Subspecies: Bloodloss -- Chapter Ten
Subspecies: Bloodloss
Chapter 10/10
Author: memoriamvictus
Rating: R
Summary: Sequel to Subspecies: Bloodlines. Michelle discovers that the weight of obligation can be the heaviest shackle of all as she struggles to retain her hard-won freedom in the face of a fate that will not be denied.
Disclaimer: We don't know who it belongs to, but it certainly isn't me. This work is merely an act of affection and admiration; no offense or challenge is intended. Reader discretion is always advised.
Wordcount: 3,830
Begin at the beginning.
Overall, Ana seemed to take it well. Beginning with a few short hops may have eased her into it.
Michelle stumbled when she hit the grass of the park next to Ana’s flat, nearly dragging Ana off her feet as she bled momentum. She was even more tired than she realized.
Ana staggered into her, throwing her forearms up between them as if she didn’t realize she’d been unshackled. Michelle caught and steadied her, giving her time to gasp for breath. “It’s okay. We’re right by your place.”
Ana gave a low moan and let her head sag against Michelle’s shoulder. “Take me to hospital,” she wheezed. “Maria Regina. Go to, uh, the big road,” she pointed, “go left.” She jabbed for emphasis. “You’ll know it.”
Turning her sudden panic into resolve, Michelle did just that, but she nearly flew past the hospital out of sheer habit; only the sign caught her eye, hanging beneath an enormous stone statue of Christ on the cross.
Something shriveled inside of her as she skirted that aura of rejection to find the nearest empty side street. She even held them in darkness for a moment longer than necessary to make sure momentum wouldn’t affect them. She couldn’t blame Ana for seeking sanctuary.
Ana’s knees still buckled; she slumped against a brick wall, her hand pressed to the center of her chest as she panted. “Very bracing!” It wasn’t clear if the sound that muddled her words was a gasp or a laugh.
Michelle chose to smile. “This is as close as I can get you. I’d offer to walk you, but…”
Ana shot her a genuinely quizzical look. “Oh!” she said, her eyes widening in realization. “Don’t take it personally!” She stood up, stepping closer to Michelle. “These are old friends. I’ve just been mugged, you see. I’m fine!” She held up her hands in reassurance. “I’m fine, I’m okay, just… not all that much, actually.” She laughed unsteadily.
Michelle didn’t know if Ana was practicing her story, or trying to reassure her. “That cut looks bad,” she said, for want of anything else.
Ana’s face clouded. “Yes,” she said, and as she stood there on the dark street, mouth still working, Michelle knew she was watching her hope for a cure slip away. The doctor was far too sane to want anything further to do with this. A thin wisp of bitterness blew through her mind, but she brushed it away. It hadn’t all been for nothing. Ana, Sofia, and Zachary were all safe. Circe was dead. Radu-
Ana seized her hands, shockingly hot against her skin. She looked up at Michelle. “Come and see me at home tomorrow.” She tried for professionalism, but couldn’t keep the rising lilt of a question from her voice.
Michelle’s face froze in genuine confusion. “Um…”
“Michelle.” Ana squeezed her hands so hard it might have hurt a mortal, searing them into Michelle’s skin. “You have rescued me from grave peril, and also I have learned that I am a blood queen and a priestess and I believe something else I’ve forgotten.” Her giggles were tinged with hysteria, but the humor was real. “If nothing else, you simply must explain.”
Michelle grinned, but not quite enough to show her fangs. “You’re gonna be so disappointed.”
“Not as disappointed as I shall be if I am not quickly administered some electrolytes. Hopefully by tomorrow I will have thought of what to say.” She squeezed Michelle’s hands again, letting them slip away this time. “Please come.”
“I will.” Michelle nodded. Perhaps by then she’d have her own ideas; right now she was so stunned with confused, sneaking happiness that she was afraid to open her mouth and ruin it.
Ana returned her nod briskly, then turned and walked up to the brightly lit main road.
Michelle followed her silently, only hanging back once Ana was fully bathed in streetlight, and then hung back on the corner to watch her go. Her stride seemed assured and steady; in no time she was skipping up the steps to the entrance. She turned and looked for Michelle, nodded again, and disappeared inside.
Michelle turned around and began to amble in the opposite direction, letting her feet take her where they would. She was surprised by how dark it still was; it couldn’t be much past one or two in the morning. Her weary, aching body felt like she’d spent weeks below the ground. She was almost unwilling to trust her senses.
