Disclaimer: I do not own The Caster Chronicles. Kami Garcia and Margaret Stohl do. I am not making any money off of this story. I am only writing this story as a practice in craft.
Please do not forget to let me know what you think.
Chapter Thirty-Four
The coppery smell invaded his senses as did the phantom feeling of liquid flowing down his throat. The elixir of life, all scarlet and thick, gave him power that few understood. The feeling of his prey beneath his fingers as they squirmed before he broke their neck and their pathetic existence came to an end. Pure intoxication his body shivered at the thought.
No!
Macon snapped himself out of the lurid thoughts his mind envisioned. He had been reading about plants, but his mind turned inward after awhile.
Over the past few years, his transition from a blood Incubus to a dream Incubus drove his entire being mad. His body hungered for blood and the dreams were like a light snack, easy to get but unfulfilling. He had to flee after each feeding before his reason ran out and his instinct took over. There were too many close calls to count.
He knew that dream Incubi were the lesser of his kind. Dreams were unconscious thoughts and ambitions, but blood was life and few things held that kind of power in the world of Casters and demons. Dream Incubi were strong, but blood Incubi had the advantage at the end of the day. He had to feed more regularly on dreams, but the first and only time with the blood he felt powerful. His body shivered at the thought of the luscious drink.
Every time those urges came he would stroke his finger over the locket Jane gave him. Memories surfaced of her bright smile, laugh, or the feeling of her lips on his. His body trembled as those memories, and everything he had done assaulted him with a gale force. His body could not produce tears, but a hollow feeling overcame him and the urges fled for the time being.
He dropped his book and closed his eyes he breathed in deeply and his eyes snapped open. There was blood nearby. Fresh mortal blood. His shoulders tensed up and his feet itched to move. He clenched his hands on his chair and gnashed his teeth together, closing his eyes to will the urge away.
His heartbeat sped up and his mind went hazy. He needed it. The blood was young and fresh, the most compelling. His entire body screamed for him to go and feed, his prey was here. He clenched the chair harder, and he screamed in his mind to make the feelings go away.
His body moved on its own accord, every thought before disappeared as his base instinct took over. His hands unclenched the sofa and his entire being focused on the scent of his soon to be meal. Adrenaline rushed through his body, and he saw his prey. It was Martha's sister, Abigail.
Her car stopped working and she was pouting in a white dress, the virginal symbol if there ever was one. Her blood sung to him, but his mind told him to go back inside. Leave her be. She had done nothing to him, but she was near his land. She looked scared, but kept her cool but her body twitched out of fear. Her adrenaline only added to his appetite. It was never a good idea to be scared around a bloodlust Incubi. He appeared in front of her, and Abigail flinched seeing as she hadn't heard him.
"Who are you? What do you want?"
Internally, Macon knew the tininess and her fear her voice made would not help her, and he tried so hard to stop his instincts. At this point, nothing would stop him—even if he wanted to.
He smiled. His eyes targeted straight on her, and casually walked up to her.
"The question my dear is not who am I, but what is going to happen to you." His canines, sharp and white were on her throat in less than a second before she was able to scream. He felt the blood on his hands, but did not hesitate as he drunk her blood.
His body glowed with the blood he drank. Every sip he took divine, refreshing, and heady. The sensory overload gave him the highest high he had ever been on, and he had never been the one for the use of recreational drugs. Why had he gone to dreams? They were nothing compared to the scarlet delicacy. His body convulsed at how he starved it of its true sustenance, but as he drunk and he got his fill the fog in his mind cleared. He fell back on his hands as the events caught up with him.
He heard a car approach, and Macon knew he would be caught. He slipped his hands under Abigail's frame and put her in the car. He used a cast for the blood to disappear, and made the mark on her throat look like a rabid dog. He ran behind the trees. The Spanish moss obscured his view, but the sight of Abigail and Martha's father and Martha herself sprinting to her sister and crying over her body made him look away in shame. He had failed himself. He had failed Amma and the pact he made. And most of all he had failed Jane.
