn’t have the wherewithal to be bothered when he laid the female on my couch, but was snapped to attention when he relayed that my name and number were in her pockets.

For a minute I wondered if maybe the skull smash had left something cracked because this was starting to be like a whole lot of Jagger-In-FuckNoLand.

The rest of what he said filed in out of order behind the soldier of my name.

Beaten.

Dumped in an alley.

Alright, this was way more Dicken’s than Disney and here I was with Ghosts-of-Daddy past right here in my living room.-

I’m Jagger, yeah. But I don’t know her…

-I could barely stand a glance her way, not out of disregard but because that whiskey wanted to burn its way right back up and make an escape. How in the hell had she ended up with my number and address? I lifted my hand to my face, the scrub doing nothing to erase the scene, instead it manifested in sharper relief.

I wracked my brain and finally it dawned. She had to be Haven’s doing. Or her father… Lhance. That was the only explanation. I could contact them in the evening, thank you ball-o-sunshine.-

There’s someone I can call when the sun drops. -I wanted to ask about the cross, I wanted to walk right over and take it off his neck, but with an injured female on my couch, I stuffed my own shit, having no damn clue what to do or say next.-  

Lassiter:

<The confirmation of Jagger’s identity wasn’t necessarily needed, given that the female was stuck here while the sun was out doing its daylight thing, but it was good to know we had, at the very least made it to the right house. Beneath the scent of alcohol on his breath, lingered the confirmation I needed that Jagger was indeed a vampire. I paced back and forth in the small living space as my mind began to work through the “how tos” and in what order when I realized he had spoken again. Stopping directly in front of Jagger, my brows knit in confusion.> Excuse me? You’re going to do what when the sun drops?

<I laughed without humour and shook my head while pointing in the direction of his couch.> Does it look like she has that kind of time to you, buddy? No. She’s waiting for the Reaper himself to arrive and collect her innocent soul. I am not about to allow that to happen. She needs blood. Your blood because she sure as shit isn’t going to heal on mine.

<As I spoke it dawned on me that he was avoiding her, as I spoke, his eyes had landed on everything else they could but were steadfast in doing their best at staying off her broke, unconscious body. Nope. Not cool. If he wanted to play the avoiding game, I was going to put an end to that fast. Grabbing Jagger by the upper arm, I pulled him over to the couch and stared down his beat up profile while forcing him to look at her, allowing him no opportunity to avoid her any further.> Can you not hear the weakened thuds of her heart, it has already slowed considerably since we arrived only minutes ago. You may not know her, but if we wait, like you’re suggesting, she’ll be dead before long and I simply cannot allow that.

Jagger

-Oh. God. No.

My eyes had nowhere to go but down but my body tried for escape, the grip of the golden male wouldn’t give and I was forced to face the reality he was suggesting as my heart pounded in the rhythm of doom. My lungs were paralyzed and I tried to draw oxygen, coming back with a big fat empty.-

I can’t! She’s better off in the fade than she is at my vein.

My blood is corrupted, I’m tainted… spoiled, unworthy… I won’t… no!

-With escape impossible, I was left to crumble to my knees, shoulders sagging while tears burned down my face with a liquid heat that rivaled that of the whiskey that had recently flowed down my throat and my arm was left up north, in the male’s grip.

Why… why was this angel’s life left hanging in my hands? She hadn’t deserved this any more than the savagery that brought her here. If taking the vein had rendered me so stunted and emptied my soul, the thought of her at mine was ruination.  

Closer to her, still shielding my eyes, I could hear her slowed pulse and I knew the male was not bluffing.

If I opened my vein for her, her life would be salvaged by something soiled, and she was… pristine. What if she would choose to deny it if she knew of my past? The nature of my sire. How he had treated females thusly.

And… what if the act alone unleashed something in me that was the very thing I had always fought to become?

Rhuin.

I could barely mutter the words. I could hardly acknowledge this cruel twist of choices.-

I am no one’s salvation.

Lassiter:

<Denial of my request was something I was used to hearing, especially if it was from the Big Guy in the sky. My jaw dropped in shock as Jagger refused to help the female. Certainly I hadn’t expected him to jump for joy over offering his vein, but flat out refusal wasn’t something I had even considered. As he crumpled at my side, I watched the bottle in his other hand slip from his grasp but didn’t bother making a reach for it to save the contents from spilling all over the carpet.

