REVELATIONS

by Soledad

A "Pathways in the Dark" story

Part 10 of "The Toreador Chronicles". Follows "Kindred Spirits".

For disclaimer and background information see the Introduction.

Rating: Adults only, please. This is a particularly violent story, so be warned. The unedited version of this chapter can be read at the hiddenrealms LJ community.

Author's notes: Yitzhak, the Toreador antitribu is played by Randy Vasques, known from JAG and Love Boat. Trasher is played by Eric Bruskotter, known from Tour of Duty. Both are canon characters in Vampire – the Masquerade, but their cameo appearance has probably nothing to do with how they are shown in canon.

Summary: Brian is attacked by a Sabbat Toreador outside the Black Hole. Alain saves him in the last moment, but accidentally reveals his true nature during the fight. Brian is understandable freaked out and asks for time to consider his choices.

Alain DeLaigle was perching on the roof of a building opposite the gay disco The Black Hole, in the form of a peregrine hawk. The disco was situated in Anarch territory, and even though the local Anarch groups had worked out a truce with the Camarilla lately, in an open city like Los Angeles that meant at least the possibility of Sabbat infiltration. The Anarch gang La Hermandad – actually, more like a well-organized task force in these days, under the strong leadership of the charismatic Carlyle ( a Childe of Salvador Garcia and surprisingly cultivated for a Brujah) – kept the area under control in general, but couldn't watch every single bar, pub or disco. So Alain had taken upon himself the task of watching over Brian – preferably undetected. Truce or not, there were some places where members of the Camarilla weren't welcome. The Black Hole was one of those places.

It was owned by Marguerite Foccart, a three hundred year old Brujah Anarch, blood bound to Jeremy McNeil, one of the leaders of the Anarch revolt. And though the majority of their forces had been wiped out during the power struggle when the former Prince, Cyrus, had taken LA, the McNeil clan was still a considerable opponent. Ironically enough, it was actually safer for mortals to enter The Black Hole than for Camarilla vampires. The Anarch didn't kill their prey by feeding, either. Not in these days anymore.

Of course, Alain would have preferred to keep Brian from visiting the place – for several very good reasons. None of which he could name to the mortal, though. Not without breaking the Masquerade, which he didn't want to do. Even though in LA – where people were more aware of vampires and demons living among them than in most other cities – the rules were more on the expanding site than in San Francisco, for example. Alain had been in the Camarilla all his unlife, and the rules had become a second nature to him. They had been made for a reason, after all.

Anyway, in situations like this, he almost envied the Blount sisters, who could simply forbid Emmett to visit places too risky for a newly Embraced fledgling… and severely punish him, should he disobey. Alain didn't have the same rights where Brian was considered. Not yet, anyway, although working towards it. All he could do was to watch over the young man.

He'd beeen sitting on the roof for half an hour or so, when the bouncer of The Black Hole, a large Brujah redneck who went by the well-earned name of Trasher, finally managed to localize him. Brujah usually had almost as sharp intincts as the Gangrel (which was one of the reasons why the two clans hated each other so much, because who wanted concurrence?), but the Trasher obviously wasn't the sharpest tool in the toolkit. Nobody willing to wield a phosphorous gun on a street where he could be seen by passing mortals was.

"Come down and show yourself!" he demanded.

Alain floated down in bird form and landed on his feet in his human disguise.

"I have no quarrel with you, Brujah," he said. "I'm just here to watch over a human acquaintance."

The small, beady eyes of the Brujah watched him curiously.

"A special someone, huh?" the Trasher giggled. "Courting him for Clan Toreador, aren't we?"

"That's right," Alain replied. "I wouldn't risk to go in, unless I have to – some of your Anarch buddies are a little trigger-happy sometimes – but I wanted to be nearby… just in case."

The Trasher pocketed his gun and thought for a moment, which seemed to cost him considerable effort.

"Gimme your hand," he finally said, putting the entry mark on the back of Alain's hand. "Salvador says we should be nice with you Camarilla types now. Go in and take care of your man."

The turn of events surprised Alain a little, but he wasn't going to refuse the uncommonly generous offer. The mark on his hand showed that he had been allowed to enter the club. As long as he kept to himself and didn't cause any trouble, the Anarch would leave him alone. It was a known fact that the Trasher didn't react positively when someone interfered with his authority, limited as it might have been.

Entering the huge, dimly lit dance floor, Alain routinedly tuned out the trobbing music (the currently popular music trends weren't exactly his cup of tea – he found them simply noise, too loud and lacking any musical qualities, but that was personal taste, he guessed) and looked around in the mass of half-naked, sweaty and wildly gyrating male bodies.