Martha and her father took Abigail back, and Macon slunk back to Ravenwood when they drove away. Back at Ravenwood Boo had been there to comfort him. He felt no tears in his eyes, but had wished to feel the comfortable salty drops down his cheek. Looking at his hands he had washed them repeatedly in the sink, and saw that there would be no way to wash the blood off of his hands. The coppery taste rang in his mouth, and even several shots of Brandy and Cognac didn't help. When he heard Boo bark and run down to the tunnels, Macon was not in the mood for company.
He opened the door to his study and found his mother there before him. He had to turn away from her and she looked at him. Her finger touched his lips, and she swiped a remaining drop of blood off of them. Her lips opened in horror.
"Go momma."
He had no need for her, and her face showed him everything. He was a monster, there was no denying it now. His mother had not gone.
"No."
The fact that she stood there with her chin raised and her hands crossed showed him that she would not heal to his wishes.
"I KILLED!" His voice bellowed and even Boo had to muffle a squeak. His mother startled for a moment, but kept her feet grounded.
"It's not who you are. It's something to break, like an addiction," his mother said.
Macon wanted to say hurtful things towards her. She had been with an Incubus when he turned, and saw what had happened in the midst of a bloodlust. She had run away from his father without him.
"This isn't some addiction. It's what I am. What father was. I can't control it."
"But you did, cher. You did."
"Not anymore."
His mother walked up to him and took his arm in hers.
"Your father was a blood Incubus when you were born. He had tried desperately to fight his nature and his father's bigotry. In the end, his will was weak. You had gone a long time without feeding on blood, and had made your own choice regarding a dark legacy." His mother's delicate fingers, the one's he inherited from her travel down his shoulder to his wrist.
"I'm weak." He protested and tried to move, but his mother made him stay.
"No. You had two transgressions in over two years. Your father had several more than that. You're already doing better than he had."
"Then why did you stick with him!"
He knew his mother deserved better. She blinked at him and her eyes were full of pain and sadness.
"I loved him."
Of course she did. It always came down to that word at the end of the day. Everything balanced on it. His mother bucked up and told him she would take care of everything. Macon stared at his mother.
"Don't you dare cover up my transgressions. I murdered," he said before his mother cut in.
"Because you couldn't help it! Of course I'm going to make sure you aren't going to get blamed because this isn't your fault. It's not Silas, it's mine! I condemned you to this fate at least let me have some responsibility."
His mother had tears going down her cheeks. So strong and firm in whom she was and what she stood for. Her words were steady, and his stomach lurched at every point. She came up to him; she took both of his hands into his own. Her green eyes piercing his.
"You're strong, cher. You feel remorse for what you've done."
Macon wanted to step away. To show his mother that he was not who she thought he was.
"Why you think that's strong? Because I feel remorse for something that is heinous?"
His mother shook her head as she was about to leave Ravenwood and go through the tunnels.
"You're strong because most Incubi wouldn't bat an eyelash when it comes to feeding on a mortal and you tear yourself apart. That's strength my son. You might be dark, but there is light in you. She loves you cher. Don't you ever forget."
His mother walked out and he stood motionless. Jane had to move on because one of them had to, and he knew it would not be him. He was weak, even if his mother thought differently.
You're strong Macon, Jane's voice echoed in his ear. He closed his eyes and his fingers moved over the locket feeling every ridge and he opened it for the first time since he got it. He might not believe in himself, but he believed in Jane. Jane was always stronger than him.
A/N:
FFan: I'm sorry for the delayed update. As I stated, I had a lot of things going on that prevented from me working on this story. I hope you enjoyed this chapter.
I'm sorry this chapter is short. It needed some serious revisions and work because it was very bad. I mean it was terrible, and things were rushed in this chapter. I still think things are a bit rushed, but I'm not exactly sure what else is missing. Please let me know if there's anything that I can add. Any feedback, especially critical feedback, is welcomed.
I had hoped to explore a bit of what was going through Arelia's head as a wife to an Incubus and a mother to two and a succubae. I can't imagine as her being one to just distance herself because Macon isn't that way, and he needed to get that from someone. I don't think I did her any justice, though.
Please let me know what you think.
Much Obliged,
Dark Horse Writer