My head shook in an effort to try and rattle free another approach that would have him agreeing. I didn’t understand how he could view himself as tainted or unworthy. And I certainly didn’t understand what was with all the stubborn male I was being forced to deal with of late.>

It’s bad enough I have the Brothers to deal with, now you give me civilians who don’t want to listen either? This is NOT the kind of overtime I was expecting. <I didn’t care if Jagger could hear me complaining to God, he seemed off in his own world of hurt and misery anyways, I simply needed to file the complaint so I could carry on.> What now, huh?!

< I had hoped forcing Jagger to see the gravity of the situation would work to my advantage but instead I now had two damaged vamps on my hands and not a clue at how to deal. After a moment of thinking, I released Jagger’s arm and rubbed my hands together and as a brighter glow than I normally casted  began to illuminate the room, I crouched down next to him. I spoke his name softly and when he turned to face me, my hands moved to the wounds on his neck and face, healing the bruises and taking away the swelling with a little further effort. Maybe if I fixed his physical injuries he wouldn’t feel so damaged and I’d be able to convince him he could do it.> Please reconsider, Jagger...I can even wipe your memory of us after you help her. You won’t remember a thing.

Jagger

-Conversations with God? Actually sounded more like a union worker issuing a formal complaint. Could this dude really be an angel? Something told me the Magic 8 Ball would answer “Sources say yes” but I’d donated mine to Safe Place when they’d had a drive that Haven had told me about.

Damn it. Guess I’d never know.

The word that hung most in the background was “civilian” the first part of which was “civil.” But half of my genetics were anything but.  I was on the precipice of catatonic, about to give myself over to the numbness that would make the decision moot, when the male released me.

My head still hung heavy only swayed when I felt his looming presence drop to my level.

Were his hands glowing? Sanity came into question but before I could go down that rabbit hole, he laid hands on my injuries.  I felt a warmth replace the pain that was served up courtesy of the SUV window and Assail’s neck hug.  My breathing leveled out as I was suffused by a peacefulness that defied logic, reason… and a sound mind.

What in the actual…?

His plea felt soft on my ears but not at all light on conviction. My eyes were magnetized to the cross around his neck which seemed to shimmer while basking in the glow of his skin. I wanted to rage against this outcome. I wanted to fight against exposing the girl to my sickness, but there was something else I was denying in the process. I had so focused on the monster of my father’s legacy, I had forgotten he wasn’t all that made me.  Smacking me in the face with reality was a sign, the cross the male had come to wear. The one I thought I’d lost. A loss that had reinforced the decisions I’d made for myself.  

There it was, returned to me, under circumstances so strange I couldn’t deny the message. It was incredible how something so silent could actually scream at you.

I swallowed hard. Once. Twice. Three times before the vocal chords agreed to get with the program. I didn’t give an answer, but I had come to one.-

What’s your name?  

Lassiter:

<Slowly I pulled my hands away from Jagger’s face and throat when I was certain I had reversed the damage he had sustained from only God knew whom. When I finally got a clear look of his face, no longer obstructed by the deep purple bruising and swollen flesh, my jaw dropped.> Holy shit high in the sky. It’s you. I should have fucking known.

<Shaking my head in disbelief, my fingers went to the cross around my neck. The metal was warm from my skin but just like before, the images held within the item flash-carded through my mind on instant replay all while I stared at the face in person.> How did I not...My God. I must be failing somehow to have not realized.

<My brows knit together and without saying another word, I looked up to the ceiling, muttering a few choice words to my boss about his twisted sense of humour as I grabbed ahold of the chain and lifted it up over my head then reached over to return it back to its rightful owner.> This is yours.

<Once the chain settled around Jagger’s neck, the warmth I had felt from the item had relocated deep inside me, leaving me feeling accomplished and pleased about having so quickly and successfully returned it without even trying, much like I had found the necklace without trying. A low laugh parted my lips and I dropped my hands out of his personal space, finally feeling ready to answer his question that remained hanging in the air between us.> My name is Lassiter. And I promise, I'm not always such a shit show like you just bore witness to.

Jagger

-Despite the world of fuckery I found myself basking in, the reaction to sight of my must-be-healed face earned a chuckle.  It was lost on me how in the hell this winged-male knew me but his next move had me going with an internal jaw drop.

Without a request or further word, my eyes tracked every move as he carefully handled the cross with as much consideration as I would. When it returned around my neck, the weight barely registered but the breath I’d been holding since realizing its loss was expunged from my lungs in a full body sigh of relief. My eyes flicked up to his, my gaze a penetrating force.- Many thanks, Lassiter. I am about to return the favor.  Maybe complete with shit show.