Beef soup, the analogy came to his mind unexpectedly. He avoided discoes whenever he could – the anonymous mass-wriggling reminded him of secret, orgiastic cults of the Middle Ages, and that was not a pleasant memory. Apparently, some tendencies were due to return cyclically – at least during the Middle Ages such events used to have some sort of twisted spiritual value for the participants, beyond the massive orgy in which they usually ended. Well, these clubs had the darkrooms for that part.

He shook his head to free it from the disconnected thoughts. When someone had lived half a millennium already, sometimes memories of the past were overwhelming enough to interfere with the demands of the present. It was inconvenient but inevitable, especially by someone with Alain's impulsive nature.

He looked around again. The disco was full on this evening. On small, raised platforms the practically naked go-go boys were performing their fairly acrobatic dance numbers – the artist in Alain admired their sleek, beautiful bodies and their skills – and a few dozen people were actually watching them from the bar or from the galleries. But the majority of the guests was on the dance floor, turning the dance into one giant event of multiple foreplays. Alain wrinkled his nose. Hot as the sight might have been for most people, personally, he was never into mass events. It was bad style.

Brian didn't share his opinion. The young man was enthusiastic about The Black Hole, right after his first visit there – it reminded him of his favourite place back home, a dance club named Babylon. Brian loved the noise known as hard rock and heavy metal, and he loved dancing and pulling people into the ban of his personal charme. Conquest was very important for him… it nurtured his self-image of being irresistible. And it satisfied his need for success in a wholly different level from work-related stuff. So, where was he in this mass of sweaty, anonymous flesh?

The crowd made it impossible for Alain to pick out Brian's personal scent, and the infrequent tastes of the young man's blood he had taken secretly weren't enough to form a working bond between them, not even a one-sided one. But a nagging feeling of familiarity directed him to the shadowy backroom of the club, and he followed his only lead, trusting his inscincts.

It took him a minute to discover Brian and his trick among the dozens of couples, deep in various sexual practices along the wall. With his pants around his ankles, Brian was bent over the back of a leather sofa, occupied by another couple, with a tall, muscular man draped over his back and pounding into him so hard it was painful to watch. The slack mouth and clouded eyes revealed that Brian was high on something again, or drunk, or both, like several other times lately, ever since Michael had left. Alain had been furious about that, furious that Brian hadn't come to him when in need, but he couldn't force the stupid mortal every single time. Brian was supposed to learn what was good and useful for him and what wasn't.

Getting drunk or high or both in an Anarch club definitely was not. And as Alain took a closer look at Brian's trick-of-the-night, his slow, inhuman heartbeat nearly stopped for good. This was not someone he'd have been counted on seeing here. Although it was only logical that from a room with a thousand horny and willing men, Brian would pick the most dangerous one possible. Yitzhak was not someone a man could resist. Alain himself had not been able to. It had very nearly caused his Final Death.

Which meant that the Sabbat infiltration was worse than any of them had thought. He needed to alarm Victor – and probably Angelus, too – as soon as possible. As soon as he had saved Brian from the clutches of his personal nemesis.

Damn it, where had they gone? He'd been distracted for a moment only, but that had been enough for Yitzhak to vanish and take Brian with him. It made sense – if he could sense Yitzhak's presence through the masses, Yitzhak probably would feel his, too. They used to be very close once. Before he realized that his lover was a Sabbat monster.

He had to hurry up now. Brian was in grave danger, alone with a hungry vampire who thought of humans simply as food. They must have left through some back door, as there were no windows in sight. They couldn't have gone too far yet.

Determined to finally get this particular loose end of his unlife tied up, Alain was moving already, in search of that back door.

Originally, Brian had come to The Black Hole for pain management. He intended to drawn his personal problems in booze and anonymous sex – just as it had been his wont. He'd broken up with the irregular sessions at Lady Heather's, after having realized that they went nowhere, and was now healing himself with the methods he'd always used.

Only that they didn't seem to help as much as they used to. Part of the problem was that he missed Michael's presence in his daily life – he'd never fully admitted before how dependent he had been on his best friend's steady reassurance. And, no matter what he'd always said, he actually missed the entire circle of their friends, too. Granted, they were more Michael's friends than his, but he'd had a place among them nevertheless. It gave him a feeling of home.

There was nothing compared with that in LA, despite his on and off – lately rather off, as being submissive wasn't easy on him – affair with Alain, and the fact that he lived in Alain's house. In spite of their occasional intimacy, there always remained an invisible wall between him and Alain – between him and all the people he socialized and/or worked with in LA. The one closest to him, Phillipe Navital, had been in Europe for months by now, and Emmett… Emmett had changed dramatically.

