Beauty is Scarred Deep
By
SupeSympathizer
Surprise
4 months ago
Near Luftin, Texas, Jannalyn blearily woke in a strange room, in a strange home- a stone and log two-story. The imposing naked figure of Adam White hovered for a while, silent and close enough for Jannalyn to notice he had blonde, almost white eyelashes. He didn't study or stare at her scars as most do, instead he searched her face. For what, Jannalyn hadn't a clue, but eventually he was satisfied enough to leave the room. Jan crushed her eyes closed in relief. Several minutes later, Julien and the women barged in with worried expressions carrying the sour scent of fear, the smell of it nearly made her gag. The blonde Packmaster merely watched from the doorway, eyes darting from person to person, as Megan, equipped with the black tote, began the task of checking vitals.
"A clean bill of health," Megan murmured several minutes later, while dumping her stethoscope into the black tote. Her head turned to the man waiting and listening at the doorway. "You sure she was struck?"
There was a flicker of anger across his face, but Jannalyn caught it before it vanished. "Positive."
"No signs of heart damage. No signs of brain damage. No Lichtenberg figures." The absence of the electrical scars on Jannalyn's skin was concerning, but Megan decided she was being rude by talking more to the witness than the patient. "Other than low blood sugar for skipping too many meals, you're fine. You swear you were struck?"
"Yes," Jannalyn rasped out impatiently. "This isn't...why are you here?" They were in another's territory, didn't they see the danger they were in? She didn't want them harmed, but was too tired and weak to defend them, much less herself! Why weren't they running? Nausea punched her hard, right in the gut.
Julien, who was against a far wall, stepped closer to the bed, but Melinda's hand shot out to stop her mate before he ventured any closer. "Right there is good," Melinda spoke softly, but firmly. Her eyes went down to what she spied on the bed. Julien's eyes followed hers. Jannalyn was gripping the sheets, twisting gray material in anxiety, so he spoke from five feet away.
"Adam called for help. We crossed. He was kind enough to let us stay after we claimed you as ours."
He lied. Jannalyn thought she was going to throw up, right there, all over herself. She needed to move. And breathe. She was not pack. A lie to gain access into another's territory was encroachment, a war worthy offense and she did not want to see these people mauled on her behalf. Had they forgotten? That Cody already encroached? That the infraction had yet to be addressed? "Go home." Exclamations and rebukes seem to roar from around the room. "All of you," she tried, but failed to match their volume, "right now."
"Not without you." Julien growled out, stepping around his mate. His spine straightened a fraction as he approached. The show of dominance, of his position, wasn't lost on Jannalyn. "We're going home. All of us."
Jannalyn bared teeth at the male, offended at the audacity of the command. "I'm going to California, as soon as I'm able. John needs me."
Jannalyn purposely steered to this topic, hoping to hear some news about the tiger. She knew the creature immobilized John and that the Egyptian would have whisked the tiger away to safety, but she worried still. The sheer terror she felt when the creature clamped it's grey hand around an ankle and started dragging him away thru dense brush...Racing after it only to find John's face frozen in fear...Jan wasn't thinking when she charged the bog demon. She just knew it needed to die.
"We need you." Julien noted her hard expression, that she also recognized the dire situation they were in. He wouldn't allow her to sacrifice her own safety for theirs, so he tried another route. "Alcide, he-"
"Can't speak for himself?" she cut in, dreading the suspicious way Julien and the women looked at one another.
"He's not here."
"Good. Frankly, he doesn't need to be. I'm fine. None of you ever saw me. Now, go home." None of them moved. Why wouldn't they listen? "Now."
Adam, who had been monitoring the group, decided to step in. From what he has gathered so far, he knew she wasn't theirs and knew she didn't want to go back, but they weren't abiding by her wishes when she was clearly trying to give them a way out of the trouble they were in. "You heard the lady. It's time to go home. Without her. You've outstayed your welcome."
Julien turned and before anyone could stop it, the two males clashed with force, aiming for each other's throats, but Adam, who was accustomed to collisions with raging bulls on his farm, quickly had the older man in a head lock. Adam squeezed a little tighter, constricting the blood flow and air, just enough to make the struggling male more compliant. The fight was over before it really started.
"Do you want war?" It was a gentle whisper that belied what a simple twist would do to the neck in his arms. "Because from where I'm standing, your pack has encroached twice." Adam knew it was a kid the first time, could smell the low levels of testosterone in the scent, likely a mistake, so he ignored it, but now he has ordered the outsiders to leave his land, yet here they were, taking up space they had no right to occupy. "She's staying, for as long as she likes. And you...attacking me? In my own home? We are 120 strong and right now, there are 80 trained fighters outside those windows. Do your lives mean so little?" Adam threw Julien away from him, just as Lou barreled into the room. "Lou, our guests are leaving. Maul any Long Tooth on our side of the neutral zone in exactly 45 minutes."
Noise accompanied the impending departure of the women. Melinda struggled with Julien's weight as she helped him up. There were shouts from some unknown ruckus outside. Megan tried to say something, but they didn't have time. Jannalyn spoke over her. "Hurry."
"Boss?" Lou knew it only took 30 minutes to reach the neutral zone and he wondered why the Packmaster granted more time.
Adam gestured towards Megan. "She's carrying a tote." Lou merely huffed his annoyance, knowing his leader was also giving the older gent a minute to recover before he had to run for his life. The outsiders gave a wide girth, as Alpha and Beta moved towards the bed, effectively clearing the room. Adam pulled Lou in to whisper once the Long Tooth were far away enough.