-My eyes shifted back to the girl who looked near lifeless. A new dread took up residence in my chest and I thought I might start my shit show with a spectacular return of my whiskey to the surface. I lifted my hand, noting the tremble, gently pushing a lock of her hair from over her eye.

Who could do this? Who could disregard a female in such a manner?

The echo in my head bore my own last name in answer.

I looked back at Lassiter, to whom I owed a debt, my voice was meek at best.-

Will you be able to heal her when I am done? My blood is...an abomination.

Lassiter:

<It was clear my returning the necklace back to Jagger had a weighted effect on him, one I should have expected perhaps given the strong images that had hit me when I found it, but nothing about me being here in his place with a battered female was what I had expected of this night. I had thought I had already filled my guardian duties, but apparently not. Leave it to the Big Guy to throw a wrench into my plans of returning back to my BFF back at the manse. She’d keep just fine though... hung on the wall exactly as a good flat screen does.

Jagger’s exhale had my eyes lifting from the golden cross as it rested upon his chest up to his serious gaze and as he spoke, something about the way his voice sounded had me mentally lifting a brow. I didn't understand what he was getting at, how could helping another cause a shit show? Wasn't this a normal thing for the fanger types?

All the Brothers did it back at the mansion. Well, the ones who were able fed from their females and they kept their lady’s thirst quenched in return. Granted, it was almost always paired with a tumble between the sheets. Only in the case of feeding from a Chosen was sex rarely involved. The thought had me clearing my throat just as I watched his hand reach over to brush some hair away from the unconscious female’s busted eye.

Yeah...so...that was definitely an act of intimacy if I had ever seen one.

Perhaps that's what he was getting at, maybe he was used to the feed and fuck way of life. Though, there was no way this female was in any shape to participate in that kind of activity and maybe that was what he meant by his own shit show. Was worried about sporting wood with me next to him? Hell if I knew. I could deal if that was the case. Or I could even offer to step outside. That could make him feel more comfortable. Right.

So deep in spiralling thoughts,  I was, cycling through the what- the-fuck-nows that when he spoke again, I nearly missed his question.> Huh?

<My head shook while confusion washed over my face, perhaps I had heard him wrong.> Dude. You feed her and she’ll heal just fine on her own. What she needs is blood...none of her injuries are fatal from what I can tell. Plus, I sincerely doubt your blood is anything but exactly what she needs which negates any sort of suggestion of it being an abomination. Just get to, you know… <flashing my pearly whites at Jagger, I brought my wrist up to my mouth and mimed biting into it before hovering it over the female’s mouth.> ...should be easy peasy. No?

Jagger

-Easy. Peasy. Yeah, that was a fuck no. While dread built with the fury of a hurricane in the trappings of my ribs, I could hear the female’s heartbeat slowing. Lassiter was right. She didn’t have the time to wait out the daylight, she didn’t even have the time for me to sell my plight to the… angel.

That’s what he was, wasn’t he? Only he lived and breathed and was very much standing in my living room, not off on a Cumulonimbus frolick. The explanation would have to wait until after.

Reaching into my back pocket, I pulled out my switch blade. The demons rose to my brain with a quickness, taunting my choice with haunting reminders of the vile blood that had made me by half.  A female taking my vein had never been on the table.

Closing my eyes, my hearing sharpened to that dull, weak thudding in her chest counting down  opportunity with a somber suspense.

Physically I was headed on the fast track to paralysis and inability to do shit.  My fangs stayed retreated, cowering in fear, not offering up their services.  Those sharp canines were staying loyal to me, betraying her, but I knew that was coming, didn’t I?  

I met Lassiter’s gaze again, holding out my knife to him.-

You’re going to have to tap my vein and now. She’s not got long.  And one other thing. Whatever you do, you can’t leave me alone with her. At all.

-My voice cracked unsuspectingly at the admission, portraying my inherent weakness, the one that came from Rhuin. What if this act woke some dormant beast inside of me? What if saving her meant the demise of my character?  This somehow felt like skydiving only I didn’t have chute.-

Lassiter:

<Waiting for Jagger to answer my question felt like a lifetime of moments, suspended in the air surrounding us along with my expectation and his reluctance to hop to it. I was dumbfounded as his eyes closed and lost my pierced brows to my hairline at the sight of a pocket knife appearing in front of me. It seemed he was intent on doing exactly the opposite of what his natural instinct should be. Did that mean he also didn't have the usual sexual urges, too? I wasn't about to assume because up until now, all I had managed to do was make an ass of myself on repeat.