The street grew darker as she continued along the sidewalk, giving way to the familiar rows of shuttered businesses. Streetlights still dotted the curbs, but most of them weren’t on.
At the end of the next block, a small slice of the corner had been turned into a decorative garden with white stone walls nearly waist high, now empty and covered in snow. She didn’t realize she intended to sit on the bench in front of it until her body dropped into it.
She sighed, as if that would do any good, and leaned forward to prop her elbows on her knees, letting her hands dangle before her. She knew it wasn’t the kind of tiredness that rest could fix. Her wrists looked fine, but they throbbed, as if she had arthritis, as if there were wires twisted around them, cutting off her circulation. She was surprised it was them and not her neck, which merely felt like the beginning of the mother of all tension headaches.
There was only one solution for them. But she wasn’t actually hungry yet, and was enjoying the general lack of urgency, so she sat for awhile.
It took some time for her thoughts to resolve into anything resembling coherence, and even then it was dubious. Had they argued, and then sent Zachary and Sofia away? She didn’t think so, but she couldn’t quite put events in order. She didn’t try very hard, dropping any hint of confusion as soon as it became stressful. Mostly she stared at the occasional car passing before her, and listened to the little sounds of life all around her, traffic and footsteps even at this hour.
The first thing she realized was that she didn’t have to go see Ana. She could just leave, stow away on a plane or maybe even a boat. She could get away from all of this, stop being a problem. That sounded nice, but it felt unreal, like a story someone else had told her, not something she’d ever be able to manage for herself. She wasn’t concerned about being discovered, or having to feed, it just felt as realistic as the idea of taking a space ship to the moon.
Ana had said she could help with that. She probably should go see Ana.
She heard raucous voices at the other end of the block, and ignored them. She didn’t have to inhale to know she’d smell booze. She lowered her gaze to the pavement between her boots.
The next thing realized was that she didn’t even know where she was going to stay during the day. Practicalities still took precedence, and she had plenty of time, but her mind was drawing an absolute blank that she couldn’t afford to let slip away with the rest of her troubling thoughts. She had no real idea where she was, and would have to find an entirely new place. Many of the closed stores had apartments above them, but surely some of them had to have storage space with a disused corner she could tuck herself into for a few hours. She hoped she would feel better when she arose.
The voices were close; worse, she was pretty sure one of them had just said something to her she couldn’t understand. The other laughed, a low, oafish chortle she didn’t like.
She glanced at the two men, scruffy in their blue jeans and puffy winter coats, one leaking stuffing from popped seam at the shoulder. The one was still laughing, dragging a hand across his stubble. The other held an internationally recognizable glass bottle in a brown paper bag.
She looked up at them, back and forth from one to the other, and thought about how tired she was, how much she’d been through, what a very bad night she’d had, and how much she didn’t need this.
Whatever made it to her face was enough to send them hurrying past her. Only one of them had the nerve to glance over his shoulder, and when he saw that she had swiveled her head to track them he sped up, nearly leaving his companion behind. They crossed the street diagonally, and took the side street away from her at a good clip.
She couldn’t not focus on their footsteps now, retreating, but still easily caught up with. She thought of how effortless it would be. She thought of how much better she would feel afterwards. She thought of how both of them together wouldn’t be able to so much as slow her down.
She raised her eyes to the sky, looking for the moon that had sunk behind her.
She thought of how tired he’d been, sprawled on the slab, and realized that if he couldn’t get himself out of the seventh level, Cassandra would get him.
* * *
Behind the handsome, wrought iron gates that barred it from the street, the front door to Club Muse hung open a crack. Michelle’s heart leapt to her throat; she was a second away from disappearing until she remembered that it was because she’d left it open. The sight of the grand edifice left so thoroughly unattended settled onto her mind with oppressive gravity as she sieved through the locked gate and trotted up the stairs, never noticing that she’d shifted her shape. It felt normal again.
Though she’d scarcely noticed in her desperation to be anywhere else, the club had been empty when they’d left, her fears of henchmen notwithstanding. It had seemed absurd, given how populated it had always been, but perhaps even they took nights off. She had no idea what day it was.
She strained her ears as she made her way into the small but grandly appointed reception room, more concerned that some passerby had been brave enough to make their way in, but heard nothing. She inhaled: wood and stone, the acridity of different cleaning products, only the sharp sting of alcohol but a dozen different types of tobacco. There were so many overlapping smells of humanity that trying to track any one of them was worthless, but none of them were fresh.
