The original version of this chapter contains explicit content (sex! violence! buckets of blood!) not allowed on this site. I have removed the dirty bits, but if you want to read them, this chapter is posted in its entirety on my Livejournal. Username: gefhrlich (you can find a link in my profile).
Chapter 10: Biting Down
Peter hesitated in the doorway as he watched Roman drop into the cellar below the cabin floor. The feeling of foreboding that shrouded the little building prevented him from crossing the threshold and kept him hovering, immobile at the entrance.
Destiny stood ten paces behind him, shifting from foot to foot and chewing on her thumbnail. The rain continued to fall in sheets, but Destiny made no move to shield herself. Her eyes were fixed on the red door swung open in front of Peter.
"Don't go in there, Peter," she begged. "There's something in there, I can feel it. I've felt it before. It knows us."
"What do you mean?" Peter asked. Despite the parlor tricks and fake tarot readings, Destiny had a true gift. She had stared into the abyss time and time again, but until now, it had not stared back.
Destiny just shook her head and wrapped her arms around her chest, clutching herself tightly. Peter approached Destiny, put his hands on her shoulders, bringing his face close to hers.
"What is it?" Peter asked. "Is it the thing that took Nadia?"
"No," she said, her voice weak and hollow. "It's much worse. So much worse."
A pained shout echoed out from the cabin. Roman. Peter was already halfway in the door when an inhuman and excruciatingly shrill wail hit his ears. He pitched forward to his knees, clutching his ears to block out the agonizing sound.
Peter heard Destiny's cries of protest somewhere behind him, but it was already too late. The beast was swelling beneath Peter's skin, huffing and snarling and tearing at his insides. The muscles in Peter's back tightened like rubber bands and spasmed wildly, crushing his ribcage as they contracted. His joints ached and then exploded with white hot pain as sharp claws pierced through his knuckles, leaving severed finger tips dangling uselessly from the torn sinuous tendons.
His eyes burned hot like coals, bulging with the pressure and sending blood cascading down his face in crimson streams. Peter gagged as the beast rose in his throat, shredding his esophagus as it rose. He could feel a pinching pain in his mouth, beneath his gums, and gnashed his teeth together as hard as he could. The teeth cracked and crumbled in his mouth before his lips were pulled tight around the emerging snout, its fangs snapping and ripping away Peter's tongue. The flesh at the corners of his mouth stretched until it tore apart in jagged strips like wet paper.
Peter fell forward on to all fours, tearing at the meaty flesh at his shoulder blades with his claws and flinging it from him in soft, wet handfuls. His spine arched and curved as he convulsed, nauseating wet cracks echoing in his ears. The bones pressed out against the skin on Peter's back, causing sharp needling pains that left him whimpering. Just as Peter was begging for the flesh to give way and end the pain, the change stopped. The canine jaws gnashed at the air through Peter's torn face, his eyes and upper skull intact and worn on the crown of his head like a rubber Halloween mask. But the wolf came no further. It was lodged inside Peter's human body, trapped and angry.
Peter felt the flutter of panic rise in his chest. He had pushed it too far. He had changed against the moon one too many times and he'd lost control of it. His mind was frenzied, struggling between animal instincts and human intuition.
The deafening wail reached a crescendo and Peter lunged toward the trap door and into the cavern beneath the floor, his body crying out in agony with every movement. The room was almost completely dark as the one remaining candle flickered violently in a wind he couldn't feel. The wolf inhaled the thick, sweet odor of fear and the metallic scent of blood and Peter let it lead his eyes to the corner of the room, where a mangled, bloodied creature was straddling Roman. Roman had the thing around the neck, but it was poised to strike and Peter's instincts took over.
He sprang at the thing pinning Roman with a snarl that hurled from Peter's lungs, but fell from the curled lips of the wolf, sounding both anguished and furious. He crashed into the soft body, sending it flying backwards a few feet and landing on its back with a sickening crack. It remained unmoving, a crumpled heap of flesh spattered with blood and dirt.
