Eric stands next to the Grimm, eyes roaming over the paralyzed body. He sighs, crossing his arms as he leans over the metal coffin.
"Could somebody close his eyes for me? It's really quiet creeping me out."
"Of course, your highness." Someone mumbles and a hand from the right reaches towards the Grimm's face, pushing the eyelids shut with two fingers. Eric stands straight again, grinning.
"Thank you, Deacon. That is your name, right?"
Deacon nods mutely, linking his fingers together in front of him.
Eric places a firm hand on Deacon's shoulder, leading them out of the shadow of the plane's wing. The blistering sun beats down on the back of their necks and they both squint in the bright light.
"Do you know what we're doing here, Deacon?"
Deacon opens his mouth, about to answer. Eric waves a hand, dismissive. "No, no. That's obviously a rhetorical question. We're making history, Deacon."
Eric smirks, stopping and looking back toward the place where the Grimm lay.
"History that we will remember very, very well."
Eric is in a room built from dark mahogany walls, decorated with paintings and furniture worth millions of dollars. Of course, he could buy five times that with the money he has.
He sits in a chair, the length of a long dining table stretching out in front of him while he sifts through random letters. Most of them are from spies. They whisper about an attack, and there was a bomb in your car, your highness, and we don't know who it is.
It's Sean Renard, Eric wants to sneer. But there is no proof to be found.
He is glad he chose to take a different car.
Eric snarls, throwing all the envelopes to the ground. I have to catch the bastard who wants me dead. His suit is disheveled as he runs his fingers through his mess of hair, getting up and pacing back and forth next to the table.
And on it, there lies a Grimm.
They had to wait when the most violent stage began, of course. Before that, they wouldn't have been able to administer the antidote.
The Grimm had been hard to subdue. Eric had sent fifteen Hundjäger into the room. Only two had come out alive. Both were at death's door.
The first was gone within an hour. The second…well, he'd exist.
To say he would live would be an overstatement.
But the Grimm was out cold, and so they had done their duty. Their families were given money.
A woman, with long brown hair and sharp green eyes, struts into the room, clutching a white purse to her chest.
Eric stops pacing and faces her, raising his eyebrows. "You have what I need, Hexenbiest?"
She sneers, walking over to the corner of the table and placing her bag down. She tilts her chin up at the body in disdain.
"My name is Velda. And of course I do, your highness. I'm getting paid, aren't I?"
It's the one and only time Eric rolls his eyes at the title.
"Just do it, woman."
Velda smirks, unzipping her purse and delicately taking out an enormous syringe.
A Piqure-Gigantesque. Three vials, all administered at the same time.
She lifts it up to eye level, scanning the colored liquid inside. Making sure everything is in order.
Wouldn't want to piss of the royal family.
Eric watches her, waiting. He would say he is wary, but he is the prince. He isn't scared of anything.
She walks over to the side of the table and moves the Grimm's shirt away from his stomach. He almost looks peaceful, gentle.
Except for the deep, three-claw wound stretching from the top right side of his neck to his shoulder. Crimson red drips from it, as well as other drops of blood, splattered all over his clothing.
Some of that blood is not his.
Velda sticks the needle into the Grimm's abdomen and pushes down on the plunger. The injection liquid goes in and she quickly removes it and steps back, as if waiting for something to happen. Nothing does.
The Grimm stays unconscious, with slow breathing and relaxed features. And covered in wounds and blood.
Eric raises his eyebrows and rolls his shoulders, turning to look at Velda. She holds the Piqure-Gigantesque lightly in her grasp, and for once, her eyes flick nervously back and forth between Eric and the body.
"Well, you've done your job. We'll make sure you get paid, Velda."
Her eyes narrow at his sneering words, but she snatches her bag and stuffs the syringe inside, allowing him to take her by the shoulder and drag her through the doorway of the room. She is led away by two men in suits, one carrying a briefcase full of cash.
Or is it a bomb? Either way, he will probably never see her again.
Eric nods approvingly at that, then reaches into his back pocket for his cell phone. He dials a number and presses speaker, holding it up to his mouth. A deep, growling male voice answers.
"Prince Eric. How nice to speak to you again."