She stepped inside, and shut the door behind her. The heavy, sealing door that kept reception from the casino also hung open on its hinges, revealing the dimly lighted silence of the gaming floor beyond. She glanced at the spiral staircase, from which Iris had descended for their first real conversation, and quickly looked away. She hitched her hip against the carved wooden desk, and folded her arms.
She didn’t actually have to go down there. She could just check; she was pretty sure she still had that in her. She could check, and if she didn’t find anything, she could just leave. Maybe she would owe Cassandra two favors.
She closed her eyes.
At first, it wouldn’t come. Once that would have scared her, but now she was experienced enough and tired enough to let it take its course. It had always been a little glitchy, which the head injury and mutilation had undoubtedly not improved. She settled more of her weight on the desk, tried to relax her shoulders, and let her chin droop to her chest.
When she raised her head once more, she opened her night eyes.
There was no one. No one at all, not within a block of her. Had Cassandra been too far gone to revive? Had he unsuccessfully defended himself? She frowned, concentrating, and soon found that she could look down, the same way she had gone down as a shadow. The sensation was dizzying; it didn’t matter what her actual eyes were seeing, but her brain kept trying to force images into her vision to demonstrate what it was telling her, making her temples twinge unnervingly. She squeezed her eyes shut, trying to shake it off; there was no mistaking what she found beneath her.
She could leave.
She could finish things.
She could find the stairs at the back of the casino, and make her way downwards.
When she reached the third floor, she could hear his heartbeat. It was almost enough to make her leave again; she did not want to engage with whatever kind of diseased impulse would lead him to return to that torture chamber. Another moment’s attention told her he had not. He had to have noticed her presence by now. She frowned.
Halfway down the hall, the doorknob turned easily beneath her fingertips.
The room looked little different than the one she’d glimpsed upstairs, however long ago: small, papered with faded flowers, nearly filled with a narrow bed against the wall, a dresser, and a vanity. Little jars and bottles were scattered across it, as if one of the working girls had just left, but Michelle recognized them as more of the ones that Radu had taken from the suitcase. A neat stack of very small bones-the hands?-lay at one corner, still red and meaty.
She might have preferred a return to the torture chamber than an investigation of Circe’s hotel room. The fact that he’d retreated here made her queasy for reasons she didn’t want to examine.
Radu sat in the center of the bed, slumped back against the pillows lining the wall, his long fingers interwoven over his abdomen, the tails of his coat spilling onto the floor, his clothes so rumpled he hadn’t bothered to straighten his vest. The hollows of his closed eyes were a deeply bruised purple, shading into blue where they transitioned into the shock-white skin on the rest of his face. It hung loosely from his sharp cheeks and long jaw as if it had somehow become detached, deepening the lines around his mouth. He looked haggard, and utterly depleted.
He opened a single eye to regard her. His pupil was still strange-she wasn’t sure if she could actually see herself in it-but there was a little more color around it. He arched its eyebrow inquisitively.
She hadn’t thought this far ahead. She hadn’t thought to find him so… unthreatening.
Eventually, she grabbed the chair and brought it over, resisting an impulse to turn it around and straddle it before she sat. She didn’t know where to begin, so skipped any preamble. “I came back because I realized Cassandra might eat you.”
His eye drooped shut, but the corners of his mouth lifted slightly. “She was in no state to deprive you.”
“What state was she in?”
“She’ll do well enough.” His voice was thin and hoarse, somewhere between a whisper and a sigh. He squeezed his eyes closed, then opened them, blinking them into focus on her. She met his gaze steadily, searching for an answer she knew she wouldn’t find.
The last thing she’d realized was that he had led Circe along almost as easily as he had her. She didn’t have the pages of her short term memory in order yet; there was too much trauma and fear she couldn't yet risk reliving. But she’d seen him twist open the unlighted gas lamp at the entrance to the lair. He’d pulled the silver out of her neck, and left her out of the way with a long leash in the narthex. He’d even warned her he was going to repudiate her. He’d chosen the most excruciating means possible, but he’d given her what she wanted, and more besides.
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
He let his head loll back against the pillows, face turned to the ceiling. “She would have seen through you like a spider’s web.” His tone was so soft with weariness that she had to pay careful attention not to lose his words to his raspiness. “She needed to believe In another of her wastrel son’s failures.” He closed his eyes and shook his head briefly. “You could not have obeyed if you’d wanted to.”