Something shifted in the dark. At first, Peter thought his eyes deceived him, that the shimmer in the dark was caused by the pain that coursed through every part of him and sent stars dancing across his vision. But then the smell hit him. It was a smell so filthy he could taste it on his tongue. It bloomed and clouded the air with the pungent scent of rotting flesh tinged with the putrid sweetness of infection. He could feel the wolf's hackles rising and prickling the skin at the back of Peter's neck and deepening the tears in the flesh on his back as the animal inside tensed and flexed its muscles for a fight.
The creature stepped from the shadows on two cloven hooves, its leathery wings twitching and stretching before folding down its back. The body was that of a man but covered in scales instead of skin that appeared dull at first then shimmered dimly with a sort of bioluminescence. The head was smooth and hairless with a heavy brow that hung over its eyes, which were coal black and set deep into the sockets like pools of oil.
The creature locked eyes on Roman and reached for him. The wolf reacted immediately and lunged at the creature, sinking its teeth into the outstretched arm that threatened to tear Roman limb from limb. The scaly skin was dry and papery but burst beneath the wolf's needle-sharp teeth, gushing forth with a thick, black liquid that burned like liquor and tasted of gasoline. The thing roared, exposing its cavernous mouth, which was lined with multiple rows of sharp pointy teeth like a shark. Peter felt the noise in his bones; it rattled through him and made the wolf thrash beneath his skin, tearing it into bloodied ribbons down his arms and across his chest. But he did not release the grip of his jaw.
The thing raised its arm, lifting Peter by the flesh clenched between the wolf's jaws. It lashed its arm like a whip, sending Peter crashing to the ground. Although every movement felt like the bone crushing slam of a sledgehammer, Peter was able to get quickly to all four feet, lunging again at the creature's ankles and snapping his jaws at the bony joints. It stumbled slightly, but remained generally unharmed.
In the back of his mind, Peter registered Roman getting to his feet. His movements were slow and unhurried at first, his hands clenching into white-knuckled fists at his sides. His eyes burned with fire as the candle flame reflected in his blackened and expanding pupils. When he lurched forward, it was with inhuman speed and his figure blurred with the movement. His jaw stretched open wide, too wide. His teeth turned from blunt to jagged and sharp as he clamped his long fingers around the back of the creature's head, one of his wrists twisted at a ghastly angle. He tore at its throat, sending a spray of arterial blood in a wide radius around them. Its roar now gurgled wetly as it clawed desperately at the Upir fastened around his throat.
The creature caught Peter's stomach in a violent kick. The wind rushed out his lungs, as he hurtled back, the creature's torn flesh still clenched between his teeth. His body crashed into one of the jagged stone altars, and stars danced in front of Peter's eyes as pain shot down his side. The wolf lay still beneath Peter's skin, and with the last of his strength he felt his flesh begin to stitch back together roughly, his bones snapping back into place. As the darkness closed around his consciousness, Peter watched a through a vignette the violent spray of blood, both red and black, as it poured around him like rain.
Peter's consciousness ebbed back to him slowly, bubbling blurrily around the edges. The ground around him felt sticky and wet and he was vaguely aware of a figure bending over him.
"No, no, no," Roman was muttering, his fingers pulling at shirt button and sleeves, worrying over the slowly seeping wounds in Peter's side, his shoulder and across his face.
Peter opened his bleary eyes a sliver. Roman's face was etched with panic and his mouth, chin and neck were smeared with dark black. He wiped at it absentmindedly with his elbow, sniffling slightly, his eyes rimmed with red.
Peter stirred slightly, shifting over a rock jabbing into his already sore spine. He blinked once; his eyes were crusted mostly shut and his skin tight with dried blood. Relief smoothed across Roman's expression. His hands went to Peter's face as he lowered his own, pressing their foreheads together as he sucked in a deep, shuddering breath. Peter lifted one heavy arm from the ground, placing a steadying hand on the back of Roman's neck. They sat that way for a few moments, just breathing, all quarrels momentarily forgotten.
"Peter?" Destiny dropped gingerly from the trap door and looked around the room; her eyes squinting against the darkness. "Oh my god." The carnage that materialized in the dark in front of Destiny must have been impressive.
Worry began to tug at the fringes of Peter's mind. He was alive, but why? What had happened to the beast? As if sensing his unease, Roman straightened. He took Peter's hand and helped him to a sitting position, leaning against a wall.
