by Kallysten
* * * *
"Idiot."
Blake's foot pressed a little harder on the accelerator.
"Fucking idiot. Pathetic fool."
The truck bounced with each hole and bump on the dirt road. Blake's hands tightened a little more over the wheel.
"I should have known. Of course he didn't come back because of me. Why would he?"
Something twisted in his chest. He clenched his jaw to stop himself from talking any more. He didn't like the way his voice sounded, halfway between a whine and a sob. He was angry. He should have been shouting rather than complaining. He should have put his sword through Marc's gut instead of running away from him. He should have known better than to trust him again. Hadn't he been hurt enough already?
He scowled and accelerated yet again. The right of the truck came close to swaying off the road, and he coaxed it back to the center of the dirt path. He hated that Marc could do this to him—break his heart, when Blake had never even given it to him. He hated feeling like Marc had only been playing with him. He hated that he couldn't even manage to truly hate him.
The truck reached the larger road and came to a dead stop. Hands still clenched on the wheel, Blake stared ahead of him. Turning right would take him away from the City, away from Marc. As far as he ran, though, he doubted the pain in his chest would ease. His head turned slowly to the left. The City lay a few miles ahead. The breach was there, though he had no chance to close it by himself. Kate was there, too; probably dead, Marc had said. The pain accentuated at the thought, then transformed into white-hot anger. Jen. Jen had to be in the City, if she had taken the squad there. Jen, who had taken both Marc and Kate from him.
He started the truck again and turned left. He took a long, deliberate breath in through his nose. Kate's scent and Jen's both lingered in the truck cabin. He would have no trouble tracking them down. If he found Kate first, if she was still alive, he would have someone to fight with, someone to take Marc's place. If it was Jen ... He bit the inside of his cheek and blood trickled over his tongue, sharpening his senses. His fangs came down. If he found Jen first, death would be slow to come for her.
Maybe by the time he reached the City he would have figured out which of them he most wanted to find.
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Chapter 19
The two women's scents wove through the fog, a trail of crumbs that Blake had no trouble following. He had left the truck on the edge of the City next to the squad's, and he now advanced on foot, sword in hand. In the past weeks, he had grown used to the terrain, and he managed to walk quickly without stumbling over the uneven ground.
Every few steps, his mind insisted on reminding him he should have been back at the camp, fighting with Marc, protecting his Sire as all his instincts demanded. He pushed back the thought every time. His anger at Marc—at himself—had shifted onto Jen, but he still hurt. He didn't know how much of his feelings for Marc came from the blood link between them and how much was something else, something vampires weren't supposed to be able to feel. He had never cared to examine his heart that closely. The double nature of what he felt, however, made Marc's betrayal hurt twice as much. Blake hurt as Childe and he hurt as lover. He wasn't sure that this time—
A frantic yet muted heartbeat stopped his progression along with his muddled thoughts. Focusing on his hearing, he rotated slowly in a semi-circle until he could pinpoint the source. Demons were approaching, a couple of streets away, but for now he wanted to know to whom this terrified heartbeat belonged. He flexed his fingers around the hilt of his sword and stalked over to the dilapidated house on his left. Most of the façade lay in ruins in the front, along with part of the ceiling and roof. Blake stepped over the rubble, then stilled. The noise of crumbling materials beneath his boots made him lose the heartbeat.
He caught it again and moved toward the back of the house, very careful of where he stepped. He looked down when the texture of the floor changed. The carpet had seen better days, but the most surprising was that it still looked like carpet—moldy, torn, and covered in dirt, though that was to be expected fifteen decades after the demons had invaded the City. Humans had endured as well and still clung to their civilization even as they struggled to save it. As much as he dismissed them, Blake envied their purpose sometimes. They would have something to rebuild when all the demons were gone. He wasn't sure what he would do then, if he was still alive.