Michelle gritted her teeth. The idea that she had been tortured for verisimilitude was so horrendous she couldn’t react to it. Her fangs were beginning to cut into the back of her lower lip. Perhaps Radu smelled it, for he reached up to nudge something on the dresser towards her. Michelle’s eyes automatically flew to the movement.
The Bloodstone.
Seeing it unexpectedly was so startling it blanked her mind. Some part of her had already accepted that she’d never see it again. No wonder he had come here. No wonder he was so sedate. And yet seeing it, the fey crystal with its inside undulating scarlet, clutched in the steely claws, sitting prosaically on the scratched and worn dresser was so absurd she could barely believe it.
She stood up abruptly; his breathing hitched slightly before settling back into even smoothness. She couldn’t believe any of this. So he had played both sides, left her a chance. She had no doubt that had things gone differently, he would have stood at his mother’s shoulder while she made of Michelle whatever she would. Perhaps he would have felt badly, but not for long. Not on the scale he reckoned time. Her hands involuntarily clenched into fists, during the dull throb of her wrists into a raving, itching burn. Her mouth went dry with anger. He’d served Michelle up, and would have fed all of them to his mother. If she’d understood that correctly, Sofia could have stood in for Cassandra. Zachary might have been dessert.
But that hadn’t happened. Ana was at the hospital, safe with friends. Zachary and Sofia were hopefully long gone by now, well out of reach. And Radu Vladislas, author of all her misery, lay before her, tired and spent, offering her a drink while he waited to see what she’d make of him.
She straightened her fingers, unable to keep them from flexing into claws.
It was cold down here. He’d keep. A fresh sample would be almost as good as a live one.
She was thinking like them.
She snatched up the Bloodstone and, not giving herself time to think about what she was doing, swiped her tongue over its rough tip.
She could never remember what it tasted like afterwards, how it felt rushing through her body, but as soon as it hit her tongue it was the most familiar thing in the world, long lost and gratefully regained. She nearly swooned, her knees buckling beneath her; she stumbled forward to set it safely down on the dresser with a solid thump. Still unsteady, she took another step forward in search of her balance. When her nerve endings began to catch alight, she gave up and dropped herself heavily onto the mattress beside Radu.
Her neck and wrists were banded in soothing warmth, the itch building pleasantly until it dissipated with the heat spreading throughout the rest of her body, like slipping into a hot bath should have felt. Her muscles seemed to let go all at once; she rolled onto her side with a sigh, drawing her knees up towards her chest, and let herself disappear into feelings other than pain. Wounds she’d stopped noticing hours ago were lighting up all over her body to sparkle and then vanish, like matches struck and snuffed by the primordial strength of the Bloodstone. She let herself drift on the waves of its power, in warmth, in comfort, In a feeling of safety, and for a blissful era didn’t let herself even try to worry about what came next.
After a time, the overwhelming tide began to recede. Her first returning thoughts wandered idly around her body, marveling at how good she felt. Her neck felt good as new; possibly better. Her wrists still tingled, but it was fading quickly; she could feel the steady tick of time passing by. The only band of warmth that remained was around her shoulders.
She opened her eyes.
She’d curled up to Radu, her forehead resting against the curve of his jaw. He’d wrapped an arm around her shoulders, holding her close. She’d slipped one beneath his neck, and was carefully tracing the beat of his pulse with her fingernail. The soft crash of waves was the slow, steady sound of his breathing, moving against her. Sensing her movement, he laid his cheek against the top of her head, his arm tightening around her.
She let him.
The final thing she realized was that it didn’t matter. She pinched his artery gently between her nails. His sharply indrawn breath hissed, and he nuzzled her hair, reaching over to lay his other hand on her hip. She could feel its heat through her jeans as his fingers curled around her. He was alive, in every way that mattered. It had been done; therefore it could be done. Everything she had been through-everything he had put her through-couldn’t have been for nothing.
She wouldn’t let it.
What a long, strange trip it's been!
Thanks always to Ted, Denise, Anders, and everyone else who's made these awesome movies possible;
Everyone from radu_fics, one of the best fan communities I've ever been a part of (if any of you ever make your way back here, I hope you've enjoyed what you've found!);
All of my readers, past, present, and future;
Black Phoenix Alchemy Labs (it takes me about 2.5ml of Nosferatu to write one of these);
And everyone else who loved these movies enough to create enough demand for Subspecies V to get made (I really did think it was a scam at first). The night has fans!