Brian still hadn't managed to get any details out of Emmett since that near-fatal drug accident of his. Emmett, owner of the loosest mouth in The Pitts, was remarkably tight-lipped about that particular event. And while on the surface he still seemed to be the flamboyant queen he always had been, there was now a steely quality about him that had not been there before, at least not visibly. It suited him, in a strange manner, but it also alienated him from Brian to a certain extent.

Having lost his other distractions, Brian thus turned to darker avenues to numb his feelings. He had heard about The Black Hole from one of the male models they had hired for a sportsware ad campaign of Brown Athletics – one of the few old clients for whom Brian was willing to work himself from LA, instead of dropping them onto Cynthia's lap. The model had been enthusiastic about the place – it sounded like a darker, more dangerous version of Babylon… exactly what Brian needed. So he returned after his first visit, in the hope that here he might forget everything for a while.

Entering the room, he almost had a feeling of returning home. The music was fast and furious, the laser show above the artificial smoke almost hypnotic, and the offer of hot, ready and willing men overwhelming. This was the most perfect place he'd seen so far in LA.

"New here?" a low, slightly rough voice asked, easily audible through the music, although not particularly loud.

Brian turned around and eyed the gorgeous man standing behind him with appreciation. The guy was tall and muscular, but not in the bodybuilder sense of the word, more like and athlete. He had a ruggedly handsome face, dark olive skin, wavy ink-black hair that barely reached his collar and impenetrable black eyes. Not dark brown ones like Michael's, but so pitch black that he couldn't distinguish the pupils from the irises. Brian hadn't seen eyes like that before. The guy must have been Spanish. Or half-Indian. Or something like that. In any case, he was hotter than a volcano and had Alpha male written all over him.

Brian had no problem with that. An anonymous fuck was very different from Alain's dominance over him, which he didn't always tolerate well, even though he'd grown to crave it sometimes.

"My second time," he answered the question, basking in the raw hunger directed towards him by those impenetrable eyes. "I'm Brian, by the way."

"Yitzhak," the other man smiled, and Brian felt his knees weaken already. He'd never met a man before who'd have been dripping of sexual magnetism the way this Yitzhak character did, and considering his previous experience, that was something of a rarity. "Shall we have a drink?"

"Why not?" Brian shrugged. He'd been dedicated to get shit-faced and high and laid tonight – not necessary in this order. Or in any specific order.

Yitzhak – what kind of name was that anyway? – forced a path for them through the gyrating mass of half-naked, sweat-soaked bodies to the bar in the background.

"Give us two Bloody Marys, Nigel," he said to the lanky, bald-headed young bartender who looked like an African ebony statue with his smooth, naked torso and the fluorescent pearl string around his long neck.

The Toreador Anarch flashed his perfect white teeth in a broad grin – he recognized Clan when he sensed it – and mixed the drinks expertly, with record speed. One with tomato juice for the mortal, one with 0-negative for his fellow clansman. The industrial strength Cuban rum neutralized the scent of blood, at least for mortal noses.

"You seem to be a regular here," Brian said, nursing his drink carefully. It was so strong it almost curled up his toenails, but it tasted surprisingly good. Although a whiskey person himself, he could get used to this.

"Semi-regular," Yitzhak corrected, devouring the mortal with his black eyes. "I never stay on the same place too long. I get easily bored."

"Used to get the same problem with tricks," Brian grinned mirthlessly. "They always want repeats. I do not. Makes them whine and complain and get on my nerves."

"It's nice to meet a man of my own mind," Yitzhak commented, finishing his drink with one long gulp. "Most guys are disgustingly sentimental. If they want bells and flowers, why do they come to a place like this?"

"My thoughts exactly," Brian agreed, fishing a pack of cigarettes out of his pocket. "Do you smoke?"

Yitzhak gave the cigarettes a dismissive look. "Not that stuff. Try mine," he offered Brian a joint. Brian frowned before accepting it.

"What the fuck is this? Pot?"

"The Middle-East variation," Yitzhak lied smoothly.

In truth, it was marijuana, mixed with certain drugs that served to break the will of mortals, so that they would come to Sabbat vampires like sheep to the slaughterer. It worked even by most resistors. And though this particular human seemed willing enough to fuck without the persuasion of any mind-altering substances, Yitzhak wanted something else from the beautiful and arrogant man. Wanted his blood as well – with or without killing him in the feeding process, he still hadn't decided.