Standing in the middle of what had been a bedroom, Blake turned on his heel. His eyes scanned the room but found nothing. This had to be the place, however. The sound was the loudest here, accompanied by the bitter scent of fear. A flash of blue light followed by movement caught the corner of his eye and he turned, instinctively raising his sword. He stopped himself from striking just in time and slowly lowered his arm as Simon hugged him.
"Oh, thank God!” His sobbing words almost got lost against Blake's shoulder. “Help me! They're trying to take me!"
Reining in his impatience, Blake pushed him back with some difficulty. Tear tracks traced neat lines over the dirt that marred Simon's face. He trembled under Blake's scrutiny, his eyes darting repeatedly to the room behind Blake.
"Where are the others?” Blake asked, focusing on the most pressing matter. If Simon was alive, Kate might be as well. “Who—"
"They're here!"
Blake turned to the doorway. If the demons in the street hadn't noticed them before, Simon's shriek alerted them. They stopped and, as one, turned to the house. One of them grunted; orders, maybe? Blake didn't have time to wonder. With his free arm, he pushed Simon against the wall then gave him a hard look.
"Stay here. Whatever trick you used to hide? Do it again. And try to cover sounds and scents this time."
Simon's eyes widened. His Adam's apple bobbed, and he nodded very stiffly. Blake didn't stay to watch him perform his little magic trick. Already focused on the demons, he strode out of the room. Two of them had just climbed over the debris that delimited the building, while two more waited on the edge of the street. So they thought they could take him down with just two?
Blake charged them, his teeth bared. He would show them. He slashed at the first one's face. A moon-blade axe stopped his sword with a thundering crash. He broke away and struck again, this time aiming for the second demon's knees. The demon parried, but too late. Blake shifted his angle at the last moment to avoid the blocking sword. The demon roared as Blake's sword struck between two bony spikes on the side of its leg, then again when Blake pulled the sword upward, breaking bones. A grunt behind Blake reminded him to break away before the first demon attacked his exposed back.
He shuffled back, reassessed the situation when a third demon joined the first two, and launched himself into the battle again. He danced between the three monsters, using agility where they only had brute force. His fangs extended as the bitter smell of demon blood, mixing to the sweeter scent of his own, started permeating the air. He put all his anger and hate behind each blow. These were Jen's demons, he chanted in his mind with every strike. He was going to kill them, and then he would kill her. He would kill her for taking his Sire and Kate from him. He would kill her because, once she was ashes, he would finally stop wondering whether Marc would ever return to her. He would kill her, take her head off just like this, but not before he had made her hurt the same way he did. He would kill—
"Blake?"
For the second time that night, he missed killing Simon by pure reflex. The idiot had grabbed his sleeve from behind. Couldn't he see Blake was busy?
"They're...” He swallowed hard beneath Blake's stare. “They're dead. You can stop now."
Frowning, Blake looked away from him and at the four demons around them, lying in growing puddles of blood. When had he put down the last one?
"Let's get out of here,” Simon said, half-pleading.
Blake shook his head once to clear his mind and led the way out of the ruins. Had he been so caught up in his rage that he hadn't noticed that the fig
ht had ended?
Back to the foggy street, he breathed in deeply. He couldn't smell any more demons, but he had lost Kate's trail as well. He turned to Simon, so fast that Simon started in fear.
"Where are the others? Where's Kate? And Jen?"
That last name put some fire back into Simon. He glowered as he repeated her name.
"Jen? She led us straight into a trap!” He was shaking again, but this time it was from anger rather than terror. “There were demons everywhere, and she went to stand with them. She was laughing at us! Mocking us! She told them to get me! And then Daniel told us to run...” He deflated, his gaze dropping to the ground even as his voice fell to a murmur. “I did. There's nothing I could have done to help them."
Blake snorted. “Nothing? What about your magic! You could have—"
"You don't understand,” Simon cut in, looking back at him through pleading eyes. “I can't do spells if I'm scared. All I can do is protect myself, and that's more a reflex than conscious thought. It's not like I enjoy being useless, but I couldn't help them. I really couldn't."