Something whimpered in one of the shadowed corners. The fear reignited in Peter's chest and he made to get to his feet, but Roman held up his hand. He stood gracefully and walked toward the noise. The weak light of the lone candle flickered and Peter caught a brief glimpse of the thing huddled and weeping in the corner. There was a spark of recognition in his mind.
"Is that…?" Peter stuttered. "Miranda?"
Her face was barely recognizable. It was swollen and dirty and she held one hand over her eye, blood seeping from between her fingers. But the uncovered eye was the same clear blue-grey he remembered. Roman crouched in front of her and she recoiled with a sob. She looked at him for a moment and her pained expression went slack and she uncurled herself, revealing a small wriggling pile of rough cloth beneath her, inside of which was a baby with eyes so bright and blue Peter could see them despite the darkness.
Roman's posture crumpled and he gathered the child in his arms, pressing his cheek to her soft hair. She looked so small next to him, his height only exaggerated by the way he had folded himself around her. Both their angelic faces were smeared with red and black and the carnage was spread in a circle around them, like a halo of blood and flesh.
Peter's heart fluttered in his chest and the relief overwhelmed him. The baby was alive and seemingly well. Miranda had miraculously survived, although she was considerably worse for the wear. The body of the creature they had encountered in the cellar was gone, for now, although Peter wasn't exactly sure what had happened between the moment his vision went dark and opening his eyes to see Roman kneeling over him, hands and face painted red and oil black.
Eventually, Destiny gathered herself. She removed her long jacket and draped it around Miranda's shaking shoulders. She helped Peter to his feet with a small, relieved smile. Peter stretched his limbs, feeling them pop and crack beautifully. He stretched too far, and doubled over at the sharp stinging of the wound in his side, which gushed forth, hot and brilliant crimson. He winced and clutched his side, but stayed standing.
"We need to get out of here. I don't know what happened, but something came crashing through the windows upstairs like a bat out of hell. Whatever it was, it might come back," Destiny said.
Peter nodded solemnly. "Help me with her," he said, gesturing to Miranda.
Roman got to his feet, the baby still in his arms. He looked at Miranda and Peter thought for a moment he might protest, might insist they leave her behind to suffer and die. But he did not. Instead, he waited for them at the entrance and helped Peter and Destiny lift her to the surface, followed by Nadia.
Peter took one last look at the cabin as they walked away, Miranda hanging limply between Destiny and Peter, held up only by the strength of their arms. They hadn't bothered to close the red door behind them when they left. The windows were shattered and the forest floor was littered with glass fragments and a spattering of black liquid that sparkled like jewels on the wet earth. The place looked much less menacing now that the rain had stopped and the sky had lightened to a dove gray. The roof seemed to sag slightly, the house broken beneath the weight of whatever evil had festered there.
Peter turned away. They located the path easily, making Peter think that maybe something had been hiding beneath the storm, expecting their arrival and anticipating a fight. Nothing was implausible anymore.
Shoulders and feet aching, they eventually reached the parking lot where Emily had left them early that morning. It was early evening now and the sky was beginning to darken to the color of charcoal, a heavy, insulating blanket of clouds obscuring the sky.
"There has got to be a ranger's station somewhere around here," Destiny said, wiping beads of sweat from her brow. She and Peter dropped Miranda in a barely conscious heap against a tree. She slid from their arms limply, eyes fluttering.
"No need," Roman said flatly, his eyes set on the road ahead of them. There was a hollowness to his voice that unsettled Peter. There was something about the straightness of his back, the hardness in his eyes that was distinctly unlike him. It was too composed, too cold, even for Roman.
As if he willed it so, a sleek black car turned around the corner, its approach nearly silent except for the sticky sound of tires on wet asphalt. The car came to a stop directly in front of them, the headlights too bright in the lingering daylight. The engine clicked off, the door swung open and one long, smooth leg and high-heeled foot extended from the driver's side. Olivia stepped from the car, straightening to her full towering height. She wore a structured white dress. Her neck and wrist were weighted with silver and gold chains and bangles while her long, elegant fingers dripped and flashed with diamonds. She was a deadly sort of beautiful, the type that that left a lingering dread in your stomach though you're unable to look away.
