Beta'd By: My dear friend and Bobbette, Erin *holds tightly*
Disclaimer: The usual. I don't own anything. Not even my sanity. Well, maybe Sabine, but that's not much, considering.
Note: Inspired by the prompt (given through an LJ community): "Your help just hurts, you are not what I thought you were." (Love Song, Sara Bareilles)
Note 2: It's meant to be read as a one-shot so, even if it feels like there's more to it, there will be no fanfic-continuation (I hope), so don't ask for it, please?
-|- ... -|-
The House of Chthon has fallen and Krista helped make it happen.
Blade never went back for her — not when Marcus had her as a prisoner, not while Blade thought she was still Marcus' property.
Blade never went back for her, not until he needed her — someone inside Chthon to move the pieces necessary to bring it down... and she did.
She held no loyalties to the vampires or to their precious, pompous politics.
She never bought into any of that bullshit, but, the one thing she never thought of, the one thing she never imagined, was going back for him.
-|- ... -|-
Marcus Van Sciver has lost everything — the House of Chthon was infiltrated and brought down by none other than the greatest bane of his existence: Blade, with the assistance of Krista, of course.
It'll take Marcus time to rebuild Chthon — how much time it'll take for him to rebuild himself is another matter entirely.
The other Houses won't help him, not really, especially not now that one of them is holding Marcus hostage.
It was a great blow to his pride, to ask the Armayans for assistance, but they were the closest House. He couldn't allow the Chthonians to hide away in the shadows of Detroit — it was not part of their reputation.
He thought that, with Damek dead, the House would've been slightly civilized — if only slightly.
He was wrong.
The bruises on his cheek have been healing, slowly, and he's beginning to feel the growing thirst attack him.
In his mind, he's devising ways to escape.
The Armayans were never very bright, but they're currently bigger in numbers.
He wonders how many Chthonians are left — did the Armayans already ash the ones he brought here? Are there others left alive who can come for him and fight by his side?
It's almost as if his exhaustion has conjured a dream — an attempt to make it a reality — as he hears gunshots in the distance.
He's bound to a chair — which is nailed to the floor — and he has no strength to fight his restraints.
He hears the door open behind him.
He tries to turn his head, to see his rescuer — if that's who it is — when the smell hits him.
The strong scent of jasmine hits him like a million UV rays — underneath all the sweat and blood, he can still remember that scent.
"Krista," he murmurs.
She wastes no time in setting him free, avoiding his eyes, "We need to get you out of here."
He looks up at her, his hands holding on to the armrests of the chair as if he is still bound there.
"Is Blade with you?"
Krista steps back, knowing that stare — the same stare that accused her of betrayal the first time.
"Are you crazy? No," she scoffs. "I had to find some of your lackeys and convince them this wasn't a trap so they'd come with me."
He notices a gun on her hip, a knife still in her hand, and the fact that she's bled for him, but that changes nothing — she still betrayed him once before.
"Marcus, we need to get out!" She looks at the closed door, where gunshots are still being heard.
He rises too quickly for her to anticipate — his age makes him stronger than her, even when thirsty, but it's something else that drives him, something worse.
He throws himself on her, sinking his teeth into her flesh before her hands can even try to push him away.
Her blood pulsing through his veins, swimming around his mouth, pumping its way through his heart — it brings back memories... the wrong ones.
Once he's taken enough, he turns around, with her still in his grasp, and pushes her to sit on the chair he once occupied.
She's holding on to her neck — a little weakened, but there's more surprise in her eyes than anything else.
He wipes the small speck of blood at the edge of his mouth — he's always been a neat drinker — with his finger, taking it into his mouth and pulling it out before speaking, "Why did you come here, Krista? What could have ever compelled you to come to my rescue?"
Suddenly, the room is filled with vampires and, by the look on Krista's face, Marcus knows she's wishing they were Armayans — that the rescue mission she so brilliantly constructed had failed.
But it didn't.
"I guess I felt I owed you one," she says through gritted teeth.
He knows she's counting the number of vampires in the room — her chances of escape.
He has to respect her for that and, the fact that he does, reminds him of why this hurts.
"Owed me? Just as you owed me loyalty?"
She settles her sight on the ground before she slowly looks up and meets his eyes, "I never asked you to turn me. I don't owe any loyalties to this, to Chthon, so you might as well ash me right now, I don't care."
"Sir," one of the vampires speaks up. It seems Krista might've made a new friend while Marcus was being held captive. By the look on his face, Marcus thinks the young vampire is trying desperately to help her. "We would've never gotten through the House of Armaya without her."