On the one hand, draining this exquisite specimen slowly and watching the life seeping out from his broken eyes would give a heady feeling of absolute power. On the other hand, keeping him alive and enjoying his blood – and his ass – again would be most pleasurable, too. Well, there was time enough to decide later.

Brian accepted the joint and inhaled the spicy smoke deeply. He had a high tolerance level against drugs, due to his long years of experience, so the effect came slowly. They danced for a while, rubbing against each other, and Yitzhak seemed to have at least three pairs of hands – or more. Brian giggled; he had nothing against groping, and Yitzhak managed to find all his hot spots with an almost eerie instinct. Plus, just like Phillipe and Alain, he, too, had a thing for necks, which Brian had always found most erotic.

"Let's go to the backroom," he finally murmured, nibbling on Brian's earlobe with sharp little bites, just this side from drawing blood. "Enough foreplay already. I want you – now!"

Brian found the idea excellent – after all, this was what he'd come to The Black Hole in the first place – and followed Yitzhak to the backroom. The joint had taken full effect by then; he felt light-headed and extremely horny, in a primal, almost animalistic way. His brain was in a red haze, the blood was pounding in his ears, way louder than the music on the dance floor. He felt himself relax, sliding into a mellow, near-helpless mode, and made no attempt to resist when Yitzhak bent him over the next available surface and unbuckled his belt to drop his pants. In fact, he felt fantastic, high as a kite, and eager to go on with what they had begun.

Yitzhak felt deep satisfaction over the helpless obedience of his hand-picked victim. He recognized a fellow top and knew that among his own kind, Brian was definitely an Alpha dog. Making such one – and a strong resistor at that – to his sex toy was one of the biggest turn-ons of his unlife.

"I'd love to take you dry," he murmured, oiling himself expertly and pushing into the pliant body of the young man without preamble; Brian groaned in pain and tried to relax, "but you mortals are so damn fragile. Doesn't… matter. Once I've… made you one of us… you'll be able to… take it…"

Brian groaned again, this time with pleasure, under the rough assault. He liked a quick, rough fuck just like the next guy, but the pounding Yitzhak was giving him went beyond any previous experience. His orgasm splashed throguh his entire body like a whiplash; he was writing under the other man like a dog in the heat.

To his mild shock, however, Yitzhak suddenly pulled out of him, and that not particularly carefully, and slapped him on the bare ass, hard. He was tense, his black eyes wary and narrowing to dark slits.

"Get dressed," he ordered harshly, "we're gonna move this to a better location. The best is yet to come, don't worry."

Brian shrugged, not really understanding what was happening (his higher brain functions having slowed down considerably due to the drugs) but obeyed nevertheless. It was easier than trying to think. Yitzhak grabbed his arm with a bruising grip and dragged him out of the room through a back door to the dark alley behind the bar.

"I'm sorry, boy," he said in a low, almost hypnotic voice. "I wish I could keep you, at least for a while. But, you see, an old… friend whom I've been trying to avoid for quite some time has found me, after all. I can't allow you to talk to him about me," he reached out, stroking Brian's face almost gently. "Try not to fight me. It will be less painful that way."

He leaned in, ready to let his fangs drop and sink them in the young man's jugular. But he didn't know the famous Brian Kinney survival instincts that were able to kick in even through the foggiest mindset after heavy drug abuse, in the last moment. Brian waited for this moment, and when it came, he rammed his knee into the vampire's groin with all his might. Yitzhak howled in pain, his fangs dropping, razor-sharp talons extending, his eyes showing an unholy silver gleam.

"That,' he growled, "was a mistake, Kine. I wanted to kill you quickly and painlessly. Now I'll tear you to jerking body parts alive, limb by limb."

The drug-induced haze was evaporating quickly, and Brian tried to back up on unsteady legs, knowing with a chilling certainty that there was no escape from this… this monster. Whatever the freak might be, he would kill him.

"Yitzhak," a familiar voice, cold and furious, called from behind the monster's back, "aren't you even greeting your old lover?"

Brian looked up in disbelief and saw Alain coming out of the back room, calm and collected on the outside, but his eyes were glowing in the same silver gleam. Yitzhak whirled around with an inhuman snarl.

"What the fuck do you want, Alain? I'm busy!"

"I can see that," Alain replied coldly. "Unfortunately for you, you were about to walk into my territory. Trying to take what's mine. I can't allow that."

"Yeah? And what are you gonna do about it?" Yitzhak taunted. "You've never been able to best me… in any way you tried."