I hope you've had at least as much fun reading as I did writing!
Chapter 10/10
Author: memoriamvictus
Rating: R
Summary: Sequel to Subspecies: Bloodlines. Michelle discovers that the weight of obligation can be the heaviest shackle of all as she struggles to retain her hard-won freedom in the face of a fate that will not be denied.
Disclaimer: We don't know who it belongs to, but it certainly isn't me. This work is merely an act of affection and admiration; no offense or challenge is intended. Reader discretion is always advised.
Wordcount: 3,830
Begin at the beginning.
Overall, Ana seemed to take it well. Beginning with a few short hops may have eased her into it.
Michelle stumbled when she hit the grass of the park next to Ana’s flat, nearly dragging Ana off her feet as she bled momentum. She was even more tired than she realized.
Ana staggered into her, throwing her forearms up between them as if she didn’t realize she’d been unshackled. Michelle caught and steadied her, giving her time to gasp for breath. “It’s okay. We’re right by your place.”
Ana gave a low moan and let her head sag against Michelle’s shoulder. “Take me to hospital,” she wheezed. “Maria Regina. Go to, uh, the big road,” she pointed, “go left.” She jabbed for emphasis. “You’ll know it.”
Turning her sudden panic into resolve, Michelle did just that, but she nearly flew past the hospital out of sheer habit; only the sign caught her eye, hanging beneath an enormous stone statue of Christ on the cross.
Something shriveled inside of her as she skirted that aura of rejection to find the nearest empty side street. She even held them in darkness for a moment longer than necessary to make sure momentum wouldn’t affect them. She couldn’t blame Ana for seeking sanctuary.
Ana’s knees still buckled; she slumped against a brick wall, her hand pressed to the center of her chest as she panted. “Very bracing!” It wasn’t clear if the sound that muddled her words was a gasp or a laugh.
Michelle chose to smile. “This is as close as I can get you. I’d offer to walk you, but…”
Ana shot her a genuinely quizzical look. “Oh!” she said, her eyes widening in realization. “Don’t take it personally!” She stood up, stepping closer to Michelle. “These are old friends. I’ve just been mugged, you see. I’m fine!” She held up her hands in reassurance. “I’m fine, I’m okay, just… not all that much, actually.” She laughed unsteadily.
Michelle didn’t know if Ana was practicing her story, or trying to reassure her. “That cut looks bad,” she said, for want of anything else.
Ana’s face clouded. “Yes,” she said, and as she stood there on the dark street, mouth still working, Michelle knew she was watching her hope for a cure slip away. The doctor was far too sane to want anything further to do with this. A thin wisp of bitterness blew through her mind, but she brushed it away. It hadn’t all been for nothing. Ana, Sofia, and Zachary were all safe. Circe was dead. Radu-
Ana seized her hands, shockingly hot against her skin. She looked up at Michelle. “Come and see me at home tomorrow.” She tried for professionalism, but couldn’t keep the rising lilt of a question from her voice.
Michelle’s face froze in genuine confusion. “Um…”
“Michelle.” Ana squeezed her hands so hard it might have hurt a mortal, searing them into Michelle’s skin. “You have rescued me from grave peril, and also I have learned that I am a blood queen and a priestess and I believe something else I’ve forgotten.” Her giggles were tinged with hysteria, but the humor was real. “If nothing else, you simply must explain.”
Michelle grinned, but not quite enough to show her fangs. “You’re gonna be so disappointed.”
“Not as disappointed as I shall be if I am not quickly administered some electrolytes. Hopefully by tomorrow I will have thought of what to say.” She squeezed Michelle’s hands again, letting them slip away this time. “Please come.”
“I will.” Michelle nodded. Perhaps by then she’d have her own ideas; right now she was so stunned with confused, sneaking happiness that she was afraid to open her mouth and ruin it.
Ana returned her nod briskly, then turned and walked up to the brightly lit main road.
Michelle followed her silently, only hanging back once Ana was fully bathed in streetlight, and then hung back on the corner to watch her go. Her stride seemed assured and steady; in no time she was skipping up the steps to the entrance. She turned and looked for Michelle, nodded again, and disappeared inside.
Michelle turned around and began to amble in the opposite direction, letting her feet take her where they would. She was surprised by how dark it still was; it couldn’t be much past one or two in the morning. Her weary, aching body felt like she’d spent weeks below the ground. She was almost unwilling to trust her senses.