As he held out the blade, I took it from him and convinced my brows to drop down to their usual spot on my forehead so they could knit together in confusion. This was most definitely way out of the ordinary. But so was this whole fucked up situation and if he needed me to play slip slide with the blade to his wrist and hold his hand like a bottle to save the girl, I wasn't about to leave him without aid. The very fact that he went from suggesting we wait until sundown to agreeing to help meant I had made the right decision to shove my way through his door.

Nodding slowly to his requests, I grabbed ahold of his hand with my free one and without giving the action any further consideration or analysis, I quickly drew the point of the blade over his wrist, running parallel with the tendons and opening his vein effortlessly. I didn't concern myself with the pain he likely felt from the knife gliding through his flesh, no doubt it ranked low on his list of booboos given the black eye I had healed for him only a few moments ago.

As soon as the bright red fluid raised to the surface of his skin, I moved his wrist to the female’s barely parted lips, pressing it against them to open her mouth a little further so the blood flow could make its way to the back of her throat thanks to gravity. He had said I was going to have to do the work which I didn't mind, even if I didn't understand why.

I didn't dare chance a look his way but with the way his body had gone stone still next to me, I could hazarded a guess he was likely freaking out some. My wing closest to him spread out and curled around his body, pulling him in closer to my side, hoping it would help relax him even a little while I did my best to block his view of where his hand was being held captive at the female’s mouth. My voice was quiet as I spoke, hoping it could reach into her unconscious mind.> Come on, sweetheart take what you need.

Jagger

-I inhaled in relief as the blade made like my flesh was butter, the streak of pain the least of the penance I felt I deserved for what I was about to subject an innocent to. In giving to her, I felt as though I was taking something irretrievable from her.  Only the cross so recently returned around my neck held me to the deal and something about the angel who’d returned it to me.  

Seeing my blood -his blood- ratcheted up the internal cringe to a point of outright rejection to what was happening. In some sick macabre twist, I wondered if this was the way I was meant to go.  If my death were to be some poetic warp of irony - saving a life with the very blood I wished to extinguish - perhaps I’d actually check-out with some honor.

“Here lies Jagger son of Rhuin, male of worth.”

Yeah.  Nope. That shit wasn’t in the cards.  Besides, it wasn’t my intention to go out with a bang, but to slip into death without any pomp and no one left behind to tell my tale.

When Lassiter pressed my wrist to her mouth, the meeting of her lips felt soft and I was rendered a helpless volunteer.  My heart pumped painfully, delivering what she needed, while I was doing a mental sprint far, far away.

I was removed from my body but aware of the slight shake that had joined the party when I was blindsided yet again.

One of those wings cocooned me, bringing me closer to its owner.

And I broke.

Fiery tears escaped the corners of my eyes, rebelling against my statued state. I’d been rejected by the only male I’d ever known. Not swaddled or held. Not verbally commended. Rhuin had even wished me into death.

And now…. Now I was funneled into the reality of what he had deprived me of in a small act that had a monumental effect.  I couldn’t comprehend anything on the global level of meaning,  but knew in a moment this is what I had suffered to experience for so long.  

I didn’t know what to do, how to cope or understand as the experience played WWE with my feelings. My world started to spin erratically, when something stopped it.

Suction at my wrist. A soft gasp. I sagged against Lassiter as our sleeping beauty showed first signs of revival.-

Lassiter:

Oh, thank fuck. <It didn't take long for the girl’s natural instincts to kick in, and even while her body lay broken on Jagger’s couch, I exhaled a sigh as she began to take weak pulls at his vein. I was beyond grateful for one damn thing to go as it should. Finally. My eyes didn't leave her face out of fear that she might suddenly catch herself a case of the all-dones far too soon. Even to a non-vamp like myself it was clear her blood loss had been paramount. Thankfully she was up for the fight and continued to suck down his blood while I kept his wrist at her lips.

The weight of Jagger’s form as it sagged into my side did not go unnoticed however, and for a brief moment, I looked over at him to check that he hadn't passed out. My heart twisted inside my chest and stuttered a couple of times at the expression on his face. It was utterly devastating to witness such upset and defeat on another who should be exuding pride and joy. While I didn't quite understand the tears that were staining his cheeks, my wing tightened around him in reassurance while my fingers that continued to grasp his hand and forearm loosened just enough so that both thumbs could brush back and forth over his skin, offering more physical comfort in any way I could. The guy looked like he needed a hug in the worst way and if I had been confident it wouldn't send him over the edge, I might have chanced wrapping one arm around his shoulders too. But his earlier words continued to echo in my mind and so, I held his wrist steadfast to her lips.