"Follow them. Make sure they don't deviate. Once in the neutral zone, tell Julien that the slate is clean, if they keep their mouths shut about tonight and the lady." Lou nodded, eager to be rid of strangers.
Once Lou left, the silence between Jannalyn and Adam was stifling. Adam awkwardly stood near the bed, not knowing what to do with himself, while Jannalyn stared, trying to figure out his next move. As she wondered how much danger she was in, for the first time in her life, her mind felt singular and her thoughts felt slow like molasses. "Thank you. For allowing them time. If you let me call a friend in Dallas, I'll be on my-"Jannalyn didn't finish because a chuckle stopped her train of thought.
"You punched me in the face." For months, women had been throwing themselves at him, desperate for his attention, and the minute he sniffed this woman's groin, she came back from the dead and slugged him. The swing was weak and didn't leave a mark, but damn, did it rock him back a foot in surprise! Now that Adam knew who the woman was, info courtesy of Lou, he thought- maybe she came back from the dead to punch him in the face, on purpose, to exact a little revenge. He had, after all, thumped her left breast repeatedly during CPR.
"When?" She would remember squaring up with yet another Packmaster, but remembered nothing after everything went black. The Packmaster was outright laughing now, doubled over and wheezing from laughing so hard. Jannalyn's heart dropped down to her anus, at realizing the accusation. Harming a Packmaster was death in most cases and with 80 trained fighters nearby, she would be dead before she could escape. He's crazy, she decided, and she's alone with another crazy Packmaster that might kill her in this very house. And she was alone now, with no one to help her, and she was too weak to do anything about it.
"Your first breath in twenty five minutes. You were so out of it." Laughter died away once he looked over. Adam didn't like the way her hands fisted the sheets in worry. "Gramma Trudy!" He hollered, which startled the Jan, evident by the small jump in the bed.
"Yes, dear." An older woman with sagging wrinkles and silver white hair, appeared at the door, kind eyes seeking permission to enter. Adam knew his Grams was the least threatening, therefore the perfect person to help such a worrisome guest.
His voice and posture softened considerably. "Got stuff to do. Will you help Jannalyn get cleaned up and settled?" Grams liked feeling useful and Adam was happy to keep her busy and oblige any whim that kept her spirits up.
"Of course, dear," she replied. As Adam exited the hallway on the lower level, he heard his Gramma speaking in low tones. "I haven't heard him laugh in ages. What did you do?"
"I don't really know. He said I punched him in the face."
"Well, obviously you're forgiven. How do you feel?" The woman was so frail and had an aura of kindness, that Jannalyn couldn't picture her harming a fly. She felt safer already.
"Like someone punched me in the tit." Jannalyn could hear Adam's distant guffaws and the same wheezing laugh emanating from downstairs. "She said tit, in front of Grams!" Apparently, the Packmaster's mirth was contagious, as many others joined in from outside.
A few minutes later, the Packmaster told the story to everyone present, which led to a celebration of the flesh eater's demise, a full blown party in Jannalyn's honor. Curiosity led many to Jannalyn's room, but thankfully, all were too cautious to enter, merely offering nods at the door. When they lingered too long, Trudy would shoo them away. One wasn't listening though, Lou, the Beta. He guarded the door, but stared with open hostility.
"Fix that look on your face, boy, or I'll snatch you up and bust your ass in front of Jesus." To the matriarch of the the Whites, bodily harm of any sort in front of Jesus was a real threat, especially since she only had a few more winters left and would probably have to answer for all her sins.
The old lady didn't have the strength to snatch shit, but Lou knew she would definitely try and hurt herself in the process. Besides, he would never disrespect an elder, especially an elder everybody loved, himself included. "Yes, ma'am." Relunctantly, his eyes move to the wall.
Ripper was heard in casual conversation one too many times and finally, from downstairs, the three heard Adam speaking out. "Her name is Jannalyn Bannister. Would any of you call Lou, our brother, your Beta, The Knife?" Silence. Jannalyn looked over at Lou, appraising him, studying him, surprised there was another survivor. This one just might try something-she thought. "It's disrespectful, a painful memory, so cut that shit out." Adam's voice finished off, while a silent understanding formed between the two former Pit fighters. You stay over there and I'll stay over here.
After the party died down and dispersed, Trudy locked the bedroom door, changed clothes, and climbed into the bed Jan occupied. "Sleep child. No one will intrude. I'll keep you safe."
Between the two of them, Jannalyn was the more capable protector, even while weakened, but Jannalyn didn't have the heart to point it out. "Thank you, Miss Trudy." Trudy played with her hair, gently twisting the strands with stiff fingers that smelled like arthritic ointment while softly humming a tune, but Jannalyn didn't mind. Before she fell asleep, she wished she had a grandmother, just like Trudy.
Jannalyn slept through most of the day.
Later that afternoon, Adam came by to converse and admitted, while holding back chuckles, that he "punched her in the tit" more than a few times, during CPR. Then he explained exactly why he wasn't angry about the retaliating punch, that he probably deserved it. He had his nose near her crotch at the time and he strongly believed women were allowed to defend their modesty, even against a Packmaster, especially in times of duress.