The street grew darker as she continued along the sidewalk, giving way to the familiar rows of shuttered businesses. Streetlights still dotted the curbs, but most of them weren’t on.
At the end of the next block, a small slice of the corner had been turned into a decorative garden with white stone walls nearly waist high, now empty and covered in snow. She didn’t realize she intended to sit on the bench in front of it until her body dropped into it.
She sighed, as if that would do any good, and leaned forward to prop her elbows on her knees, letting her hands dangle before her. She knew it wasn’t the kind of tiredness that rest could fix. Her wrists looked fine, but they throbbed, as if she had arthritis, as if there were wires twisted around them, cutting off her circulation. She was surprised it was them and not her neck, which merely felt like the beginning of the mother of all tension headaches.
There was only one solution for them. But she wasn’t actually hungry yet, and was enjoying the general lack of urgency, so she sat for awhile.
It took some time for her thoughts to resolve into anything resembling coherence, and even then it was dubious. Had they argued, and then sent Zachary and Sofia away? She didn’t think so, but she couldn’t quite put events in order. She didn’t try very hard, dropping any hint of confusion as soon as it became stressful. Mostly she stared at the occasional car passing before her, and listened to the little sounds of life all around her, traffic and footsteps even at this hour.
The first thing she realized was that she didn’t have to go see Ana. She could just leave, stow away on a plane or maybe even a boat. She could get away from all of this, stop being a problem. That sounded nice, but it felt unreal, like a story someone else had told her, not something she’d ever be able to manage for herself. She wasn’t concerned about being discovered, or having to feed, it just felt as realistic as the idea of taking a space ship to the moon.
Ana had said she could help with that. She probably should go see Ana.
She heard raucous voices at the other end of the block, and ignored them. She didn’t have to inhale to know she’d smell booze. She lowered her gaze to the pavement between her boots.
The next thing realized was that she didn’t even know where she was going to stay during the day. Practicalities still took precedence, and she had plenty of time, but her mind was drawing an absolute blank that she couldn’t afford to let slip away with the rest of her troubling thoughts. She had no real idea where she was, and would have to find an entirely new place. Many of the closed stores had apartments above them, but surely some of them had to have storage space with a disused corner she could tuck herself into for a few hours. She hoped she would feel better when she arose.
The voices were close; worse, she was pretty sure one of them had just said something to her she couldn’t understand. The other laughed, a low, oafish chortle she didn’t like.
She glanced at the two men, scruffy in their blue jeans and puffy winter coats, one leaking stuffing from popped seam at the shoulder. The one was still laughing, dragging a hand across his stubble. The other held an internationally recognizable glass bottle in a brown paper bag.
She looked up at them, back and forth from one to the other, and thought about how tired she was, how much she’d been through, what a very bad night she’d had, and how much she didn’t need this.
Whatever made it to her face was enough to send them hurrying past her. Only one of them had the nerve to glance over his shoulder, and when he saw that she had swiveled her head to track them he sped up, nearly leaving his companion behind. They crossed the street diagonally, and took the side street away from her at a good clip.
She couldn’t not focus on their footsteps now, retreating, but still easily caught up with. She thought of how effortless it would be. She thought of how much better she would feel afterwards. She thought of how both of them together wouldn’t be able to so much as slow her down.
She raised her eyes to the sky, looking for the moon that had sunk behind her.
She thought of how tired he’d been, sprawled on the slab, and realized that if he couldn’t get himself out of the seventh level, Cassandra would get him.
* * *
Behind the handsome, wrought iron gates that barred it from the street, the front door to Club Muse hung open a crack. Michelle’s heart leapt to her throat; she was a second away from disappearing until she remembered that it was because she’d left it open. The sight of the grand edifice left so thoroughly unattended settled onto her mind with oppressive gravity as she sieved through the locked gate and trotted up the stairs, never noticing that she’d shifted her shape. It felt normal again.
Though she’d scarcely noticed in her desperation to be anywhere else, the club had been empty when they’d left, her fears of henchmen notwithstanding. It had seemed absurd, given how populated it had always been, but perhaps even they took nights off. She had no idea what day it was.
She strained her ears as she made her way into the small but grandly appointed reception room, more concerned that some passerby had been brave enough to make their way in, but heard nothing. She inhaled: wood and stone, the acridity of different cleaning products, only the sharp sting of alcohol but a dozen different types of tobacco. There were so many overlapping smells of humanity that trying to track any one of them was worthless, but none of them were fresh.
