by Cagey
Warning: violence, blood, brooding, ubiquitous pronouns. This
vignette takes place during the events of "Romeo and Juliet,"
not long after Julian has met with Archon and Lillie to gnash
his fangs about Sasha's embrace.
Be near me when my light is low,
When the blood creeps, and the nerves prick
And tingle; and the heart is sick,
And all the wheels of Being slow.
Be near me when the sensuous frame
Is rack'd with pains that conquer trust;
And Time, a maniac scattering dust,
And Life, a Fury slinging flame.
--Tennyson, "In the Valley of Cauteretz"
His blood burned.
A strangled cry -- that last gasp of awareness before he cut
through the soft flesh of the neck -- could not calm him. He
needed to see the begging, cringing eyes, too.
By god, the warmth of their corrupted blood on his fingers was
sensuous. He paused a moment to revel in the sensation,
massaging the oozing stickiness in the hollow between his
fingers. The Brujah in his grasp struggled, and he impatiently
tightened his hold on the creature's throat to still it.
At last he moved. "Your blood is best spilt," he hissed. He
traced a red trail across his victim's face, a scarlet line from
cheek to chin. "Do you taste it? Do you taste the foulness of
it?" With his thumb he pressed a bloody fingerprint at the
corner of the Kindred's mouth. "How dare you take what belongs
to me?"
Fresh blood splattered the wall, an involuntary answer. He let
the body slide from his grasp. There was no one left, now. No
one except Sasha.
He moved quietly to the bed. She was sleeping now, a faint
trail of blood tears lingering on her cheek. Poor, beautiful,
defiant Sasha. She should have become Ventrue. She deserved
better than this filth, this rape. The degredation repulsed
him.
He did not intend to, but without realizing it he reached out a
hand, stroked her scarlet cheek. She tensed; he saw that her
eyes were open -- hard and wary. Then she recognized him, and
her expression softened, relief evident. She opened her mouth
to speak, but he put a finger across her tender lips.
"Shhhhh," he soothed. "I will make things right."
Sasha nodded gratefully, licked her lips. There, on their soft
surface, she found a trace of the Brujah blood from his fingers.
Her expression changed, from repulsion to sudden, intense
hunger. She whimpered.
He smiled gently, then leaned forward. With one bloody hand he
pushed back her curled hair, and pressed his lips softly against
her forehead. "It will be okay," he murmured against her
flawless skin.
He felt her body shudder; her head jerked back for the briefest
moment, then returned to rest against his kiss. He released
her, letting her body slide back onto the velvet coverlet of the
bed.
Her corrupted, Brujah lifesblood made an angry arc against the
white of his shirt.
***
Julian Luna pushed open the door more forcefully than he
intended -- it skittered across the floor, and met the doorstop
roughly. He stopped, then grasped the edge of the offending
door. He breathed in slowly for a moment, and finally released
it again more sedately before he continued forward.
His footsteps echoed loudly in the hallway. The news of Sasha's
embrace and abduction by the Brujah had infuriated him, and in
the ensuing rage he had banned all visitors. Now the house was
silent, with no background hum to mute his angry pacing. The
staccato echo propelled him faster.
Nonetheless, he opened the door to the study more quietly. The
grey-haired man who had been sitting quietly in the room stirred
as he entered, blinking uncomfortably, and Julian knew that he
had awakened his Sire.
"Archon," he said apologetically, and the older Kindred beckoned
him closer with a gesture. His Sire had pulled a chair near the
fireplace, a pose reminiscent of days long gone. When Archon
Raine was Prince, when the troubles of the city became too
burdensome, he took refuge in front of the fire. It was
cleansing, he had told Julian many, many years ago.
Luna knelt down beside the chair and rested his head in one
hand. His sleep had been disturbed and restless; he felt
pummeled by the torrent of anger that haunted his dreams. His
lack of control shamed him -- was he making the right decision,
to pursue war in the city?
Julian felt Archon's reassuring hand on his head. "You must
calm yourself, Julian." Raine's voice was weary, gentle. "The
Brujah will take advantage of your anger."
"Sasha was mine," the Prince spat, contempt welling up in him
again. "I made the decision, and they defied it. She was my
family."
Archon grasped his shoulder tightly. "She still is your family,
Julian."
Luna clenched his hands, the fingernails making pale half-moon
indentations on his palms. "I know. I know that what has
happened cannot be changed. I know that I will continue to love
Sasha whether she is Ventrue, or Gangrel, or Brujah. But
Archon...in the dark, when I sleep -- or worse, can't sleep --
I'm filled with such consuming rage." He sighed in frustration.
"It is unbearable."
"You will bear it," Archon replied quietly. "You must not give
in to your basest desires."
Julian did not answer, instead searching for some refuge in the
golden heart of the fire.
"Julian," Archon offered softly. "I'm sorry." His hand slipped
away from Julian, and there was something in his tone which made
Luna look up.
Archon's eyes were closed. "You asked if I was preparing to
leave you. I said yes." His face, no longer aging but
nonetheless weathered by time, was intimately familiar to
Julian. Yet tonight there was something hidden, Julian sensed,
behind those closed eyes. "But not without regret," Archon
continued. "Wisdom is not enough to gain the light, Julian. It
requires acceptance, as well -- the bitter knowledge of your own
weakness and the acceptance of it." He opened his eyes and
leaned toward Julian. "I know," he said intently, his eyes
fierce in the firelight. "I know what it is to lack control."
He opened his mouth as if to say more, but refrained. "Leave
me," he said finally. Realizing, perhaps, that it was the first
command he had given to Julian in years, Archon tempered it with
a sympathetic smile. "You must prepare, if we are to have war."
The Prince rose and, putting his hand briefly on Archon's
shoulder in acknowledgment, wheeled away.
Archon did not turn to watch him go, but fixed his gaze on the
fire's glow. The bond between Julian and himself had always
been strong -- never more so than now, as they both prepared for
his leave-taking. The burden which he placed on Julian was a
heavy one, he knew.
Finally, reluctantly, he looked down at his chest. For a
moment, in the flickering light, he could see the blood --
Brujah blood splayed across his shirt in the dream. Then it was
gone. But the smell of it... ah, the sweet intoxication of it
remained.
Archon settled himself more comfortably in the chair, and closed
his eyes. Only when he was deep in dream's grasp once again did
he smile.