None of Jannalyn's fears came true. There was no interrogation, no scheming, no death threats, no hidden agendas. Later that night, Adam handed over his personal cellphone and immediately provided an address so Jan could call Beaumont for a pick up. A traceable line, Isa said, one that matched the address provided. A good sign, according to Isa, a sign that showed that Jan was in the company of an honest Packmaster. "Will Jan be safe for a couple more nights?" Isa asked, knowing the Packmaster was listening.
"I swear to it," Adam replied, but it wasn't enough for Isa.
"Good. Now take the phone and walk out of the house." Adam took his phone back, and complied. Once he was outside, the lady vamp began to speak. "Her safety is paramount. You are now responsible until I arrive. I must warn you though, failing to ensure her safety has dire consequences." Isa drawled in a heavy accent. "Do you understand what I mean?"
Adam nearly chuckled at the softest threat he's ever heard. "I'm guessing something along the lines of torture and death?"
"No, estupido. That stubborn she-wolf is the only remaining family I have left in this world and as a Sheriff, I'll have no choice but to retaliate! And in launching an assault, I'll have to inform the hierarchy, who will inform others, which will bring two entire Kingdoms to your doorstep in less than a moon's turn! You won't merely die. You and everyone you know will be eradicated. Have I made myself clear?"
"As daylight." Adam sneered then ended the call, trudging back into his house and up to the second floor in irritation.
Adam found his Grams stuffing a ridiculous amount of pillows behind Jannalyn, quietly fussing about getting proper rest. Meanwhile, Jannalyn nodded agreeably, wide eyed and attentive. He smirked.
"I'll be back tomorrow, after brunch and bridge." His Gramma swiped her cheek against Jannalyn's, making the younger she-wolf's eyes nearly bulge. "You'll be alright? Until then?"
"Yes. Good night, Miss Trudy."
"Good night you two." Miss Trudy exited the room, the door closed behind her with a soft click.
Alone once again, Adam and Jannalyn awkwardly stared at each other. Adam was the first to speak.
"I heard Gramma threatened you with the slipper. I see you close the bed?"
Jannalyn nodded once and tried to remain expressionless, but could feel the corner of her mouth lifting in humor. The threat of a slipper spank for getting out of bed by such a non-threatening individual was so absurd that is was funny, but Jannalyn understood the threat, however feeble, was born from concern, not malice. It was sweet. And sad. And so fucking beautiful that Jannalyn was jealous of Adam White's upbringing in comparison to her own.
"So, your friend, Beaumont-"
"Is angry with me, I know."
"Why?"
"It doesn't matter. Our fight was stupid."
"Must've been." Some years ago, Adam heard of a wolf living with a nest of vamps, but didn't believe it then. He was curious. "May I?" He asked, gesturing to a chair. She nodded.
Adam inquired, briefly, on Jannalyn's health and how she felt in general. Jannalyn isn't talkative by nature, so quietly, she responded as required and merely listened as Adam spoke of books, TV, life on the farm, and the other light topics, before delving into the deeper topics of life. Though Jan didn't like talking about herself, eventually she found herself talking more than she ever did, with any wolf she has ever just met. It was easy to talk to Adam. It was almost like talking to John. The two males had the same respectful yet confident personality and the similarities between the two made her ache. They talked long into the night.
Two nights later, Jannalyn was preparing to leave, while Lou glared at the Dallas vampire Sheriff, Isabel Beaumont. She-vamp rolled into the territory in a black limo and was now standing five feet away, looking at the she-wolf with sadness and longing, but whenever the Ripper looked in the vamp's direction, the sadness instantly turned into annoyance. Adam noticed the same, but said nothing. Lou figured the lady vamp probably had a damn fine reason for giving the she-wolf the stink eye and minded his business.
The lady vamp noticed his presence, but instead of hissing or ignoring him altogether, she nodded and murmured pleasantly, showing respect befitting the title of Beta. "Lou Marshal."
"Sheriff Beaumont." Lou nodded back respectfully, simply because he was shown respect first. A decade ago, Lou was meaner to the species than what was deemed healthy or sane, but time in the Pits can change any man's perspective.
Lou hated the Ripper though. Or thought he did. She represented and reminded him of inflicted and committed acts of violence, enslavement, and death. Lou couldn't stand that he had to help carry her, but he did, not because his Packmaster asked for it, but because he felt God would want it as a sign of mercy and personal redemption.
Now Lou did not consider himself a religious man, but he prayed during his stint in the Pits- every time he ended a life, every day that he woke up, and every night when he made it back to his cage in one piece. Then one night, the slavers revealed the night's fight roster. Lou was scheduled to fight the Ripper after the scheduled fight with John Quinn. It was dreaded news, news that drove many men to drinking V until they were frothing at the mouth and feral, just for a leg up in a fight against her, but Lou abstained. He saw what V did to those men, what V drove them to do. In such large doses, all conscious thought left until all that was left were monsters. Lou wanted to survive, but not at the cost of his soul.
At first he prayed for a miracle, any miracle that would grant his freedom, but as the time approached, he prayed for peace and a fast death. He prayed fervently. Desperately. No one could tell him there wasn't a God, because the man upstairs delivered, in the most surprising way. It rankled him, that his savior from an impending death sentence was a damn vampire, the equally hated Master of the Pits, but another vampire Godric, a mere spectator, whom Lou now deemed an instrument of God, dispatched the Master and came back the next night to free them all - every vamp, other, and two-natured alike. Cages were pried open, shackles were ripped away, and all were brought up to the surface under the night sky. Run-the vampire said, right before he flew straight up into the air, then down, nose-diving like missile, destroying the underground complex with the force of a detonating bomb. It was a sight to behold, the destruction of such a painfully oppressing place, by an angelic looking teenager who could crumble stone structures with his body. That day Lou learned something. Vampires were like men. Some are good. Some are truly evil. Some are actual godsends.