"I've no doubt," Marcus answers, never breaking eye-contact with Krista. "Are there any more Armayans we should be concerned of?"
"Not yet," answers another vampire, "but more could return from the outside."
"Then leave us. There's enough time for this."
They're left alone, the door closed to give them their privacy, and Krista still has her knife in her hand.
He wonders why she didn't use it before — when he bit her; she could've fought back.
He crosses his arms, watching her.
"What?" She leans back, her patience wearing thin. "You know, you have a really fucked up way of saying thank you to someone who probably saved your life."
"Oh, really? You actually believe you have saved my life?" He takes a step forward, leaning down so that their faces are inches away as he rests his own hands on the armrests of the chair. "You betrayed me, Krista — not once, but twice. You were working for Blade, far more successfully than your brother ever could, and then you gave him the key to Chthon, the House I've worked so hard to maintain. Tell me, Krista, what should I thank you for?"
Krista looks down again, her jaw set, before she answers, "I guess it was a mistake to even come here."
"Then why did you come?"
"I already told you—"
"I want the truth!" he nearly growls. "Stop your constant evasions, Krista. You were never very good at them."
The eyes that meet him are angry — strong. She never appreciated him raising his voice at her. She's not afraid of him, even now.
"Why does it matter? What the hell of a good will it do? It won't change a damn thing," she scoffs, smiling bitterly at him.
"It might hurt me less to kill you... if you simply tell me the truth."
Her eyes change, only slightly, before she forms the words, "Or, it might hurt you more."
"Do you even know what hurts me anymore?" He moves back, finally, tired of this game — this dance that never seems to end between them.
She's looking at him like she's just noticed something and, then, it dawns on her. "If someone else would've come to rescue you, you would've been okay with it, but it's me. It's not just about saving face, is it? It's about us. You're mad at me because I came to rescue you and now that they know what I did, you have to kill me."
He meets her eyes, his voice cutting, "I don't have to do anything."
"Then what the hell is it?" She's trying to understand the puzzle in front of her.
"You can't keep doing this," he turns his back on her, purposefully avoiding her gaze. "You can't keep saving me only to betray me the next moment. You may think I have no heart, no soul, and I have resigned in my attempts to prove you otherwise, but you have wounded me, Krista, more than you'll ever understand."
There's a second of silence that seems to stretch into eternity before she finally speaks, "I never betrayed you, Marcus."
He turns, slowly, listening to her whisper, trying to understand how that could ever be true.
"I betrayed Chthon, I betrayed the vampires — but I've never betrayed you. I never betrayed you," and the emphasis on that word makes him realize just what she means.
She was right, it does hurt more.
"But I am Chthon, Krista, and we are all vampires — by extension, you've betrayed me."
She shrugs and smiles weakly, "Well, if you want to see it that way... that's your problem, not mine."
"We'll never be able to settle this, will we?" he asks, leaning back on the wall.
"I guess not." She stands up from the chair, the tension in the room replaced by something that should not feel like a sense of normalcy, but, somehow, it does.
"Will you be going back to Blade?" He doesn't look at her when he asks, doesn't want to.
"Maybe," she answers plainly, "if he'll take me back after this." When he looks up at her, she clarifies, "He's not a big fan of yours, obviously."
At that, he smiles, his fangs showing as a sign that the feeling is surely mutual.
He reaches out for her arm, his hand closing around her wrist. "Krista... Blade will not rest until all of the Houses are dead. He will try to kill us all again."
She looks down at his hand, a soft smile lingering as his hold begins to loosen. She pulls her hand from his grasp and heads for the door, pausing just beside it, her hand on the handle, "That's not my problem. The only thing I came here to do is already done."
"And do you intend to do it again?"
She looks down and smiles, "If none of your bodyguards can do the job right, sure. Why not?"
'Because you will not remain with me,' he wants to tell her. 'Because you will save me, fight for me, keep me alive, but you will not stay with me.'
Krista must've read the word in his eyes as she asks, "Marcus? What're you thinking?"
He closes his eyes, "I won't be needing your services any longer, Krista. The next time someone tries to kill me, let them."
The last thing he hears is the door closing.
The scent of Jasmine is still in the room, and it makes the pain linger just a while longer.
Krista was never one to choose sides. She would never choose him, and yet, just now, he saw it in her eyes, heard it in her words, and felt it in her lack of resistance when he attacked her.
She loves him and, yet, she won't choose him.
She'll never choose.
FINIS