Soulless
"Evil is a point of view."

By Isabelle

Disclaimer: I own my car, my purse collection and my freedom of speech. I don't, however, own Gossip Girl. I'm working on getting the rights, though ;)

Rating: Oh, it's going to be M. ;)

Summary: Vampires don't get obsessed with pictures left on their graves; pictures of lovely brunettes and chubby baby boys. Vampires are soulless and evil. He didn't know their names, but he knew they were special. She must've been special to him, and that thought alone haunted him. All he knew was that he wanted her for himself, even if he had to kill her to get her. Chuck/Blair.

A/N: A special thanks to my beta, Tatiana.

"I was good and bad, but never wicked."
~ Anne Rice

"I need you not to panic, ok?" Her voice was shaky, and his stomach instantly dropped. "I'm fine. The baby is fine, ok?"

"What's happening?" All thoughts, both real and imagined, fluttered from his mind and landed in a place that he avoided thinking about. That place where desolation reigned and life was but a whisper in the ancient winter wind.

"I'm… I'm in labor –" There was a grunt. "But I'm fine, really – FUCK!" She took measured breaths.

"I'm on my way –"

"Just please, I just need you not to panic, please." Her voice was a bare hiss. She was controlling her words, calculating exactly how much he should know before he became completely useless to her in his fright.

"I'm not. I'm calm. Where are you?" His steps, young and swift, were already carrying him towards the limousine. His jaw was sharp, his eyes were dark. He knew something like this would happen. He would not lose her. His kingdom for his bride. His kingdom for his son.

"I'm at the hospital. Serena, Mom, Dorota and Nate are here. Eric is on his – damn it!" She took a sharp breath. "Watch it, bitch!"

"Blair –"

"My IV, this technical school graduate has obviously never inserted a needle!" He couldn't help but smile. That was his Blair. A bitch to the bitter end. But this was not the end. No, it wasn't. He needed to get back home.

"Listen, I'll probably be in labor for hours. I'll still be in labor when you get here – please leave my room and find someone to help me that has at least a fifth grade reading level – so there's no rush. Some women are in labor for over twenty-four hours. And I'm not having this baby without you, Basshole, so no need to worry. Don't stress Arthur. You know he hasn't been the same since his heart attack. You should make him retire, I've told you this before -"

He let her talk. Talking meant that she was fine. That he would get there on time. By the time she finished her tirade, they were already at the executive airport and he was waiting impatiently while the Bass jet was fueled and checked.

"Mr. Bass, there's a really bad storm over the Rockies, we will have to take an alternate route –"

"Chuck, what is going on?" Blair demanded on the line.

"Nothing. Nothing is wrong. Listen, Blair… I will see you in six hours. Make sure you hold on so you can scream at me in the height of your labor pains," he placated her.

"Chuck…"

"I love you. You know that, right?" His voice trembled but just a bit.

She was quiet on the line. "I'm going to be fine, Chuck. I know you. Please don't worry, I'm going to be fine."

"I know you will," Chuck assured her, lying through his teeth.

"Liar. I still love you." She was smiling, he could tell.

"In case he's born, and I'm not there, you know what to name him. Also, make sure Nate doesn't take a peek at the process, otherwise his godfather rights will be forfeited." This made her laugh, and her voice was airy as she hung up.

He turned sharply to his pilot. "How much will this alternative route delay us?"

The older man rubbed his forehead. No one wanted to be the one to tell Chuck Bass bad news. "Two hours. We can make it by way of Houston."

Eight hours she would be alone. No. He couldn't do that. He had to risk it.

"We go through the storm. My wife is in labor." His words were short and measured.

"But Mr. Bass –"

"My wife is in labor, did you not get that? We make it through the storm. I have a son to name and a wife to get home to."

It was an hour and a half into the flight when the thought passed his mind that perhaps he would be the one not to make it. His throat constricted just thinking of Blair hearing the news that she had really lost him this time. She would be broken. Shaking as the plane was, with difficulty he pulled a paper out of his briefcase. His hand was trembling so much that the words were hardly recognizable. But he managed what little he could.

"I love you both. I'm sorry."

He looked out the window; it was a surreal experience, seeing what so few had lived to tell about. So this was death, he thought.

In his short and fast life, he'd had moments when he thought he would lose himself completely. One was when he realized his father didn't love him because his birth had caused his mother's death. Two, when he lost his father. Three, when he thought he had lost Blair. This would be four.