Alain stretched out his arm, and Brian watched in horror as the slender, long-fingered hands of the artist transformed into something akin to the clawed foot of a bird-of-prey, with slightly bent, razor-sharp talons.

"We'll see," he said in a low, angry voice. "Times change. Even we change. I've nearly been executed because of you, lover," he spat in disgust. "Nobody would believe that I'd lived with a Sabbat monster for years and never recognized him for the beast that he was. That at my age and with my vast experience in the Dark, I could be blinded by love – or lust – that much. I had to leave Europe and everything I loved and valued because of you, you goddamn freak! I had to flee across the ocean and to live in an Anarch city… all because of you. I've hunted you all across the States – and now that I've found you, I won't let you escape again."

"You really think so?" Yitzhak laughed. "You really think you would stand a chance in a fight one to one against me?"

"I can try," Alain replied, and he leaped into attack at the same moment.

But Yitzhak was ready for him, and the fight was beyond everything Brian had ever seen, even in a Brett Keller action movie. Alain and Yitzhak were slashing at each other with fangs and talons, exchanging bone-breaking blows, somersaulting high in the air to avoid each other's attacks, even truning into wolves and back again, snapping at each other's throats like rabid dogs.

What the hell was happening there?

Brian looked around for something he could use as a weapon frantically. He knew already that Alain was much stronger than him, and Alain seemed to be losing against Yitzhak. He would think about who – or what – Alain really was later. Right now, he had to help Alain That way, he could at least hope to survive the night.

To his relief, he spotted something that looked like an iron bar near to a wrecked car. That should do it, he decided. No matter how strong Yitzhak was, an iron bar was an iron bar. Iron was harder than bone.

The two were in wolf form again. Alain had taken on the shape of a silver wolf, Yitzhak that of a pitch black one. Brian grabbed the iron bar with both hands, praying to a God he no longer believed in that he wouldn't hit the false monster, as it was unlikely that he'd have a second chance to do this. He waited until the snarling wolves got into arm's length to him, and then he slammed the iron bar down on the skull of the black wolf as hard as he could. The wolf flew backwards from te power of the impact, rolled on the street several times, and then remained lying there, motionless.

"Is he dead?" Brian asked Alain, who switched back to human form, looking horribly. His clothes were shredded, and deep, parallel gashes disfigured his smooth chest, bleeding heavily.

"Nah," Alain winced in pain. "It takes a lot to kill one of us. He won't be able to leave on his own, though. I'll have to send someone to pick him up later."

"You could use being picked up, too," Brian fought his nausea at the sight of the gory wounds. "You should go to the hospital, man."

"No," Alain hissed through gritted teeth. "I won't make it to the only clinic where I could go safely. You… you must help me."

"How?" Brian asked, dangerously close to panicking.

Alain looked at him intently. "Do you trust me?"

Brian hesitated for a moment. "What I've just seen doesn't make it easy, you know," he finally said. "But I'm trying."

"Then give me your arm," Alain said.

Brian hesitated again. "What for?"

"I need blood to heal," Alain replied simply. "The bottled stuff they serve in the bar won't help; my wounds are too severe. I need to take it fresh, from the source. I won't take more than what's necessary... but that's the only way for me to make it right now."

Slowly, uncertainly, Brian extended his arm, not really sure what to expect. Alain grabbed it with both hands and licked his wrist for a few times, to lure the big vein to the surface. Then his fangs dropped, and the sharp pain as they sank into his flesh shot directly to Brian's groin. Alain began to suck his blood… the sensation was unbelievable, like the best orgasms of his life rolled together. High on endorphins and still not capable of thinking straight due to the drugs he'd consumed earlier, he grabbed Alain's head, pressing it harder against his arm.

When Alain finally let go of him and licked the twin puncture wounds clean to seal them, Brian was dizzy from the blood loss, but also completely euphoric. He saw in amazement that Alain's deep wounds have stopped bleeding and were now closing slowly.

"How… how did you do that?" he asked, not sure what he'd seen was the truth or just some weird image, caused by the unknown drugs.

"Natural healing abilities," Alain shrugged. "Please... I'll explain you everything, but let's go home first. I'm still weakened and won't be able to survive another fight, should any of Yitzhak's… associates come to look for him. Where's your car?"

"Outside the bar," Brian replied. "Haven't you come by car?"

"No, I came in bird form," Alain fought an attack of dizziness. "How do you feel? Can you drive us home?"

"Sure," Brian guided him to the car, hoping that the police would patrol other parts of the city tonight. A slightly drunk and more than a little drugged driver with a passanger in a shredded, blood-soaked shirt would have drawn some unpleasant attention, that much was certain.

TBC