"Darling, you did it," she said, her voice smooth and sweet, her eyes soft against Roman's sneer.
"Why am I not surprised to see you here, Mother?" Roman shifted Nadia on his hip, holding her closely as she squirmed against his grip.
Olivia stepped forward, reaching for Nadia and Roman, but pulled her hand back and clutched it to her breast, a smile playing on her lips. "I knew you would bring her back to us. She belongs at home with her family."
"Don't be so cryptic, Mother," Roman spat. "What circle of fucking hell was that? Did you know what we were walking into?"
"This isn't the time for explanations, Roman," Olivia cooed. "Your friends are bleeding out. Perhaps we can postpone this conversation?"
Roman glanced back at Peter, who was clutching at his side, trying to stifle the blood that was still pumping steadily from the gash there. He was clinging to the last threads of his consciousness, his body broken from the half-change and the subsequent brutalities. Never one to admit his weakness, Peter attempted to straighten himself, but the stinging in his side made him double over again.
"Fine. Take Destiny to her car and Miranda and Peter to the hospital. Then, we talk," Roman conceded.
"No hospital," Peter hissed from between gritted teeth. "I just need to rest for a little bit."
Roman nodded. Destiny helped Miranda limp to the backseat of the jet black sedan. Peter climbed in next to them, leaning against Destiny for strength.
Olivia pulled a dainty handkerchief from her purse and dangled it limp-wristed in front of Peter from her place in the driver's seat. "Try not to bleed on the leather, please."
Peter snatched it from her long, manicured fingers and pressed it to his wound, sucking a breath in sharply through his teeth as the hot pain shot through him. The white linen square was soaked with red in seconds.
Roman sat in the passenger seat with Nadia in his lap, a watchful eye on Olivia's profile as she turned the car around. With one hand in Destiny's reassuring grip, Peter relinquished consciousness. The blackness swallowed him up like quicksand.
Peter woke with a start. His eyes snapped open and he scrambled to a seated position immediately. He scanned the room quickly. He was in one of the spacious guest rooms in Roman's house. He could tell by the austere modernist furniture and the complete lack of warmth or color in the décor. One wall of the room was made up entirely of windows, revealing a clear night sky, which was painted with the deep, mysterious purple of the last hours before dawn. Stars flickered between wisps of pale clouds. The moon hung low on the horizon, scattering the weak ivory light across the trees behind the house. It would be full soon enough.
Peter threw back the thin blankets and assessed the damage. He was dressed only in his boxers; his body was peppered with yellowing bruises and thin, nearly-healed scratches. He brought his hands to his face, which was tender but not swollen. He expected his right eye would be darkened with a lingering bruise and his jaw clicked and ached when he moved it. There was a square of white gauze taped to his side where the jagged rocks of the underground altar had sliced him. It was stained with dried, brown blood. Peter pulled back the bandage to see a jagged but shiny, pink scar and chucked the bandage into the trashcan at the corner of the room.
He got to his feet stretching, glancing around him for his clothes, but found none. He padded out into the dark hallway. Beams of dim yellow light from a lit room down the hallway cast long shadows on the walls. He approached the source of the light, which came from a Roman's room through the door left slightly ajar. The door swung open easily under Peter's hand.
Roman was sitting on the edge of his bed, bent forward with his elbows resting on his knees and his head hanging between slumped shoulders. He wore a dark, ribbed undershirt and his feet were bare beneath the hems of his soft, black slacks. He twirled a tumbler of amber liquid between his fingers. The dim flickering of the gas fireplace cast dark shadows across his face. He didn't acknowledge Peter's presence hovering in the doorway, but Peter was sure he knew he was there. A silent question hung in the air but Roman remained silent some time before speaking.
"Destiny made it home safe," he said, his voice low and soft. "She wanted to take you home with her, but we decided it was best not to move you."
"And Miranda?"
He snorted quietly. "Godfrey Institute, under the ever-watchful care of Dr. Johann Pryce," he said, his words edged with venom. "I'm sure he'll fashion her with some fancy new pirate-themed eyewear."