His tone begged Blake to believe he was telling the truth. Blake swept his eyes around them, trying to calm down. The fog drifted lazily over torn streets and shattered buildings. He could imagine Kate and her friends fighting, somewhere beyond the ruins, while Simon ran as fast as he could.
"Are they dead?” he asked very low.
"I ... I don't know. I didn't look back. But I heard Elliott shouting. And Kate. I think they got hurt."
Pain blossomed into Blake's chest, as intense as the pain from Marc's betrayal. He had known when he came into the City that she might be dead, but as long as he held on to her scent, he had had hope. What were the odds that she was still alive, now? His only consolation was that she had died doing what mattered most to her: trying to close the breach and save her people. He wished he had been there for her. He wished he could have helped...
He looked back at Simon, who was observing him with obvious nervousness. He could help. Maybe it was too late for her, but the people she had tried to defend still needed to be saved. The breach still needed to be closed. And Blake not only knew where the breach was, he had with him the one person who could seal it. He would do it, in Kate's memory. He would do it, and prove to Marc that he wasn't such a loser, after all, that he was worth coming back to.
He rested his left hand on Simon's shoulder, next to the strap of his leather bag, and squeezed once. “We're going to close the breach."
Simon jerked out of his grip, fear taking over again in his scent and eyes. “We ... what?” He shook his head, incredulous. “Oh no, no way, it's too dangerous, I just told you I can't—"
Blake didn't let him go on. “But you have to,” he cut in, his words even and strong. “What, you think I'm not scared when I go to battle? We all are."
Simon's eyes narrowed for a moment. “You're scared?” Blinking, he shook his head and took a step back. “No, you're just saying that."
"I'm not,” Blake said, closing the distance between them again. “I need you to get over your fear. I need you to do it for me."
Those last words caught Simon off guard. He looked at Blake's hand, back on his shoulder, then returned his eyes to his face. Hesitation, fear, and hope flickered over his features. He licked his lips. “If I ... if I did that ... if I closed the breach ... Would it change anything? About us, I mean. About how you feel about me."
"Well,” Blake replied with a wide grin, “everything is possible, and..."
His voice trailed off as he watched hope spread over Simon's face. The human's crush on him was a convenient tool, and stretching the truth cost him nothing. It should have been easy to lie. He was surprised to discover that it was anything but. His hand fell away from Simon, and his grin turned into an apologetic smile.
"No,” he said, quieter now. “I'm sorry, but you could defeat the entire demon army, and I still wouldn't like you, not the way you want me to. I'd be in awe, and a bit pissed off you took away all my fun, and kinda proud that I pushed you into doing it, but..."
He shrugged, and tried not to let Simon's disappointment get to him.
"It's not a game, you know,” he added after a moment. “For the longest time I thought it was, but it's really not. There's no prize for either of us if we do this. We might not even live through it. But I swear I'll die fighting to give you time to do your spell if it comes to that. We're doing it because it's the right thing to do. Because other people will live if we succeed, and many more will die if we don't."
He stopped abruptly, startling himself. He had heard the same words from Marc's mouth dozens of times. He had never understood them—never until now. He smiled, amused that now, of all times, he finally did. In front of him, Simon gulped and, very slowly, nodded.
* * * *
Behind the fence, the woods grunted and growled with the advance of the demons. Marc clenched his hand on his sword's hilt but left it in its scabbard for now. They couldn't even see the demons yet. He would draw his weapon soon enough.
"Everyone's in place,” Mike said, coming out of the building behind him. He sounded nervous, his voice rasping with every word. “You're sure—"
Marc didn't need to look at him to know he was looking at the fence and the gates that had been left open.
"I'm sure,” he interrupted, wincing at the harsh tone of his own voice. He looked at Mike and tried to smile reassuringly. “Trust me, I've been here before. This is our best chance."