The Ripper though...when Lou answered Adam's call and found her in his Packmaster's arms, Lou immediately wanted her gone and away from his pack. When Adam handed her limp body over, Lou planned to "accidentally" snap her neck. He had several opportunities during the run to White Farms, but he just couldn't...and he hated himself for his own weakness...and hated her for whatever she was scheming.
But the Ripper looked so normal right now, like a regular human being or two-natured individual...unlike her Pit name. Currently, she was gently hugging Trudy and whispering her thanks and well wishes and goodbyes. Even now, it was odd to see the Ripper not ripping flesh.
Lou never wanted to see her again after the Pits, prayed he never would, but it seems the man upstairs had a plan. Maybe Lou was supposed to go through the trial of wanting to kill her and deciding he couldn't. Maybe he was meant to see this side of her, this gentle nonviolent side, that curled up with Miss Trudy and covered the old lady's virtue with her own thigh during sleep. Although weak and injured, the Ripper was subconsciously protective of the most vulnerable and most cherished member of his pack. That couldn't be faked. And it meant something.
Lou felt awful for spying, felt awful for the suspicion that drove him to climb a tree and watch her thru the Windows with binoculars on that first night, but Lou is a pragmatic man. Better to be safe than sorry.
Now, The Ri- Jannalyn, he kept forgetting her real name, is saying her farewells to the Packmaster. He's hugging her, murmuring soft and gentle words, while she stood stiffly, clearly surprised. Lou frowned. Adam admitted that he liked Jannalyn Bannister's company, mainly because she wasn't throwing herself at him, that it was refreshing to have a meaningful, respectful conversation with the opposite sex. His Packmaster droned on and on about the benefits of feminine prospective among similarly aged peers, that he enjoyed hearing her speak on her own life experiences, that she inspired him. They exchanged phone numbers this morning and planned to speak weekly. Lou's frown grew deeper, almost into a scowl as he caught bits and pieces of their hushed conversation.
"Come visit us... always welcome here...when things settle down..."
Jannalyn nodded in agreement then quickly disengaged from the hug. Adam opened and held the limo door for both ladies, causing Lou to huff again in annoyance. Once the women were safely enclosed inside the limo, Lou couldn't help himself. "You gonna tell me what's going on with you two?"
"Nope. Don't need noses where it don't belong. Speaking of noses, you smelled her, right?"
"I did." Lou didn't get it. Was she supposed to smell different? She smelled like any she-wolf, which was strange if the rumor concerning the Ripper and a certain tiger was true. Adam better not be thinking about stepping on tiger toes. "You think all that hugging was wise?"
Adam didn't think a handshake was appropriate. It felt...distant, unlike true friends? Her death and resurrection bonded them somehow and for the first time in six months, the raging thoughts and stress Adam had been feeling, gave way to settled and clear headed calm. "Doesn't matter now. It's done. The tiger will call if he's got a problem." Adam sighed. "I bet its his."
"What's his?"
"The baby. She's pregnant, Lou. Couldn't you smell it?"
Lou stood slack jawed at the edge of the driveway, watching the limo disappear into the night.
3 months ago
The tiger was finally awake, semi-mobile, and utterly furious, but he couldn't show it. The last thing he needed was to give her a reason to leave. "I need a name, Jan," he said in Jan's direction. "That son of a bitch you've been on the phone with...was it him? Or one of his people?"
"No, John. I have not had intercourse with Adam White or any of his people. Under no circumstances should I be pregnant."
It wasn't supposed to happen this way.
While Quinn suffered under the effects of the toxin the last four weeks, Lamar spoke often of what the Seer said to the Packmaster; that he and Jan belonged together, that she would have his children, that he'd win over pretty boy Packmaster Alcide. The prediction was the only thing that settled the worry over Jan's well being, for it guaranteed her return. And as Lamar pointed out, she would have to be alive, they would have to have sex to have children together and John wouldn't dare father bastards, so he'd ask for a mark beforehand, which would mean she would agree.
Lamar, a closet romantic, dreamed of orchestrating and paying for an elaborate ceremony. The guest list would, of course, include Belgium and any other smitten parties, solidifying the union in the supernatural world. Then the future Uncle would spoil the children, teach them how to traverse the world, perhaps pass on a bad habit or two, and help keep them safe. At the time, John Quinn couldn't respond to his sappy daydreaming friend, but he too, began to daydream about it all.
Who would've dreamed that their lives would be so intertwined? John Quinn certainly didn't. He was happy with whatever scraps she threw his way during their short visits, but the Seer's prediction determined he was bound to receive much, much more.
The first time Quinn saw Jan in the Pits, that woman struck fear in his heart. Two opponents were V-ed out, but were still no match. She went on to fight two more, killing without thought or remorse, but when it came time to face him, she refused their fight with two upheld fingers.
Missio- the gladiator sign for mercy, the Pit sign for refusal.
Quinn was astounded and so was everyone else, for the Ripper never refused a fight. Immediately, ten guards surrounded her, cuffed her wrists and ankles, and stretched her spread eagle, then the Master delivered 30 lashings with a silver chain whip. The arena was silent as she took her punishment, just as silent as her opened mouthed screams every time the whip connected, turning her back into mincemeat.