A lightening hit the wing of the plane and down they went.

"I'm so sorry, Blair. I'm so sorry." It was his mantra.

And then, when he realized death was imminent, it wasn't as scary. It wasn't as cruel. He would just fall, fall into emptiness. People around him screamed. People around him sobbed.

Not him. It was a serene sort of calmness. Nothing – not his millions, not his power, not his love for his wife and child – could save him. There was but one thing to do. Accept it.

He had lived a good life since life started, and life didn't start until Blair came into it. She made him the man he had become. Time without her made him weak; she balanced him. His last thought, right before the sharp metal crashed into the stone of the mountain, was if his son would look like him.

When he slept, he had nothing but dreams. Dreams of darkness and of things burning and stabbing him. He sought his bed in his delirious sleep, he sought his wife but found no one.

"Wake up, Bass. Wake up. It's not your time." Her voice was so distant. So soft. He could almost smell her.

And when his eyes finally opened, he saw such horrors. He felt such pains. So much pain, he couldn't breathe.

He let out a howl, but it gargled in his throat. Why wasn't he dead? Was this hell? Was he to spend eternity in such pain?

Voices. He heard voices in the darkness. Voices and whispers.

And then wind in the stiff cold. He felt inexplicable terror rush through his veins. He couldn't move; his body was shattered. His body was done.

"Talon!"

His eyes widened as his mouth stayed agape, and there in the darkness came to him a demon. With pale yellow eyes and fangs, his face twisted and evil. Pure malevolence.

"You've had your fill, Talon." A deep, throaty voice came from the darkness, but Chuck's eyes were fixed on the demonic face before him.

"He's ripe, my lord, I can feel life leaving him," the demon hissed. "And he's young, and –" The demon's hand grasped his balls and squeezed them until they hurt, making Chuck jump and grunt. " – packed. Let me have him, my lord."

And then a hand, strong and calloused, grabbed the demon and pulled him violently away in such an easy motion that it scared Chuck more than the demon itself ever could. Whatever was in the darkness was stronger and more powerful than the demon. And Chuck Bass knew power. This kind of power frightened him.

He expected something horrific, from the very depths of Hell, to come to him. Now he understood the statement 'the devil is a gentleman,' because that's exactly what he was.

A man in his early 40s with a handsome face and well-combed red hair appeared before him, and light came with him. Chuck blinked away the darkness. He was sure he was in Hell. The horrific wreck was before them, and the stench of blood flooded his senses.

The man studied him, studied his features, and reached out to touch the skin on his neck – and that was when Chuck saw it. Fangs. Fucking fangs. He started to struggle for real. This was not happening. These things didn't exist. He was dreaming; he was delirious. All he had to do was stay alive until help arrived. Then he could wake from his nightmare.

"Do you believe in God, child?" The man asked, and his voice was old and ancient. It was a thick English accent, as if he'd lived a hundred years.

Chuck glared at him. True, his arms were limp and probably missing, his body was probably in shock, and he was most likely minutes away from bleeding to death… But he was still Chuck Bass.

"I believe in me. I believe in Chuck Bass," he whispered. His throat… He had no saliva left.

The man chuckled softly. "What an interesting answer. I haven't had such an answer in; let me see… It must have been a few hundred years. Give or take."

Chuck shook his head. This was not possible. This was not real.

"Oh, yes… the denial. This is not possible. This is not real. I've had such thoughts myself, Charles," the man continued, now tenderly touching his collarbone.

"Go away." Chuck turned his head, eyes closed. "Let me die in peace."

"From what I can tell, you're about twenty-seven hours from death. Your legs are both broken perhaps shattered and pinned under the seats. A few cracked ribs, a concussion, a broken hand and a dislocated shoulder. You also most likely have internal…" The man's mouth watered. "… bleeding. Your body… has given up before you have."

Chuck swallowed. He sounded fucked. That would explain all the pain and the hallucinations.

"You don't feel it much now because your weak body is in shock… but in a few hours… you will beg for death." The man's voice dropped to a sticky whisper. "And when that happens… I will be there. I will taste your sweet young blood."

"Please… please help. I… my wife…m-my wife, she's in labor…" Chuck pleaded. A deal with the devil. Visions of Blair by herself screaming for him assaulted his muddled brain.

The man chuckled. "Not my problem, child."