She stepped inside, and shut the door behind her. The heavy, sealing door that kept reception from the casino also hung open on its hinges, revealing the dimly lighted silence of the gaming floor beyond. She glanced at the spiral staircase, from which Iris had descended for their first real conversation, and quickly looked away. She hitched her hip against the carved wooden desk, and folded her arms.
She didn’t actually have to go down there. She could just check; she was pretty sure she still had that in her. She could check, and if she didn’t find anything, she could just leave. Maybe she would owe Cassandra two favors.
She closed her eyes.
At first, it wouldn’t come. Once that would have scared her, but now she was experienced enough and tired enough to let it take its course. It had always been a little glitchy, which the head injury and mutilation had undoubtedly not improved. She settled more of her weight on the desk, tried to relax her shoulders, and let her chin droop to her chest.
When she raised her head once more, she opened her night eyes.
There was no one. No one at all, not within a block of her. Had Cassandra been too far gone to revive? Had he unsuccessfully defended himself? She frowned, concentrating, and soon found that she could look down, the same way she had gone down as a shadow. The sensation was dizzying; it didn’t matter what her actual eyes were seeing, but her brain kept trying to force images into her vision to demonstrate what it was telling her, making her temples twinge unnervingly. She squeezed her eyes shut, trying to shake it off; there was no mistaking what she found beneath her.
She could leave.
She could finish things.
She could find the stairs at the back of the casino, and make her way downwards.
When she reached the third floor, she could hear his heartbeat. It was almost enough to make her leave again; she did not want to engage with whatever kind of diseased impulse would lead him to return to that torture chamber. Another moment’s attention told her he had not. He had to have noticed her presence by now. She frowned.
Halfway down the hall, the doorknob turned easily beneath her fingertips.
The room looked little different than the one she’d glimpsed upstairs, however long ago: small, papered with faded flowers, nearly filled with a narrow bed against the wall, a dresser, and a vanity. Little jars and bottles were scattered across it, as if one of the working girls had just left, but Michelle recognized them as more of the ones that Radu had taken from the suitcase. A neat stack of very small bones-the hands?-lay at one corner, still red and meaty.
She might have preferred a return to the torture chamber than an investigation of Circe’s hotel room. The fact that he’d retreated here made her queasy for reasons she didn’t want to examine.
Radu sat in the center of the bed, slumped back against the pillows lining the wall, his long fingers interwoven over his abdomen, the tails of his coat spilling onto the floor, his clothes so rumpled he hadn’t bothered to straighten his vest. The hollows of his closed eyes were a deeply bruised purple, shading into blue where they transitioned into the shock-white skin on the rest of his face. It hung loosely from his sharp cheeks and long jaw as if it had somehow become detached, deepening the lines around his mouth. He looked haggard, and utterly depleted.
He opened a single eye to regard her. His pupil was still strange-she wasn’t sure if she could actually see herself in it-but there was a little more color around it. He arched its eyebrow inquisitively.
She hadn’t thought this far ahead. She hadn’t thought to find him so… unthreatening.
Eventually, she grabbed the chair and brought it over, resisting an impulse to turn it around and straddle it before she sat. She didn’t know where to begin, so skipped any preamble. “I came back because I realized Cassandra might eat you.”
His eye drooped shut, but the corners of his mouth lifted slightly. “She was in no state to deprive you.”
“What state was she in?”
“She’ll do well enough.” His voice was thin and hoarse, somewhere between a whisper and a sigh. He squeezed his eyes closed, then opened them, blinking them into focus on her. She met his gaze steadily, searching for an answer she knew she wouldn’t find.
The last thing she’d realized was that he had led Circe along almost as easily as he had her. She didn’t have the pages of her short term memory in order yet; there was too much trauma and fear she couldn't yet risk reliving. But she’d seen him twist open the unlighted gas lamp at the entrance to the lair. He’d pulled the silver out of her neck, and left her out of the way with a long leash in the narthex. He’d even warned her he was going to repudiate her. He’d chosen the most excruciating means possible, but he’d given her what she wanted, and more besides.
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
He let his head loll back against the pillows, face turned to the ceiling. “She would have seen through you like a spider’s web.” His tone was so soft with weariness that she had to pay careful attention not to lose his words to his raspiness. “She needed to believe In another of her wastrel son’s failures.” He closed his eyes and shook his head briefly. “You could not have obeyed if you’d wanted to.”