When the Master was done, she raised those two fingers up in continued defiance. She took 30 more lashings. Blood misted the sands as the silver sawed into bones, yet those fingers, though shaking, remained up.
At the time, Quinn didn't understand the triumphant look she sent in his direction right before she took her last breath, nor did he understand Godric's outrage, shown in the immediate decapitation of the Master and the guards, nor did he understand why Godric slashed his wrists over and over to help a stranger, but he understood now.
Fate was indeed working, bringing them together and tearing them apart, over and over. Because Jan, born in the Pits, born a Dahl, born a wolf instead of a tiger, was meant to be his all along.
So Jan wasn't supposed to turn up pregnant with another man's child, a likely product of rape. The situation hit him hard, as his own Mama never recovered from her own trauma. The subsequent birth of his sister, only threw his mother deeper into bouts of mania, then depression and finally catatonia, resulting in permanent hospitalization, so at seventeen, Quinn became a single dad to the single most infuriating blessing from that ordeal.
Fuck it. He'd raise Jan's baby as his own, he swore it, but as soon as he regained some strength, he had a man to kill. No man ever lived after violating a Quinn.
Lamar was surprisingly quiet. Very little brings him true happiness and weeks ago, the Egyptian finalized plans as best man and sponsor, for the thought of a union between his dearest friends lifted his mood. And the Seer's prediction of children... Lamar had zero involvement with infants as a mortal, nor had any human children of his own, so all thoughts of spoiling and possibly loving tiny babies were rendered null and void when he was made. It was strange to him that several millennia later, he would finally get the opportunity to hold a baby, even if the child's biological father must die.
Miss Bannister has not laid with a man willingly, nor showed interest to do so, in the handful of years they've known one other, even though his brother was certainly available and willing. And Miss Bannister certainly didn't recall a time when a pregnancy could happen, so the common supposition was that a rape occurred, probably under one of those modern date rape drugs. A man must die, indeed.
Lamar glanced up from his phone. Tetris could wait. He knew John would have no qualms about raising this child as his own regardless of paternity, making the King an uncle by default, but briefly, Lamar worried that the future parents would deny him, simply because of his vampire status. As he thought of this, his insides constricted then dropped in a very odd way, and he realized, very abruptly, that he was terrified of rejection. Two seconds later, he decided he was being ridiculous.
But.
Even if his friends granted access, Lamar guessed a therian child would be traumatized by a vampire presence, just as Frannie was when they first met. He sighed. Great. Now he's terrified of a baby's rejection. He did not want to be the "scary uncle". The eccentric uncle he or she only saw at night or the fun uncle even, but scary? The thought of traumatizing another child, a baby, wounded his undead heart. Maybe he could change the outcome if he were actively present since birth? Yes, that might work, he thought, as he set up education accounts on his mobile phone.
Done.
Casually, the Egyptian glanced at his brother, his best friend. Lamar knew the tiger was angry, so he had no intention of contributing to an already stressful situation. Adding his two cents would only make matters worse, perhaps cause the situation to become explosive, and that would not be good for the baby. As long as John and Jan remained calm, Lamar would continue to sit around, within earshot, playing on his phone.
"Jan, babe, I'm not angry at you, but you have to tell me what you remember. Did anything weird happen?" Quinn still felt wobbly on his legs, so he leaned against an armoire, awaiting her answer.
Jan looked horror stuck, staring at her hands as she often does when trying to control her emotions. "This can't be happening to me!"
Quinn slowly limped over to Jan, who looked extremely troubled. Tears filled her eyes but didn't fall. He reached, trying to offer comfort, but she flinched and she hasn't done that in years. Oh a son of a bitch would pay...for hurting her, scaring her, undoing all the hard work to overcome aversion to touch. The fucker took away her normalcy, their normalcy. "I'll kill him, you know this, right?"
"And I'll help," were the Egyptian's first words, since Ludwig laid bare hands on Jan to check her general health, only to gasp and blurt out that she's with child.
"There's no one to kill, alright?" Jan bit out sharply, furiously wiping at her eyes, then visibly deflating in confusion. Pregnant. Every time she thought the word, nausea rolled through her stomach, demanding an exit up her throat. She specifically remembered the sniff test- shoving a finger into her womanly part, just to be sure no male scents registered, even when Trudy assured her that nothing untoward happened while she slept. "When I woke up, I checked. I haven't lost time. And what could happen with Isa around? She and her goons were present the entire trip."
Ludwig, who had gone unnoticed, suddenly spoke up. "Something isn't right. According to my hormone measurements, Jan is 10 weeks pregnant, but she wasn't pregnant in Louisiana, 5 weeks ago."
2 months ago
"Read it, John."
"No."
Jannalyn and John were at odds, while Beaumont and Lamar spectated, sitting at a large table, opposite of one another. Jannalyn pushed the papers across the table once more. John couldn't even look at it, much less read it.
It was Jannalyn's Last Will and Testament, a necessity under the circumstances, but John was steadfast in avoiding all talks of resting places, final wishes, or death in general.
"Fine. Don't read it. Knowing it exists will suffice."
"Finalizing it means you've given up, Jan. It's like you're laying down to die. Which is complete and utter kbullshit!"
"Right. Because I'll survive this?!" Jannalyn rasped out in frustration, gesturing towards her belly. "You've seen the research. Why can't you accept-"
"Paris had a prediction that I CHOOSE to have faith in. Mark my words. You will live thru this."