"I beg you. I can make it worth your while," Chuck was desperate.

"A rich man… always, always attempts a deal." The man sat back, chuckling, and it infuriated Chuck. "I have more riches than you can possible have in your short lifetime. I have no interest in it. I suggest you leave it to your wife and child."

"Please… please… get help." Chuck attempted to move his arm, to grab the man and beg him, but sharp pain shot up his arm and nearly made him pass out.

"I told you," the man chuckled. "Dislocated."

Chuck coughed, which hurt even more. He felt knives being shoved at him from the inside out.

"Then kill me… please…" Chuck begged. He wanted death. He wanted the horrible pain to end.

"Oh, I will. Trust in that fact." The man smiled.

"I…" Little lights appeared behind his eyes, and deeply he slept. When he woke, he felt death upon him. Life had to be far away when there was so much pain. So much pain. He wanted the pain to stop. He wanted to yell, but all he could do was moan.

"He still lives, my Luther."

"Yes… How very interesting."

He opened his eyes and saw the man and the demon staring at him. The demon was literally being held back by the fanged-man's hand.

"Kill me… Kill me now," Chuck begged. "I can't…"

"Let us, my Luther. He begs for it." The demon nearly salivated. "Let us feast on his body."

"What is your name, child?" The man asked, and Chuck's eyes rolled to the back of his head, the pain was so immense.

"Chuck… Charles Bass," he whispered.

"Do you want to live, Charles?" The man asked, his head cocked.

"No, Luther! You promised me a red head. He lacks red, he's all pale and dark, There's darkness in him, Luther," Talon protested, like a child.

"Yes… There's darkness," Luther answered calmly. "Bring the witch."

"No!" Talon cowered, hiding his face in Luther's shoulder.

"Bring her. Don't touch her skin, but bring her." Luther pushed the demon away and studied Chuck's prone body.

"Kill me," Chuck whispered, over and over again as his mind went in and out of consciousness.

A rattling woke him from the fog as a thing was pushed next to him. A ratty, dirty thing that made the homeless in New York look awake and refreshed.

"Read him, Witch," Luther commanded, looming over her, seemingly seven feet tall.

"A penny, a penny, Vampire. Give us a penny for our thoughts," the thing hissed.

"I'll give you no such thing, Witch. Read the human and remember your oath," Luther implored, pushing her with his foot, making her stumble over Chuck. Her stench permeated his senses and he felt like vomiting.

The mad woman laughed, her teeth gone and her hair wiry wild.

"A vampire for a zombie. I'd rather have a zombie," she wheezed.

This wasn't happening; Chuck's unclear brain was playing tricks on him. He was dead, he was sure.

"Read him!" Luther's voice was now thunder. "Read the bloody human!"

"Bloody, bloody, ohhh… fresh…" The woman licked wounds on his face, laughing manically. "Yes…." She moaned, and her face was now before him. She was grotesque. Hideous. Disfigured. He blanched. "Look at me, human, little human full of blood."

His eyes became fixated on her coal black ones; she was death itself.

"Tell… what is the worst thing you've ever done. No lies, no little white lies… what is the most evil thing you've done… the most decrepit… the most abominable … buried there in the deep darkness of the human soul. The human soul, which is capable of more evil than anything else on Earth. Tell us, tell us. Confess…" The woman chanted, and Chuck felt a strange pull and a sensation of violation. He tried to fight against the onslaught, tried to simply forget… tried… "Ohh… there it is… how very very bad you've been… ohhh…. Yes. YES!"

And flashes assaulted him, when he nearly lost Blair forever, when he sold her, when he tricked her, yet loved her. He saw himself through others' eyes, and it made him want to vomit. He convulsed. He shook. He was empty.

"Mother, Mother, let us know, show us destiny, show us path…." The witch chanted, and then she screamed. An ear-piercing scream. A scream of terror. "DEATH! Oh, he brings death!"

Chuck's eyes widened as she threw herself back, horror written on her tormented features.

"He brings death with him!" She cried and turned, grabbing a fallen piece of glass in her bare hands, the sharp edges cutting into her wrinkled hands. She held the glass over Chuck.

"Yes…" Chuck said in a welcomed whispered, but before the blade could come down and end his torment, the witch was kicked to the other side of the debris. Luther loomed over him, his teeth winking at Chuck in the dying of the night.