"Nadia?"
Roman sighed now, an authentic smile lingering at the corners of his mouth. "Asleep down the hall. Safe."
"What about Olivia? What did she say? What happened?"
Roman drank deeply from his glass, draining half the liquid in one gulp. His lips curled slightly at the liquor's burn. "She still owes me an explanation. But for now, I just wanted to get the baby home. Wanted you to rest. I'm surprised to see you standing. You left half your blood in the backseat of Olivia's Mercedes." He smirked at this, probably enjoying the thought of Olivia scrubbing the blood from the leather, or explaining the stains to the cleaners.
"What happened to you…" Roman faltered. "You were in fucking pieces. I thought you'd left me for good this time."
"I thought I told you, I don't break that easily," Peter muttered, leaning against the doorframe.
Something flickered across Roman's expression. Even though he didn't mention it, Peter knew what he was thinking. The weight of the words he had spoken before, the night he spent on Roman's porch, the night they first crossed that physical barrier, were not lost on him.
Roman stood without looking at Peter and crossed the room to the fireplace. Resting his forearms against the mantel he stared into the flames, his drink still between motionless fingers.
"You don't have to stay," he said. "I get it if it's too much, all this shit."
Peter chuckled softly. "You telling me to run, Godfrey?"
"I'm giving you an out," Roman said, straightening and turning to Peter, his face a solemn mask. "Go now and save yourself the fucking bloodshed, because something tells me this isn't over."
"There's always something lurking in the dark with you people, huh?" Peter sighed.
He tried to make light of Roman's warning, but he felt the truth in the words. Ever since the day he arrived in Hemlock Grove, something was out to get him. Be it the law, the Jesus freaks, the things that went bump in the night, they could all be traced directly back to the Godfreys. So long as he remained with Roman, he would be targeted. Peter was the sword at Roman Godfrey's side, the knight, the first line of defense and Peter had risked everything time and time again to keep him standing. But for what? For friendship? For loyalty? For some misplaced sense of guilt and duty? What did he have to gain by staying?
As if sensing his train of thought, Roman stiffened. "I could make you stay, you know," he said darkly. "But I won't. I'll let you leave, this time."
"A clean break? No mindfucking? You drive a hard bargain," Peter scoffed.
Had he been a smarter man, he might have turned and left at that moment. He might have taken Destiny and loaded all their possessions in the car and drove without stopping until his vision went blurry. He might have left Hemlock Grove and all its fucked up, gates of hell bullshit behind and started fresh somewhere else. He might have found himself a wife with a wild heart and honey-colored hair and spent the rest of his life in the driver's seat of a car, his troubles falling away beneath the ever-turning tires. But he wouldn't. He couldn't just walk away from this.
Roman drained the last of the liquor from his glass, tossing it with no small amount of force into the fire, shattering the crystal against the marble with a crash that sounded like bells, breaking the heavy silence.
"Make your choice."
"I'm still standing here, aren't I?" Peter said softly, but with defiance.
Roman pushed away from the fireplace and went to stand in front of Peter. He reached over Peter's shoulder, holding the door and forcing Peter through the threshold and into the room as Roman pushed the door shut, the lock clicking into place.
"I hope you know what you're doing," Roman said, his voice low in Peter's ear as he leaned over him, his hand still pressed against the door behind Peter.
Peter inhaled, his head swimming the way it always did when they got too close. Roman's breath against his ear was cool and earthy with the heady, cloying scent of top-shelf scotch. The blood was starting to thrum through Peter's veins and he hoped Roman couldn't hear the way his heart was thundering in his chest, but of course, he could.
"I've got a pretty good idea," Peter said, his voice barely a rumble.
Roman dropped to his knees, placing his hands on Peter's hips, long fingers curling around to the small of his back. His lips ghosted across Peter's stomach, his breath leaving trails of goosebumps on his skin. He hesitated over the fresh scar at Peter's side before dragging his tongue, hot and wet across the raised, pink skin. A strangled little moan escaped from Peter's lips before he could stifle it and Roman's fingers tightened around his hips. Peter threaded fingers through Roman's hair; it was cool, damp and recently washed, smelling of bergamot and sandalwood. Roman lifted his eyes to meet Peter's, his pupils blown wide and black with desire, his lips parted and wet from his tongue.