"This?! THIS?! I am going to die, when THIS monster is born! And YOU, you and that old man are delusional! I'm trying to prepare, ease my own mind, but you won't let me!" Huffing and puffing from frustration and exertion, Jannalyn stormed out of the room.
And because she felt like it, she slammed the back door as she exited, symbolizing the 'fuck you' she wanted to scream, but would never say to John, not matter how stupid, how idiotic his thought processes. Oh but she wanted to say it. She just couldn't deal with John's denial anymore.
What was there to deny, anyway? Didn't he know all the facts as she did? This pregnancy was not normal. Had it been normal, she would measure at 8 or 9 weeks, but currently, she was measuring at 20 weeks, almost double in size.
The curse from eating the bog demon heart was pregnancy.
The answers to the global and inter-realm inquiries into the bog demon's reproductive cycle only terrified Jannalyn and Ludwig. First, bog demons are unisex, meaning no male or female reproductive organs. Second, the creatures reproduced like cells. Every 50 years or so, an exact clone is copied, then splits away from the parent. Because there is no birth canal, separation occurs when the replica claws itself out with sharp black talons. Jan remembered the feeling of being sliced open by the adult bog demon and she imagined it was ten times worse from the inside out. She hoped the clone would exit out the front or side of the abdomen, but historically, in a few cases, it clawed out the opposite way, severing the spine as it broke out. Regenerative abilities was essential for the survival of the species, but neither Jannalyn nor Ludwig knew if the she-wolf acquired regeneration as a permanent gift and testing was out of the question.
In a proactive bid, Ludwig performed every test know to man and every test known to supes, trying to find a solution to this life threatening problem. Amniotic testing revealed no real data, other than blank material devoid of any DNA from this or any other realm. Ultrasound testing revealed what was currently gestating in Jannalyn's body, a gelatanous blob, that had no real form at the moment, so danger wasn't imminent. Bog demon pregnancies were thought to last a year, so Jan had time, but did human biology shorten it or lengthened it? No one really knew.
And although most species frowned at abortion, Ludwig considered performing the procedure at first, until a scan revealed that Jannalyn's heart moved down into the pelvic region, situated where a bog demon's heart would lay, right next to the sac- or in Jan's case, the uterus. Main arteries also moved, housing her uterus in a weblike system of veins, making removal impossible.
One wrong knick with a blade...Jannalyn would bleed out. If the replica went to term and exited on its own, Jannalyn's uterus would be destroyed and she would bleed out. Either way, there was no viable solution, no scenarios where Jannalyn would live.
Ludwig did not sugar coat the prognosis and John was made aware of these findings, but still had an unwavering faith that she'd survive with zero facts to back up his belief.
It was denial- Ludwig said, a predicament no one could change at the moment. All Jannalyn could do was finalize her last wishes in attempt to take care of those she considered family, just as her last family looked after her.
Jan's former nestmates bequeathed substantial property and funds upon their true deaths. Catherine and Paolo Quinones passed Isa their ocean front home in Maine and passed a processing plant and small fleet of netting boats to Jan. Stan Baker was a true cowboy. He left a thoroughbred horse farm to Isa and a beef farm of 10,000 heads of cattle to Jan. The farms are worth 10 million each. Godric passed the nest and all Dallas properties to Isa, several million dollar homes in Europe to Eric, a decadent villa and a popular sprawling vineyard near Rome to Nora, a bank deposit box full of antique jewelry to Pam, and unsurprisingly, a library, a massive collection of first editions to Jannalyn. Reading was, after all, their most cherished past time. But there was more.
Godric had been busy the year before he met the sun, tracking and seizing Pit funds from North to South America. He found every dollar and peso, every red cent associated with Jan's former Master- the sum of 60 years of supe slave trading and death matches- every collected wager, bank accounts under fictious names, tangible property, and laundered money into legitamate businesses in several different countries- Godric found it all. He also kept a detailed ledger of everything he traced, seized, and liquidated, resulting in an astronomical 100 million dollars.
The Authority supported Godric's investigation, as all businesses paid taxes to Kingdoms, and all Kingdoms paid taxes to the Authority, but the Master grossly under reported his earnings. So after recovering back taxes and fines, 65 million remained. Normally, debts and funds were inherited by progeny, but Godric destroyed the Master's only childe the night of Jannalyn's liberation.
The Authority could not keep the funds due to a well known clause in the Constitution, so they had no choice but to find an heir. The ancients deliberated for several nights, but were still deadlocked, so a Magister was invited for a fresh perspective. He posed a few simple questions.
What decides inheritance other than direct blood? Birthright, equity, and possession. And who can claim equity, has rightful possession, or can claim the Pits as their birthright?
There was only one name that could claim more unpaid work equity than any other being, only one name truly associated with the Pits as a trademark, only one name that could possess the location without dispute in the supernatural world, and only one name that could claim the Pits as her birthplace. A birthplace, an ancestral home, destroyed by a vampire. The decision was unanimous.
Due to the legal fiasco that named the Ripper aka Jannalyn Bannister, heiress to blood money earned off the back of slaves, she saw the immediate need to settle legal and monetary affairs. But of course, John chooses blind optimism over reasoning and Jan is sitting in a tree, trying to calm down.
Ten minutes later, Jannalyn felt the radar ping of John's location, drawing closer and closer. He was following her scent, zig-zagging, zoned in on her trail. Currently, he's standing directly below her, silent as if waiting.