The muted and weak sounds the female made as she swallowed at Jagger’s vein were encouraging and just as I knew his blood would help her, something inside me felt the need to affirm the evidence aloud.> Look, Jagger. Some of her colour is returning. And listen...her heart. It seems stronger, no? <I paused long enough for him to be able to hear the truth of my words for himself before continuing.> That's all because of you. She was on the Fade’s doorstep but your blood called her back to the land of the living. Even the gash across her eye appears less gnarly, too, you can't deny.

<A small grin took hold of my lips and as I turned my head to see if he was looking for himself, I whispered quietly, hoping it wouldn't destroy our tentative life saving venture.> There is no way your blood is contaminated with the way it's healing her so quickly. I told you it was all she would need, didn't I?

Jagger

-It was difficult to feel victorious with the knowledge that with her growing strength she was ingesting more of my contaminated plasma. My heart was stretched like taffy, gripped between distress and relent and… relief.

I felt a surer latch on my wrist and in a moment of what seemed preordained, a slight loosening of Lassiter’s grip, followed up with a gentle pass of his thumb. The urge to go fetal was strong and my power to resist it lessened as her heartbeat drummed louder, stepping her away from fatality.

I was trapped in this triangulated maze of emotions I couldn’t process, leaving me despondent.

I heard the easy encouragement when Lassiter spoke. It wasn’t overly pushy and I was overwhelmed with the sense I couldn’t let him down by being the coward who refused to witness what he was touting. That would be failure.

My head felt weighted as it lifted from my shoulders and there was no denying the change in the female was remarkable. Her colorless skin had taken on a dewy glow, which stood out in contrast to the gruesome purple that framed her eye. My teeth clenched.

I heard the whispered words, but my mind rejected what Lassiter was saying. He didn’t know. He couldn’t know.  He wouldn’t have brought her to me had he known. Fuck. Would he regret this too? Would the gravity of what I had done by saving her life sentenced him to regret and God knows what else?

Shit. Angel. The man in charge would know.

Turning my head in weary relief towards Lassiter. The confession spilled out with the barrier of my self control temporarily lost. -

He did this to her. To them. To all of them. -shaking my head- You have to heal her… save her… Soul.

-For as much as I knew my father was dead, this display of a ravaged female clinging to life at the tap of my vein left me with the three dimensional, in your face vision I’d never known. Virtual reality was bad. Reality reality was a nightmare.-

Lassiter:

<Have you ever experienced a moment where you are so sure of something and expect a certain reaction that when you don't get it you need to do a double take? Yeah. That was exactly where I had found myself. Hello, Confusionville. Population: One.

I could see with my own glowing white eyes the healing effects of Jagger’s blood and yet, he was still insisting she required saving. My eyes shifted past his face that was etched with worry and concern and landed on the long forgotten tipped over whiskey bottle.> Just how much did you drink before I invited myself in?

<This time I hadn't expected an answer from him, in fact I hadn't really meant to speak my query aloud but I was back to speaking to myself as a means of working through shit because it was starting to get beyond capacity up in the grey matter.> Did you drink so much your vision is wonky, buddy? She's healing amazingly and her soul is perfectly intact seeing as she’s still alive. There isn't anything more for me to do…

<I paused my out loud thinking and rewound what he said in my mind. The first part made no sense. Who was the “he” Jagger had been referring to and what did he mean by “all of them”? So many questions and I had no idea how to make sense of what he was talking about. I shook my head and as I collected my thoughts, piecing them together to form an actual question I hoped he had an answer to, I barely noticed the sucking sounds at Jagger’s wrist had slowed even though my hands kept it gently pressed to the female’s lips.> Who are you talking about, my man? Do you mean the limping asshole who dumped her in the alley? He only had her, nobody else with him.

<Quiet stretched for a few moments and my gaze held Jagger's as I waited for him to clue me the fuck in. As his mouth opened and closed a couple of times, the answer I once again wasn't expecting came and not from Jagger but from the female who, up until now had been unconscious and mute. Her voice was raspy and quiet, clearly she had worn it out during her struggle but despite that, it didn't lack conviction and was full of malice as she spoke, leaving us both shocked into silence.> “Rhancid...piece of shit.”