Mike gave him an uncertain smile. “I hope you're right. Daniel will kill me if I get his entire squad slaughtered.” He frowned, his smile twisting into something much darker. “Although I'll be dead too if that happens, so I guess I'm safe from him."
Marc's eyes returned to the woods, and he didn't reply. It wouldn't help anything to remind him that Daniel was probably dead by now.
"It'll be all right,” he said when a few seconds had passed with only the sound of the approaching demons breaking the silence. “I've done this before, more than once, and I'm still here."
He had, he reminded himself forcefully. He had led attacks toward demon camps, he had planned traps and ambushes, he had fought with humans who barely knew him, barely trusted him, and kept most of them alive. Casualties were to be expected, of course, but they had better chances of survival if they followed his plan than if they didn't. He had done this before, and he had survived.
One difference gnawed at him, leaving him raw with pain. For the past eighty years, he had either had Blake by his side when leading such attacks, or he had kept the knowledge that he would see Blake again, sooner or later, at the back of his mind. This time, he didn't know if Blake would return, where he was, or what he was doing. Knowing Blake, he had found demons to kill; that didn't reassure Marc in the slightest.
He knew why Blake was angry. He also knew what kind of stupid stunts his Childe pulled when anger got the better of him. And he knew, even if he wished he didn't, that this anger could have been avoided if he had just told Blake about Jen when he had returned. Things had been so tense, though It had seemed easier to just move on without coming back to a festering past. Not only that, but he had compounded his mistake by not warning the squad about her. Worse, his omission had negated their wariness toward vampires. Would they have trusted her so quickly if Marc had never mentioned her name?
"They're coming,” Mike said next to him, the words no louder than a rush of air.
Marc blinked and focused on the forms now distinguishable amongst the trees. Without thinking, he pulled his sword out and firmed his grip on the hilt.
The entire mess was his fault. All he could hope was that someone remained, when it was over, to listen to his apology.
* * * *
Kate's fingers shook against Elliot's neck. She closed her eyes and pressed a little harder. His skin was clammy, already cooling—or maybe it was just an effect of her imagination.
"No pulse,” she murmured.
She opened her eye
s again and looked at Daniel, a few feet away. Crouching behind a crumbling wall, he kept watch on the street. She didn't know what he was trying to see; with the fog swirling in the street, they only got glimpses of ruins and demons. He didn't turn to her but nodded to show he had heard. Two steps behind him, the third member of their group, Lou, met her eyes. Dried blood marred his face forming a long, thick line from his forehead down to his jaw.
"We ... we've got to move on,” he said, grimacing. “They'll smell his blood—"
"Just as well as they'll smell mine,” Daniel cut in, the cold edge of a knife slicing through his words. “And yours. And Sammy's."
Kate winced. A few feet behind where Elliot had fallen, Sammy's face turned paler with each passing moment. She wasn't sure whether it was from blood loss or fear.
"Lou is right.” She hated to contradict Daniel, especially where other soldiers could hear, but they were beyond that now. “We've got to move. But not because of the blood. They know where we are, there's no way they could have lost us, even with the fog. They're just playing with us."
Daniel sighed, but he still didn't look back. “I can see it,” he murmured. “It can't be more than fifty yards away. It's so bright..."
No moon shone over the city, but the street was almost as bright as day. An unnatural light came out of the breach. They had all seen it before Jen had called out a small troop of demons from their hiding spot. She clenched her fists at the thought of Jen. How could they have been so trusting?
"There's nothing we can do about it,” she said, “not with Simon gone."
If only Daniel hadn't told Simon to run before they could realize the demons weren't trying all that hard to kill them. If only the rest of them had been able to follow him before demons had cut their path. The demons seemed to want them alive, though for what reason, Kate couldn't fathom—just like she couldn't understand why Jen had led them to the breach, when the ambush could have taken place anywhere.