"I know you're there, John." There was no bite to her words, only exhaustion.
"I'm sorry."
Jannalyn could tell from his voice that he didn't want to apologize first, but he did and Jan had no intention of spending the rest of her short life arguing with John. "I know. I'm sorry, too." Jannalyn leaned over the edge of the branch and spoke down to him. "Take those dress shoes off and get up here." The gentle sway of the tree and the quiet rustle of leaves indicated he was climbing up. Once John reached her, he held her, relaying his apologies through gentle caresses of her back. She snuggled close, wrapping her arms around his midsection, her head against his chest. She sighed. This tranquility, this peace, was better than being mad and arguing.
"We good?" He murmured against her temple.
"Always. What are they up to, right now?" Jannalyn asked, wondering what their vamps were doing.
"Trying to kill each other with their eyes." John responded in amusement. Lamar and Isabel did not like each other and were in a Cold War only they know about, but his brother and her BFF had to figure shit out on their own. It was probably some weird vampire pissing match he'd never understand anyways. Whatever was going on, as long as their issues weren't stressing out Jan, John would continue to mind his own business, which was the yawning, stressed out pregnant lady sprawled across his chest at the moment. "We should kick them out and get some sleep. C'mon." John arranged their bodies, so that she was straddling him and secured to his torso, before he leaped down from the tree.
Inside, Lamar and Isabel still sat across one another at the large oak table, glaring at each other, neither giving up ground. Lamar knew that neither women verbally apologized for the brawl outside Merlotte's, but at least Miss Bannister's apology was the actionable kind. The she-wolf asked the Sheriff to pick her up from Texas and deliver her to Cali, asked the Sheriff to be present during the tests with Ludwig, invited her shopping, invited her to this meeting, and the Sheriff came, but treated the wolf like an annoyance. Miss Bannister took it all in stride, again, showing her apology with action, or lack there-of, but the Sheriff's attitude was starting to really piss the old King off.
Isabel Beaumont didn't like the Egyptian, mainly because he used his position and age to meddle in affairs that were not his own. Jan and John's personal life was not his playground to oversee, advise, or experiment on. He planned their mating/wedding ceremony...frivolously left the contracts in full view, just to spite her...the audacity! The Sheriff had the stronger claim as sponsor, as Jan was a former nest mate, whereas the King has never had a living arrangement with either tiger or wolf...and the King knows vampire law so he purposely overstepped. Isabel wanted to strangle him, but knew the limitations of her own age and strength, so she settled on glaring her best 'I hate you' face at him, at every opportunity.
A door opened and closed during their stare-off. It was John Quinn, whispering while carrying an already sleeping Jan through the house and up the stairs. "We're going to bed. You can stay, but if you wake her or destroy my house, I'll ban you from the property for a month."
The next morning, John pulled a wooden crate made of pine, out the garage and into the house. With a hammer, he pried at the lid and the smell of blood wafted out.
Frannie ran out of her room and down the stairs, thinking Jannalyn injured herself. Her brother would absolutely lose his shit if she did. Following her nose, she ended up in the living room, her eyes going back and forth, from John to the wooden crate innocently perched on the coffee table. "That isn't what I think it is, is it?" Frannie asked, stepping forward to peek at the contents.
"What is that doing here?" It was a dangerous rasp coming from the kitchen entry way. Jannalyn didn't have to look, because she recognized the smell. Iron and silver. Her blood. John had the whip. "This isn't funny. Get it out of here. Now!"
"No." John had to stay calm or Jannalyn wouldn't and this whole exercise would be lost. "Fran, get 3 bottles of hydrogen peroxide, a brush, and a bucket. We're cleaning this thing."
"Oh, shit." Frannie mumbled, easing out of the room. She did not want to be in the middle of this blowout. It was mid-morning, so the teen couldn't call Lamar. She had a sneaking suspicion that John planned it this way.
"No the FUCK we're NOT. John, what are you doing? I can't have that thing here!" Jan was afraid of it, wouldn't come near it, because that bladed whip inflicted years of pain, moulded her into a monster, and inevitably killed her. "You can't-" she couldn't breathe. The roar of the crowd. Flashes of silver. Kill them. Rip away flesh. Kill them all or die.
"Jan! Babe, don't look at it! Look at me. Look around. You're home." John slowly took her hands and rested shaking fingers on his face. Bewildered grey eyes found purple, slowly focusing. "That's right. You're home. See your belly?" Remembering the present was essential, or she'd be stuck in a flash back and there was no place more painful than her past. He hated having to do this, but it must be done. "We're mounting it over the fireplace."
"You can't...I can't. Why?!" Jan couldn't understand. She felt betrayed. The object wasn't just a symbol of a insanity inducing past, it caused her death. Why would he have it? For what purpose?
"Because no one will ever use it to control you again." It was a fierce and determined proclamation. "Do you want another Master?"
No. Fuck, she could feel herself slipping back into a controllable mindset, into compliance to avoid a lashing, and no one was welding it.
"How many vamps have seen it used against you?" Too many. Too many knew. "No one will use it to control you again. You understand?"
John made sense, so over the course of two days, the whip was cleaned and mounted, without protest. Over the course of a week, Jannalyn spent 60 seconds a day, just looking at serrated blades, curled against an oak backdrop. By the following week, she could sit in the living room for 10 minutes at a time, never with her back turned to it though; an improvement in John's mind. Slow but steady improvement.