"He brings death, Luther, he brings it!" Talon cried, grasping at Luther's coat. "Let us end the human's torment and feast on his lovely, lovely blood!"

But Luther stared down at him.

"He's the one! He is the one, Luther Pendragon! He brings death to your red head! He will kill you. He will rip your head from your body!" The witch continued to whimper into herself.

Luther continued to stare down at Chuck's dying body.

"Kill the human. Kill him, or it'll be your grave that you dig!" The witch wailed. "Child of prophesy must die, must be drained, must be sacrificed to the goddess so that her anger will die with his blood!"

Luther knelt next to Chuck, his larger body casting a dark shadow over the human.

"Kill me," Chuck begged. "I need it to end."

"Who are you?" The man whispered.

"I've told you… I'm Chuck Bass…" His breath was short. The very last of it. Luther ran his pale hand over Chuck's face, lovingly, like a caress.

"From now on, you shall be known as Mack Pendragon. Mack Pendragon… My childe."

And so it was that amidst the wails of the frail witch and the spineless Talon, the great Luther Pendragon, ruler for a millennium, finally named an heir to his throne. Miles and miles away in a land where such darkness was but a myth found in storybooks, a baby wailed. A child was born as his father slowly lost his life.

The news of the young heir traveled the land and the seas within three short days. Chuck Bass, now baptized Mack Pendragon, knew nothing of the happening. All that he remembered in those three days were horrible, horrible dreams. Dreams of a woman with spread legs and blood gushing forth from between them. So much blood.

He was disgusted that he felt hungry for such obscenities. When he woke, his member stood erect and tall, begging to sink itself into the warmth.

"Such dreams, my childe, such dreams…" The man who never left side comforted him. And he was a child again, whimpering and clutching on to the man.

On the third day, he woke enough to take in his surroundings. He was still in pain, but his mind was scattered. He didn't know how he got there. It was a dark maroon room, filled with candles and tapestries and rich cherry wood.

The man came to him once more, dragging a limping, bloody woman who was crying and shaking her head.

"No, please, no –"

"Childe, you wake from your nap," the man said.

"Where am I?" Chuck asked, stumbling in the near darkness.

"Safe… now… I brought someone for you. I tried to pull Talon away, but he's such a hungry little thing…" The man's voice was gentle and kind.

"Mr. Bass! Mr. Bass! Help me, Mr. Bass!" The woman cried, and Chuck stared at her, confused. He didn't know her; he'd never seen her, or had he? Who was he? She continued screaming, begging for him to help her.

The man, having had enough of her screams, quickly grabbed her neck and, with the expertise of a skilled butcher, easily snapped it.

"Shame, they always scream so…" The man said tenderly, kissing the dead woman on the lips. "But we must, hurry, childe. Her blood is but warm."

Chuck shook his head, backing up against the wall, wanting this whole nightmare to go away.

"No, please –"

"Drink now, childe… Drink her." His words lulled Chuck and, before he knew it, her neck was shoved in his face. A part of him – the part that told him this was wrong, the part that was disgusted with this mess – recoiled. But then… the part that felt the warmth of her body ached to have her. Ached to drink her and sink his teeth, like an animal into her and then sheath himself in her warmth. That part of him won out and, soon enough, he was drinking, drinking and humping her.

When he was sated, when he was spent, he stared at the man with wide eyes, his lips filled with fresh warm blood.

"Yummy in the tummy?" The man smirked.

Chuck could only nod. He felt like a zombie. He didn't know who he was, what he was, or what he could have possibly done so wrong in life to make him a monster. A soulless creature that drank blood from innocent dead women.

The lowly laugh made him snap out of his thoughts. "Now… for my great and most incredible trick. I shall make your soul… disappear!"

Chuck gaped at him. "I don't want it to –"

"Aww… It's too late for that, childe. You already begged for death. Like I knew you would, and now…" The man was swiftly before him, grasping his neck and elevating him in the air, an impossible human feat. "You belong to me."

His small, weak hands tried and attempted to push the creature off him, but it was too late. The man's fangs extended and they buried deep in his throat. The pain was incredible; it pulled his life away from him, yet an unexpected coil of pleasure birthed itself in the lower part of his belly. It brought memories of delight, of happiness. And in his last breath came a lonely thought. A face. A whisper of a memory that was gone and buried.

"Blair…" And then he died.

To be continued

A/N: Still trust me? I hope so ;) The next update will be sometime mid-week.