Michelle gritted her teeth. The idea that she had been tortured for verisimilitude was so horrendous she couldn’t react to it. Her fangs were beginning to cut into the back of her lower lip. Perhaps Radu smelled it, for he reached up to nudge something on the dresser towards her. Michelle’s eyes automatically flew to the movement.
The Bloodstone.
Seeing it unexpectedly was so startling it blanked her mind. Some part of her had already accepted that she’d never see it again. No wonder he had come here. No wonder he was so sedate. And yet seeing it, the fey crystal with its inside undulating scarlet, clutched in the steely claws, sitting prosaically on the scratched and worn dresser was so absurd she could barely believe it.
She stood up abruptly; his breathing hitched slightly before settling back into even smoothness. She couldn’t believe any of this. So he had played both sides, left her a chance. She had no doubt that had things gone differently, he would have stood at his mother’s shoulder while she made of Michelle whatever she would. Perhaps he would have felt badly, but not for long. Not on the scale he reckoned time. Her hands involuntarily clenched into fists, during the dull throb of her wrists into a raving, itching burn. Her mouth went dry with anger. He’d served Michelle up, and would have fed all of them to his mother. If she’d understood that correctly, Sofia could have stood in for Cassandra. Zachary might have been dessert.
But that hadn’t happened. Ana was at the hospital, safe with friends. Zachary and Sofia were hopefully long gone by now, well out of reach. And Radu Vladislas, author of all her misery, lay before her, tired and spent, offering her a drink while he waited to see what she’d make of him.
She straightened her fingers, unable to keep them from flexing into claws.
It was cold down here. He’d keep. A fresh sample would be almost as good as a live one.
She was thinking like them.
She snatched up the Bloodstone and, not giving herself time to think about what she was doing, swiped her tongue over its rough tip.
She could never remember what it tasted like afterwards, how it felt rushing through her body, but as soon as it hit her tongue it was the most familiar thing in the world, long lost and gratefully regained. She nearly swooned, her knees buckling beneath her; she stumbled forward to set it safely down on the dresser with a solid thump. Still unsteady, she took another step forward in search of her balance. When her nerve endings began to catch alight, she gave up and dropped herself heavily onto the mattress beside Radu.
Her neck and wrists were banded in soothing warmth, the itch building pleasantly until it dissipated with the heat spreading throughout the rest of her body, like slipping into a hot bath should have felt. Her muscles seemed to let go all at once; she rolled onto her side with a sigh, drawing her knees up towards her chest, and let herself disappear into feelings other than pain. Wounds she’d stopped noticing hours ago were lighting up all over her body to sparkle and then vanish, like matches struck and snuffed by the primordial strength of the Bloodstone. She let herself drift on the waves of its power, in warmth, in comfort, In a feeling of safety, and for a blissful era didn’t let herself even try to worry about what came next.
After a time, the overwhelming tide began to recede. Her first returning thoughts wandered idly around her body, marveling at how good she felt. Her neck felt good as new; possibly better. Her wrists still tingled, but it was fading quickly; she could feel the steady tick of time passing by. The only band of warmth that remained was around her shoulders.
She opened her eyes.
She’d curled up to Radu, her forehead resting against the curve of his jaw. He’d wrapped an arm around her shoulders, holding her close. She’d slipped one beneath his neck, and was carefully tracing the beat of his pulse with her fingernail. The soft crash of waves was the slow, steady sound of his breathing, moving against her. Sensing her movement, he laid his cheek against the top of her head, his arm tightening around her.
She let him.
The final thing she realized was that it didn’t matter. She pinched his artery gently between her nails. His sharply indrawn breath hissed, and he nuzzled her hair, reaching over to lay his other hand on her hip. She could feel its heat through her jeans as his fingers curled around her. He was alive, in every way that mattered. It had been done; therefore it could be done. Everything she had been through-everything he had put her through-couldn’t have been for nothing.
She wouldn’t let it.
What a long, strange trip it's been!
Thanks always to Ted, Denise, Anders, and everyone else who's made these awesome movies possible;
Everyone from radu_fics, one of the best fan communities I've ever been a part of (if any of you ever make your way back here, I hope you've enjoyed what you've found!);
All of my readers, past, present, and future;
Black Phoenix Alchemy Labs (it takes me about 2.5ml of Nosferatu to write one of these);
And everyone else who loved these movies enough to create enough demand for Subspecies V to get made (I really did think it was a scam at first). The night has fans!
I hope you've had at least as much fun reading as I did writing!