One month ago
Jan gained 6 more inches of belly and was unhappy about the growth. Pregnancy was very apparent now, but Jan felt no independent movement inside her womb. The skin around her midsection felt uncomfortable and tight, itchy to the point of insanity. Her underwear and bras didn't fit anymore. Nothing fit anymore, except nighties and a few faded t-shirts she stole from John's closet, but if she grew anymore, those wouldn't fit either.
After the second day in a row of wearing nighties during the day, John handed her a black card and his keys and told her to have fun. John knows she has her own money, too much of it to spend in her depressingly short lifetime, but he insisted on taking care of her anyway, with his own money, in his home, with personal care, effort, and time.
As Jan stared at him, she realized, all he's ever done was give, always acting in her best interests, making her feel welcome and cared for, like she mattered. And he never asked for anything in return because he loves her. He's been saying it in his sleep. He loved her so much he was trying to fix her reaction to the whip, trying to make sure she never had another Master, trying to make her whole. He refused to believe she would die. And Jan didn't feel she deserved him or his effort or his love, but felt blessed and grateful and overwhelmed. She wanted him at her side, but didn't want to extend his grief when she finally left this world. And the thought of leaving him...she hoped he wouldn't mourn long.
In nano seconds, Jan grew so emotional that she cried, one of those immediate full body ugly face cries- with incoherent yammering, tears, snot, and hiccups. An immediate hug made her cry harder.
"Can't go shopping in a nightie, so I'll go. Relax, babe, I've got you." And he did. He always had her back. He held Jannalyn until only sniffles remained.
John changed out of tear stained dress clothes and into jeans, murmuring reassurances from the bedroom. Most of their interactions now took place in the living room, part of retraining, so there, he quickly took actual measurements of her bust, waist, and hips with a measuring tape, so he wouldn't buy the wrong sizes. But while he was measuring, circling around her, the innocent brushes against her skin made her body tingle in a very delicious way.
Suddenly, she was transfixed by his arms, the way his huge muscles stretched and flexed. The power in his tree trunk legs. The fluidity of his gait. The mesmerizing way his body complimented hers in any situation. Her tiny to his huge. Her agility to his raw strength. Never the same, but never more and never less. How had she not noticed, how perfect, how devastatingly beautiful he was, until now?
John stopped moving when he smelled a hint of pheromones, watching her facial expression as her puffy eyes traveled during the not-so subtle appraisal of his body. Her scent flooded the room while she eyeballed him, like he was a whole snack, and garnering this kind of attention from her was a huge deal, especially in the living room, the same living room with a whip mounted on the wall. Real progress. About fucking time. He thought she'd never be able to ignore it.
She looked up at him, meeting his eyes, and immediately shrinked back at realizing she'd been caught ogling his form like a piece of meat. Without consent, the heat of embarrassment colored her face and neck. He took one step closer, crowding her, smelling the air around her, before he stepped back and gave a pantry dropping smirk.
"It's ok to want me too, you know." John leaned down and kissed her cheek, letting his lips linger against her skin a little longer than usual. "Bye, babe."
Now, she's waiting...and pouting. John has been gone two hours now and Jan felt like a fool, growing increasingly embarrassed by the emotional outburst she couldn't begin to control and her body's reaction to him. It was frustrating, how easily everything made it to the surface, showing the world how she felt. Ludwig told her this could happen.
Damned hormones.
Still, what he said before he left percolated and cooked in her brain. Their relationship status and living arrangement had been on her mind for some time now. We're they good friends? Family? Yes and yes. Many believed they were together in an official capacity, yet John never seemed bothered by it. And what did he mean? Was it really ok to want him back? Was he giving consent? Of course he was. Not only does he love her, he wants her too, but didn't pressure her, patiently waiting for her to come to a decision her own. Yes, she had limited time, but she was acting like a coward, using the excuse of unworthiness and wanting to shield John from pain, instead giving him what he clearly wanted, what they both wanted.
"Babe? I'm home!" John announced, lugging in several bags of clothing. Squaring her shoulders and straightening her back, she tried to exude confidence as she met him at the door.
John seemed far too excited over shopping. Luck was on his side. He found a boutique that specialized in maternity clothes. He ushered Jan into the living room and showed her a few pieces, prattling away about wrap dresses made of material that stretched for growth, but maintained elasticity and form. He explained, his selections were casual enough for daily wear, but could be dressed up with accessories. That she could pair all the items with flats, heels, and sandals. Bags were emptied, dumped onto the sofa, so he could show her.
A red dress. A green dress. Her favorite colors. A lump formed in her throat. He noticed and he remembered. Of course he did.
"Gotcha this, too." John handed her a large jar of...coconut oil? "You've been scratching. The saleswoman said it would help."
Jannalyn finally noticed John was standing in front of the fireplace and she realized something that made her heart speed up in excitement. She hadn't thought of the whip at all. The whip that was directly behind him. Not once. Suddenly overwhelmed, all Jannalyn could do was blink. John...attentive, strong, and infuriating blind faith. He fixed her. She would never be controlled again.
Because he loves her.
And she just realized she loves him, too.
Ardently.
"Babe? What's wrong?" She was tearing up again and John worried when her lips trembled. "I can take it all back if you hate it."
"Marry me."
"What?"
"Marry me and be mine."
"Jan? Babe? What's going on?"
He was in shock she was sure, so she tried again. "Marry me, John. I want you to be mine. Today. If I'm making a fool of myself, please tell me."