Peter could hardly stand the sight of Roman with that expression that was both lustful and devout, on his knees in front of Peter, kneeling before him like an altar. Some distant memory chewed away at the back of his mind, reminding him that he had thought this was a bad idea a few hours ago. He had promised himself he wouldn't cross this line again. But he was already too far gone. He supposed, deep down, he always knew they'd end up here.
Peter untangled his fingers from Roman's hair, and ran his thumb along Roman's jawline, his nail scratching the skin lightly and leaving behind pale red line. He pressed his thumb against the curve of Roman's lower lip, admiring. Roman slid the tip of his tongue across Peter's finger, taking it into his mouth and sucking provocatively. Roman's expression turned quickly from pious to wicked as he swirled his tongue around Peter's finger and his breath caught in his chest.
He grabbed Roman firmly by the shoulders, pulling him from his knees and against his mouth, lips hungry and tongue probing. Peter ran his fingers down Roman's chest and pushed his hands under his shirt, feeling the smooth, firm skin that ran along his sternum. Roman took the hint and yanked the shirt over his head and pressed himself against Peter, rolling his hips and running his fingers along the curve of Peter's neck.
The weak but ever-present spark that always flickered in Peter's stomach around Roman burst into flame, sending the fire burning through his core. The wolf stirred in Peter for the first time since he woke. Peter growled. He placed a hand against Roman's chest and pushed hard, sending Roman stumbling backwards until the edge of the bed caught him behind the knees. He flopped backwards onto the dark bedspread, a surprised grin spreading across his face.
The following section has been removed because it contains explicit content. To read the complete (dirty!) version, consenting adults will have to go to my Livejournal. Username: gefhrlich
Carry on.
Roman stood collected his pants from the floor. He didn't put them on. Instead he pulled a pack of cigarettes and a lighter from the pocket and crossed the room to the sliding door that led to the porch and stepped outside. Although it wasn't winter yet, it couldn't be more than fifty degrees outside. Roman was casually leaning against the railing outside. His naked body glowed bluish in the moonlight. He pulled two cigarettes from the pack and put one in his mouth and lit it. The smoke slipped from between his lips in a cloud before he sucked it back into his mouth. He waved the other cigarette at Peter through the glass.
Peter fumbled for something to cover himself up and settled on Roman's discarded pants on the floor and a cashmere sweater that hung off the back of a chair. The pants were about a mile too long and although the sweater felt like it was made of kittens, it was definitely not his style. But he wanted that cigarette and the clothes smelled too good.
He padded out onto the patio and accepted the cigarette, which Roman lit for him behind a cupped hand. Peter inhaled the smoke and held it until his lungs burned.
"Aren't you cold? It's fucking freezing out here," Peter said, the smoke tumbling from his mouth with the words
"Nope."
Peter shuffled his feet, which were almost completely covered by the extra foot of fabric from the pants. He pushed his hair back from his eyes and flicked at the cigarette between his fingers. He couldn't bring himself to meet Roman's eyes. The post-sex shame was starting to settle in his chest. He was itching to get away but forced himself to stay put, at least for the moment.
"You're not going to get all weird on me now, are you?" Roman asked, crossing his arms across his naked chest.
"What?" Peter asked, for no particular reason other than to avoid the question.
"I said, you're not going to get all fucking weird on me, are you? Jesus Christ, Peter. Don't act like such a virgin. That was clearly not your first time."
"Fuck you," Peter grumbled, but realized his error too late. Roman pressed himself against him and Peter could feel the chill of his skin through his clothes.
"Please?" Roman pouted.
Peter rolled his eyes but smiled in spite of himself. The whole thing was so fucked up, really. Knowingly crawling into bed with something as unpredictable as an Upir wasn't just poor common sense, it was completely masochistic. But, god it felt good.
Roman tossed his cigarette over the balcony and took Peter's from between his lips and tossed it as well. Peter watched it fall mournfully until Roman took Peter by the hand and pulled him with little resistance back into the house where the fire was warm but the bed was warmer.