Eric grins, sliding his other hand into his jacket pocket. "I can say the same. I'd like you to get over here and bring the Grimm down below. Restrain him."
A pause. "No, don't worry. He's unconscious. You don't need the Mauvais Dentes. Goodbye."
Nick wakes slowly, head hanging and blinking the crust out of his eyes. His ankles are tied to the legs of a metal chair and his wrists are bound with cuffs to the arms of it.
"What…?" His voice croaks out, head twisting around as he tries to get a good look at his surroundings. Water drips down from the stone ceiling, and puddles have formed everywhere on the concrete floor. Iron walls form a box, caging him in.
He suddenly winces, feeling the shredded, bloody wound on his neck stretch and send a jolt of pain throughout his body. How the hell did that happen? Where is he?
Everything is shadowed, with a single flickering light placed above him, illuminating everything within the radius of a yard.
Footsteps echo towards him through a darkened doorway, followed by shined black shoes. A face with curly brown hair and an evil glint in his eye that Nick recognizes steps into the light.
"You're Sean's brother."
The man nods, mouth twisting up into a smile. "I am. So glad to see you've got that right. My name is Eric. Although you probably knew that as well."
Nick squints up at Eric in faint confusion. Exhaustion makes his mind fuzzy.
"Where…where am I? How did I get here?" He supposes he should be panicking.
Eric claps his hands together. "Well, you see, my dear Grimm, you are in Vienna."
This is where he starts to panic.
The blood drains out of Nick's face as his eyes widen, searching back in his memories for answers. Nothing he remembers helps. He was in a storage container, he saw his photo on a passport with the wrong name, and then everything went black.
"What?"
"Yes, what a wonderful place, don't you think? I do love it here."
Nick looks around wildly, eyes scanning the metal walls surrounding him. Eric ignores his frantic movements, instead choosing to pace around Nick in circles. His shoes make ominous clicking sounds against the floor.
"As for your other question…I don't suppose you remember anything about the Cracher-Mortel, do you? Really, quite a fun man. I did enjoy his company."
Nick swallows, wrists bending as they strain against the metal cuffs wrapped around them.
He now knows exactly what happened to him.
"Let me go." He sounds hoarse.
Eric tilts his face up at the ceiling, crinkling his expression. He looks back at Nick, a fake apologetic smile etched onto his expression.
It looks ugly, Nick thinks. And then Eric replies,
"Mmm…nope. I think we're going to keep you for just a while longer. Also, I have a funny question,"
Eric leans into Nick's face with a grin, arms crossed.
"Have you ever heard of an Endezeichen Grimm?"
Nick's barely concealed shock is enough of an answer. Eric stands straight once again, sighing.
"Don't you think it'd be nice to have one working for the Royal Families?"
Nick says nothing, leaning back uncomfortably. His only giveaway is narrowed eyes and a tense posture. He doesn't know what he will do if he speaks. Throw up, maybe?
Eric accepts his silence. "Personally, I think an Endezeichen Grimm would be wonderful. Of course, I don't have one, but what I do have is a Grimm…and well, a little training can go a long way." He shrugs, dismissive. "Or torture. Whatever you wish to call it."
Nick suddenly wishes he never got into this Wesen business, suddenly wishes he ran away when he had the chance. Too late for that now.
Eric turns to leave, then swings back around to face Nick. "I mean, you could say yes with your own willpower, and this would go a lot smoother."
This time Nick looks Eric in the eye and sneers. "Never."
He can only hope everyone he loves is safe.
Eric looks disappointed as he sighs, walking towards the doorway of the prison cell.
"Suit yourself." His head dips into the hallway, calling out. "Bring it in!"
A tall, thin man with a blackened gaze walks into the prison cell without even a whisper of sound. Like a shadow. Along with him comes with a rack of weapons Nick can't name. The man leaves, as quiet as he was before.
Nick hears Eric laugh in the darkness, menacing. Eric steps forward, rolling up his sleeves and twirling a knife in his hand with grace.
"Well, just tell me when you agree, my dear Grimm. We're going to have so much fun."
The solid iron door shuts with a clang.
The only one to hear his screams is the prince.